fries, finally bringing one to her mouth and eyeing it as though it were a bug instead of what once used to be one of her favorite foods. At least she was eating a bite. I’d have to make sure to mention to Rebecca next week about Sarah’s decreased appetite. In retrospect, I realized I’d forgotten to tell her a lot of things.
Devon took me away from my thoughts. “Mom, this is a cool toy. Look. It lights up!”
“That is awesome, bud. I’m glad you like it.” But the chances of me ever seeing it again were slim to none. It would probably wind up lost under his bed or the couch—if he even remembered to pack it when he left his grandparents’ house.
“Hey, mom?”
“Yes?”
“How come you and dad aren’t married anymore?”
My stomach clenched. At least twice a year since the divorce, Devon would ask, and I’d remind myself that he was young and needed to hear it again. He probably didn’t remember much of when Mike and I were together, and I prayed he had no memories of the beatings or the verbal abuse my ex had regularly rained down on me.
Devon probably hoped it would change between Mike and me. From what I knew of his classmates, a lot of his friends’ parents were still together, so it was hard for him to understand. The easiest course of action was to give him the same answer I’d given him before. “Daddy and I love you, Devon, but we just couldn’t live together anymore.”
“Why not?”
Today, I wouldn’t tell him the real reason: because your dad’s an abusive asshole. “Well, because…because your dad and I just didn’t get along.”
For the first time on this trip, Sarah spoke up. “He was mean.”
In response, my son raised his voice. “He is not!”
Holy shit. Nowadays, Sarah’s neutral state was one of malaise and reticence—so, for her to voice a strong emotion or opinion about anything jolted me. I definitely knew where it was coming from, and now I understood why she hadn’t wanted to spend time at Mike’s—but I’d always tried hard not to say disparaging remarks about his father in front of the kids, mostly because my ex had never displayed one iota of abusive intent toward Devon, and I was certain it would remain that way. After all, the guy was a misogynist and he loved his kid, no matter how he felt about women—but could I communicate that to Devon without downplaying Sarah’s feelings and opinion that most certainly was rooted in reality?
I had to take a chance—because, if I didn’t, this could brew into something else later at my parents’ house when I wasn’t around to do damage control. “Devon, your dad and I grew apart, and that’s why we’re not together anymore. I know you love him, but he was mean to me and sometimes Sarah. Sometimes when people aren’t happy anymore, they do mean things—but that doesn’t make your dad a mean person.” Looking at my daughter through the rearview mirror, I prayed this was enough to appease both my children. “Right, Sarah?”
“I guess.” She wasn’t looking at me, but at least she was talking. Although she’d been on the verge of anger moments earlier, she’d already returned to this apathetic state.
Devon asked, “Is it like how you said even though Brady is a jerk, it doesn’t make him a bad person? It was—what did you say?”
Oh, kindergarten. I’d almost forgotten. Devon and Brady, another child in his class, had some sort of argument midway through the year, and the teacher had talked with me about it after school. For the remainder of the school year, they’d continued to clash. One evening after pondering how to approach it, I’d told Devon that sometimes there are people you don’t get along with, but that “doesn’t mean that you or he are bad people. You just don’t get along.”
And then I remembered the phrase he was thinking of. “A personality clash.”
“Yeah. Personality clash. Is that what happened with you and dad?”
“You could say that.” Although it was the understatement of the century.
Fortunately, Devon seemed happy with the answer and took another bite out of his cheeseburger. Sarah was back to looking like she didn’t give a shit about anything, and as I raced down the highway, I wondered why I hadn’t ordered anything for myself other than a Diet Coke. Trying to ignore my rumbling stomach and thundering thoughts, I drove slightly over the speed limit until we neared