it got hot, so we both decided to take a break by sitting down and doing nothing right there on the grass. I’m thinking about Feeney and all my regrets, which I do pretty much all day long now, but Shade catches me doing it and calls me on my bullshit. Yes, I know he’s only four. And yes, it’s still effective, maybe more so because of his age.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you know Feeney didn’t even know what an opossum was?”
“Really?” My heart aches, my stomach aches, my legs, arms, chest, neck, feet, and hands ache, and my head also aches.
“Yeah. I told her, though.” Shade plucks some grass out of the lawn and stares at it. “Do you think if we called her, she’d come over?”
“I…I don’t know. She has another job now.”
That was the reason I gave Shade for Feeney’s departure. That she took another job, but she was always going to miss him, and she couldn’t say goodbye because some people just aren’t good with that, and she didn’t want to make either of them cry. Yes, I copped out again, and yes, I should have told the truth, but explaining all that shit to a four-year-old was more than I knew how to grapple with when I was still struggling with it. I told Shade whatever I had to because I wanted to protect him, and that’s the honest truth. I think even Feeney would agree it was best.
“But we could visit her, couldn’t we?”
“I don’t know if she’d like that.”
“We could call her and ask.”
“I doubt she’ll answer. She probably has a new number.”
“You could try anyway. Please?”
Try saying no to an honest, sincere, and slightly heartbroken four-year-old who is all earnest and big-eyed and smiling softly and sadly. Yeah, there’s no way I can deny Shade. He doesn’t know what happened. To him, it’s obvious Feeney would want to talk to him because why wouldn’t she?
I don’t sigh. Instead, I take out my phone and act like nothing is wrong. But then slowly, I put it away. I know I have to tell Shade the truth, or at least some version of it—a version he’d understand. He deserves to know.
“Shade, there’s something I have to tell you. Feeney didn’t leave because she had another job. She left because she was mad at me. I did something to make her upset and unhappy, and she didn’t want to stay in the house anymore because she didn’t want to see me or to talk to me. I really hurt her feelings, and she didn’t want to be around me. It had nothing to do with you. I’m sorry. I know you liked her a lot, and I should have been smarter. Better. I should have thought…”
“What did you do?”
“I…I just…I lied to her about something, and it hurt her a lot. So much so that she had to go.”
“Why didn’t you just say sorry?”
“Sometimes, saying sorry doesn’t fix things.”
Shade looks crestfallen. He’s four and doesn’t understand the workings of adult relationships even though he understands far more than he should about life and all the hard things. I wish, for once, that I could just do something to make him happy. To make sure he stays a kid for as long as possible.
“You could try and say sorry to her again. She’s been gone for a while. Maybe she’s not mad anymore.”
“I don’t know. I think she’s going to stay mad about this for a long time.”
Shade thinks about it, and I can see he’s thinking hard. “She’s mad at you, and she doesn’t like you. But she’s not mad at me, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Then I’ll call her.”
“She won’t know who’s calling. She won’t answer.”
“I could leave a message.”
“She’ll think I made you do it. That it’s a trick.”
Shade actually rolls his eyes at me. “I’ll tell her it’s not. No tricks. No treats. Just me and how I miss her.”
Dear god. How did I wind up with such an amazing kid? Shade’s four-years-old, and he’s already a heck of a lot smarter and kinder than I will ever be. He’s way more open and honest, and he has a huge heart that wasn’t dampened by the loss of his mom and the constant disruptions in his life after. None of the radiant shine he has was dampened by Britt’s parents, my dad, or anyone else.
Shade is four-years-old and already, he’s living up to his name.
“Okay.” I pass the phone over. “I’ll dial, and you can leave whatever message