Things We Didn't Say - By Kristina Riggle Page 0,22

smiles. “I haven’t been in a lick of trouble since the separation. I’ve been a regular sweetheart, in fact. I took anger management classes, and I barely even drink anymore. Did you know that? My lawyer is very proud.”

I half turn toward Michael, and Mallory hisses in my ear: “I will not let you raise my children.”

Mallory steps back, leans on my desk, and examines her nails, chipping at a piece of flaked polish.

I look at Angel. She is next to Michael on the other side of the office, not looking our way.

Michael bangs the phone down. “Stupid phone company. They claim they can’t do it for, like, weeks. Such bullshit.” He drops into his desk chair and tips his head back like he’s sunning himself. “Christ, we’re out of milk, too. I was going to get some on the way home today.”

“Let me do it,” I say. “Jewel will be home soon, you should be here for her. It’s just an errand, no reason you should have to leave.”

Michael’s shoulders droop. “Thanks, babe. That would be a big help.”

I go looking for my keys and remember they’re in the duffle bag. The one I packed when I was walking out this morning.

With a sickening crunch it all comes back, the recent months of coldness from Michael, the hostility from Angel and distance from Dylan, the fact that we haven’t set a wedding date and he shuts down all talk of a baby between us.

One little babe in the face of all that, because I’m going out for milk, changes nothing, after all.

I retrieve my keys from the duffle bag and go out the back door, away from Michael, his daughter, her mother. I glance back through the office window and see Michael’s arm around Mallory again, stroking her shoulder, just like he always used to do for me.

I remain in the Honda in the tiny parking lot of the corner store, smoking my cigarette and letting my hand dangle out the open window. The cold air is painful in my lungs, but I don’t care. I wouldn’t be comfortable in warm air, either.

I don’t know if Mallory can win back custody. She gave up quickly in the divorce, Michael said, and he was relieved about that. He didn’t want to tear apart his children’s mother in a public courtroom, or even in paperwork, and anyway, he always said, so much of her behavior seemed beyond her control. So there was much he held back. He could bring it all out again to fight her, but the kids are older, more aware. Angel in particular is defensive of her mother, lately. I think as Angel gets older she starts to feel more protective, more adult and maternal. I’ve seen it in the way she hovers over Jewel, and nitpicks her father’s eating habits when he’s tempted by greasy food. Mallory must seem vulnerable to her. I want to cry for her, for all of the kids, to imagine them at the center of a courtroom battle.

My presence would hardly help such a battle. I could even weaken his case for custody, if Mallory’s lawyers start investigating me. My own past would invalidate any argument Michael hoped to use about past bad behavior serving as an indicator of poor mothering skills.

Michael can’t lose his children, and not to her. He’d be torn apart daily, wondering whether Mallory was drunk behind the wheel again, or unconscious on the bathroom floor. His kids fill him up, even on their bad days. He’d be eaten up from the inside out to be without them. Not fair that people think that only happens to mothers.

He might even get back together with her, rather than risk turning them over to her care.

My eyes are going swimmy as I stare at the graffitied side wall of the store. With my free hand I wipe under my lashes, flicking the damp off my fingers.

The sun is already dipping low in the November sky. Where is Dylan going to spend the cold night?

I grind my cigarette out on the outside of the car door and flick it down into the parking lot as my phone rings. It’s Mom.

“Hi.” Suddenly so tired the word comes out more breath than speech.

“You okay?”

“Just a headache.”

“Have some tea, that always helps. Or Motrin, do you have Motrin?”

“Yes, Mom, I have Motrin. What’s going on?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice. Wanda’s darling little baby is so adorable, and I forgot how good that baby