Page 59 of Back in the Saddle

“Mm,” he hummed.

“I shouldn’t have asked that question, Turner,” I said, feeling shit I’d made him talk about this.

“Why?”

“Well…I feel like shit I made you talk about it.”

“It isn’t a secret, Jess. It got messy. Then it got ugly. Then it was done.”

I shouldn’t ask.

I really shouldn’t.

I asked.

“How did it get messy?”

Again, no hesitation from Eric.

“She wanted kids. I wanted kids too. But, when I pointed out her life couldn’t be about the restaurant if we had a family, she’d get pissed. It went without saying she thought she could have our children and they’d get as much of Mom as I got from my wife. I wasn’t going to do that to my kids. She was furious, spouting all this shit about how men felt women needed to be the caregivers. Her answer to her schedule, as well as mine, was for us to get a live-in nanny. It’s the way of the world to need daycare or help at home with two working parents, but I didn’t want some person who wasn’t blood essentially raising our kids. I also didn’t feel like doing it on my own when I was married to their mother.”

“I can see that.”

“Yeah. The writing was on the wall. I asked for a divorce. She refused. I moved out and filed for divorce. Honest to fuck, she was shocked. Like she didn’t understand we had integral problems with our marriage.”

This was such deep denial, or narcissism, I couldn’t think of anything else to say but, “Whoa.”

“Yup,” he agreed. “She wanted to give it another go. She suggested counseling. I loved her, so I took her up on it. She went to two meetings, missed the next three because of restaurant shit, and then it was over.”

“God, Eric, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not. She was smart, funny, talented. When it was good, it was fantastic. When it got bad, I got out.”

“You don’t feel like you wasted six years?”

“None of us have a crystal ball, Jess. We take the hand we’re dealt and cope.”

That was the truth of it.

“I don’t regret the time I had with her,” he continued. “I loved her, so I’d regret it if I didn’t give it a shot. In the end, it didn’t work out, but it worked out the way it should.”

That was aggressively adjusted.

“I think I got about fifteen questions with that,” I noted, bracing for his to come at me.

“Right,” he said softly.

“So it’s your turn to hit me.”

“Do you want kids?”

Something lovely and warm shifted in my belly, because that was not a you’re-my-new-lil’-sis type of question.

“Honestly? The concept scares me. I didn’t have great role models. But yeah,” I shared. “I do.”

“You’ll be a good mom,” he stated.

“How do you know?”

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