Page 68 of The Single Dad's Guide to Recreation

I take a step back from her. “Are you saying I’m a doormat?”

“I’m not saying youarea doormat, I’m saying youactlike one.”

“I don’t think I get the difference,” I say, still smarting at the insult even though I asked for it.

“Who ignored you this time?” Before I can answer, she nods like she read it on my face. “It’s Josh. What did he do?”

Too exhausted to resist but too embarrassed to share all the details, I just give her the basics. “Things got romantic over the weekend, but when we got back and the ship hit the fan, he said it had all been a mistake.” I explain how Mabel was lost, then add, “Even after I found her, he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, look at me.”

She sits with this for a long moment before saying, “That must’ve been pretty scary for him.”

“Since I can’t have kids, I wouldn’t know,” I snap.

She nods like,Aha!“So that’s what this is about?”

“What do you mean?”

“You thinking you’re not good enough for him because you can’t make babies?”

“Of course not. It’s about him giving up on us at the first bump in the road. And acting like I no longer exist.”

“If that’s what you say,” she says, obviously not buying it.

“You don’t think that’s it?”

She starts pushing chairs under tables. “There are two sides to every story.”

“I guess. Maybe.”

“New relationships are fragile things.” She stops straightening the room to point at me. “Especially new relationships forged away from home, away from work?—”

“We did get some work done! I learned a ton and networked and am really inspired.”

“Fine.” She flicks a hand in the air as she begins to fold up easels. “Away from routine. Away from everyday responsibilities.”

I have to stifle a sigh because she’s probably right.

“You know I’m right.”

“So what do I do?”

She winces.

“What? I don’t have to grovel, do I? I didn’t do anything wrong. Did I?”

She presses her lips together, like she’s in pain.

“What!?”

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Just spit it out.”

“I’m back to the doormat thing.”

“Oh.” My belly twists with that yucky feeling when you’re suddenly ravenous and nauseous at the same time.

She stalks over to me to place a hand on each of my upper arms, her grip almost painful. “You do need to give Josh a chance to tell his side of the story. But first, you’re going to have to speak up for yourself in the other areas of your life. With your family”—she waves a hand around the room—“and here at the center.”

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