Page 80 of Tell Me You Love Me

“Have you got everything you need? Got your chessboard?”

“Yep. Let’s go.” Franky charges down the porch steps and grabs my hand. “It’s nearly eight.”

I try not to notice Tommy’s playful eyes as my son marches me to the car, and I say nothing of Chris’ smug observation from the door, his arms folded and one foot kicked over the other.

I don’t even acknowledge Tommy’s wink when I climb into the driver’s seat, and I sure as hell say nothing when he takes out his phone and taps away at the screen, only for mine to bleat with a text message a moment later.

I try not to read it; I swear.

But it’s right there on my lock screen.

Chocolate cake for my birthday? Special occasions deserve cake. Fair’s fair, right?

“Mom…” Franky settles in the back and fixes his seatbelt. “It’s getting late.”

“Yep.” I place my phone face down on the passenger seat, then I turn the key in the ignition and start my car.

It doesn’t seem to matter how desperately I try to create boundaries between me and Tommy. It doesn’t matter that I want to set him free.

He never had much sense of self-preservation, even when we were young, and the fact I spent ten years on the other side of the country, cutting all contact and raising a baby with another man, still ended with us here.

We haven’t moved on. We didn’t fall out of love.

He deserves so much better.

“Let’s go home, honey.”

I pull into my mom’s driveway, passing Whacky II, that bastard rooster who chases our tires and risks being run straight over, and coming to a stop by the shed amongst a plume of dry dust, I cut the engine and simply sit.

Wait.

Cicadas scream from the trees, and the click-click-click of my car’s warm motor plays through the almost-darkness. But it’s Franky’s clearing throat, I notice most of all.

It’s not a regular throat clearing that most people do when they have a tickle to get rid of. It’s a nervous tic. A slight squeak that tells me my baby is anxious.

“We made it home right on time, honey.” I check my phone screen and the 8:01 plastered over my son’s beautiful face. A memory. A laugh.

Well… Almost right on time.

“Want to watch The Simpsons after we brush our teeth?” I turn in my seat, leaning on my shoulder and resting my chin on the top of my chair. “Did you eat enough at Tommy’s, or are you still hungry?”

He rubs his chess board, sliding the pad of his thumb over the corner with a rhythmic consistency.

“There’s been a lot of change lately, huh?” I reach around and place my hand on the seat beside his leg. I don’t touch. I don’t take. But I breathe a sigh of relief when he sets his palm on top. “Moving. Meeting all these new people. Exploring a new town. You’re even going to the gym. That’s a lot.”

“Are you going to marry Tommy?”

My breath comes out on a nervous shudder that leaves my stomach empty just in time for the dread to take its place.

“Um… No, honey. I’m not.”

“But you want to?”

God… how do you explain these things to a child without making everything so much worse?

“It’s really complicated.”

“Explain it to me.” He brings his eyes up, pinning me with such maturity, such grown-up intensity, I know I could never have achieved the same at his age. “Before we came to Plainview, you never used to lie to me at all. But now you do.” He drags his glasses off, clearing every smudged barrier that sits between us. “It hurts my feelings. You said coming to Plainview was the right thing to do, but it doesn’t feel right when in New York, youalways told the truth, and you never shouted. Here, you lie, and you cry a lot.”

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