Verity(52)

I tried to make it as romantic as possible, but it’s hard to make chicken and dumplings sexy. I lit candles on the table and set up my playlist through the wireless speakers. I had on clothes, but underneath them, I was wearing lingerie. Something I didn’t do often.

I tried to make small talk with him as we ate.

“I think Chastin is fully potty trained now,” I said to him. “They’ve been working with her at daycare.”

“That’s good,” Jeremy said, scrolling through his phone with one hand and eating with the other.

I waited a moment, hoping whatever it was on his phone would take a back seat to us. When it didn’t, I adjusted myself in my seat and attempted to grab his attention again. I knew conversation about the girls was his favorite subject.

“When I picked them up today, the teacher said she’s learned seven colors this week.”

“Who?” he said, finally making eye contact with me.

“Chastin.”

He stared at me, dropped his phone flat on the table, and took another bite.

What the fuck is his problem?

I could see the anger he was trying to stifle, and it made me nervous. Jeremy never got upset, and when he did, I almost always knew why he was. But this was different. It was coming out of left field.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I sat back in my chair and dropped my napkin on the table. “Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad.” He said it too fast.

I laughed. “You’re pathetic.”

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Excuse me?”

I leaned forward. “Just tell me, Jeremy. Enough of this bullshit silent treatment. Be a man and tell me what your problem is.”

His fists clenched and then unclenched. Then he stood up and slapped his bowl, sending it across the table and all over the dining room wall. I had never seen him lose his temper. I stiffened, wide-eyed, as he stomped out of the kitchen.

I heard him slam our bedroom door. I looked at the mess and knew I’d have to clean it up after we made up so he’d know how much I appreciated him. Even if he was being a major fucking douche.

I shoved my chair under the table and walked to the bedroom. He was pacing back and forth. When I closed the door behind me, he looked up and paused. He was trying so hard in that moment to put his words in order—everything he needed to say to me. As angry as I was at him for throwing the meal I had worked so hard making for him, I felt bad that he was upset.

“It’s constant, Verity,” he said. “You talk about her constantly. You never talk about Harper. You never tell me what Harper learned in school or how Harper’s doing with potty training or all the cute things Harper said. It’s Chastin, all the time, every day.”

Shit. Even with how much I try to hide it, he still sees it. “That’s not true,” I said.

“It is true. And I’ve tried to keep my mouth shut, but they’re getting older. Harper’s going to notice that you treat them differently. It isn’t fair to her.”

I wasn’t sure how to get out of that predicament. I could have gotten defensive, accused him of something I didn’t like. But I knew he was right, so I needed to find a way to make him think he was wrong. Luckily, he turned away from me, so it gave me a moment to think. I looked up, like I was turning to God for advice. Stupid, girl. God won’t help you out of this one.

I stepped forward, cautiously. “Baby. It’s not that I like Chastin more. She’s just…smarter than Harper. So she accomplishes things first.”

He spins around, angrier than before I even opened my mouth. “Chastin isn’t smarter than Harper. They’re different. But Harper is very intelligent.”

“I know that,” I said, taking another step toward him. I kept my voice low. Sweet. Unoffended. “That’s not what I meant. I meant…it’s easier for me to have a reaction to what Chastin does because Chastin likes that. She’s animated, like me. Harper isn’t. I give her silent affirmation. I don’t make a show of it. She’s like you in that way.”

His stare was unwavering, but I was almost certain he was buying it, so I continued.

“I don’t push Harper when she’s in those moods, so yes, I do talk about Chastin more. Sometimes I focus on her more. But only because I realize they’re two different children with two different sets of needs. I have to be two different mothers to each of them.”

I was good at spewing bullshit. It’s why I became a writer.

Jeremy’s anger was slowly melting away. His jaw wasn’t as tense as he ran a hand through his hair, taking in what I had just said. “I worry about Harper,” he said. “More than I should, I’m sure. I don’t think treating them differently is the right thing to do going forward. Harper might notice the difference.”

A month earlier, one of the daycare workers had expressed concern to me about Harper. It wasn’t until that moment—when Jeremy was expressing his concern for her—that I remembered her mentioning it to me. She said she thinks we should have her tested for Asperger’s. I had forgotten all about it until that moment during my fight with Jeremy. And thank God I remembered because it was the perfect way to back up my defense.

“I wasn’t going to mention this because I didn’t want you to worry,” I said to him. “But one of their daycare teachers told me she thinks we should have Harper tested for Asperger’s.”