All We Ever Wanted(66)

Inappropriate.

I repeated the word in my head, realizing how much I despised it. It was a favorite of Kathie and all her Bible buddies, the catchall for any behavior they wished to judge. Her dress was inappropriate for a wedding….That book selection was inappropriate for teenagers….The conversation they were having in front of children was inappropriate….Her political post was inappropriate….A text to a single, attractive father asking about a drunken conversation? So. Very. Inappropriate.

   Screw being appropriate, I thought, as I dialed Tom’s number, hoping he would answer. He did, almost immediately.

“Hi. It’s Nina,” I said, my palms turning clammy.

“Hi,” he said.

“Did I wake you?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I’ve been up for a while.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yeah. I was just thinking about our call last night…and your Uber ride.”

“I should have kept my mouth shut with those women, but…”

“But you didn’t,” I said, feeling a surge of respect for him.

“Correct,” he said with a hint of a laugh.

“What did you say to them, exactly?”

“Just the facts. That I was her father. And that she wasn’t Mexican.” He started to say something else, but then stopped.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You were going to say something.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I was.”

“What was it? Please tell me.”

“It was about your husband.”

   “What about him?” I asked, both dreading his response and praying that he’d give me more evidence. Say something bad about the man I wanted to leave.

“I probably shouldn’t get into that. It’s really none of my business,” Tom said. “And it could complicate our…situation.”

“Our situation?” I repeated, wondering if he meant our two kids and the hearing on Tuesday—or the unlikely connection we seemed to be forging.

“You know…everything else that’s going on,” he replied vaguely.

“Yeah,” I said, my head pounding from the swirling subtext.

We sat in silence for another few seconds before he cleared his throat and said, “Look. Those women were drunk. Really drunk. Who knows if anything they said was true….And I could have heard them wrong….I was driving.”

I closed my eyes. “Lemme guess. They were talking about Kirk cheating on me?” I said.

“Yes,” he said softly but swiftly. “They were. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” I said. It was an overstatement—I didn’t know anything for sure—but I didn’t want Tom to feel guilty.

I could hear him draw a deep breath, then say my name on a weary exhale. It sounded like a plea.

“Yes?” I said in response.

“I don’t know you very well,” he said slowly, as if very carefully choosing his words. “But you deserve better than this.”

“I know,” I managed to reply. “Thank you, Tom.”

Right after we said goodbye and hung up, I realized that I’d forgotten to mention Lyla and Finch and my strong suspicion that they had gone out the night before. I told myself I needed to call him back. But I couldn’t make myself do it. I was just too disappointed in Finch. In my life.

   Instead I called my best friend and told her I needed to see her. That I was having a crisis. She asked no questions, simply saying she’d be home all day, waiting for me.

I then went to check on Finch. I’d heard him come in the night before, around midnight. I went upstairs now, lightly knocking on his door. When he didn’t answer, I opened it. He was sound asleep and lightly snoring, the covers tucked up under his chin. I walked over to his bedside and put my hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently, then harder, until his eyes opened and his mouth closed.

“Yeah, Mom?” he said, squinting groggily up at me.

“Hi. I just wanted to let you know I’m headed home. To Bristol. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow. But Dad will be here in a few hours.”

“Is everything okay? With Nana and Gramps?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, comforted that he’d shown himself capable of concern. “I just feel like I need to go home.”

“Okay,” he said, blinking.

“Do you want to come with me?” I asked, knowing he would not. His lack of interest in his grandparents these days made me sad, but right now it was obviously low on the list of things to be sad about.

“I have a lot of homework….” he replied, his eyelids fluttering and closing again.

I stared at his face for a few seconds before reaching out to lightly shake his arm.

“Yeah, Mom?” he said, his eyes still closed.

“How was the concert?” I asked.

“Fine,” he said. “Fun.”

   “Good…I’m glad….It was so nice that Beau could get those tickets,” I said.

“Uh-huh.”

“And it was just the two of you? Or did you go with other people?”