Page 95 of Kiss Me Tonight

“Sorry,” he mutters, swatting at his hair again, “I meant to say howgreatyou are with the ball.”

“Thank you.” Lifting one hand off the wheel, I poke him in the side. “One day you can curse and do whatever you want, but today is not that day.”

“Is itever?”

I grin. If I had both hands free, I’d rub them together evilly. “Nope.”

“Mom?”

At the trepidation in his voice, I glance over at him. “What’s up, baby?”

“Is it wrong . . . is it bad of me that I had more fun hanging out with Coach DaSilva than I do with Dad?”

It’s a good thing I’m not sharing any of that power drink because if I was, it’d be all over my dashboard. As it is, I come up spluttering all on my own.Pull yourself together!“Toph, bud, of course it’s not wrong.” Parenting needs to come with a rulebook. A how-to rulebook that tackles everything from changing diapers to the first time your kid asks about masturbating—that conversation nearly put me in an early grave—to times like now, when your kid feels guilty because his daddy is a prick and yet he still sticks up for him. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I add, “But you have to remember that every person has their own personality. Coach DaSilva might like to get out there and play mini-golf with you, but you can’t forget how many hours you spent with your Dad playing video games. That’s the thing you two do together, remember?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch my son slink down in the seat, dejection written all over his face. “I remember.”

“And remember how he built that treehouse for you?”

“Mom, he hired someone to do that.”

Dammit. He’s so right. I quickly backtrack. “Of course he did. Because he wanted it to be the best treehouse you’ve ever seen. The best and the biggest. Your dad is many things, kid, but a builder is not one of them.”

“He’s also not a good husband.”

Cue sudden heart attack. Including one almost side swerve into an innocent fire hydrant.

Think, think,think!

“Your dad’s relationship with me has nothing to do with the one he has with you, okay? We might not be in love with each other anymore but make no mistake, baby, he lovesyou.”

“I think he loves his mistresses more.”

Forget the fire hydrant, suddenly Main Street has become a living, breathing whack-a-mole setting. Pedestrians are all over the place—tourists, from the looks of them—which means I’ve entered a game ofdon’t-hit-the-jaywalkerwhile my brain promptly hits the fritz. “Where in the world did you learn that word? Because I know I’ve never used it.”

Topher side-eyes me like the teenager he is. “It’s called the internet.”

A visual of Not-Dominic having sex pops up into my head. Which totally proves my point when I argue, “I don’t know what you’re looking up on the internet, bud, but you’re about to be slapped with a parental lock you’ll never figure out how to take off.”

“You’re going to ban me from Buzzfeed?”

Goddamn Buzzfeed. What the hell is that site writing about nowadays, anyway? “Yes, yes I will. Especially if it has you slinging the word mistress around.”

“But that’s what they are!” His voice cracks and splinters my heart in the process. “Dad cheated on you and that’s what they’re called. I’m fifteen, Mom, not five.”

It takes every effort on my part not to slam my head against the steering wheel repeatedly, all in the hope that I’ll somehow turn back time and start this crappy Monday morning over again. “What your dad did is wrong, baby. I won’t pretend otherwise. If you make a commitment to a person, it comes with expectations—loyalty and faithfulness being two of them. But none of that changes how he feels about you.”

“Then why didn’t he put up a fight when I said I wanted to move to London with you?”

Like a gaping fish, my mouth flaps open and closed.

Since the divorce and Topher’s and my more recent move to Maine, I’ve always assumed that Rick made the decision he knew was best for Topher. Had our son stayed in Pittsburgh, he would have been left in the hands of babysitters more days than not. My in-laws passed within months of each other when I turned thirty-one, and Rick is an only child. Coming with me to London was in Topher’s best interest—Rick knew that, I knew that, and although we fought about many different topics, who Topher would live with was never one of them.

Plus, it’s not as though Rick contested in court when the matter of custody came up. He requested all major holidays—except for those when he travels with the Steelers—and I agreed.

Pulling into the school’s parking lot, I find a free spot near the walkway down to the football field. After I park, I turn to Topher and plant my hand on the headrest of the passenger’s seat. “Dad did what he thought was best for you. He travels all the time and if you’d stayed with him . . .” I reach up to push back those locks of hair that always fall in front of his eyes. “He misses you, Toph. I’m sure he’s missing you right now, and if you don’t think that, then you don’t know your dad at all.”

Topher eyes me like I’ve sprouted monkey ears and a bushy donkey’s tail. Skepticism radiates from every one of his teenage pores and he doesn’t even bother to hide his eye roll. “Sure, Mom. Okay.”

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