Page 16 of Choices

Did I trust Alan alone with my kids? If we shared custody?

No.

The short answer was that divorce wasn't really an option. But maybe there was a version of us that didn't make my skin crawl. Maybe I could talk to Alan about not pretending anymore. He could live his life, I could live mine. Surely, he could afford to support us while living full-time with his mistress. He'd been doing it for years.

Maybe I'll pull him aside tonight to talk about it.

Alan plops down in the chair at the head of the table and I rush to make him a plate so it looks like we were expecting him. My steps studder on the way back to the dining table when I realize just how much I'vedone over the years to appease this man's ego. He hadn't graced us with his presence in almost a week and here I am, jumping up to make him think we were always expecting him. Just pathetic.

I shake my head as if I can shake off the ugly thoughts and serve my husband.

I was beginning to hate that word.

Talking around a mouthful of lasagna, my husband starts his weekly interrogation. "How's school going Aiden?"

I tried not to look anxious as I waited for Aiden's answer. I knew he'd gotten a 'B' on his spelling test and I was worried what Alan would say about that.

"Good," Aiden says quietly, eyes cast down. His dirty blonde hair is just a tad too long and I make a mental note to take them all to the hairdresser soon. Maybe after soccer this weekend? It'll make for a late dinner...maybe we just order pizza that night.

"Look me in the eyes when I speak to you, boy." Alan's loud voice causes me to jump and I glance up to see Aiden's reaction. He looks Alan in the eyes, but I can tell he's tense and uncomfortable.

"Aiden's artwork has been selected to be showcased in a county-wide art show alongside pieces from other schools, even high schools, right Aid?"

I catch the minuscule wince from Aiden and know immediately that I've fucked up.

"That's because he's still reading those stupid anime shits," Alan grumbles. Aiden's been a fan of manga since a kid on the school bus in first grade showed him. I thought him being passionate about reading, the artwork, and the creativity of the cartoons, were a great way to encourage our kids to read. Alan thought it was 'gay and nerdyshit'. His words, not mine.

Aiden, my sensitive one, my big feeler, has an artistic streak a mile wide. One he hides from his father's ridicule.

Satisfied with the dagger he threw at his oldest, his attention shifted to Viv. "And you, pretty girl?" Internally, I bristle. I want my daughter to be known for so much more than her beauty. Yes, she's objectively gorgeous, but women are more than their appearances. Call her 'smart girl', 'strong girl', or even 'beautiful girl' speaks to something deeper than skin-deep appearances. She has a beautiful soul. Call her that.

"Me, what?"

"Don't talk back to me. What in the world has your mother been teaching you?" Viv bristles, but before I can defend her, or redirect Alan, she speaks up. "I only meant, what do you want to know about me? My grades?" She's placating her father and I hate that she has to do that.

"Sure, yeah, your grades. Or how is gymnastics going?"

Now I bristle, because Alan doesn't really care about Viv's grades, the same way he never cared about my degree. Because women are meant to be accessories to their husbands, nothing more. God, I should have seen that red flag a decade ago.

"Gymnastics is going great. They're considering me for the competitive team, which is really impressive for someone so young."

I swallow a bitter feeling. My young daughter has already learned how to manage her father. Why am I just seeing this now?

Alan reaches over and ruffles her hair - something I know she hates. "That's great, peanut. Should you cut back on some carbs if you're trying out for the competitive team?"

Oh, fuck this man for telling his young, impressionable daughter to watch her weight. I'm about to rage when Jack pipes up.

"My class got a hedgehog and we all got to vote and we decided to name him Voldemort, which means no one can really say his name, which means we call him the hedgehog, or the one who can't be named."

Jack pops a crouton in his mouth and chomps on it loudly.

"Well, that's a dumb name."

"That's what you get when you let a bunch of 1st graders decide on a name for a pet hedgehog." I push food around on my plate. "And how's work going, sweety? Get that deal finalized?"

There's no deal. Or at least not that I know of. But I'm finally giving in to my mama bear urges to protect my children from this asshole.

But Alan can't pass up an opportunity to brag about himself. "Yep." He says, popping the 'p'. "I had a groundbreaking quarter with sales. The higher-ups are looking at me like I'm managing partner material. Really going to make a name for myself. That is if Danny doesn't screw me over." I half-listen as my husband goes on about how great he is, how nothing is ever his fault, and how dumb management is for not having seen his talent before.

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