Page 2 of Tapped

I look back into his dark eyes through the mirror. I finally have his attention. “A different house?”

I nod and white-knuckle the steering wheel, trying to remember the speech I rehearsed endlessly for this moment. I promised myself I would not apologize or lie to our son. One person alone cannot make a marriage. “Yes, baby. I know it will take some getting used to, but you’ll be okay. We both love you. That will never change.”

Well, that could be a lie. I’m not sure Jeff knows how to love anyone. Not anymore.

My car is silent besides the smooth hum of the freeway beneath us. I can sense the little gears clicking away in Chase’s head. In turn, my gut is a storm of anxiety.

“Lanie’s dad doesn’t live with them. She has two dads. Her other dad lives at her house next to us, but she calls him Mike, and she has to leave to see her dad. That’s why she can’t play sometimes.”

I nod. “Yes, that’s right. Lanie’s mom and dad are divorced, and she has a step dad. Like a bonus dad.”

His inquisitive stare is heavy on me when I glance back again before changing lanes. “Are you and Dad going to be divorced too?”

I pull in a breath and pray I’m saying the right things. “Yes. Just like Lanie’s parents.”

Chase focuses back on his action figure and stays silent.

Finally, I call for him. “Chase?”

“Huh?”

“Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it? Do you have any questions?”

“Do I have to leave to go see Dad?”

Shit. This is what has kept me from pulling the trigger on the big D for as long as I have. The thought of Chase going to stay with Jeff alone makes me physically ill. He won’t spend the night with anyone but my parents. He’s attached to me, and I’ve never forced him to do anything he doesn’t want to do, besides eat vegetables. And he barely does that. “We’ll figure that out when we get to it.”

“’Cause I don’t want to.” He makes a blastoff noise through pursed lips as he flies the toy around the space in front of him. “So can we get chicken nuggets?”

My shoulders droop, even though I know this won’t be the end of the conversation. Not even close. But for now, I’ve done my duty. We have the rest of his childhood to talk about it. I’ll get him in therapy. Therapy is always good, right? I might need therapy as a result of this conversation, even though I blame the whole thing on Jeff. I blame him even more that Chase isn’t upset about his parents getting a divorce, his father moving out, and all he wants is chicken nuggets. “Yes. We’ll stop and get dinner on the way home.”

“I want ice cream too!” he yells louder than necessary. “And onion rings and French fries and bar-b-que sauce and ranch.”

I’m about to answer that I’ll get him a buffet of dipping sauces, but my attention is drawn to the dashboard.

Warning and service lights flash like the Fourth of July.

Bells and warning sounds join them.

Great. My car is only a year old. One more thing I don’t have time to deal with. Nothing could be more metaphorical. Every part of my life is in a downward spiral at the moment.

I switch lanes to exit and make every demand Chase has for dinner come to life. I’ll do anything I can to divert his attention from having just informed him I’m divorcing his father, because that’s exactly what is going to happen. Jeff told me he plans to fight me tooth and nail when it comes to ending our marriage.

If I thought it has an ounce to do with me or Chase or us, I’d continue to fight for our family. It’s all I’ve done for two years.

I’m done.

We’re done.

I flip my signal to merge into the right lane and hit the brakes.

But there’s little resistance.

I pump the pedal again.

This time there’s even less.

I press harder, and this time it almost hits the floor.

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