“No, honey.”
“Because I made the bus keep going.”
“You didn’t make the bus do anything. You told me something important, and I made a decision.”
She nodded slowly.
Later, after she fell asleep, Christopher and I sat at opposite ends of my mother’s dining table.
For the first time since our divorce, we talked about Gregory without discussing blame.
Christopher admitted he had disliked him almost immediately.
I asked why he had never said more.
“I did once,” he said. “You told me it sounded like jealousy.”
I remembered.
Gregory had been standing beside me when Christopher called.
Afterward, Gregory had laughed and said, “See? He can’t stand that you moved on.”
I had repeated almost the same words back to Christopher.
The memory embarrassed me.
Christopher must have seen it on my face.
“I’m not asking you to apologize to me,” he said. “I’m asking you to remember who taught you to interpret every warning as an attack.”
