Chapter 14 - EMMA ASKED DAVID THE QUESTION NONE OF US COULD ANSWER FOR HIM
A year after the night on the floor, Emma had her fifth birthday.
Small party.
Dad's backyard.
Seven children.
Cupcakes.
A rented bounce house that I considered an orthopedic nightmare.
David came.
Margaret did not.
Not because she was banned.
Because Emma had said:
“Maybe Grandma next time.”
We respected that.
David arrived carrying a pink bicycle.
I almost objected.
Too expensive.
Then stopped.
Not my decision alone.
Emma screamed with joy.
He helped her put on the helmet.
I watched carefully.
Not suspiciously.
Carefully.
There was a difference now.
After cake, Emma pulled David toward the porch.
“Daddy?”
“What?”
“Are you still a devil?”
Every adult within hearing distance froze.
David looked at me.
I did nothing.
His answer belonged to him.
He crouched.
“No.”
Emma frowned.
“You were.”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
David swallowed.
“Because I did something scary and wrong.”
“Did Mommy make you?”
“No.”
Good.
Immediate.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Did Grandma?”
“No.”
Another good answer.
“I chose it.”
Emma thought.
Then:
“Don't choose it again.”
David started crying.
“I won't.”
I wanted to interrupt.
Promises like that are too large.
Then he corrected himself.
“I am working very hard not to.”
Better.
Emma nodded.
Then ran toward the bicycle.
Conversation over.
Children do not always need adult redemption ceremonies.
Sometimes they need cake.
Later, David approached me.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Not answering for me.”
“I almost did.”
He smiled weakly.
“I know.”
Then:
“She's getting big.”
“Yes.”
“I missed a lot this year.”
“Yes.”
No reassurance.
He had.
Then he said:
“I got offered a partnership in Charlotte.”
My body tightened automatically.
He saw it.
“I turned it down.”
I almost asked why.
Then didn't.
His career.
His decision.
He explained anyway.
“Emma's here.”
I looked at him.
“Don't make her responsible for that.”
His face changed.
Right.
The old trap.
“I wanted to stay.”
Better.
“Then say that.”
He nodded.
“I wanted to stay.”
Good.
We stood quietly.
Two people who had once believed marriage meant being allowed to interpret each other's choices.
Now all we had was accuracy.
May you like
It was less romantic.
Much safer.
