Chapter 26
CHAPTER
“IT’S NOT SUNDAY night,” Bruce says without a hello.
I take a seat on a wooden bench, tamp down my fury that he didn’t consult me about changing Circe’s class schedule. Anger will end this call before we can make any headway, and this is too important to indulge my desire to stab him with a carving fork.
“I’m on my way into a meeting.”
“I just met with Circe’s school counselor. He told me you agreed she could drop all her AP classes.”
“That’s the emergency?” Bruce asks. “Circe needed a break from the pressure of all the life changes.”
I want to say that all those changes are his fault but don’t. “You should’ve discussed it with me before signing off on her new courses.”
“Things haven’t been ideal—”
“Which part? My husband cheating, the messy divorce, or the fact that my daughter won’t live with me half the time?”
“The latter.” He lowers his voice. “I’ve tried to talk to her about it, but she’s pretty angry.”
“At me,” I say. It’s not a question. It’s a fact. Doesn’t matter that she should hate Bruce for destroying both of our lives.
“Yes,” Bruce replies. “If I’d told you about her AP classes, you would have insisted she remain in them. That would’ve made things worse between you two.”
I fight to keep my voice steady. “You’re justifying giving in, being the good cop, and always making me the bad one.”
“Penn, you may not believe this, but I do want to honor our fifty-fifty custody agreement. It would be good for everyone. Healing.”
Healing? I seriously doubt he’s worried about me. “Circe took a naked photo.”
“What?”
His tone is razor sharp. Now I have his attention. “It was DMed on LivLoud.”
“Damn it. But don’t those posts disappear after twenty-four hours?”
“How do you even know that?”
“Mackenzie.”
I don’t even want to imagine the pictures and texts she privately sends him or vice versa.
“She’s dragging me into the twenty-first century,” Bruce continues. “As the wedding planning unfolds, she wants me to make sure all my friends follow her and comment on event posts, give her stars, whatever the hell that means, and eventually join our online registry. Anyway, I’m now on LivLoud.”
They’ve already started wedding planning. “You do realize we’re not divorced yet?”
“Weddings take over a year to organize.”
Ours took one phone call to city hall.
He’s walking now, heading to a conference room for a meeting, or to fuck his fiancée on the polished wood table.
Working together is convenient in so many ways.
They can screw in the office, but also have lunch, plan their wedding, pick expensive dishes, platters, and blenders at Williams Sonoma.
Bruce now disgusts me, but it still stings.
Someone has carved RIP AMORE on the bench, and I trace the rough letters.
“Are you still there?” Bruce demands.
“Students took screenshots. Texted the photo to each other.”
“I told you we should’ve sent Circe to private school,” he says, finally furious. “Tell Magnolia’s principal to punish those assholes and confiscate their phones.”
My ex never did have much understanding of the digital world. “It’s too late. That photo is circulating in the school, and it may end up on the web.”
“Damn it,” Bruce mutters, pissed off at what Circe has done, but also at the interruption to his precious schedule. “Can you talk to her about it? I mean, you’re her mother, and this is your territory.”
He’s blaming me for this. I don’t point out it happened after he had an affair.
“As you reminded me, I’m not her favorite person these days,” I say, trying to stay calm but still put my foot down.
“And the school counselor suggested you talk to her and explain what teenage boys are like.” And middle-aged men.
“Maybe we’re blowing this out of proportion. Kids these days—”
“Imagine if her first employer does a Google search. That photo, if it’s tagged, will come up. Or someone could animate it and turn it into porn.”
“Now you’re being absurd.”
He doesn’t get it. “We also need to consider the very real possibility that our daughter might be having sex.”
“That’s nonsense.” Bruce’s tone is condescending.
“Really? If she’s willing to sext a boy, what else might she do?”
“Jesus, Penn. No wonder our daughter felt smothered.”
I hate that he’s the one with the power, but this isn’t about me, so I bite my tongue.
Bruce says, “I have to go.”
“You’ll talk to her.” It’s not a question.
Peevish, he replies, “Yes.”
“Thank you.” But I’m speaking to dead air. There’s no question Bruce loves Circe, but I have no idea if he’ll really talk to her. Even if he says he did, I can’t trust him. Past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior.
Penn, Bruce was telling the truth about a desire to mend your relationship with Circe.
I jerk at Aletheia’s voice in my earbuds. I know she’s always running, but she’s not supposed to self-launch. A chilly breeze off the Bay slips through my thin sweater and plucks at my skin. “Aletheia, you’re only supposed to listen to calls when I ask you to.”
I thought you might need me.
I do. “Bruce is the reason my relationship with our daughter is ruined. He only wants to fix things so he and Mackenzie have more time alone. Am I wrong?”
That likelihood, given his word choice, is ninety-one percent, but we have a bigger problem.