Nancy settled across from him.
He pressed both feet against the floor.
“When Jessica complained about visits, I shortened them. When she said you were too involved, I stopped telling you things. Then I let you believe you’d caused it.”
“Did you believe her?”
“Sometimes it was easier to.”
Nancy looked toward the window.
For months, she had rehearsed her phone calls. She had stopped asking certain questions, stopped mentioning how long it had been, stopped suggesting Sunday lunch.
“I thought I had become difficult.”
“You hadn’t.”
“But you let me keep trying to become easier.”
Brian covered his mouth, then lowered his hand.
“Yes.”
The plain answer hurt. It also left her nowhere to hide from what had happened.
She told him about the birthday when she had kept soup warm because he said they might stop by. About hearing the children describe a weekend outing she had been told was canceled.
Brian listened without interrupting.
Finally, he said, “I can’t blame all of that on being afraid of an argument.”
“No.”
“I chose who would have to be disappointed. I kept choosing you.”
Nancy’s eyes filled.
“Because you knew I would still love you.”
He nodded.
She let the silence last.
“I do love you,” she said. “But you cannot keep spending that.”
Before he left, they agreed on small things. He would call her himself. Invitations would come directly. If plans changed, he would tell her promptly.
Nancy would no longer wait through a whole afternoon for a possible visit.
There would be no more dinners with Jessica unless Jessica acknowledged what she had done.
Brian accepted every condition.
Then Nancy added one more.
“Tyler is not your witness. Don’t question him about what his mother says.”
“I won’t.”
“He deserves to be a child at the table.”
Brian looked down.
“Yes.”
Jessica called that evening.
“I hear you’ve given Brian rules.”
Nancy sat back in her chair.
“I told him how I expect to be treated.”
“You’ve turned a meal into a family crisis.”
“The meal showed me one.”
Jessica went quiet.
