He looked away.
“Nothing.”
“Why not?”
His jaw tightened. “Because I knew how it sounded.”
Before I could answer, Miles started crying. Derek looked at me automatically.
“Hope?”
“Why not?”
I stayed where I was.
“You’ve got him.”
“I don’t know what he wants.”
“Neither do I yet.”
“You usually know.”
“I usually find out.”
I stayed where I was.
He hesitated before lifting Miles.
The crying got louder.
“See?” Derek said. “I’m making it worse.”
“You’ve held him for ten seconds.”
“What do I do?”
The answers lined up in my head.
“I’m making it worse.”
Instead, I said, “Start paying attention.”
He began pacing too fast. Miles cried harder. Derek slowed down, and a minute later, the crying softened.
“He’s stopping.”
“Yeah.”
Derek looked down at him.
“Start paying attention.”
“You make this look easy.”
Don’t miss
“You told me I do nothing.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
He swallowed.
“Because every time I came home, you already knew what they needed. I didn’t.”
“You told me I do nothing.”
“You could’ve learned.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
His voice dropped.
“Because I felt useless. Every time you asked, it reminded me.”
“So you wanted me to stop asking.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
He nodded.
Miles curled his fist into Derek’s shirt.
“Being scared doesn’t excuse what you said.”
“I know.”
I’d wanted to see Derek holding one of our sons like that.
Now he finally was.
“Being scared doesn’t excuse what you said.”
***
A few days later, Derek texted me a photo of our spotless kitchen.
