Adam

We ended up going to that lunch after all.

It wasn’t easy. I had to use the ‘we need to talk' card to drag her out of the house. She tried to decline, but I wasn’t having any of it. As a result, she’d been ignoring me since we left my brother’s house where we dropped Jenna.

She gave all her attention to the plate in front of her. I never knew food could be this fascinating. She moved her food in her plate like a cat playing with a mouse before she shoved a reluctant full spoon in her mouth.

She was like a Rubik cube that I didn’t know how to solve. This was new. I’d never felt awkward around her. I'd never felt the need to talk. She was the one filling the silence with her never ending stories, and I liked listening to her.

I cleared my throat many times in order to talk, but no word came out of my mouth. Talking wasn’t my fort in a daily basis, even more so, in a circumstance like this. The pressure would make all words vanish from my mind.

I’m sure I drilled her skull with my stare, but she never lifted her head from her plate.

Does she think she can brush what happened off and I’d be okay with it?

I sighed as I dug in my food with a lost appetite.

When I parked the car earlier, her shouting was all I could hear. I never saw her hysterical like that. I knew her all her life and she went through tough things. Yet, she'd always been the wise one, the caring one.

My gaze darted to her again, searching for answers in her downcast eyes.

Where is the girl who used to keep me grounded when I was an angry teenager?

She always knew what to do even when I was the one at fault. I’d always imagined her doing the same with our children.

Betrayal clutched my chest as I stared at her, looking for the girl that swore she wouldn’t do that to her children. The girl who cried in my arms when we were kids because she couldn’t understand why she was unlovable.

Did she forget?

I looked at the woman I married, but in her familiar traits, I didn't find the girl I loved. The loss wrecked my insides like when it did when she left me.

Did I lose my friend? Did I lose my Nadine.

I tightened my hold on the spoon, the silence an unwelcomed company for the first time in my life.

Talk to me. Open your doors.

Her frown, the tightness of her jaw, the redness of her face, the little vein throbbing on her forehead were screaming at me to back off. However, it was me who should be angry not her. Yet, she was acting like I was the one at fault.

“Nadine.” My voice came louder than what I intended. The clinking of the spoon against the plate drew the attention of the few people in the restaurant. Nadine’s startled red-rimmed eyes met mine. A lone tear caressed the side of her cheek until it stopped on her jawline, quivering due to the wobbling of her lips.

I’m going to give her a heart attack if I keep startling her like this.

“I’m sorry,” we said at the same time, but my whispered words were swallowed by her high-pitched ones. She kept repeating her apologies as she lost herself in her meltdown, her tears flooding her cheeks.
The sight was a slap to my face. My eyes widened, and I forgot to breathe.

Unintelligible whispers reached my ears, tearing my gaze from her to meet the disapproving glares from the next tables. The judgement in the eyes that looked between me and her stirred the rebel teenager buried inside me. I scowled at them, too tempted to flip the table in order to fit the stereotypical image they were painting for us.

A glance back at Nadine made me forget anyone else around. I inched my chair to her, giving my back to the room, but their damned reflections peeked at us from the window. I groaned, my shoulders slouching.

“Don’t cry.” I whispered.

She looked at me, rubbing her eyes. The more she wiped them away the more they fell.

Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted on going out.

“Please, stop crying.” I plead. My muscles were stiff like wood boards, sweat prickling my back. I shot my hand to pat her back, almost knocking her on the table. My gaze shot back to the windows to find the same faces gazing our way.

I’m never coming back to this restaurant.

“I, I, I can’, can’t, sss stop.” She stuttered between hiccups, pressing the heel of her hand at the corner of her eye.

Her gaze touched a place in my heart only she could reach, unlocking a series of reactions my body knew well.

She ended up on my lap, my arms around her shaking form as I stroke her back. She gripped my shirt, burying her face in my chest, and I lost myself in the small gesture.

I hugged her even more until nothing separated us, no mistakes, no history, no two years of divorce. I longed for the two kids we once were, when she used to sneak into my backyard escaping the fights in her home, to bury her secrets and tears in my chest. When my hugs where enough. When I was enough.

She pulled from my embrace, focusing her gaze on her lap where her hands were clutching a napkin.

“Let’s go home.”

She nodded vigorously at my words without looking at me.

I rested my arm at the back of her chair, sitting straighter to block her from the rest of the room. She didn’t need to see the nosy people feeding from her misery.

I paid for our lunch as she collected herself, then we were out in a minute. I was thankful that our table was near the door.

The cold breeze brushed against my face, and I could breath again. Nadine didn’t stop. Hugging herself, she walked towards my car.

I scratched the skin under my beard in frustration. My hand plunged in my pocket, retrieving my keys. I pressed the button to unlock the door for her. I stood in the middle of the parking lot, watching as she disappeared inside my car.

What am I supposed to do?

I heaved a long sigh. When I heard the restaurant's door opening behind me, I turned on my heels. The waitress smiled at me as she handed me the package I asked her to wrap.

“An extra slice of chocolate cake on the house.”

“Thank you. We’ll need it.” I didn’t smile. I hate small talk.

She left and I stood there, gathering every ounce of patience and self control I and my ancestors ever had.

Clutching the package in my hand, I walked with purpose, my frown deepening with every step.

I opened the door to find her leaning on the headrest, eyes fixed on the darkness in front of her. I slipped the package on the dashboard as I took my seat.

“Talk to me.” My voice was strained, but I was calm nevertheless.

“What I did was wrong. We both know that. What is there else to say?” She was dismissive like if this wasn’t my business.

“You can’t shut me out, Nadine. She’s my daughter too.” I turned to her, clutching the driving wheel.

“What do you want from me?” She met my fire with fire. “Should I apologize to you? I’m her mother not the nanny.” She glared at me not yielding.

The nerves of this woman.

Here I thought she understood the extend of her doing.

”What is this supposed to mean? Should I just watch you ruin everything?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Yes. I want you to back off and stop preaching about things you don’t know.”

“Things I don’t know?” I scoffed. “Because it’s clear you know what you’re doing.”

“At least, I’m doing something. What did you do? What do you know about the pressure of taking care of a child?” She pointed at me, eyes tearing up again.

“Don’t fool yourself and think that the little time you spend with her is parenting. It’s not parenting until you feel like hanging yourself but you still can't.” She slammed her hand on the dashboard, which I didn’t appreciate at all, then faced forward, crossing her arms.

Eyes glued to the spot she hit, I took a deep breath. No need to fuel this argument.

“I’m tr—”

“Don’t tell me what you’re trying to do. I’m trying to be a good parent, but that didn’t change the outcome.” She cut me off, and I gritted my teeth.

It’s like talking to a wall.

“At least I’m aware that I’m a shitty mother. I don’t go around lecturing people about how to raise their children.”

An abrupt silence settled as talking wasn’t taking us anywhere.

I reached for the package and dropped it on her lap. She clenched her thighs on reflex as half of a cuss-word slipped from her lips before she could supress it.

“No, just dessert.”

She didn’t laugh at my poor attempt to joke. I never was good at it. She kept glaring at the package, losing her war against it as her hand reached to open it.

I closed the car’s door and opened the window. Resting my elbow on it, I traced the rubber trim with my fingers.

Why would she think of herself as a bad mother?

I always looked up to her. From the first month as a new mom, she mastered it all. It was impressive to see her mould in her role like she was born into it. Did she make mistakes? Of course, she did, like today, but it didn’t make her a bad mom.

A paper plate was slammed on the dashboard. I looked at her to find her eyes fixed on me. A fork in her hand, she leaned not breaking the eye contact and stabbed the fork in one of the three half slices on the plate.

Some things never change even when she’s angry.

I took the plate, my mouth set in a thin line to supress my smile. Since we were children, whenever we bought cake, she’d want to taste every slice, so she'd force me to share with her.

“You’re a good mother, you know? Better than me” I said and dug in the first slice.

“You’re not a good mother?” She teased, even if her tone had no humour in it.

“I’m not even a mother.” She didn’t laugh, and I didn’t expect her to. I was never good at making jokes. At least, her face was less sad. She knitted her eyebrows in concentration as she chewed.

“You good?” I asked, half expecting her answer.

She shook her fork, still frowning. “It’s dry. I could choke on it.” She swept a little from the icing and put it in her mouth. “The frosting is lumpy.”

I smiled at her predictability. The cake was perfectly fine, but I let her rant her frustration.

“Do they have a client service?” She peeked at the side of the package. “I should call them. They can’t serve this to people....” The noise of the engine drowned the rest of her sentence, or maybe it was my brain who zoned out as I drove out of the parking lot.