Daddy

“Oh, he's not new,” Sam was quick to add. “He was there before. We met him another time too. But he's staying with Mom now. You know, kind of like a friend. He's from France, and his name's Jean-Pierre. He's twenty-five, and he's here on an exchange program for two years.”

“How nice for him.” Oliver's face set in a thin line as he picked another card without even seeing what it was. “Nice for Mom, too, I guess. What's he like?” He hated to pump the child, but he wanted to know now. She was living with a twenty-five-year-old man, and exposing her children to him. It made him furious just thinking of it.

“It was no big deal, Dad. He slept on the couch when we were there.” And when you're not, he wanted to ask. Then where does he sleep? But they all knew that. Even Sam had commented on it to Mel on the way back, wanting to know if she thought their mother was in love with him. And she had made him once again promise not to tell their father.

“That's nice,” he repeated again. “Is he a nice guy?”

“He's okay.” Sam seemed unimpressed. “He makes a big fuss over Mom. I guess that's what French guys do. He brought her flowers and stuff, and he made us eat 'croissants.' I like English muffins better, but they were okay. It was no big deal.” Except to Oliver, who felt as though there were smoke coming from his ears. He could hardly wait to put Sam to bed, and it seemed like hours when he was finally free of him, and Mel intercepted him then, suspecting how he felt about what Sam had said.

“He shouldn't have told you all that. I'm sorry, Dad. I think he's just a friend of Mom's. It was just a little weird with him staying there.”

“I'll bet it was.”

“He said his lease had run out, and Mom was letting him sleep on the couch until he found another place to live. He was nice to us. I don't think it means anything.” Her eyes were big and sad, and they both knew it meant a lot more than she was admitting to her father. It meant Sarah had moved on, and there was a man in her life, unlike Oliver, who still longed for her every night, and hadn't had a date since she left, and still didn't want to.

“Don't worry about it, Mel.” He tried to look more relaxed about it than he felt, for her sake if nothing else. “Your mother has a right to do whatever she wants now. She's a free agent. We both are, I guess.”

“But you never go out, do you, Dad?” As she looked at him, she seemed proud of him and he smiled at her. It was an odd thing to be proud of him for.

“I just never get around to it, I guess. I'm too busy worrying about all of you.”

“Maybe you should one of these days. Daphne says it would be good for you.”

“Oh she does, does she? Well, tell her to mind her own business, I have enough confusion in my life without adding that.”

And then, his daughter looked at him, knowing the truth. And she was sorry for him. “You're still in love with Mom, aren't you, Dad?”

He hesitated for a long moment, feeling foolish for saying it, but then he nodded as he spoke, “Yes, I $m, Mel. Sometimes I think I always will be. But there's no point in that now. It's all over for us.” It was time she knew, and he suspected they all did anyway. It was five months since she'd left and nothing had turned out as she'd promised. No weekends, no vacations, she hardly ever called now. And now he knew why, if she was living with a twenty-five-year-old boy from France named Jean-Pierre.

“I kind of thought it was.” Mel looked sad for him. “Are you going to get divorced?”

“One of these days, I guess. I'm in no rush. I'll see what your mom wants to do.” And after Mel went to bed, he called her that night, remembering what Sam had said, and he didn't beat around the bush with his wife. There was no point to that. It was long past the time to play games with her.

“Don't you think it's a little tasteless to have a man staying with you when the kids are there?” There was no rage in his voice this time, just disgust. She was no longer the woman he knew and loved. She was someone else. And she belonged to a boy named Jean-Pierre. But she was the mother of his children, too, and that concerned him more.

“Oh … that … he's just a friend, Ollie. And he slept on the couch. The kids slept in my room with me.”

“I don't think you fooled anyone. They both know what's going on. At least Mel does, I can promise you that, and I think Sam has a pretty fair idea too. Doesn't that bother you? Doesn't it embarrass you to have your lover staying there?” It was an accusation now, and what really burned him was the guy's age. “I feel like I don't know you anymore. And I'm not even sure I want to.”

“That's your business now, Oliver. And how I live my life, and with whom, is mine. It might do them good if your own life were a little more normal.”

“I see. What does that mean? I should drag in nineteen-year-old girls just to prove my manhood to them?”

“I'm not proving anything. We're good friends. Age is of no importance.”