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I saw all the cracks I had stepped around because I loved him.
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He lowered his voice. “Can we not do this here?”
“You mean at the party I planned for your 40th birthday? In the yard where our son is playing? In front of the people who spent years watching me love both of you?”
“Lower your voice,” his father muttered, as if volume was the offense.
I turned to him. “No.”
Brad’s face hardened. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Lower your voice.”
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That did it. A few people gasped.
My sister whispered, “Oh my God.”
“No, your behavior is the only embarrassment here.” I lifted the cake and turned to face the guests. “The party’s over.”
No one argued.
I looked back at Brad. “You can figure out where you’re going tonight. But it won’t be here.”
“The party’s over.”
Then I walked to the table where Will sat swinging his legs under a chair, waiting for cake like his life hadn’t just split open in ways he was too young to see.
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He looked up at me and smiled. “Now cake?”
I looked at him. His dirty knees. His soft hair curled damply at the temples. The trust in his face. Because I could not steal one more ordinary thing from him that day, I didn’t explain.
I jerked my head to indicate that he should follow me. “We’re going inside.”
I looked at him. His dirty knees.