“Oh, for God’s sake, Nikki. So they go to school tired one day. Big fucking deal.”
“Kyle has an algebra test tomorrow,” she said, trying to hang on to her temper. “If you ever bothered to show up at a parent-teacher conference, you would know he struggles with math.”
He made a face. “He wants to be an artist. He’ll never use algebra in his whole life.”
“Except to get into a good college.”
“Whatever.”
Nikki shook her head, as if in amazement, though there was no surprise here. “And there it is.”
“What?”
“The attitude.”
Speed threw up his hands and turned around in a little circle. “Here we go again! Don’t you ever get sick of singing the same fucking song, Nikki? ’Cause I sure as shit get tired of hearing it.”
“That’s funny,” she said on a bitter laugh, “because I’m pretty sure you never listen to anything I say. Or is it that I just sound like the teacher in a Peanuts cartoon to you: Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.”
“That’s about it,” he agreed. “If Kyle wanted to stay home and study, why didn’t he? He could have said no.”
Nikki slapped a palm to her forehead. “Oh my God, you are so fucking obtuse! First, why should Kyle be the adult in the equation? That’s supposed to be your job. Second, of course he wants to spend time with you more than he wants to study algebra. You’re his father. He loves you at least as much as he resents you.”
“Ouch! Fucking low blow, Nikki!” he said, cringing. “You’re such a bitch since you changed jobs. Don’t take it out on me that you left Homicide—”
“I did that for the boys,” she shot back. “It’s called making sacrifices for your children—a concept completely unfamiliar to you, I know.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m an asshole and you’re Supermom.”
“I do what needs to be done. You do whatever you want.”
“Then you won’t be surprised when I leave.”
“Why would that surprise me? You do it all the time.”
R.J.’s voice came down the stairway. “Mo-om! I don’t feel good!”
Nikki gave her ex a nasty look. “That’s your cue to leave anyway—parental duty calling.”
“Suck it, Nikki.”
“Go home,” she said, tired of dealing with him. She pushed past him on her way to the stairs. “I don’t need another child to deal with. Two is my limit.”
*
NIKKI SAT ON THE BED BESIDE R.J., his head on her shoulder as they waited for the antacid to soothe his upset stomach. He was already bigger than she—taller and heavier, and stocky like his dad—but that didn’t stop him being her little boy when he didn’t feel well.
In the shadowed amber light of the lamp on the nightstand, she took in his room. Posters of sports stars, a pennant from a Twins game, a shelf with trophies and awards he had won in football and hockey. His new passions were wrestling and Brazilian jiu-jitsu—also one of Kyle’s sports. Several family-room lamps had paid the price for witnessing their matches.
Kyle was her neat freak. Everything in his room was just so, bed made, clothes put away. R.J.’s armchair was overflowing with laundry—dirty, clean, and borderline. Athletic shoes littered the floor.
R.J. had inherited his father’s blond cowlicks. His dimpled smile was all Speed. He was going to melt a lot of hearts. Unlike his father, R.J. was utterly lacking a talent for lying. Everything was right on the surface with him. If he did something to get in trouble, he was the first one to say so, telling Nikki the story in great detail, admitting any and all culpability. He didn’t have a devious bone in his body.
Nikki hugged him tight.
“Feeling any better?” she asked quietly.
“A little,” he said. She could sense the weight of gravity in his pause. “I wish you and Dad didn’t hate each other so bad.”
Nikki winced internally. “I don’t hate your dad, R.J. We just push each other’s buttons, that’s all.”
“I hate it when you guys fight,” he said with a hint of little-boy whine in his voice. “And you fight all the time.”
Speed wasn’t around enough to qualify for “all the time,” Nikki thought, but she didn’t say this. She didn’t want to call attention to the obvious. At any rate, that would only open the “But you made us move away from him” argument.
She had moved them away from their dad, leaving St. Paul for Minneapolis on the excuse of a shorter commute to work and Kyle’s scholarship to a top arts high school. In truth, she had not moved to keep Speed away from the boys, but to keep the boys from noticing that their father didn’t give a shit most of the time. The list of times Speed had disappointed them by not showing up was long. Nikki had decided it was better if they blamed her for moving than thought about how many times their father had let them down.
“You fight because of us,” R.J. said, a little tremor in his voice. “Because of me and Kyle.”