I busy myself with a cup of tea while I try to eavesdrop on their conversation. Whatever he’s saying to her, she’s excited. But I hope he’s not promising her anything. Another broken promise and I might come unglued. The way he brushes us aside, the way he thinks I’ll always pick up the broken pieces, has taken its toll. Last night was the last time I’ll do his bidding where our daughter is concerned.
“Okay, bye bye, Daddy.” Ruby holds the phone out to me. “He wants to talk to you,” she says with the bottom covered again. “Be nice and don’t hurt his feelings.” She hands me the phone and crosses her arms.
I smile, but on the inside, I’m raging and making a mental note to talk to my therapist and maybe set an appointment for my child as well. I try not to let her words sting, but they do. She has no idea about last night, how her father chose a client over her. She only knows that he couldn’t make it. Ruby was upset, and I tried to make the situation better by telling her that her father would make it up to her. I don’t know why I continue to protect him, to make excuses for him. I don’t know why I take the brunt of her anger when it should be directed at him, but I do. I take every little jab and side remark she throws at me, because I’m her mother and I’m not about to shatter her world.
“Go get dressed for your concert,” I tell her. I expect her to stomp away, but she doesn’t. She starts singing one of her songs and skips out of the kitchen. I wait until I hear her thumping up the stairs before clearing my throat. “Hello?”
“Gwennie.”
My eyes close, and my heart skips a beat at the nickname Rory gave me years ago. It’s been years since I’ve heard it though. There’s so much that I want to say to him right now. Mostly though, I want to know why he’s called me that after so many years of forgetting to use it. “Rory.”
He chuckles because this is nothing more than a game to him. I close my eyes and ask God for the will to get through this phone call. “Ruby has a concert this evening, right?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because I’m going to be there. Six thirty?”
“Did you tell her this?” I ask, needing to know if I have to mentally prepare her for when he doesn’t show up. And prepare myself.
“Why wouldn’t I tell her?”
I throw my free hand up in the air, even though no one is around to see how dramatic I am. It’s definitely an Oscar-worthy performance right here in my kitchen. “I don’t know, Rory, maybe because you didn’t show up last night and I had to break it to her. I had to lie for you.”
“I was there last night.”
“Except you weren’t,” I say through gritted teeth. I try to calm down, but the anger is rolling through me. He’s so clueless, but he never used to be. “In case you were wondering, I was the one with our brokenhearted daughter, trying to get her to smile.”
“Look, I was there. I just couldn’t bring myself to walk in after I saw you in there. You looked …” He pauses, and in the background I can hear paper being shuffled around. “See you at six thirty. Save me a seat.”
He hangs up before I can tell him to find his own seat. It’s no use, and he’s leaving me no choice but to put my foot down. I dial my lawyer’s number. It’s late, and the call goes through to voice mail. “This is Gwen Sutton …”
“Mommy,” Ruby’s voice startles me, and I hang up. If I’m going to tell my attorney about her father and his failed promises, it’s going to have to be when Ruby can’t walk in on me. “Mommy,” she says again from the doorway into the kitchen.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“I need your help.” Standing there is my little girl with her dress on, looking flustered. Gone is the curt tone she had with me earlier. I know she doesn’t mean it, but it still hurts.
“Come here, let me button your dress.” She does, turning when she gets to me. “What would you like me to do with your hair?” I ask as I pat down her unruly curls only to have them spring up again.
Ruby shrugs. “A ponytail with some ribbon?”
“You got it. I’ll follow you up.” T
ogether we climb the stairs and head into my bathroom where she takes a seat at my vanity. I try not to look at myself, but I can’t help it. If I’m going to look somewhat presentable, a pound of makeup is going to be required.
After fixing Ruby’s hair, I tell her I need to shower and get ready. “Why don’t you watch television on my bed and try not to wrinkle your dress?”
“Okay.”
I stand in the doorway, watching as she climbs onto the bed and settles herself in with the remote in her hand. After Rory moved out, my shower routine changed. I was a quick ten-minute person once the water came on, but now I stay in until the water turns cold and my fingers have pruned. It’s peaceful and gives me time to cry, away from the prying eyes of my daughter. Tonight, though, I take a quick shower so I can get ready and look somewhat human for her concert.
When I come out, there’s a dress lying on my bed for me. “What’s this?” I ask Ruby.
She shrugs. “I thought you could look pretty for Daddy.”
I force a smile and fight the urge to tell her he won’t show up, regardless of what I’m wearing. I bite the inside of my cheek instead and take the dress back into my bathroom to get ready, rushing through my routine, angry with myself because I don’t have time to dry my hair fully. “This is what divorce does to you,” I say to myself in the mirror. Too bad the person staring back at me doesn’t tell me to snap out of it or remind me that this is what I wanted.
By the time we get to the school, I’m a bottle of nerves. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why. It’s not like I haven’t spoken to Rory since he left, although we haven’t seen each other much, unless it’s been in passing. I’ve been a coward and left Ruby at his mother’s on the days he takes her. It’s easier that way, at least for me.