I want to tell her he is not fucking nice, he’s trying to take you away from me, but I don’t. She’s seven. It’s not her problem, it’s mine, and I’m damned if I’m going to let her worry about anything bigger than homework.
“Bruce sounds cool,” I say, hating every word of it. “What else did you guys do?”
“We went to Friendly’s and I got a burger and then I got an ice cream sundae with a banana in it,” she says. “I couldn’t finish it, so Bruce and Mom helped.”
“Sounds like you had a great day,” I tell her. “Are you having fun with your mom? And Bruce?”
“Yes,” she says, and then stops abruptly.
I stand up straight, because even though the phone is silent, I can almost hear her using her index finger to softly poke her cheek, the thing she does when she’s thinking.
“What’s up, kiddo?” I ask, stomach in knots.
“Are you coming to Colorado with us?” she asks suddenly, and the simple question stabs me straight through the gut.
I’m going to murder Crystal. I am. I take a deep breath, frantically trying to think of what I should tell Rusty right now that won’t make her freak out completely. Apparently, I’m the only parent who gives a shit how she feels.
“We haven’t decided yet whether you’re going to move to Colorado,” I say simply. “You might be staying here with me, or you might be in Colorado sometimes and here sometimes.”
There’s another long pause.
“Oh,” she says. “Okay.”
“Your mom and I are still figuring some things out, okay?” I say. “There are a lot of big changes happening right now. You’ve got a new stepdad, you’re going to have a little sister.”
Charlie and I are together for real.
I don’t say that out loud. One change at a time.
“I don’t want a pony if I have to go to a new school,” she says. “Dad, I don’t even like horses that much. They smell weird.”
I’m going to kill Crystal, but I smile despite myself at Rusty.
“No one will make you take a pony you don’t want,” I tell her.
I spend the next few minutes talking to Rusty, trying to convince her as soothingly as possible that everything will be okay. I wish I didn’t have to. I wish Crystal would interact with me like a grownup instead of a petulant teenager, because I would fucking love to have a co-parent who was willing to work with me as a team instead of trying to win Rusty’s heart via waterpark.
When it’s time for her to get off, I ask her if I can talk to her mom for a minute.
“Mom!” she screams, not taking the phone away from her mouth, and I wince.
“What?” I hear in the background.
“Dad wants to talk to you!”
“Tell him I’m busy.”
“You’re just watching TV.”
“I can’t talk to him right now, Rusty, okay?”
There’s some rustling, then Rusty’s back on the line.
“She can’t talk to you right now,” she says.
“Thanks for trying,” I tell her. “All right, kiddo. See you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you, Dad!” she says, and the line goes dead.
I stand there, on the landing outside Charlie’s apartment, for a long, long time, taking deep breaths and resisting the urge to throw my phone off her balcony and watch it smash on the pavement below.
I fantasize about ways to get Crystal out of my life for good that don’t go quite as far as murder. I imagine the judge handing down a new custody agreement: I get all physical and legal custody forever and ever and Crystal relinquishes her parental rights, then moves to Siberia and I never have to see her again.
It’s not what I really want. What I really want is for Crystal to love Rusty back, for her to want to be a good parent and treat Rusty like her own child, not a fun prop one weekend a month at most. Rusty deserves to have two parents, but God knows I can’t make Crystal do anything she doesn’t want to.
There’s a creak behind me, and I turn. Charlie comes out onto the landing, her eyebrows furrowed in concern, and leans on the railing next to me.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Crystal,” I say, finally putting my phone back in my pocket. “Apparently she told Rusty that they’re all going to move to Colorado.”
Charlie sucks in a quick breath, her eyes going wide.
“That motherfucking hose beast,” she whispers. “Do you want me to help you hide the body?”
I half-crack a smile.
“She took her to the waterpark and bought her ice cream,” I say. “Charlie, I fucking hate her. I can’t believe I ever stuck my dick in that.”
She snorts.
“No one was all that smart at twenty-two,” she says. “You just got hit with particularly dire consequences.”
“Rusty’s not really dire,” I say.
“Crystal is,” Charlie says.
I tell her about the rest of the conversation: the waterpark, the fifty-five-mile-per-hour slide, though that part doesn’t really seem to concern her, the ice cream, the fact that Crystal refused to talk to me.