I smile when I see that it’s Justice, trying to FaceTime me. I’m relieved to have a few minutes more to prepare before walking in to see Maggie.
I accept the call and wait the several seconds it usually takes for the FaceTime to connect us. When it finally does, it’s not Justice’s face I see on his phone. His screen is covered by a piece of paper. I squint to see it, but the grade is too blurry.
“It’s too close to your phone,” I tell him.
He pulls the paper back a few inches, and I can see the number eighty-five circled in the top right-hand corner.
“That’s not too bad for a night of horror movies,” I say.
Justice’s face is on the screen now. He looks at me like I’m the child and he’s the parent. “Dad, it’s a B. My first B all year. You’re supposed to yell at me so I’ll never make another B again.”
I laugh. He’s looking at me so seriously, like he’s more disappointed that I’m not furious with him than he is disappointed in getting his first B. “Listen,” I tell him as I lean against the wall. “We both know you know the material. I’d be mad if you didn’t study, but you did. The reason you got a B is because you went to bed too late. And I already yelled at you for that.”
I woke up at three o’clock this morning and heard the television on in my living room. When I went to turn it off, Justice was on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, watching The Visit. He’s obsessed with M. Night Shyamalan. His obsession is mostly my fault. It started when I let him watch The Sixth Sense when he was five. He’s eleven now, and the obsession has only gotten worse.
What can I say? He takes after his father. But as much of me as he has in him, he’s also very much his mother’s child. She stressed over every paper and every homework assignment throughout high school and college. I once had to console her because she was crying over receiving a ninety-nine on a paper when she was aiming for a perfect score.
Justice has that over-achieving side to him, but it’s constantly warring with that side of him that wants to stay up late and watch scary movies when he isn’t supposed to. When I dropped him off at school today, I had to wake him up when I pulled into the drop-off lane.
I knew his math test wasn’t going to end well when he wiped the drool off his mouth, opened the door to get out of my car, and said, “Goodnight, Dad.”
He thought I was dropping him off at his mother’s house. I laughed when he got out of the car and realized it was a school day. He turned back to the car and tried to open the door. I locked it before he could climb back inside the car and beg me for a skip day.
I cracked the window, and he stuck his fingers inside and said, “Dad, please. I won’t tell Mom. Just let me sleep today.”
“Actions have consequences, Justice. Love you, good luck, and stay awake.”
His fingers slipped out of the window and he backed up, defeated as I drove away.
I watch my phone as he wads up the paper and tosses it over his shoulder. He rubs his eyes and says, “I’m going to ask Mr. Banks if I can get a redo.”
I laugh. “Or just accept the eighty-five. It’s not a terrible grade.”
Justice shrugs and then scratches his cheek. “Mom went out with that guy again last night.” He says it so casually, like the possibility of a stepdad doesn’t deter him. That’s a good thing, I guess.
“Oh yeah? Did he call you squirt and tousle your hair again?”
Justice rolls his eyes. “No, he wasn’t so bad this time. I don’t think he has kids, and Mom told him people don’t call eleven-year-olds squirts. But anyway, she wanted me to ask you if you were busy tonight because they’re going out again.”
It’s still a little weird, hearing about Chrissy’s dates from the child we created together. This is new territory I don’t know how to deal with, so I do my best to make it seem like it’s not weird. It was my decision to end things with her, and it wasn’t easy. Especially since we share a child. But knowing that Justice was the only reason we were still together just didn’t seem fair to any of us. Chrissy took it hard in the beginning, but only because we were all comfortable with the life we shared. But there was a void there and she knew it.
When it comes to loving someone else, I’ve always believed there should be a level of madness buried in that love. An I-want-to-spend-every-minute-of-every-day-with-you madness. But Chrissy and I have never had that kind of love. Our love is built on responsibility and mutual respect. It’s not a maddening, heart-stopping love.
When Justice was born, we felt that maddening love for him, and that was enough to hold us over through high school graduation, college, medical school, and most of our residencies. But when it came to what we felt for each other, it was the type of love that was too thin to attempt to stretch it out over an entire lifetime.
We separated over a year ago, but I didn’t get my own place until a little over six months ago. I bought a house two streets away from the house we raised Justice in. The judge gave us joint custody with an outline of who gets him and when, but we haven’t once stuck to that. Justice stays with both of us a fairly equal amount, but it’s more on his terms than either of ours. With our houses being so close, he just goes back and forth whenever he feels like it. I actually prefer that. He’s adjusted really well, and I think this way of letting him control most of the visitation has made our separation a smooth transition for him.
Sometimes too smooth.
Because, for some strange reason, he thinks I want to know about his mother’s dating life, when I’d rather be kept in the dark. But he’s only eleven. He’s still innocent in almost every sense, so I like that he keeps me up to date on the half of his life I’m no longer a part of.
“Dad,” Justice says. “Did you hear me? Can I stay at your house tonight?”
I nod. “Yeah. Of course.”
I told Maggie I’d go to her place tonight, but that was before…this. I’m almost positive they’ll keep her overnight for monitoring, so my Friday night is wide open. Even if it weren’t, it would have become wide open for Justice. I work a lot and I have a lot of hobbies, but that all comes second to him. Everything comes second to him.
“Where are you?” Justice leans in, squinting at the phone. “That doesn’t look like your office.”
I turn the phone and face it toward the empty hallway, angling it at Maggie’s door. “I’m at the hospital visiting a sick friend.” I face the phone back at myself. “If she wants to see me.”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Justice asks.
I stare at him a moment, then shake my head. I didn’t mean to say that last part out loud. “It’s not important.”
“Is she mad at you?”
This is too weird, talking to him about a girl I went on a date with who isn’t his mother. As casual as he may be about it, I’m not sure I’ll ever feel comfortable talking to him about my dating life. I pull the phone closer to my face and raise an eyebrow. “I’m not talking to you about my dating life.”
Justice leans forward and mimics my expression. “I’ll remember this conversation when I start dating.”
I laugh. Hard. He’s only eleven, and he’s already got more wit than most adults. “Fine. If I tell you about her, will you promise you’ll tell me the first time you kiss a girl?”
Justice nods. “Only if you don’t tell Mom.”
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
“Her name is Maggie,” I say. “We went on a date Tuesday, and I’m pretty sure she likes me, but she didn’t want to go out with me again because her life is hectic. But now she’s in the hospital, and I’m about to go see her but I have no idea how to act when I walk through that door.”
“What do you mean you don’t know how to act?” Justice asks. “You’re not supposed to act or pretend around other people. You always tell me to be myself.”
I love it when my parenting advice actually sinks in with him. Even if my own advice isn’t sinking in with me. “You’re right. I should just walk in there and be myself.”
I accept the call and wait the several seconds it usually takes for the FaceTime to connect us. When it finally does, it’s not Justice’s face I see on his phone. His screen is covered by a piece of paper. I squint to see it, but the grade is too blurry.
“It’s too close to your phone,” I tell him.
He pulls the paper back a few inches, and I can see the number eighty-five circled in the top right-hand corner.
“That’s not too bad for a night of horror movies,” I say.
Justice’s face is on the screen now. He looks at me like I’m the child and he’s the parent. “Dad, it’s a B. My first B all year. You’re supposed to yell at me so I’ll never make another B again.”
I laugh. He’s looking at me so seriously, like he’s more disappointed that I’m not furious with him than he is disappointed in getting his first B. “Listen,” I tell him as I lean against the wall. “We both know you know the material. I’d be mad if you didn’t study, but you did. The reason you got a B is because you went to bed too late. And I already yelled at you for that.”
I woke up at three o’clock this morning and heard the television on in my living room. When I went to turn it off, Justice was on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, watching The Visit. He’s obsessed with M. Night Shyamalan. His obsession is mostly my fault. It started when I let him watch The Sixth Sense when he was five. He’s eleven now, and the obsession has only gotten worse.
What can I say? He takes after his father. But as much of me as he has in him, he’s also very much his mother’s child. She stressed over every paper and every homework assignment throughout high school and college. I once had to console her because she was crying over receiving a ninety-nine on a paper when she was aiming for a perfect score.
Justice has that over-achieving side to him, but it’s constantly warring with that side of him that wants to stay up late and watch scary movies when he isn’t supposed to. When I dropped him off at school today, I had to wake him up when I pulled into the drop-off lane.
I knew his math test wasn’t going to end well when he wiped the drool off his mouth, opened the door to get out of my car, and said, “Goodnight, Dad.”
He thought I was dropping him off at his mother’s house. I laughed when he got out of the car and realized it was a school day. He turned back to the car and tried to open the door. I locked it before he could climb back inside the car and beg me for a skip day.
I cracked the window, and he stuck his fingers inside and said, “Dad, please. I won’t tell Mom. Just let me sleep today.”
“Actions have consequences, Justice. Love you, good luck, and stay awake.”
His fingers slipped out of the window and he backed up, defeated as I drove away.
I watch my phone as he wads up the paper and tosses it over his shoulder. He rubs his eyes and says, “I’m going to ask Mr. Banks if I can get a redo.”
I laugh. “Or just accept the eighty-five. It’s not a terrible grade.”
Justice shrugs and then scratches his cheek. “Mom went out with that guy again last night.” He says it so casually, like the possibility of a stepdad doesn’t deter him. That’s a good thing, I guess.
“Oh yeah? Did he call you squirt and tousle your hair again?”
Justice rolls his eyes. “No, he wasn’t so bad this time. I don’t think he has kids, and Mom told him people don’t call eleven-year-olds squirts. But anyway, she wanted me to ask you if you were busy tonight because they’re going out again.”
It’s still a little weird, hearing about Chrissy’s dates from the child we created together. This is new territory I don’t know how to deal with, so I do my best to make it seem like it’s not weird. It was my decision to end things with her, and it wasn’t easy. Especially since we share a child. But knowing that Justice was the only reason we were still together just didn’t seem fair to any of us. Chrissy took it hard in the beginning, but only because we were all comfortable with the life we shared. But there was a void there and she knew it.
When it comes to loving someone else, I’ve always believed there should be a level of madness buried in that love. An I-want-to-spend-every-minute-of-every-day-with-you madness. But Chrissy and I have never had that kind of love. Our love is built on responsibility and mutual respect. It’s not a maddening, heart-stopping love.
When Justice was born, we felt that maddening love for him, and that was enough to hold us over through high school graduation, college, medical school, and most of our residencies. But when it came to what we felt for each other, it was the type of love that was too thin to attempt to stretch it out over an entire lifetime.
We separated over a year ago, but I didn’t get my own place until a little over six months ago. I bought a house two streets away from the house we raised Justice in. The judge gave us joint custody with an outline of who gets him and when, but we haven’t once stuck to that. Justice stays with both of us a fairly equal amount, but it’s more on his terms than either of ours. With our houses being so close, he just goes back and forth whenever he feels like it. I actually prefer that. He’s adjusted really well, and I think this way of letting him control most of the visitation has made our separation a smooth transition for him.
Sometimes too smooth.
Because, for some strange reason, he thinks I want to know about his mother’s dating life, when I’d rather be kept in the dark. But he’s only eleven. He’s still innocent in almost every sense, so I like that he keeps me up to date on the half of his life I’m no longer a part of.
“Dad,” Justice says. “Did you hear me? Can I stay at your house tonight?”
I nod. “Yeah. Of course.”
I told Maggie I’d go to her place tonight, but that was before…this. I’m almost positive they’ll keep her overnight for monitoring, so my Friday night is wide open. Even if it weren’t, it would have become wide open for Justice. I work a lot and I have a lot of hobbies, but that all comes second to him. Everything comes second to him.
“Where are you?” Justice leans in, squinting at the phone. “That doesn’t look like your office.”
I turn the phone and face it toward the empty hallway, angling it at Maggie’s door. “I’m at the hospital visiting a sick friend.” I face the phone back at myself. “If she wants to see me.”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Justice asks.
I stare at him a moment, then shake my head. I didn’t mean to say that last part out loud. “It’s not important.”
“Is she mad at you?”
This is too weird, talking to him about a girl I went on a date with who isn’t his mother. As casual as he may be about it, I’m not sure I’ll ever feel comfortable talking to him about my dating life. I pull the phone closer to my face and raise an eyebrow. “I’m not talking to you about my dating life.”
Justice leans forward and mimics my expression. “I’ll remember this conversation when I start dating.”
I laugh. Hard. He’s only eleven, and he’s already got more wit than most adults. “Fine. If I tell you about her, will you promise you’ll tell me the first time you kiss a girl?”
Justice nods. “Only if you don’t tell Mom.”
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
“Her name is Maggie,” I say. “We went on a date Tuesday, and I’m pretty sure she likes me, but she didn’t want to go out with me again because her life is hectic. But now she’s in the hospital, and I’m about to go see her but I have no idea how to act when I walk through that door.”
“What do you mean you don’t know how to act?” Justice asks. “You’re not supposed to act or pretend around other people. You always tell me to be myself.”
I love it when my parenting advice actually sinks in with him. Even if my own advice isn’t sinking in with me. “You’re right. I should just walk in there and be myself.”
