You can see why she is so successful as a health journalist. She makes unusual connections to illustrate her points.

“If Holly grows up seeing that you are scared of a loving relationship, she will learn that love is something to avoid. None of us want that little girl to ever have a single unhappy moment, but she will. What she needs to know is that she’ll get through it. Sadder but wiser, as my grandmother used to say. So you have to be her model. You have to be brave for her. You have to teach her that love is not chicken broth!”

This is not in my parenting books.

Henry comes in, opens three fresh beers, and settles himself at the island. He regards the steaming bowl in front of him.

“Looks great,” he says happily. He has no idea it represents his entire life. “You know your Twister idea?”

We both look at him in surprise, our spoons halfway to our mouths. He really was paying attention.

“There should be another version called Married Twister,” he continues. “Or maybe just Twisted Together. Because when you’re together, the problems are shared. There are four hands instead of just two. If one of you has a hand on the mother-in-law circle, for example, the other person can cover the kids circle. You help each other stay balanced.”

Jem hops off her stool and runs around to kiss him on the cheek. She can reach it when he’s sitting down.

“In Married Twister,” he chuckles, “I always have a free hand.” He holds it up, then reaches around and places it on her ass, which he squeezes.

“Chloe’s going to call Nick,” she informs him. “She’s going to play the game. You can’t win if you don’t play.”

So I guess I’m going to call Nick.

Nick

“Is this going to take long? Because you’re making us miss part of the Pats game,” Jean-Marc grouses. I get all three kids into the living room, bracing myself.

“Your mother’s gone,” I say to the three of them, taken back fifteen years to a time when those words stuck in my throat.

“Right,” Amelie says with a sad smile.

“I’m surprised she lasted a single night,” Jean-Marc says dryly.

I jerk with surprise. “What?”

“Me, too,” Elodie adds, grimacing. “She only came back to try to hook up with you, Daddy.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pretty elaborate for a booty call,” Jean-Marc says under his breath.

These kids.

“You’re not… upset?” I’m ignoring all mention of the rest of this.

“Sure.” Amelie’s eyes fill with tears. “But she came. Other than our high school graduation, this is the first big event she’s bothered to, you know, like… attend.”

Jean-Marc’s face goes tight. His mother has never attended an event of significance for him.

“When she said she left Rolf, I knew what was going on. Funny how she wasn’t interested in coming until I told her about Chloe,” Elodie adds with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

I look at her. “What?”

“Maman has this way of talking about you like you’re so boring. Or like you’re a lap dog. I hate it.” Elodie’s eyes are alight with fire and indignation. “And normally, she doesn’t even ask about you. So when she started prying, I couldn’t stand it. Plus, she happened to call the day after, um… you know.”

“You stalked Dad and interrupted him during—”

“Heeeyyyyyyy.” Charlie interrupts, slashing a hand across his neck while looking at Elodie. “Ixnay on the ex-say.”

The three kids crack up.

“Beer? I need beer if we have to simultaneously talk about Simone and Nick’s sex life.”

How did my serious talk with my kids turn into this?

“We’re not talking about my and Simone’s sex life.”

All three kids start gagging.

Charlie gives me a devilish grin.

“Daddy,” Amelie says, her hand on my forearm, clearly troubled. “We know what Maman is like. How she is. We—well, she’s not like you. At all. And,” she adds, her voice halting, “it hurts.”

There you have it.

I close my eyes, battling my own hurt that Simone has caused, and working not to project that onto my kids. When they were little, I thought I could shield them from the worst about her. And to be fair, the worst that she’s done is to be absent. To hold on to herself and refuse to share.

But for a child, that burns, a searing brand on identity formation, and there’s only so much I could do.

“I’m sorry, Ami.”

“I know.”

“She ditched Rolf and decided to check you out,” Elodie declares. “Like you’ve been waiting all these years to be picked back up. Like a purse you stop liking and then it comes back into style.”

They all have this tone in their voices.

A protective tone.

When did my kids start to feel the need to defend me?

“She wouldn’t come to my high school graduation, but she’ll come for a chance to get you under her thumb again,” Jean-Marc mutters.

There’s a gut punch. And I can’t argue with him. He’s right.

“It didn’t work.” I look at them, constantly calculating, mind in motion as I try to balance privacy with their maturity.

All three kids look at each other with frowns.

“We know,” Jean-Marc finally says. “I was here.”

“Here?” I’m puzzled.

“Here when you yelled at Maman.”

A stony silence fills the room.

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“I’m not.” His jaw is tight, arms clenched in a fighter’s stance. “Every word you said is true, Dad. Every word.”

Charlie is uncharacteristically quiet, just watching everyone. He opens his mouth. “Your mother thinks Nick is a lap dog?” he asks Elodie.

She nods. “She said a long time ago that if Daddy had been—” She looks at me in distress.

“It’s fine. Go ahead,” I say in someone else’s voice.

“She said that she did what was best at the time, and that any man who does not live his own life is a poor role model for his children.”