Hard Choices Read Online Free PDF Page A

winding up to throw Scott a curveball. I hopped up off the couch.
    “Hi Scott,” I said evenly. “What’s up? Are you here to pick up some more stuff?”
    “Well, uh, I was hoping we could talk.”
    Now I was a little irritated. He was already invading my space. “Um, OK… Listen, from now on, why don’t we always plan on calling each other first?”
    “I did call you, three times. And texted. You never answered.” I hadn’t checked my phone in the last couple of hours. I’d finally answered all three kids’ texts, with “ Yes, I am really, really, REALLY OK. Promise. Good night,” then put my phone away.
    “OK,” I said slowly, “Then let’s say that, before either of us drops by, we make sure we’ve actually talked to each other, and it’s a good time. How’s that? Deal?” I smiled to take the sting out of my words.
    “Sounds totally fair,” he nodded. “So then, is now a good time?”
    “It’s fine,” I turned to Molly. “That’s cool, right? Were you planning to head out anyway?” Molly was not a late-night person. Always got plenty of sleep, and had to be at work by 7:30.
    “Yeah, I am, actually,” Molly unwound her legs from the couch and stood up. Giving me a quick hug, she looked at Scott, then hugged him, too. He was so startled, he almost forgot to hug her back. “I don’t hate you, you idiot,” she said to him, playfully slapping him upside the head. “Hey, at least you waited until after the holidays. That was thoughtful,” her sarcasm went right over Scott’s head.
    “Really? Thanks, Molly. I’m… I’m glad to hear that,” Scott sounded mystified.
    “Call me tomorrow, Lyssa!” Molly called as she disappeared down the half-staircase to the front door.
    “Sure thing. Drive carefully!” I called back. I heard her slip on her snow boots and her coat, but I waited until I heard the door close behind her before I turned to Scott.
    “So, what’s up?” I asked.
    “Uhh, I just… I mean… I don’t…” he stammered uncomfortably. “Lyssa, I feel like such a dick.”
    “You talked to the kids?” I asked knowingly.
    He nodded.
    “Next time you get a divorce, are you going to splash it all over the internet before talking to your children?” I asked, like I was talking to one of our sons after he’d tried to warm up the turtle in the dryer, or something equally idiotic.
    He shook his head, looking just like Kyle or Danny caught in the wrong.
    “Then I think we’re good,” I said, not entirely honestly, but I wasn’t willing to share my feelings with Scott, either. I picked up the beer bottles and headed toward the kitchen. “Is that it, Scott? Was there anything else besides social media remorse?” He didn’t laugh. He never laughed at my jokes. Another huge part of our problem.
    “Aren’t you… aren’t you mad at me?” he asked incredulously.
    I sighed, “I know I’m supposed to be. I know that I’m supposed to feel betrayed and everything,” I shook my head, “but honestly, I just can’t muster up that much emotion.” I paused. “That sounds horrible, doesn’t it?” I asked.
    “I don’t know,” he ran his hands through his hair again. “All I know is, I screwed shit up with my kids.” Typical Scott. Couldn’t really see past his own emotions. Not talented at empathizing.
    “Yeah, you did,” I nodded. “They’ll get over it, though. You’re a good dad, Scott,” not a great dad, I thought, but where was the sense in stating cruel truths? “And they’re already halfway convinced that I really am OK – better than OK. And that will go a long way toward them getting over your Facebook eff-up,” I chuckled. Scott didn’t.
    “You’re better than OK?” Scott asked, surprised.
    “What did you expect?” I asked, genuinely curious.
    “I… I don’t know,” he said honestly.
    “Well, I think that’s 90% of our problem, don’t you? We truly don’t know each other anymore,” I said, a little sadly.
    “No. No, I guess we