And if you don't love me nowHe finishes his bite and then points to my plate while he wipes his mouth on the napkin. Finish your lunch, he orders.
You will never love me again
I can still hear you saying
You would never break the chain.
I am busy editing photos on my phone and my sandwich is mostly untouched.
In a minute.
Just a word. Just my name. But it's loaded with pretty much every bullet we've ever shot at each other when he says it like that.
Like a dad.
Not like a lover.
Which is where I get confused. The ten year old sits up straight, wipes her braids off her shoulders and digs in, swinging her feet until she kicks off her shoes (she hates shoes anyway) and then has to withstand five long minutes of lectures when he reaches under the table to get them and has to spend an exorbitant amount of time untangling the double knots he tied for her this morning. Then she stands up while he ties them again, back on her feet. These are new. Nikes with a blue swoosh. They're for tennis but she hates tennis. Too much running and it's boring. She writes the words to Fleetwood Mac songs along the sides with a ballpoint pen and wonders if she'll soon be old enough to have the kind of heartbreak they sing about. Then Lochlan stands up, pulls his sleeve down over his hand and wipes her whole face off.
I bet if I stood up right now he would be tempted. I should test hi-
Bridget. Come on. We've got things to do.
He totally would.