This always gets me about Rob: he can’t make a split-second decision about anything. We’re literally getting menaced by a wildfire and he still can’t get his act together to decide to take off. There have been times I’ve wondered if his inability to make a choice affected Jax, and if so, how things might have been different had I intervened. In fact, would things have been different if I’d had my child with another man? Another man might not have passed down his depressive tendencies, his touch of autism. Another man might have been able to handle his son in ways that Rob couldn’t manage Jax.
I don’t know. I
don’t know anything, it seems.
“So what exactly
are we going to do? Sit by the wood stove and wait to turn into ash?”
“I’m just saying
we don’t lose our shit just because there’s a fire in the same area code that
we are. You know?”
“I do know. I know
that you can’t get off your ass –”
Even Sid looks at
us like we’re fucking nuts.
“Look.” Rob’s
eyebrows knit together, come apart, do the dance. “Your mouth is starting
something that your brain may not be able to finish. Just consider that. Keep
that in mind. If you want to brawl, let me know. But think about it before you
do.”
It’s moments like
this when I can totally see a life without him. A life in which I could hang
the toilet paper any which way. Eat in bed without getting side-eye. And yes,
escape a fucking fire that’s headed my way. But instead I have to do the
compromise thing. Shit, I hate compromise. Don’t you?
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