Firefighter Tanner Hall is used to running into burning buildings and risking his life to save others. It's just another day of work for the father of two. But when he gets a call from the San Diego zoo about an animal attack, he has no idea what he...
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Well, this is certainly not how I was expecting my night to end.
As Gwen gets settled at the kitchen island, I grab a bottle of bourbon and pouring myself a hefty glass. A half-drunk buzz is the only way I'll be able to get through this conversation.
"Got one of those for me?" Gwen gestures toward the glass.
"You know where they are."
"Okay," Gwen lets out a heavy sigh, leaning forward and taking the bottle. She tips it back and sips straight from the bottle.
I grab it from her, setting it to the side. "That's disgusting. And you've clearly had enough."
"You know, you used to be a lot of fun. I miss the old Tanner. What happened to him?"
"He grew up, Gwen. One of us had to." At this point, I'm sulking, but I can't help it. Everything Gwen touches bursts into red-hot, explosive flames, and I'm left to clean up the mess. Maybe that's what actually drew me to this job—I was used to putting out her fires.
"I get it okay." She scoffs, crossing one leg over the other as she props against my counter. "I'm the shit parent and you're father of the year."
Well, it's about time she figured that one out.
"Gwen, that's not what this is about." I'm not up for a fight tonight. Nothing good ever comes of it, anyway. I just need to ride Hurricane Gwen out and then everything can go back to the way it usually is.
"It is, though. It always is. The boys hardly even recognize me as a parent, and it's my own fault. I've never been there."
It takes everything in me to bite my tongue as I watch her come to this realization. There is some sweet, sweet justice in watching someone realize something you've known all along. Gwen's always been a little lost, searching for something she couldn't quite define and never feeling content with a single thing in all of her life. It gives me a small satisfaction to see her finally realizing how that mindset has affected our kids.
"But it doesn't stop them from loving you." A small part of me feels sorry for her.
"Someday it will. Someday they'll realize that you're the only reason that any of us survived, and that I was just the screw up who never knew how or even wanted to be a mother. Look at me now—it's getting hard again and I'm running. I just don't know how to stay."
As she sits across the counter from me, she isn't the psycho ex-wife she's morphed into over the last several years. Instead, she's that scared little girl holding that pregnancy test in her hand, waiting for me to tell her everything is going to be okay. She wants my reassurance. She wants me to tell her what to do. She wants to pass the responsibility like usual.
If I tell her to go, it's easy. I can be the bad guy, at least in her mind. If I tell her to stay, I'm the same villain with a different story, forcing her into the boys' lives.
