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It's Friday night, and the kids
      are in bed. I'm sitting shirtless, soda in one hand, TV controller
      in the other, on the living room sofa. I'm flipping through the
      channels, but I don't recognize most of the programs. Madonna's
      on MTV. My thumb finds the tiny off button and presses. I walk
      to the window and look at my own dim reflection -- the dog's
      making soulful eyes at me through the glass pane, his image ghostly
      in this light.

      
I'm still jumpy. If there
      was anyone around to be mad at, I'd probably be really torqued.
      But I'm alone, and that's probably a good thing. The past two
      days have been a nightmare. Maybe that sounds a little cliché,
      but fuck it -- I'm stuck for words. They've been the kind of
      days that people who don't have kids probably imagine when they
      congratulate themselves for doing the right thing.

      
By their lights, I've done
      the wrong thing twice. I've got two. Kids that is. The boy's
      named Michael, everyone calls him Mike. He's seven years old
      and small for his age. He has brown hair like mine, a quick wit,
      and a kind of sensitivity, a vulnerability that reminds you daily
      of life's emotional pitfalls. He's two days into something tantamount
      to armed insurrection. I've hit him with consequence after consequence.
      I'm running out of things to take away, and it's wearing me down.

      
Then there's child number
      two. The girl, Gina. She's two years old. Her arms and legs are
      just passing out of the link sausage stage. She's inquisitive,
      cheerful, convinced the world's a trove of glad news and good
      tidings. She was born happy.

      
Mike's more like me, he's
      waiting to be convinced.

      
 


      
I drain the soda and look at my
      watch. It's only nine o'clock. Jan, their mom, my ex, is probably
      still awake. I'll be up 'til two, maybe later. It was a minor
      but persistent conflict in our marriage. The consummate night
      person and the archetypal early riser.

      
She picks up on the fourth
      ring.

      
"Hello." Musical.

      
"Hey, Jan."

      
"What's up?"
      Distinctly less musical.

      
"I. . . I just wanted
      to talk about our son. It's been a long time since I've seen
      him so out of control. I'm really fried ... I mean, I feel like
      I'm coming down on him every five minutes and I'm not getting
      anywhere. He's been incredibly good lately, and all of a sudden
      it's like Desert Storm, the play-at-home version. I was hoping
      you might have some idea about what's going on."

      
"No, not really."

      
"How's he been at
      your place the last few days?"

      
"Getting in trouble
      a lot. Refusing to listen to the sitter."

      
"So what do we do?"

      
"I'm just being extra
      firm, coming up with some tough consequences. Look, I figure
      if he causes trouble for everyone in the household, he's gonna
      suffer. He complains about the consequences, I say, 'Good! I'm
      glad it hurts, I want it to hurt.'"

      
I don't like the sound
      of this last. The worst part, though, is that I think things
      like this all the time.

      
"What it comes down
      to is I really don't care what's causing it. Really. I just want
      it to stop. And that's what I told him."

      
"But maybe if we can
      figure out what's causing it, we can get a line on how to stop
      it. That's why I was hoping you had some ideas."

      
There's a little pause.
      When she speaks again, it's not about the kid.

      
"I'm seeing someone."

      
This is not news. Actually
      the guy she's seeing is her boss. Mike talks about him all the
      time. Also, I've run into him several times at her house, just
      coming and going, though now, for some reason, she doesn't seem
      to remember.

      
"That's great, I'm
      really glad for you."

      
"He's a good man.
      He's been over here a lot lately and Mikey's obviously seen him
      with me. Do you think that could have anything to do with it?"

      
 

      
I kick myself mentally for not figuring
      this out on my own.

      
"Yeah, I do. I mean,
      lookit. . . this has got to be really confusing for him. First
      we split up, then he isn't sure where he fits into the scheme
      of things with you. I mean, is he the man of the house or is
      he still just a little kid? Then he's in the time of his life
      where he's looking for a male figure to identify with and obviously
      he looks to me to fill that role, and then there's some other
      guy coming around and Mike doesn't know...can't know...how that
      fits in with everything else. He probably wonders if he's going
      to lose me as his dad, whether he's going to get a new dad, who
      knows what he's thinking? Yeah, I think that could have something
      to do with it."

      
"Todd, he's a good
      man. . . a good family man. I'm pretty serious about him. I don't
      have casual relationships. I haven't had any casual relationships
      or men hanging around the house since we split up. And he really
      cares for me. I don't know how much you want to know about this."

      
"Not much. I really
      mean it when I say I'm glad for you. Really. I want you to be
      happy, and if this guy helps you be that way, that's great. But
      it's not real comfortable to hear you talking about it."

      
"I think Mike's uncomfortable
      because he's never seen you and Bobby together. He thinks I'm
      doing something you don't know about. . . that I'm doing it behind
      your back. I think he wonders if there's something funny going
      on."

      
"Look, I don't want
      to go to a big effort to meet the guy. Well. . . obviously, if
      you keep seeing him, I'll run into him sooner or later, but I
      don't want to make a big production of it. I'll talk to Mike
      and tell him it's okay with me that you're seeing this guy. Really,
      what it comes down to, he'll just have to get used to it. You
      have a right to have a life. Mike can't expect you to stay alone
      forever. But be a little patient with him. I'll talk to him from
      my end, anyway."

      
"I'd appreciate it,
      really. I'm probably going to marry this man."

      
 

      
We're both silent for a
      moment.
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