“Dude, I fuckin’ knew it!” Charlie roared. “Ugh, this is—why? Why do you *hate* me?”
“I understand why you’d be upset,” I admitted, “I really do. I want you to know that we—”
“We?” he barked. “You really discussed this with him? Like—how do I break it to my kid that I’m *fucking* his teacher?”
“We aren’t fucking!” I shot back, as if that made it any better. It wasn’t for lack of trying, though.
“You’re—not?” he asked.
Seriously? My son was *that* shallow? Ugh. Men.
“No, we’re—not. I didn’t want to go that far without talking to you first,” I smiled. It was a total lie, a complete one, but innocent and beneficial in the grand scheme of things.
“Well, that’s nice—” he groaned. “But what about—have you talked to dad?”
I had not. I liked to pretend we didn’t live within fifteen minutes of him.
“Your *dad* has a wife, Charlie,” I groaned. “I feel like there are better dating prospects out there.”
My son sighed. He plopped down onto his bed and tousled his hair.
“Babe, I know this fucking sucks,” I admitted, “But don’t—”