Go Team: The Tenderness of Exes

Thursday nights, I stay with the kids at my ex’s place. (I still don’t have a home of my own to which to bring them consistently.)

Last night, my ex gets home a little after 11. We update on meals and schedules and how the adjustments to the new sets of glasses are going. (Each child now has a cool new set of prescription lenses.)

She walks me to the door, studies me. “How’s your heart?”

I look down, answer softly.

My ex nods. “But you’re feeling safe?”

She always gets to ask that one. “Oh yes,” I say.

I step out the door.

“Wait,” my ex says. She steps forward, grabs a stray thread from my sweater, snaps it off.

I thank her. For an awkward second I wonder if we should hug, but that’s not who we were, not who we are or who we will be.

I offer my fist instead. She bumps it with hers.

“Go team,” I say.

“Go team. Good night.”