He said you were a cousin everyone called Aunt Nia and that Amara was your daughter. He said he was divorced before Owen was born. Nia’s hands shook. She wrote: I have been married to him eight years.
We have never separated. Three dots appeared, vanished, reappeared. Caroline finally answered: I am going to be sick. Nia closed the laptop.
They agreed to meet that afternoon without the children. Dawn, Nia’s closest friend from college, came to stay with Amara. Caroline’s mother drove down from Hopkinsville to keep Owen. The two women chose a coffee shop halfway between Nashville and Clarksville because neither wanted to enter the other’s home.
They arrived within two minutes of each other and recognized each other instantly despite having seen one another for less than ten minutes under airport lights. For an awkward moment, they stood beside the table without knowing whether to shake hands. Neither did. Nia sat first.
Caroline sat across from her. Between them were two untouched coffees and five years of shared ignorance. “I am not here to fight you,” Nia said. Caroline nodded quickly.
“Neither am I.” “I might get angry.” “I might too.” “Okay.”
“Okay.” They began with dates. Caroline told Nia when she met Andre, when he said the marriage was ending, when Owen was conceived, when Andre told her the divorce was final. Nia corrected almost every milestone with the corresponding reality.
On the weekend Andre told Caroline he had signed divorce papers, he had attended Amara’s first birthday party with Nia’s entire family. The photograph still existed. On the Christmas Andre told Nia he had overnight duty, he had spent the afternoon at Caroline’s apartment opening presents with Owen. On the week Caroline believed Andre was visiting his sick mother, Denise had been in Florida and Andre had taken Nia to a hotel in Chattanooga for their anniversary.
The two women stared at each other after that one. “He left your anniversary trip and came to me,” Caroline said. Nia’s voice was almost absent. “Yes.”
Caroline looked down at the table. “I hate him.” Nia surprised herself by answering, “I don’t.” Caroline looked up.
“I want to,” Nia said. “It would be easier. Right now I love the man I thought he was and hate the person who created him.” Caroline’s eyes filled.
“I understand that.” They compared photographs next. That was worse than dates. Owen on Andre’s shoulders at a county fair while Nia believed Andre was on an overnight exercise.