"Because you got quiet in the car after. And Mommy cried in the bathroom when she thought I was watching TV. And then he never came again. I liked him. He knew a joke about volcanoes. But I like you more."
Aaron reached across the table and held her small hand. Medium-brown skin against his deep brown. "You don't have to choose people like teams. Grown-ups made a mess. We are cleaning it. Your job is second grade and volcanoes and being exactly who you are."
Lily nodded, unconvinced and comforted in the same nod, which was the most any parent could hope for.
That evening Aaron asked Simone to walk the neighborhood with him while a trusted neighbor sat with Lily for an hour. They walked under bare oaks becoming interested in spring. Porch lights came on. A dog barked three streets over.
"I need to know if you still talk to him in your head," Aaron said.
Simone did not pretend not to understand. "Sometimes. Not with longing the way I did in the beginning of the lie. With shame. With the question of who I am if I could do that to you and still pack lunches and still kiss our daughter's forehead and still sleep."
"Do you want him."
"No."