Trevor’s dirty talk had a twist that was less gimmicky, less grating on the brain. Trevor liked me to say things that, if written down instead of spoken in lusty moans, you could write on a child’s best homework paper. He liked me to call him, Good Boy and Big Man. He liked me to tell him how good he was, which wasn’t strange if it was taken to mean how good he was at sex, but his dirty talk requests rang of gold star charts and positive reinforcement.

“OK, big man,” I said, slowing down, pushing his finger where I wanted it. “You’re so good to me. You’re such a good boy, you earned whatever you want.”

*  *  *

I was in the midst of my after-sex pee when I heard Emily shout, “Momma? Momma? Momma?” She didn’t even wait a full second between calls? Theoretically, how could I possibly scramble to her room that fast? I was annoyed, but being annoyed was OK as long as I played the role. I was a good mother if I showed up in my daughter’s room when she cried in the middle of the night. It didn’t matter if I hated doing it. If I showed up, I was the opposite of my mom. Sometimes, it’s as simple as that.

I finished peeing and hustled into her room.

She was sitting in bed. The nightlight glow illuminated her face, eyes open but glazed. Tears shiny on her cheeks.

“I’m here, Em.”

“I had a nightmare that a stranger broke my window and put his hand over my mouth and nose, and I died.”

“It’s only a bad dream. Momma’s here.” I tucked her teddy bear under her arm. I lay down beside her and wrapped my arm around her tummy. Her body was warm, her breathing was rhythmic.

I thought she’d fallen back asleep until she said, “Would you rather have me die or everyone in the whole world?”

I opened my eyes. She was staring at me. “Neither. I don’t want anyone to die.”

“But if you had to choose. Would you rather have me die or everyone?” She spoke calmly, but she was wide awake.

“Well, since I’m your momma, I never want you to die so I guess I’d pick you over everyone else.”

“You’d want Dad and Sawyer to die.”

“No. I’d want none of them to die. But it also doesn’t make sense that I’d want everyone in the whole world to die. It’s too tricky of a question.”

“You’d pick me over Sawyer.”

“I’m Sawyer’s momma too. I’d pick him too. I’d pick both of you.”

“But you’re not really his momma.”

“Well, he didn’t grow in me. And he has another momma. But I’m his momma too.”

“Do mommas always love their children?”

My heart ached. “Yes.”