She can’t. She shrugs, setting down her wineglass.

“What kind of books does Josh like to read?”

“Is that a trick question?” she asks.

I settle back against the booth, attempting to hide my agitation, but it’s living and breathing in every part of me. “You don’t know anything about the people you brought into this world.”

“I was a single mother to both of you, Atlas. I didn’t have time to worry about what you liked to read when I was busy trying to survive.” She drops the fork she was about to use. “Jesus Christ.”

“I didn’t ask you to come here so I could make you feel bad,” I say. I take a sip of my water, and then run my finger around the rim of my glass. “I don’t even need an apology. Neither does he.” I look at her pointedly, shocked that I’m about to say what I’m about to say. It’s not what I came here to say to her at all, but the things I selfishly came here for aren’t what’s nagging at me. “I want to give you an opportunity to be a better mother to him.”

“Maybe the issue is that he should be a better son.”

“He’s twelve. He’s as good as he needs to be. Besides, the relationship you have with him isn’t his responsibility.”

She scratches her cheek and then flicks a hand in the air. “What is this? Why am I here? Do you want me to take him back because he’s too much for you to handle?”

“Not even close,” I say. “I want you to sign your rights over to me. If you don’t, I’ll take you to court, and it’ll cost us both a ridiculous amount of money that neither of us wants to pay. But I’ll pay it. If that’s what it takes, I will drag this in front of a judge, who will take one look at your history and force you to undergo a year of parenting classes that we both know you have no interesting in completing.” I lean forward, folding my arms together. “I want legal custody of him, but I’m not asking you to disappear. I don’t want you to. The last thing I want is for that boy to grow up feeling as unloved by you as I felt.”

She sits frozen in my words, so I pick up my fork and take a casual bite of my dinner.

She stares at me while I chew, and she’s still staring at me as I wash down the food with a sip of water. I’m sure her brain is running a mile a minute, searching for an insult or a threat of her own, but she’s got nothing.

“Every Tuesday night we’re going to have dinner here, as a family. You are more than welcome to come. I’m sure he would enjoy that. I’ll never ask you for a penny. All I ask is that you show up one night a week and be interested in who he is, even if you have to fake it.”