"Not because of one kiss."
June waited.
"The kiss hurt your dad."
"Then I made things much worse because I cared more about proving I hadn't done anything wrong than understanding why he was hurt."
"I blamed him."
"I talked about him unfairly."
"I lied about counseling."
"I put you in the middle sometimes."
"You did?"
"Yes."
"Not in a way you could understand then."
"But I did."
She stared through the windshield.
"Was Dad perfect?"
I smiled slightly.
"No."
"Definitely not."
"He had stopped paying attention to parts of our marriage."
"He was emotionally distant."
"We both had problems."
"But his problems did not force me to make my choice."
She thought.
"Did he forgive you?"
"I think so."
"Did you forgive yourself?"
That question surprised me.
"Eventually."
"How?"
I looked at her.
"By realizing forgiveness isn't pretending the thing wasn't wrong."
"It's deciding you don't have to keep becoming the worst thing you once did."
June was quiet.
Then:
"That's actually kind of good."
"Thank you."
"Still stupid to kiss Liam."
"Very."
She nodded.
"Okay."
Teenagers are efficient judges.
Simon and I became better divorced than we had been married near the end.
That sounds tragic.
Maybe it is.
But it is also hopeful.
We attended June's school events.
Shared holiday information.
Discussed doctors.
Argued occasionally.
Apologized faster.
When Simon's father became ill, I brought food to Margaret.
When my mother broke her wrist, Simon drove June to visit her while I handled insurance.
The marriage ended.
The family changed.
It did not disappear.
That distinction saved all of us.
On June's high school graduation day, I stood beside Simon outside the auditorium.
Rebecca was with him.
My partner at the time, Aaron, stood with me.
Margaret and Paul were older.
Jessica, surprisingly, came too because she had remained part of my life after years of repair.
June emerged in her graduation gown.
We all shouted.
She covered her face.
"Oh my God."
Simon laughed.
"She's embarrassed."
I looked at him.
"She'll survive."
He smiled.
For a moment, I saw the twenty-something man I had fallen in love with.
Not romantically.
Just historically.
A familiar face across a long distance.
Later, while everyone took pictures, Simon and I found ourselves standing alone.
He nodded toward June.
"We did okay."
I looked at our daughter.
Confident.
Kind.
Funny.
Occasionally ruthless.
"Yeah."
"We did."
Simon hesitated.
"Do you ever think about that party?"
"Less often than I used to."
"Same."