Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“My turn, my turn!” the kid’s friend cried out.
Before I knew it, kids were jumping on his back in turns, using him as a human police car. Charlie didn’t skip one kid. Not even the one who looked like he weighed about the same as him. Even when his muscles gave up and I saw the exhaustion on his face.
After we wrapped things up, we went to a Dominican café and ate green bananas, longanizas, and cornbread. We downed two beers each before either of us spoke.
“You’re good with kids,” I said, finally. I didn’t know why, but the silence between us wasn’t awkward. Maybe because we were both used to being alone. Silence was my friend more often than not.
He waved a flippant hand. “Just as long as I don’t have to take care of them.”
“You don’t have kids of your own?” I took a lazy pull of my beer.
He leaned across the window, his eyes following a bunch of teenagers smoking cigarettes and laughing. “No.”
I frowned. “You sounded thoughtful. Is that your final answer?”
“I had a kid,” he said with a sad smile.
That could have meant any number of things, all of them tragic.
“She died when she was eight months old.”
“Fuck. Sorry.”
“What about you?” He turned to look at me. “Any little Riggses running around in different continents?”
I smiled ruefully. Arsène and Christian always speculated that I’d sired a kid or twelve during my travels, but condoms were my religion and pulling out while wearing them was my temple. Better to be safe than (incredibly) sorry.
“None that I’m aware of.”
“I think you should try it. You’ll make a good dad.” Charlie tipped his beer in my direction. The sun dipped behind the buildings over his shoulder, washing the rooftops in orange and yellow hues. New York was beautiful in the summer. I’d almost forgotten.
You forget a lot of things about a place when you never stick around long enough to appreciate it.
“A kid would cramp my style. Besides, I haven’t had the best family life, so I wouldn’t know the first thing about raising one.”
“I think it’s precisely the people who don’t come from perfect families who create the best ones.” Charlie fixed his gaze on my face. “It’s like kids of divorced parents always try extra hard to make their marriage work. Experience shapes you, and heartbreak defines you.”
“With all due respect, divorce is a walk in the goddamn park in comparison to my childhood. I’d eat divorce for breakfast if I could, with a side of poverty.”
“Tell me about it.” He shoved cheese bread into his mouth.
I didn’t share my life story, not with anyone, and I wasn’t going to make an exception with this nice yet oddly clingy stranger.
“Just take my word for it. I’m not father material.” I waved a hand. I wouldn’t trust me with a fucking houseplant. “What about a wife? Ever had one of those?”
“Almost.” He scratched the damp beer label off his bottle.
“Your baby mama?” I asked.
He nodded. “What about you?”
I thought about Duffy. It seemed insane to count her as anything other than a headache. But that was exactly what she was about to become. Though I wasn’t going to divulge any more information about our lives without her consent after my little stunt in the subway yesterday.
“Never been married,” I said finally.
Charlie balled the damp beer label into a wad. “We should do this again sometime.”
“Talk about depressing shit?” I took out my rolling kit, and he gave me a funny look again.
“Do projects together,” he explained. “Gotta keep busy.”
“Dunno what you’re talking about. I had a great time watching Jamie Spinner.”
“Jerry Springer.”
Maybe he did have a point.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DUFFY
I forgot the bloody tacos.
That, in itself, wasn’t even the fifteenth most terrible thing to happen to me today. But considering everything went wrong from the moment I opened my eyes—other than the proposal video disappearing from YouTube—that was my tipping point. The forgotten tacos.
I’d only noticed when I walked into my empty flat and my stomach made a sound eerily similar to a bear’s yawn.
Feed me, you daft cow.
But I had nothing to feed it with, because I’d forgotten. I’d forgotten because I’d gone to three job interviews that day. All of them ended prematurely, with none indicating any interest. Either my meltdown video had done the rounds and landed on my potential employers’ desks or nobody wanted to hire someone without a visa. Likely, it was a combination of both.
I dragged my arse to the shower. Riggs wasn’t home yet. I could only imagine where he spent his days. Probably hopping between one model’s bed to the other. Breaking our marriage vows before he’d even uttered them.
Not that I minded one bit. Not even half a bit. Not even a quarter.
Oh, but he was so lovely. So very handsome and sort of funny in his own juvenile way. And he never made me feel like he had the upper hand in our relationship, the way BJ did. Never used my weaknesses against me.