Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Finn
Something has been nagging at me since yesterday, but I can’t think what it is. As Zach rushes out the door of my—our—West Village brownstone, tearing off to meet his grandmother waiting on the sidewalk, I cycle through possibilities. Did I pack everything he needs for the weekend? Definitely. I even signed him up for another camp next week. Got the confirmation earlier today when we were at the park.
But I don’t think this thing’s about Zach. It’s more like a sense of déjà vu that’s been dogging me since I visited my buddy’s office twenty-four hours ago. More specifically, since I glimpsed a woman ducking into the ladies’ room as I left. No clue why that would stick with me. I barely saw her, but something about her felt familiar.
Best to let it go, especially since Zach’s flying down the steps.
“Slow down, buddy,” I call out. Too late. He’s already jumping off the last step like he has wings.
When Zach hugs Candace like he missed her the most, my heart squeezes painfully. Maybe that’s what I’m missing—years. He’s known her his whole life. She must be more like a parent to him than I am.
She hugs him back fiercely, like a mom would do, which is the role she’s effectively played since Nina died.
But as much as she loves him—to the moon and back—we never fought over custody. From the start, she told me she wanted to share custody with me if I wanted it.
If.
I wanted it all, but I took half. That felt fair.
Her husband Michael still motors around the house and the yard, but he has a heart condition, so she worries that Zach’s days with him are numbered.
Well, they’re both in their late seventies, and Zach is seven, so she’s not wrong to be planning ahead.
I walk down the steps as the sun dips toward the horizon. The clock is ticking. I’m not antsy for them to go, but…I am really fucking antsy to see my goddess again.
Once Candace is free from Zach’s octopus hug, she ruffles his dark hair. Did Nina do that? Probably. Does Zach remember his mother’s touch?
No.
His words, not mine. When I showed him the picture of his mom boosting him up on a jungle gym at the park—a shot Candace gave me for Christmas—Zach took a quick glance at the shot and said, “I bet we had fun that day.”
Zach bet. But he didn’t know.
I filed that under things that make me sad, especially since I actually like my parents. I see them often.
“You ready, cutie-pie?” Candace asks Zach.
“I bought a new rocket kit for Grandpa and me. I sent it to your house. Did you get it, Grams?”
Shaking her head in amusement, she looks my way. “He’s ordering his own rocket kits?”
That’s not normal? “Yeah. Well, the Internet’s pretty easy to use,” I say a little defensively.
“This world. I swear,” she says, then turns to Zach. “Yes, I thought your dad sent it.”
“Well, he knew I got it. I bought it on his phone the other night.”
Zach hurries to the hatchback, but before he yanks on the handle, he zooms over to me for one more hug. I give it to him happily. “I’ll come get you Sunday night,” I say, rubbing a hand on his back.
He’ll be mine again for another full week in the city, and next weekend too. We’ve had a blast these past five days, and my tiny yard is proof, still covered with the lava from the volcanos that we erupted. Mount Loa has nothing on this father-son duo. But I also took him to the movies and then spent the early evening hunting down superhero costumes.
I’ve been busy, and that’s what I’ve wanted for years.
I head up the steps and inside, where I shower then get dressed. Once I’m ready, I walk through the kitchen, my gaze straying to the window that overlooks the tiniest of backyards.
The littlest tree house in the city looks awesome there. Maybe I’m not so wet behind the ears with this parenting thing after all.
I take off, leaving this part of my life behind for now. For the rest of tonight…I’ll be someone else.
The man I wasn’t able to be for most of my marriage.
Sometimes, your mind plays tricks on you. You remember a restaurant as being incredible the first time you eat there. Then you return, and the same dish just isn’t as good. As I head into the Albrecht Mansion that evening, dressed in slacks, a button-down, and navy suspenders as promised—a little Gatsby-esque, complete with a black Art Deco mask—I temper my expectations.
Life has taught me to expect little, even when I want much.
A few years of marriage spent trying to please someone unpleasable will do that to a guy. Make you stop…hoping. Marilyn was a miser, doling out tiny portions of love and sex and happiness to a starving man.