Page 4 of I Saw Her First

“Yeah,” he mutters, poking at his food. “It’s weird.” Then he stuffs another forkful of noodles into his mouth. It’s barely a full sentence, yet it feels as if he’s reached across the sofa and wrapped me in a hug.

My throat thickens as I reach for my own food.

Three years. Three years with barely a word from him, except to say how much he can’t stand me, until two days ago. A desperate phone call while I was at work, at four in the afternoon. He’d lost his job and was way behind in his rent, and his roommate—who I assume had been carrying him for the past few months—gave him an ultimatum to pay up or leave. Jesse might have blamed me for his mother’s death, but that didn’t stop him from turning to me when he needed help, and nothing would have prevented me from being there for my kid when he needed me. I haven’t touched his room since he took off the day after Lydia’s funeral, and I told him he was welcome to stay for as long as he needed. That this would always be his home. I know he only came to me because he had no other choice, but I’m grateful to be given another chance with him. A chance to mend the rift that never should have formed. A chance to start over.

I push the thoughts away as I pop the top off my takeout. The zingy, fragrant smell of ginger rises from the container, and I almost moan as I take a mouthful of tender duck and vegetables.

Fuck, Daisy was right. This is delicious.

The image of the brunette barista from Joe’s Coffee fills my head as I eat. I don’t know what it is about her, but ever since my old coffee place down the street closed and I started going to Joe’s, my world feels a little less gray. Maybe it’s the way she’s always so bubbly, greeting me with a smile and making conversation about any and everything as if somehow she knows it’s not the words that matter, it’s the connection with another human being I need when I feel so alone in the world. Maybe it’s the way she puts so much effort into her coffee, creating the most original and artistic images in the foam. Or maybe it’s her delicate beauty; the soft smattering of freckles on her alabaster skin, the warm walnut brown of her eyes, and the way her long, dark-chocolate hair falls in loose tendrils around her pretty face when she pins it back.

Maybe it’s the fact that she’s the first woman I’ve found myself thinking about since my wife died.

I reach for another long pull of my beer with a deep sigh. Because part of me wishes I hadn’t developed a thing for the woman who makes my coffee—especially since she can’t be much older than my son.

Still. No harm in looking, right? Things in my life were fucking bleak for a while, when I lost not only my wife but my son in the process. Sure, I could haul myself out of bed and still make it to work, even if shaving and eating were beyond the scope of what I could manage. Lydia’s best friend, Pauline, did everything in her power to help me. She made sure I kept showing up at the office—it’s my ad agency, after all—and brought me food as often as she could. I spent two years in a haze of grief, numb and barely existing.

Then one day, I met a barista who went out of her way to get me to smile. Somehow, she cut through the fog, and in the simplest of ways, cleared a path for me. Suddenly, I woke witha smile, knowing she was the first person I’d see that morning, knowing she’d always be there, waiting to greet me, making the world a little better with her warm energy and her beautiful coffee. I’m sure to her I’m nothing more than one random guy in a long line of customers she serves, but she became the highlight of my day. She pulled me out of my misery and back into the world, back into myself, and I’ll be forever grateful for that. For her.

Jesse polishes off his food and deposits the container on the coffee table, reaching again for his beer. I’m so buoyed by our meal together that I can’t help but push for more.

“Want to find a movie or something?” I ask, finishing up as well.

Damn, Daisy, that was so good. I can’t believe that restaurant has been two blocks from my house for months and I haven’t ordered from there. It might be my new go-to place.

Jesse takes a long swallow from his beer. “Nah,” he says at last. “I’m gonna see what Rex is up to.” He pulls out his phone, fingers flying across the screen.

I frown into a sip of beer. Fuck, Rex is the worst and I don’t know why Jess insists on hanging out with him. He’s nothing but trouble. Arrested at least twice that I know of, and ever since Jesse started spending more time with him after Lydia died, he’s been on a dangerous path. He and Rex spend their time smoking weed and playingCall of Duty. I’m all for blowing off a little steam, but this isn’t the life I imagined for my son. I was married with a kid at his age, working my way up to a corner office. Why doesn’t he care about making more of himself?

I can’t say anything though because he’s barely started talking to me, and complaining about his best friend is hardly going to help me mend the gap between us.

“Okay,” I mutter, trying not to let the disapproval into my voice, but Jess picks up on it all the same.

He rolls his eyes. “Gotta problem with that?”

I lift my hands in defense. “I didn’t say a word.”

“I don’t know why you hate him so much. He was actuallytherefor me after everything happened.”

I open my mouth to protest because I’d wanted nothing more than to be there for my son after his mother died.He’sthe one who pushedmeaway. But we’ve had this argument more than once, and I know better than to go down that road right now.

“You don’t have to stay friends with him just because of that,” I murmur.

Wrong move.

“What do you know about having friends?” Jess laughs bitterly. “You spend all your time alone in this big house. Thanks, but I don’t think I need to take advice fromyou.”

My jaw tenses, and I set my beer down. Part of me is pissed that he’s so damn ungrateful, that he thinks it’s okay to speak to me like that, but a bigger part of me is glad he’s speaking to me at all, because if he’s speaking to me, then he mightlisten.

“I don’t hate Rex,” I say evenly, though it’s far from the truth. I can’t stand the little shit. “I just don’t want him getting you into trouble.”

Jesse snorts. “I’m twenty-three, Dad, not thirteen. I think I can handle myself.”

I twist to face him. “Exactly. You’re twenty-three. What are you doing with your life?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jesse mutters under his breath. “I’ve only just lost my job, and you’re giving me a hard time already?” He shakes his head, shoving to his feet. “I don’t need this shit.” With that, he stalks from the room, and a second later the front door slams shut. I stare after him for a moment, exhaling slowly.

Well, I fucked that up, didn’t I? I know I didn’t help my case by jumping all over him about his life choices, but like every parent, I worry about my kid. Ever since Lydia died, he’s becomea different person, and the more he pushes me away, the more I worry.

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