Page 70 of Doughn't Let Me Go

“Stop hiding.”

Our coffee dates—he misses them.

I do too.

I nod once.

He leaves.

And I breathe again.

Slice Nine

Porter

I’m chopped liver to my own kid.

When she told Dory bye for the night, she twirled right around to me and asked if she could spend the night with Foster and Wren again.

Who am I to deny the gremlin what she wants?

Afterward, a phone call was made, and an overly excited Wren agreed.

Foster was less inclined to say yes—mostly because he’s still salty about teatime—but agreed. Then he started to make a comment about Dory and me and I hung up on him. I don’t need to hear it. Not tonight.

Not tonight when we’re both free and there are no titles like boss and nanny in our way.

I blink up at the building as I shift my car into park.

Apparently I drove to Slice on autopilot. I don’t know why. Kyrie and I just had pizza for lunch yesterday during our day date. I invited Dory, but she declined.

I was grateful and annoyed.

My feet carry me inside and I plop myself down in an empty seat at the bar. A waiter comes by and I place my order for a beer. Tonight definitely calls for alcohol. I just wish they served the stronger shit.

I nod my thanks when he brings my drink and then I proceed to chug half of it.

Yeah. Definitely wish this was the good stuff.

Glancing around, I see this place is packed, though I shouldn’t be surprised by that. Slice is a popular place for teens and young twenty-somethings to hang out at. With cheap delicious food, a good IPA on draft, and a fun playlist always on rotation, it’s a good place for blending in and being alone without ever really feeling that way.

My eyes fall to the book sitting on the bar next to me. It’s flipped over to hold the place of the reader, and I check out what the booknerd is reading.

The Outsiders.

Not caring who it belongs to, I pick the book up, holding the place they were at while flipping to the beginning.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Even though the words are sharp, a calmness washes over me.

She has that effect, which is why I’ve been so frustrated these last few days, that familiar bubble of anger threatening to overflow.

All she does is hide, and all I do is seek her out so I can find that calm, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

“On my birthday of all days.”

Her words are murmured, but I hear them.

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