Page 29 of A World Without You
“That’s so wild to think of you not having a daughter. But at the same time, it’s weird that you’re a dad,” I muse. “Because I feel like you’re still nineteen in my head.”
He drops his mouth like he’s about to laugh, but he doesn’t. “Excuse me, but I’m seven years older than you. So, no, it isn’t weird I’m a dad.” I snort through my nose, and he continues, “Is it weird that you’re divorced? Because, by your logic, you’re like twelve.”
“Touché!” I say, sipping the warm cider in my mug. Then I look at him. “You know what I mean, though. I can’t imagine my childhood without your family. Then life happened, and we didn’t see each other as much, and now we’re like...adults...with problems.” I say the last word with a hint of shock and disgust, and Bennett laughs. Only a little. It’s rare for him to laugh. Not because he’s humorless but because he just doesn’t laugh easily. He will look someone dead in the eye and tell them they’re hilarious without even changing the cadence of his breath. Not because he’s being sarcastic or rude, he just doesn’t laugh.
Bennett drags a hand down his trimmed beard and looks at me. “Yeah, life, in general, is pretty weird.”
“You seem like you’re doing all right, though,” I comment, and he nods.
“I get by,” he says. “How are you feeling now that you’re back?”
Because certainly, my mental state must be more of a topic of discussion than his.
“There’s no way for me to answer that without sounding utterly pathetic,” I confess.
He scrunches his nose and runs a hand over his daughter’s head.
“I screwed it all up, you know?”
His lips twitch in understanding, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I really felt like, when I chose Graham, and I chose to leave Seattle, I’d find myself—make my own path.” I draw in a long breath. “Then I realized I needed to just stay on the one I was on.”
“Do you regret it?” Bennett asks.
“I do.”
“You miss him.” A statement. Then he adds, “You probably miss them both.”
I tilt my head. “What? Both Colin and Graham?”
“Yeah. Regret does that. You start to wonder about all the almosts, all the could-have-beens, which is actually quite terrible for your mental health because you can’t live in what-ifs. You can’t live in the past. You have to look at your life today and decide what you’ll do moving forward.”
I scrunch my nose in contempt, even though he’s right. “How many hours of therapy did you need to realize that?”
“Enough to meet my deductible.”
I laugh. “Ah, health insurance? What is that magic?”
Bennett’s smile morphs, and he laughs, small and low.
“You met Graham, right?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Once or twice. Right after Krista had Josie.”
I nod. “Did you like him?”
“Yeah, he was cool,” he answers. I’m unsure if he’s being honest or polite.
“Really?” I wince out my request for reassurance.
“Why? Did you want me to hate him?” he asks, his resting scowl face in full force.
“Yes! I want you to say he was a jerk and never good enough for me, and you always hated him, and I never should have married him.” I laugh at my half-serious joke.
Bennett narrows his eyes on me, leaning in over his sleeping daughter. “One, you know I didn’t know enough about your marriage to have that strong of an opinion. And two, why would you want me to say that?”
“Because...” I search for the reason he needs to immediately side with the distraught divorcee. “It’s just something you’re supposed to say.”
