Page 56 of As the Years Pass
He shrugs, sitting in the seat across from me. “Enough to get here.”
“Awww,” I say with a grin, causing him to blush.
“Cute office you got here.”
“Cute?”
“It’s a suitable word.”
“For a three-year-old.”
“I have one of those,” he says with a laugh.
“Fair point.”
“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asks.
I look at my computer screen and get a sharp pain through my right eye. I snap them both shut.
“Yeah, let’s have a drink.” I get up and he follows me to the front. I jerk my head toward one of the empty stools, and he moves around the bar to sit down. I make him a Jack and Coke, assuming that’s what he wants, and pour myself a whiskey. I take the seat beside him.
“I’m going to regret this tomorrow,” he mutters as he picks up his glass.
“Same,” I say with a laugh.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Adam
Leslie
Are you busy?
I stare at the text, knowing what’s coming and not liking it. This is her being nice, and when she’s nice, it’s because she needs something from me.
Today is not the day I want to deal with her giving me bad news. Or if she needs something, it won’t be something I want to give.
This day, every year, is rough for me. It shouldn’t be, but it is, and she should know that. We were together long enough. Maybe I should be over it by now, but I’m not. That’s my ownfault. Maybe I should stop suppressing my feelings and deal with it, but that hurts too much, so maybe next year.
But also, is there a time limit on how long to grieve your dead parents? There shouldn’t be. How can you put a time frame on the sadness you feel over the loss of a loved one, never mind two?
I could ignore her text and pick up the kids like we scheduled, though I have a feeling that’ll end up pissing me off more. I have a feeling she’s going to give me another excuse as to why I can’t get the kids tonight, so showing up would be useless. There are only so many days in a week, and I’m only allowed to have them for two and a half. I cherish that half, and lately she’s been taking it from me as if it’s nothing.
The only good thing—and I say that lightly because not getting my kids isn’t a good thing—is that when she takes the kids on my days, I have something to do. Which is better than being miserable and alone in my apartment—what I did before Emmet.
I type out a response on my phone and send it.
No.
My phone rings a moment later.
I take a deep breath before answering.
“Hello?”
“Hey, how are you?”
“Fine,” I answer, trying to keep calm. “You?”
