Page 90 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
Dan leans back against the pub bench and runs a hand across his scalp. His shaved hair is growing back, making it more obvious how far his hairline has receded. There are new lines around his jaw and forehead. Despite all the new muscles and dental work, he is still not aging backward. No one can.
“What’s going on with you?” Dan asks. “Anything worthwhile come out of this dating column? What happened with Ryan Stirling?”
“Turns out, he’s not as nice as his character on screen. The column’s a bit of a gimmick, I’m not really looking to meet someone.”
Dan nods, and for the first time I think he understands—I’m not single because I’m still heartbroken, I am alone because there’s also joy in being single.
“It’s a good column, you’re always funny when you write about yourself. I liked the one about the twenty-two-year-old,” Dan says, shooting me a genuine smile that I haven’t seen in a while. I blush, embarrassed that he’s read it. “Who’d have thought you’d be the one off dating twenty-somethings, partying till all hours, and I’d be signing up for another eighteen years of parenting,” he laughs, but there’s a flicker of remorse about it.
“The grass is always greener,” I say, resorting to cliché. Dan takes another swig of beer, his forehead creasing into a frown as he thumps down his empty pint glass.
“I love Sylvie, I do. She’s great, it’s all great…” He trails off again, and I watch him struggling to find the right words. “But, well. You look like you’re having a lot of fun. What if I missed my chance to mess about a bit more?”
A glow of satisfaction seeps in, and I gently kick him beneath the table.
“Sorry, but no, you don’t get to say that. Your doting girlfriend is pregnant. Come on, Dan, don’t be an arsehole.”
“Sorry, I know.” He shrinks down, shoulders slumping, like an admonished child. “I don’t mean that. I don’t know why I said that. Stuff in that department with Sylvie, it’s—”
“Whoa there! Let’s havesomeboundaries.” I put my hands over my ears, which makes him laugh.
“Sorry.” He covers his face with his hands, embarrassed. “Remember that first night we came back from the hospital with Jess?” Dan says, looking more relaxed. “We were so tired, we couldn’t even make it up the stairs, we just slept in the livingroom in this nest of duvets, next to her cot. I remember walking up and down all night when she had reflux. We listened toThe Great Gatsbyon audiobook, do you remember? It was hell, but also, it wasn’t. You and me in the trenches together.”
“They were the best of times and the worst of times,” I say, reaching out to put a hand over his.
“They were the best,” he says firmly, pausing, looking me in the eye now. “Thank you, for being cool about this. Sylvie thought you might be weird about it.”
Of course she did.“Why would I be weird about it?” I ask, jaw clenched beneath my smile.
“She thinks…” He clears his throat. “And this isn’t me saying this, this is her. She thinks subconsciously, you thought we might get back together one day.”
“Ha,” I say, blowing air through my lips, but now that I look at Dan properly I see he’s watching me with curiosity.Did he think that too?“I don’t think that. I don’t want that,” I tell him. “But we’ve shared half our lives, Dan, we’re responsible for two humans, that’s not something that ever goes away.”
“I know. She’ll get her head around it.” He cracks a smile. “Sylvie’s made all these ‘parenting mood boards.’ I don’t think she realizes it’s mainly changing nappies, being knackered, wearing tracksuits with milk stains down them. I can’t see her being good at all that—she has a seven-step cleansing routine.”
“I heard. But she’ll figure it out,” I reassure him. Watching Dan’s face, I realize he looks different. His expression open, the tension gone. “While we’re being so honest, can I say something?”
“Sure.”
“I need you to help more with the boring stuff, the kids’ washing, their homework, remembering to pack Ethan’s shin pads and gum guard for hockey. I can’t have them come back to my house with black bin liners full of washing.”
Dan’s body language grows defensive as I’m talking. “It’shardly worth me washing their clothes when they’re only with me two days. Plus when I’m at work all day, how am I supposed to—”
“Dan,” I cut him off. “I know it’s not always going to be possible, but I need you to try. I work full time now too, remember.”
He pinches his lips closed, then nods once. “Can I say something too? I know the lawyers agreed on all this, so it would be up to you…”
“What?” I ask nervously.
“I don’t love that they come for a night midweek and then only two nights every other weekend. They hardly have time to settle in, and it always feels like they’re living out of an overnight bag. I’d rather see them after school on a Wednesday, then have them stay for three or four nights together every other week.” He pauses. “I think they might prefer that too.”
“Have they said that?” I ask.
“Not in so many words.”
“I don’t know, that’s a big change.”
“It wouldn’t be any extra nights, just more nights together. Think about it? If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine. I’m just putting it out there.”
