“Why did I agree to this?” I ask Jules as I stand in our entryway, staring at the front doors. They’re a narrow pair of old wooden doors that Jules recently found at a salvage yard and refinished for me. She knew I wanted to have the original side-by-side doors that were common when our South End row house was built in the mid-1800s.
“Because deep down, you know that you didn’t try hard enough to get ahold of Drew before, or since, Graham was born.”
Over my shoulder, I give my sister the look. It’s the same one I’ve been giving her my whole life, and it basically equates to: Develop a fucking filter, Jules. She’s a tell-it-like-it-is girl who doesn’t believe in sugar-coating things.
She blinks back at me, all wide blue eyes and flawless skin. With her hair piled up in the messy bun she often wears, she looks too young to be mad at. Sometimes I have to remind myself that she isn’t the little girl Jameson and I coddled after our mom died, and even more so after Dad left a note under an empty scotch bottle on our kitchen table that said, I can’t do this anymore, then disappeared from our lives. She’s a full-grown adult who needs to develop some tact.
“What?” she asks, when I continue staring at her. “You know it’s true. You could have contacted him through his publicist or even through his team, sent him DMs through social media, given Jameson some made-up reason to have Drew contact you, or looked up his family’s address in Boston and contacted him that way.”
“I know,” I sigh. I was hurt, and I let my pride get in the way. “I get it, Jules.”
“Good,” she says decisively, then takes a few steps so she’s standing next to me. She slings her arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “You’ve been a great mom, and so strong doing this on your own. But Drew wants to be involved.”
“It’s not that easy,” I say. “We still have a lot to figure out.”
“So go figure it out. And I’m here if you need to talk when you get back.”
It only takes me about five minutes to walk from our place in the South End over to the Back Bay. I picked a small Italian restaurant tucked away on a side street off Newbury Street, and I asked for a very private table when I made the reservation.
And now, as I stand there looking at the painted black door beneath the ornate sign with the name of the restaurant, I want to turn and run away—go back home and change out of this dress and into the sweats and t-shirt I was wearing earlier, then cuddle up under a blanket on the couch and watch a mindless TV show with my little sister.
I’d made peace with being a single mom. Graham and I were doing just fine. I was comfortable with our life exactly how it was. It was maybe a little lonely, but it was safe. And welcoming Drew into our lives feels like it carries too many risks. So much could go wrong.
But what if everything goes right?
“You going to stand there, staring at that door until it opens itself?”
His voice comes from right behind me, but even though I was too lost in thought to notice his approach, I don’t startle. His voice is like honey—smooth and sweet and rich. It flows around me slowly, until I feel it making my limbs heavy.
“For real, though,” he says when I don’t manage to respond. “What’s going on?” He puts a hand on each of my shoulders.
“Just lost in thought, I guess,” I say, my voice falsely bright to cover the reaction my body is having to what I’m sure is supposed to be a supportive, friendly squeeze.
This is why it’s a bad idea to let him into your life. I push that thought right out of my head, because it doesn’t matter whether his presence is good for me or not, as long as it’s good for Graham. And I have no idea why, but I suspect that Drew will be a great dad—or at least, he’ll be a fun dad. And my serious little boy could use that.
“You ready to go in, or you want to stand out here thinking some more?”
I sink my elbow into his ribs playfully, and he must not have expected it because he lets out a little grunt at the contact.
“Toughen up, Jenkins,” I say, then reach forward to open the door. I step through it into the narrow, dim entryway, and right as I go to pull the interior glass door to the restaurant open, he reaches over my shoulder and plants his hand against the door. The exterior door shuts behind him, and it’s just the two of us, pressed together in the tight space.
“You really think I need to toughen up?” His words are low and spoken directly in my ear as his body practically cradles mine. “Or was that a throwback to when you said that to me before?”
“Drew,” I say, stepping away as I turn to face him, wishing I’d never opened my mouth. I definitely intended it as a little reminder of how often I’d said that to him when he’d whine or complain during our tutoring sessions. But I’d forgotten that I also said it right before we had sex when he’d looked at me and said, “You’re going to be my undoing.” And now, our eyes locked on each other in this tight space, I can clearly see that the last time I told him to “toughen up” was the one that stuck with him. “Let’s forget I said that and go inside before we’re late for our reservation.”
“Yeah,” he says, moving his hand down to the door handle, “wouldn’t want to be late.”
I ignore the undercurrent of sarcasm in his voice and sweep through the door he’s holding open for me. The host directs us to a table in an alcove off a hallway. The brick walls are windowless, and the space is dimly lit by wall sconces and the candle in the center of the table. I asked for privacy and got romantic instead. Now I wish I’d just had him meet me at a bar so this felt more like friends getting a drink, rather than a date.
When he takes his seat across from me, he eyes me like he’s trying not to laugh.
“What?” I say as soon as the host leaves. I’m frustrated at myself, because I can tell he’s sensing my inner turmoil.
“You look horrified by the table choice. It’s fine,” he says, opening the drink menu. “It’s not like I think this is a date.”
It’s funny how we’re already falling into the same patterns as college—him trying to goad or annoy me to get a reaction, and me secretly loving the attention and the banter.
“Good. Because this is actually a business meeting.”
He lifts one eyebrow, and I can tell how hard he’s working to hold in a laugh. “A business meeting? Are we discussing our mutual assets?”
“In a way, yes.”
“So you see our son as an asset?”
I groan, even though I know he’s teasing. “You know that’s not what I mean. But if you want to be involved in Graham’s life, then we have to agree on some ground rules. I think it makes sense to look at this like a partnership.”
“A partnership,” he repeats, nodding slowly as it sinks in.
“Yeah. Where we both want what’s best for Graham, and that’s the basis for our decisions about how this goes.”
“That’s fair,” he says, right as our waiter arrives to take our drink order. Once he leaves, Drew asks, “So how do you think this should work?”
I’ve actually given this a lot of thought over the last few hours.
“From my perspective, I think it would be ideal if you got to spend some time with Graham, get to know him a bit, before we tell him that you’re his dad.”
“You afraid I’m going to change my mind?”
I set my elbows on the table with my arms folded across the space in between. “I think it’s a possibility.” Pausing, I assess the look on his face. “Don’t look at me like that. Right now, anything’s possible, because you don’t even know him yet. Maybe you two won’t click.”
“Whether we click right away or not doesn’t change the fact that I’m his dad, Audrey.” Drew’s voice is a tad exasperated. Good, I appreciate seeing that he actually wants this. Even so, I need to proceed with caution.
“I know it doesn’t. But if you change your mind, I don’t want him to know what he’s losing or missing out on.”
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
“You don’t know that, Drew. You haven’t been a dad before. And you’re walking into this when he’s five, not when he’s a baby.”
He raises his eyebrows at that, and instantly I feel the accusation, because whose fault is that? Mine.
“I see the guilt in your eyes, and I wish you wouldn’t do that. Audrey,” he says softly. I hate the way I love the sound of my name coming from him. “We both made mistakes. And now we need to get over that and move on. We can’t keep rehashing the past. We need to move forward, thinking about the future. Can you do that?”
I’m surprised that he’s not more upset. “Yeah. The only thing we need to think about moving forward is what’s best for Graham. I have thoughts on the best way for you to meet him.”
“Yeah?” There’s an excitement in his eyes that almost has me smiling.
“Jameson coaches Graham’s hockey team,” I say. “Practices just started back up. I know athletes are always looking to do volunteer work in the community. Maybe you could tell him you’re looking to do some community service, and ask him if he knows of any youth hockey programs you could work with. Hopefully, he’ll volunteer his own team and you don’t have to bring up that you know he coaches.”
“Okay. I’m not sure how well I’ll be able to get to know Graham in that circumstance, though.”
“Maybe after practice, I can invite you to get donuts with us or something?”
“And that won’t be suspicious?”
“We don’t have to leave the rink together or anything. And we’re friends from college, remember?”
“Friends, huh?” He winks at me.
“That’s our story. We became friends when I tutored you, but we lost touch after you graduated.”
“And what happens when everyone learns the truth?”
“Eventually, we’ll need to come clean about the whole story, I guess. And when we get there, we’ll figure out how to do that.”
“Who are we hiding this from, exactly? Is there really no one who knows I’m Graham’s dad?”
“Jules knows. That’s it.”
“I think Lauren suspects, too,” he says.
“Because of our conversation at her house the other night?” I’d kind of forgotten Lauren witnessed that whole thing.
“Yeah. After you left, she was asking me how I knew you. You knew exactly what I meant when I asked Graham how old he is, and I’m pretty sure Lauren at least suspects why I was asking.”
“She’s become one of my closest friends,” I say, then tell him about how Lauren and her twins moved to Boston last winter, and how Jules and I became friends with her as we renovated her new house, and how she ended up dating my brother. “I want to tell her the truth, but I don’t want her to have to lie to my brother in order to keep our secret.”
Jameson finding out would add a whole other layer of complexity, and our situation is already complicated enough. Drew and I need time to figure this out ourselves before anyone else gets involved.
“Has she asked you about it?”
“Not yet. But if you show up to that hockey practice, she sure as shit will be asking questions.” And if she starts asking questions, I don’t know how I’ll lie to her—so it’s best if she’s not asking them.
“She’ll be there?”
“She and the girls usually come to watch the Saturday morning practices. A bunch of five-year-olds learning to play hockey is always highly entertaining, and her twins love being at the rink. Jameson is teaching them to skate, actually.” I love seeing this side of my brother—the protective, nurturing side that he tried so hard to hide for so many years.
“We almost always have games Friday or Saturday, so the chances of me ever being at a Saturday morning practice are slim. But I’ll follow your lead on whatever you want to do about telling Jameson and Lauren,” Drew says.
“I guess for now I can ask Lauren not to ask any questions so that I don’t have to lie to her, or ask her to lie to my brother?”
Drew half-laughs, half-snorts. “So you mean, you’re going to tell her without telling her.”
“I don’t know what other choice I have.” I sigh as the waiter sets our drinks on the table, then continues on to the next table because we haven’t even opened our menus yet. “Family is…complicated.”
He stares at me with a look I can’t decipher, and I can feel the heat creeping into my cheeks under his gaze. Finally, one corner of his lips turns up, but he’s not looking at me with amusement. It looks more like…pride?
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
