“I’m surprised you haven’t tried it yet,” I mused, linking my arms with my children as we made our way around the corner of a big old brownstone. “You guys have been here a few weeks now.”
“I’m surprised you held off dropping by so long,” Angie teased, matching her steps to mine, while her brother did so unconsciously.
“Ha-ha, are we almost there?”
“Yep,” Angie tugged my arm past a flower shop to a small restaurant with bright red and green colors. Not dissimilar to many Italian restaurants. “We’re here.”
Aria, as the large sign declared the restaurant, looked to only seat about twenty people. Bollywood sounding music came through speakers and a man with tan skin and wearing a tunic led us to our table.
“Thank you for choosing Aria Afghan, I’m Abdul,” he gestured to the four-top table by the window. “Here are your menus. The special today is lamb kebab. I will get you water.”
Abdul went off to get our drinks, and Angie poured over the menu. “Kebab sounds good. I have to get the Qabili palau. Oh, and sabzi paneer…”
“How about you order for us, and if it’s too much, you have leftovers,” I suggested.
She nodded and rattled off a half dozen things to Abdul. I was happy to hear her mention bread and rice, though I wasn’t picky.
“So, why the random visit? Miss us?” Angie asked when
“Were you lonely, Papa?” Beppino asked softly, with real curiosity.
“He was so lonely,” Angie replied for me, “Since he doesn’t even date.”
Scoffing, I unfolded my linen napkin, buying time. “I’ve dated.”
“No, you’ve found women to hook up with. You haven’t dated,” Angie pointed out in her blunt way before the real blow, “and you’re not getting any younger.”
The urge to roll my own eyes was strong, but it didn’t suit me and I couldn’t deny it. “Guess I’m too old to date, then.”
“We worry about you alone in that big house.” Beppino reached out to place his hand over mine, “You need human companionship, Papa.”
Looking outside to give myself time to think. Across the street, a young man in tiny black shorts with a pink shirt tucked into the waistband—allowing sweat to drip visibly down his body, reflecting the rays of sunlight peeking out of the clouds—was jogging in place waiting for the light to turn. My stomach did a weird flip and an image of me licking his abs popped unbidden to my head. Where the fuck did that come from?
“Hottie, nine o'clock,” Angie stage-whispered to her twin, who had to turn half around.
“He’s more your type than mine,” Beppino replied and I tore my eyes away from the man—who was likely only a year or two older than my children—to tune back into their conversation.
“Do you two really check out men together?”
“Of course,” Angie shrugged as Abdul returned with a woman to bring us tea and our first round of dishes, before loading the table down with a second set of family-size bowls. “This smells divine, thank you!”
We started dishing up things onto our plates, Angie encouraging us to try everything. It did smell good, and I loved our little family.
“So what’s your type, dad?” Beppino asked innocently, but it made me choke on some curried meat.
“I, uh, I don’t know,” I cleared my throat to say before stuffing it again. Finally, under my daughter’s intense glare, I added, “Your mom was my type.”
The thing was, I knew my type. Smart but not boastful, smaller than me but strong enough to keep up, independent but needed me, opinionated and decisive but submissive in the bedroom… I’d found women to fuck over the years, but never one who was my match out of the bedroom.
“Then you should just try people out and see what you’re into,” Angie suggested.
“Mmm, sure,” I gave a noncommittal answer and asked her to pass the flat bread. I might date, but I didn’t want to discuss it with my eighteen-year-olds.
The sweaty man must have been doing loops of the blocks, because he passed by again on our side of the street, stopping to stretch and check his fitness band within view of me. He bent over to lace his shoes, and the white strap of a jock peeked out over his crack. My first thought was what a brat he was, showing off his sexy body like that. My second was how hot it would be to punish him for the display. And then those two thoughts hit a brick wall, and I closed my eyes to breathe deeply.
“It’s okay, Papa,” Angie patted my forearm sympathetically. “With that silver fox hair and striking gray eyes, they’ll be falling into your lap.”
Hours later, when I’d walked my children back to their new place with two meals’ worth of takeout and was alone in my study, the day came crashing down on me.
