“Your home is…” Should I say lovely? Probably not. “…nice.”
“Thanks.” He walks through the living room into the kitchen. It’s a galley style like the one I grew up with. His has been updated too. The cupboards are dark gray, and the countertops are white and a little sparkly. “I like your counters.”
“My daughter picked all this out. I think she called it quartz or some shit.”
Excuse me…?“You’ve got a daughter?”
He smiles and it’s full of pride. “Zoe. She’s eighteen. My son, Nathan, is twenty-one.”
“You’ve gottwokids?”
“I do.” Again. There’s nothing but gratification showing in his face and in his voice. It’s a side to Nate I didn’t expect to see. The delighted father.
I look around. “Where are they?”
“Nathan has his own place, and Zoe’s probably at her mom’s. She’s got a room here too. She comes and goes as she pleases.” I see a smirk again. “She’ll be startin’ college next year, so she’ll mostly be in Iowa City after that.” He smiles wide. “Go Hawkeyes.”
I’ve got more questions for him about his kids, but I’d like to know something first. “You’re divorced?”
“Yep.” He holds up a beer. “Want one?”
Absolutely. I’m going to require some liquid courage to get through this. “Yes, please.”
He opens the freezer and pulls out a frosted mug. I watch as he twists off the cap from the bottle and gives me a perfect pour of beer, then hands me the glass.
“You’re divorced too,” he states as he pours his own beer. It wasn’t a question which means Laura blabbed.
“Yep. Finalized eight months, two days, and four hours ago.” I snort. “But who’s counting?”
“Bad deal, then?”
I shrug. I don’t care to talk about Travis or any of that. “How long have you been divorced?”
“Can’t say I’ve counted it down like you but about nine years.”
“And your ex-wife lives nearby?”
He points to his left. “Two blocks that way.”
“You get along?” I’m not sure why this surprises me. Probably because he seems like the kind of guy who’d hold a grudge.
“Yeah. She’s cool.”
“Amicable divorce? I’ve heard of those.” My attempt at humor doesn’t feel all that funny to me.
“It wasn’t at first, but now we’re better friends than we ever were when we were married.”
“Good for you.” I pause. “And for your children.” He’s lucky. It makes me feel a little like a failure too.
With his head, he gestures to his right. “Come on. Let’s go sit on the deck.”
I follow him through a set of sliding doors just off the kitchen. The second I see his yard, I gasp. “This is…” I see a wide array of colorful flowers, shrubs, and trees that remind me of an English garden on one of those British shows I like. “…incredible.”
“Thanks.” He looks at the yard too. “I dabble.”
The understatement of the year and for some reason, I didn’t think this man knew understated. “You did that?” I point, rudely, at his lawn.
“I did. My mom, Iris, was into gardening. She taught me a lot.”
