“—and I like their mother, and I know boundaries, and I can be one more safe adult in their life if they ever get in trouble, no matter what happens with you and me, because I have a fucking lot of practice with it, and I might as well embrace that.”
Thank heavens.
I’ve found the world’s most perfect woman.
I should say something pithy or something grateful, but all I can do is stare at her.
She blinks back, lifting her brows and making her forehead wrinkle in the most adorable way as she waits for me to find words.
“How do we know the code?” Charlie says to Eddie.
“We can guess.”
“What’s the bank’s address?”
“I don’t bloody know!”
“Why would they give us a keypad without giving us the code?”
I shake my head once more, and this time, my brain reengages, diving headfirst into a distraction that’s an easy out for this conversation.
Which I would oddly like to have.
Namely, so that I can ask Bea how we might continue our, ah, situationship.
I believe that’s what the younger people call it.
And the term fits.
We’re not dating, though everything we’re doing would fall under the normal classification ofdating, which means?—
“Do you think they used one of our birthdays?” Charlie says.
“How would they know our birthdays?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t fill out the paperwork.”
“Dad did. Maybe he had to put his birthday.”
Yes.
Distraction.
This works.
“Dad, what’s your birthday?” Charlie asks.
“It’s November fourth, duh,” Eddie says.
“How do you know Dad’s birthday?”
“How don’t you?”
“He never celebrates it, for one.”
Both of my boys look at me.
“Have you thought maybe the clues are tied together?” Bea asks before I can say anything.
