I poke at my curry. “Did Mom tell you to call me?”
“I haven’t spoken to your mother since your birthday. She said something about doing a silent retreat. Maybe it went long.”
I snort. “Sounds about right.”
We talk more. Nothing consequential. The NHL draft, a family friend who announced he’s retiring.
“I’ve got Spotify on my phone twice,” Dad says.
“What?”
“I don’t know how I did it, but one of them has my free account with all my saved playlists, and the other one has my credit card, and I want them to be in the same place. Do you know how to do that?”
“You can’t download the app twice.”
“Well, I did. Do you think you could come by and figure it out?”
I close my eyes and smile softly. Dad’s prowess with mangling technology is pretty impressive. He’s old enough that a lot of twenty-first century tech is a bit of a mystery, but he’s just savvy enough to be dangerous. Somehow, though, I suspect he’s now going to spend the next week trying to figure out how to download two instances of the same app on his phone so I can pretend we both don’t know this is an excuse for us to get together.
Which... I owe him.
“Yeah. I’ll come by next week.”
“I look forward to it.” The pleased tone of his voice makes my chest warm. “And try to maybe go have a drink with the guys sometime, okay?”
The guys. Do I even have guys? I’m sure there are a few friends from school and old jobs who would let me tag along if I randomly texted and asked what they were up to. But my social life has basically become Grindr hookups and text messages with Ramona.
And sucking off Nash in his office.
After I hang up with my dad and am stuffing lukewarm curry in my face, I stare at my phone, lying black and shiny on my table. Easy enough to find a little company, but the idea of logging into a dating app makes me uneasy. I don’t just want any company.
I know his phone number, of course. I can dial it by heart, even if it weren’t saved in my contacts. But it’s in there for use in a strictly professional capacity, and it’s not even like I’m thinking about calling him to see if he wants to do something as innocent as go out for a drink. None of the images in my head are innocent.
I clean up the remnants of my dinner. Leftovers in the fridge. Curry makes good breakfast. Dishes in the dishwasher, even though it takes me at least a week to fill it enough to make it worth running.
My phone is still on the table when I walk back.
Would it be so bad to call him? We don’t have any boundaries left to cross. What’s the worst thing he can possibly say?
With shaking hands, I dial his number.
10
Nash
Idon’t see the missed call until Saturday morning. After a lot of negotiating, Dominic finally agreed I’d get a makeup weekend with the twins, and I’ve plugged the phone in to navigate us to the zoo. It’s about a million degrees outside, but I promised Jacob and Karter we could go.
Missed call from Brady Jansen.
It came in last night about the time I was popping popcorn and getting the boys set up on the couch for their first viewing ofStar Wars. Dominic was never a fan, but it’s way past time for the kids to be indoctrinated. Jacob was enraptured. Karter hid behind a pillow for all the lightsaber battles. We might have to wait another year before he’s ready forEmpire.
Without thinking, I connect to voicemail, and Brady’s voice, tinny on the speakers, fills the car.
“Hey. It’s... it’s Brady. I guess you probably know that.”
Something about the way he says his own name makes my face heat and my throat go dry, and I punch frantically at the screen, popping the phone off its holder. It tumbles into the wheel well at my feet, but at least the recording cuts out.
“Daddy? Who was that?” Karter asks from the back seat.
