“But,” I rush on, my stomach twisting, “I can ask him. Okay? I’ll call and see if he’s free.”
He nods, satisfied with my answer, and we walk the rest of the block in a comfortable silence, his gum snapping softly, my thoughts doing somersaults. By the time Leaf & Letter comes into view, my chest is tight and my palms are already damp.
Inside, Charlie’s behind the counter, explaining the emotional needs of a parlor palm to a woman who is nodding like she’s being told a secret.
“Charlie!” Theo spots him and bolts. “I almost died today!”
“Ah,” Charlie says gravely. “A heroic recovery, I trust.”
“Mom saved me,” Theo says proudly. “With a Band-Aid.”
Charlie peers at the finger. “A minor miracle.”
“I’m going to make a quick call,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
Theo barely hears me. He’s already deep in conversation about Band-Aids with cartoons on them as I slip back out onto the sidewalk, the door chiming behind me like a warning bell.
David’s name stares up at me from my phone. The man who still knows exactly how to make me feel sixteen different kinds of small with a single word.
I swallow, press call, and stare out at the street while it rings. This isn’t about me, I tell myself. This is about Theo. This is about cake and hockey and a kid who just wants his parents in the same room for one day.
The phone keeps ringing, and my heart keeps pounding. And for a second, I wonder if wanting this to be easy is the most dangerous wish of all. Then the line clicks.
“Hey,” David says. “Juliette. How are you?”
With a few words, this man can make my shoulders tighten like they remember something my brain would rather forget.
“Hey,” I reply. “Sorry I haven’t called back until now. It’s been hectic.”
A beat. “I figured.”
We fall into a careful silence, the kind built out of old habits and things neither of us wants to touch. Nor verbalize. Trust me, there’s a lot left unsaid. I just didn’t have the time nor the energy to say it anymore.
“So,” he says. “How are you? How’s Theo?”
“We’re fine,” I answer, which is the polite lie you tell people who used to know the real truth. “Theo’s good. As of a moment ago, your son is officially a survivor of a traumatic paper cut.”
David gives a small, strained laugh. “Of course he is.”
I take a breath. “So. What do you want?”
Straight to the point. That’s what we are now.
“I’m in town,” he says.
I close my eyes. “I figured.”
“I want to see Theo,” he continues. “And I’d like to be included in his birthday plans, if he has any and if you’ll allow it.”
The words hit harder than I would expect. Maybe because part of me has been bracing for them.
“I’m not a monster, David,” I say quietly. “Of course you can be part of his birthday.”
“Thank you.” Then, because he cannot help himself, he adds, “So. I see that you’re a hockey fan now?”
This is why women end up getting Botox. I can’t stop the frown. “Why would you say that?”
He hesitates just long enough to tell me everything. My stomach sinks.
