Page 17 of Ivory Ashes

Shoot. A stairwell is not the best place to ditch someone. Unless he’s headed to the rooftop at 7:30 in the morning, there’s only one direction Tommy could be going.

We walk in silence for three floors. Silent, that is, except for the sound of Dante playing drums on the metal mailboxes in the lobby. God, my neighbors must love me.

But as we approach the second floor landing, Tommy grabs my arm.

“Just real quick, Margaret.” He gives me a tight smile and blows out a breath. “I was wondering if you—I know you said it wasn’t a good time, but that was six months ago. Not that I’ve been counting. I mean, I have but—so I thought I’d try again. That is, I thought I’d ask you out. So that’s what I’m doing… Asking you out. Do you want to go out?” He grimaces before I can even respond. “That wasn’t as smooth as I hoped it would be.”

“I thought it was great,” I lie. It wasn’t great. But it was endearing. I almost feel bad for turning him down over and over and over again for the last three years.

“Yeah?” he asks, hopeful. “Because as much as I love our meetings in the stairwell and that one time I ran into you at the bodega, I’d love to actually sit down and talk to you. Over a bottle of wine, maybe.”

“That would be nice.”

His eyes go wide. “Really?”

“Of course it would, but…”

His face falls and I hate myself for doing this to him.

It’s not you; it’s me, I want to say. But it’s too cliché, no matter how true it is.

This is my fault. The reason I can’t have friends or take Dante on play dates or go on dates myself is because it isn’t safe.

Sure, it’s been six years without incident. Mikhail hasn’t even sent us a mysterious letter, let alone shown up on our doorstep demanding to know his son.

But it could happen.

Dante could also fall through a subway grate and be kidnapped by mole people, I argue with myself. That’s no reason to hide in your apartment all day. It’s no reason to stop living.

You can’t live like this forever, Viviana.

Tommy sighs. “It’s okay. I knew it was a longshot. I just thought?—”

“I think I’m free next week,” I blurt before I can think better of it.

Tommy’s mouth falls open. “Y-You’re free? To see me? Next week?”

“Or the week after. If you’re busy, then?—”

“Then I’ll clear my schedule and make space for you,” he says, a wide smile spreading across his face. “I’ll make myself free.”

He’s nice. He’s cute.

Does he send flutters of sexual awakening straight to my lady bits? No.

Does just the memory of the sound of his voice have my hand slipping between my sheets late at night? Definitely no.

But men who cause reactions like that are why women like me end up as single mothers under assumed names. They scramble your brains. They force you to think of them every day for the rest of your life when you see the light of your world toddling towards you in rain boots and a superhero mask.

So Tommy and I part with him promising to pull together some options and get back to me. I wave and pray I’m not making a mistake.

“I beat you,” Dante proclaims, wrapping his little arms around my legs. “I’m the fastest in the whole world.”

I scan the sidewalk outside the building before I hold open the door. “Is that right?”

Dante tromps out in his boots. “Uh-huh. The fastest, strongest, smartest… biggest in the world.”

He deserves everything. Not just this little life I can give him. He deserves two parents and a world of opportunities and real friends that can come to his house for birthday parties and playdates.

---