Page 70 of Forgotten Romance

“I’m moving home.”

“Uh … what?”

My fingers drum over the hard bar top, and the words are difficult to get out, but I’m determined. “I love my job, but they’re pulling me back into the office over a month earlier than we agreed on, and if I’m honest … I’m tired. I’m tired of leaving the kids. I’m so, so tired of leaving Mack. The travel is amazing, and I get a lot out of what I do, but there comes a point where I have to admit that I can’t have it all.”

Art looks like he doesn’t know what to say. There’s no sign of joking when he says, “But you love your job.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“You love your family more.”

“Obviously.”

Joey crosses his arms and leans toward us. “What’s changed though? No offense, but I’m pretty sure you’ve always loved your family more. It’d be shitty of you if you didn’t.”

I huff a laugh, not offended, because he’s right. “I took them for granted. Even after the divorce, Mack was always there. We were still together whenever I was home. Still happy, still playing the part of a family for the kids.”

“And?”

I screw up my face. “He went on a date the other night, and it was the first time I’ve had to face what life would look like if he moved on.”

“Ahh … the old ‘don’t know what you have until it’s gone’ trick.”

That’s so far from wrong I don’t know where to start. “I’ve always known what I have. Mack is the most kindhearted, incredible man. I love him. I’ve never stopped. But the thing is … I don’t have him anymore. Not really. And the reality of that cuts me up inside.”

“So you’re moving home.” Art thinks it over for a moment. “I don’t think that’s a good call.”

“What?”

He looks world-weary as he shrugs. “That’s not to say I don’t think the two of you together is for the best. It is. You were made for each other. But if you’re anything like me …” He waves a hand over the bar. “I am this place. I am my work. I love that about me, and Joey would never try to change it. If he did, well, I don’t think we’d have the shot at forever that we do because I wouldn’t be me. And he wouldn’t be him.”

“I don’t want to be my work.”

“You are though. What you want doesn’t matter.”

I’d been so confident with my plan when I walked in here, and I hate that Art is hitting me with the truth. “What am I supposed to do? Let him go? Give up on my family?”

He opens his mouth and quickly shuts it again.

Dammit, no. I’d had a plan, and I’m sticking with it. I’ve been back and forth over this enough. “I know what you’re saying, but I’m done. No more. I’m not walking out on work tomorrow, but I am going.”

“Right. So what do you need me for?”

“Your contacts.”

“Ah. I have those, do I?”

“You wouldn’t be the great Art de Almeida, future ruler of the universe, if you didn’t.”

He nods. “Flattery will get you everywhere. I’ll make some calls.”

And while he does that, I’ll mindlessly troll every job listing that’s driving distance away. Even ridiculously long commutes are an improvement to what we’re going through now.

On the way home, I pick up a box of Mack’s favorite donuts and then straighten up the house a bit. With the free time I have left, I head out to my LEGO shed. Everything is exactly where I left it. Honestly, I haven’t spent as much time out here as I used to. And honestly, honestly, a lot of the time I spent in here was to get some distance from Mack.

The tension was thick before the divorce, and I didn’t want to deal with it, so this was the way I switched off. Standing here now, the itch to build something isn’t what it used to be. I still love it, still regret my Millennium Falcon being smashed, but this particular room … it makes me sad.

I switch off the light and step back outside. There’s a room in the house where I could relocate all my things, but that comes with the added risk of the kidlets breaking something again. And even if I did move inside, what would I do with the shed?

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