Page 30 of The Falcon and the Foe

What was he doing?Cal leaned over me, so close I could feel his chest fill with breath. He snaked his hands down, his thick bushy forearms taking over my desk. My body froze on the outside and burned on the inside, dormant pulls of want coming to life. It had been years since I was anywhere near this close to another man. I was so mixed up that I didn’t protest when Cal blocked off an hour a day on my calendar for lunch.

“There.” He stepped back, and cold air took up the space around me where he’d just been. “You’re not the only one who can commandeer people’s calendars.”

“Right.” I was shell-shocked without knowing what the war was.

“It’s a start.”

“Yeah.”

Cal returned to his seat, and we ate our sandwiches. He asked me about my job, and I shared my journey into the tech world and operations, how I took a chance and joined this company when they were still in startup mode, and built many of the processes that helped it scale. I could see how others could be instantly chummy with him. When we weren’t arguing, Cal could be extremely engaging, listening intently as I shared my career path as if I were sharing secrets of the universe. He regaled me with hilarious-in-hindsight horror stories about trying to make it as an actor in New York years ago—awkward auditions, catty actors, performing plays in church basements to an audience of drunk college students. It was the first time I could remember when I didn’t eat and multitask.

The hour flew by, and when he got up, I felt a touch of sadness that he had to go. I tried to remind myself that this was Cal—messy, annoying, stubborn Cal. It didn’t have the same effect.

“I’ll see you tonight at the meeting.” He stepped into the hall and gave a hug to our corporate counsel, Allison.

“You, too,” I said to an empty office once he was gone.

10

RUSS

It was back-to-school night, a night where the parents went to school to meet their kids’ teachers. And also a rare night that I wasn’t spending with Quentin. Fortunately, Monica’s husband was able to babysit. Quentin loved doing puzzles with his Uncle Ralph, and he always came home with stock tips.

Walking through the elementary school, I admired how small everything was. It never ceased to amaze me how this all felt full size when I was a kid.

The PTA set up snacks in the main hall where parents mingled and admired children’s finger painting and bulletin board mosaics as if we were at the Louvre. I whipped up homemade hummus and pita chips presented in a blue ceramic serving dish with a hummus holder in the center.

“Yes! The hummus!” Kimber exclaimed. She made room on the savory table for my contribution. I was adamant that we segment snacks by type, otherwise, filling one’s place turned into a disorderly mess.

“And the oven-baked pita chips, too.” Melanie, another mother, bit into a chip and savored the rare carb. Her toned body was a product of countless Peleton rides and barre classes. “Who needs sex when I can have food?”

Melanie’s husband did not share her same love of exercise—or waxing—so in her case, I’d choose food over sex, too.

The gym had a bit of a school dance vibe to it. Parents clustered in groups around the periphery, with Kimber and her friends holding court in the center. I guess I could see Cal’s complaint about them being like mean girls, but they only projected that image from the outside. They appeared intimidating, so others kept their distance.

Speaking of Cal, he hadn’t shown up yet, and I wondered if he was going to come. Each parent pair (or solo parent in my case), were assigned a schedule. Classroom presentations were split into multiple shifts since not all parents could fit in a room meant for small kids. Interspersed with those were rotations to the art, music, and gym classes, where I’d get to see Monica. Maybe I should’ve seen if Cal needed a sitter. I had what felt like a strange craving deep in the pit of my stomach to hear his voice and see his smile.

What was that about?

I must’ve had too many snacks.

With three minutes before rotations were set to begin, Cal barged into the gym, heaving for air like he sprinted from his car. Kimber rolled her eyes and snickered into our group circle. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

“Nice outfit.” Melanie rolled her eyes.

Cal wore the brown button-down shirt with the Market Thyme logo and matching pants. He still had on his nametag. He must’ve rushed over from work.

“We’d known about tonight since the first day of school. You’d think he would arrange his ‘work schedule’ to get here on time.” Kimber used air quotes for work schedule.

“At least he brought a snack?” Melanie arched a brutal eyebrow at the can of Pringles nestled under his arm.

“Armpit flavor. My favorite.” Kimber rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why he can’t get his shit together. It’s not impossible to do the single dad thing.” She poked me with her elbow.

But I wouldn’t take the bait.

“It’s not easy, though. We don’t know what happened. Maybe his sitter canceled. Maybe he got held up at work. But he’s here,” I said firmly.

Kimber and Melanie traded raised eyebrows.

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