Page 14 of Beachside Kisses With My Best Friend

“Youwouldlook pretty cool with an orange face.”

“I know.”

This kid. His confidence, his swagger, his sweetness. He’s everything cool, and I don’t deserve him. But somehow, he’s mine.

And I have to do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

A breeze blows dead tree leaves down Hillside Drive, a road that overlooks downtown. Most of Hallmark Beach’s residents live in the neighborhood that spreads out to the east, including me and Ryder. My parents are only a few blocks away, as is Miss Angie’s in-home preschool where Ryder’s attended regularly since Georgia died.

I worked this morning at the office as best I could and then headed home to throw on some slacks and a button-up shirt since I’m guessing my normal joggers and Henley aren’t appropriate fare for meeting with an attorney. But what do I know about that? Georgia and I never met with attorneys when we had Ryder. We were able to amicably split custody and responsibilities without a third-party mediator.

But now she’s gone, and I suppose I can’t take anything for granted anymore.

As I walk Ryder to my parents’ house—where Marilee will meet me in a few minutes—my whole body feels like a twig blowing in the wind, risking a snap at any moment. I just don’t know when the breaking will come.

“So, Daddy. Is it true?”

“What?”

He huffs, as if my ignorance is the silliest thing he’s heard all day. “About the carrots! I mean, Evan lies a lot, so I don’t think he’s probably telling me the truth. But I kindawantit to be true. So maybe I just pretend?”

How do I answer him? I don’t want to steal his innocence, that special spark of light he’s got. Don’t want to tell him that pretending doesn’t make something true.

I’ve pretended in my own mind enough times that Marilee, Ryder, and I are a family. And look how that’s turned out.

But I just squeeze his hand and smile at him. “I don’t think there’s ever anything wrong with dreaming.”

His tiny-toothed grin—which I know will someday soon have gaps in it—is a balm to my soul. “Oh good. Because sometimes the impossible comes true.”

What’s the saying? From the mouth of babes?

Yeah.

I ruffle his hair. “Never stop dreaming, Ry.”

“You too, Daddy.”

Ah, geez. This kid.

We approach my parents’ small white home with green trim, where they’ve lived since settling in Hallmark Beach fifteen years ago. The grass in front is dead, and not just from the winter. The paint is in desperate need of a fresh coat, and the weeds borne of the winter rain we’ve gotten have overtaken the rocky side yard. A huge mesquite has a cracked branch that should have been taken care of weeks ago, but I haven’t had the time to come over and do anything about it.

And Dad… Well, Dad’s not been in any shape to do much of anything for a long time.

Senior year, I tried telling him what I’d seen his alcohol consumption do to him. To us. Tried to ask him to get help, to deal with his PTSD in a healthier way.

That’s when he told me he thought it’d be best for me to go away for college.

Ryder darts away from me and runs up the front porch steps, flinging open the door and shouting, “Grandma! Grandpa!”

Thank goodness that, despite my dad’s lack of emotional engagement with me, he’s at least decent to my son.

I follow after him, shutting the door behind me. The house smells like burnt toast and coffee. It’s dark despite the afternoon sun, since the light can sometimes give Mom a headache. I duck into the living room to find Ryder up on Dad’s lap in his trusty, battered recliner. He’s got a can of Bud Light in one hand, the remote in the other, and some Western is on the television.

Ryder’s chattering away, and I can’t tell if Dad’s listening to him or to the TV, which is set to low volume.

I pick up Ryder’s backpack from the middle of the floor where he left it. “Hey, Dad.”

“Son.” He doesn’t even glance at me. From here, I can see he’s wearing his favorite Dodgers cap over his balding head, and a white T-shirt is pulled snug over his beer belly.

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