Page 108 of As the Years Pass
“Hey,” she answers.
“Hey, I probably should have asked before I booked everything,” I start. “But I’m going to a friend’s wedding, and I’m hoping we can switch days with the kids.”
“When is it?”
“Weekend after this one.”
“Yeah, that’s no problem, Adam. What friend?”
“Someone you don’t know.”
“So we’re still doing that?” she asks.
I sigh. “I’m not doing anything. He’s just a friend.”
“Fine. Keep your secrets. We’ll switch days for that weekend and go back to normal after, meaning you’ll have the kids for the full week.”
“That’s fine, Leslie. You know I don’t mind.”
“I know, I just want to make sure you’re aware. You also need to come by so we can figure out the plan for Ian’s party.”
“It’s weird,” I grumble. “I told you this.”
“It isn’t weird, and I’m going to keep pushing until you see that. Chris doesn’t have a problem with you, so I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about this.”
She’s right. I know she’s right.
“Fine. I’ll go by tomorrow afternoon. Does that work?”
“Sure thing,” she says happily, as if she’s won.
I don’t know what she’s won. All I’m doing is going by to talk about a birthday party, but whatever.
I try not to overthink as I drive to Leslie’s. I didn’t even ask if Chris was going to be there, which I usually like to know beforehand so I can prepare myself. Emmet said I was jealous, but I’m not. I don’t want to be with Leslie. Not at all. I’m over her, us, all of it. Whatever this is, it’s something else entirely.
I suck the last bits of melted ice from my iced coffee cup, and put it back in the cupholder. After a moment or two, there will be more for me to suck up. It’s a terribly annoying nervous habit.
When I get to Leslie’s house, the cup is empty. All ice melted, all water drank. I take it with me, and toss it in the trash bin beside the garage before going up the stairs and ringing the bell.
“Oh, hey,” Chris says with a smile when he pulls open the door.
“Hi.” I give a small wave, annoyed it’s his face I see when I first get here.
I really am an asshole. He’s a nice guy. He’s good to Leslie, but more importantly, he’s good to my kids. They talk fondly of him, and he’s accepted them into his life.
“Come in,” he says.
I do, trying not to feel weird about this whole thing. I don’t know why it’s weird; it shouldn’t be, but it just doesn’t feel right. I need to get over myself and stop acting like I don’t know how to be a mature adult.
“Can I get you a beer?” Chris asks.
“No thank you,” I say.
“Suit yourself.” He goes into the kitchen and pulls open the fridge door. I take a seat at the island and twiddle my thumbs while I wait for Leslie to show up.
Chris leans against the counter, bringing the can he just cracked open to his lips. It’s early afternoon, and he’s drinking already? I sigh internally, because now I’m just looking for issues.
“Do you always day-drink?” I ask.
