Page 58 of As the Years Pass
Yet, sometimes I think I remember it wrong. I wonder if I forced myself to change the truth so I wouldn’t feel like such an asshole for what I did. I guess I just wonder if my memories of him and I are accurate.
Sometimes, I don’t know why I did what I did at all. But there’s nothing I can do about it now. And he’s back. We’re friends. He accepts my life the way it is and he still wants to be in it. So, that’s something.
You’re probably right.
Emmet
I’m always right.
Now that’s a stretch.
Emmet
*middle finger emoji*
*laughing emoji*
I put my phone in my pocket as I head up the front steps. I ring the bell and a second later, the door is open and the kids are diving for me.
“Daddy!” they shout at the same time. Ian wraps around my leg while Judy goes for my waist.
“Hey, kiddos,” I say, hugging them as best I can in this awkward position.
When I look up, Leslie is in the doorway, smiling.
“Thanks,” I say again.
“Have a good weekend,” she says to me. “Come on, give me a hug goodbye,” she says to the kids. They let go of me and give her a hug, before hurrying down the steps to my car. Judy gets herself in while I get Ian in and buckle him up.
“Guess what we’re doing,” I say, glancing at them both in the rear view mirror.
“Going to your house?” Judy asks.
“Daddy’s house!” Ian shouts, giggling.
“Actually, we’re going to get ice cream.”
“Ice cream!” they shout together.
The entire drive there, they’re singing about ice cream and all the ways to eat it and all the toppings you can put on it. If they got an actual melody going, I think it could be a hit. It’s adorable,but the entire time, all I think about is Emmet and how much fun it would be if he were able to join us.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emmet
Adam puts his beer bottle down and takes his controller in two hands.
I’ve stopped taking it easy on him and he beats me for real sometimes. Not all the time, but enough that I’m impressed. I’m not really surprised though. He was better at this game than me when we were younger, but of course I’ll never admit that out loud.
“So, I was thinking,” he says, smashing the buttons on his controller, his eyes laser-focused on the television.
“Uh oh,” I say.
He shoves me with his shoulder. “Seriously,” he grumbles.
“Okay, what?”
“I have to go to California next week. You should come with me.”
