Page 65 of The Two of Us

“We’re going to the lake tomorrow for a party! Will you come?”

I take the leash from him and lean down to scratch Otso’s ear. Matty inviting me to the lake instead of Ambrose feels a lot like your friend asking their parents if you can spend the night when you’re right in front of them. Inexplicably awkward.

“Um… I don’t know, I have a lot of things to get done around the house.”

“You should come,” Ambrose says.

Something flutters in the pit of my stomach and if I’m not mistaken, it feels a bit like hope. Ambrose doesn’t give off the impression that this is a pity invite and I’m surprised he wants me there. As if he senses my next thought, he says, “Anya can’t come. She has a few job interviews.”

I look at Matty again and he’s nodding in confirmation with a smile the size of Maine. That smile is enough to secure a yes from me.

“Alright. But I must warn you”—I bend down to tickle his side—“I show no mercy when it comes to chicken fights.”

Matty’s laughter fills the streets and Ambrose stares down on him with adoration in his eyes.

“Okay, little man. If we hurry, we can scour the park for that wolf you swore you saw.” Ambrose dips his chin in my direction. “We’ll head out at eleven tomorrow.”

“See you then,” I say, waving them off.

As they drive away, I contemplate whether I’ve made the right decision. It’s one thing, doing this back-and-forth dance with Ambrose, but I don’t want to bring Matty into the middle of it. What he needs in his life right now is stability and people who will remain constant. That’s not something I can say about myself.

As I make my way back toward the house with Otso, a blue Toyota Corolla screeches its way up Anya’s driveway. It only takes me a few seconds to realize it’s her now ex-boyfriend, the scraggly asshole who I had the displeasure of meeting weeks ago. He jumps out of his car and I feel a smug sort of satisfaction knowing no one is going to answer the door.

I watch from my driveway as he raps on the front door, the sound echoing throughout the deserted street. I intend on minding my own business until he begins yelling Anya’s name. He doesn’t attempt to conceal the anger in his voice, and I have to blink multiple times to realize I’m not hallucinating when I see him attempting to pry the window near the front door open. When the window doesn’t budge, he eyes the trellis leading up to the second-story balcony—the balcony that opens into Matty’s bedroom, which I know because I’ve seen him throwing paper airplanes from the ledge.

My eyes frantically search the other houses on our street, hoping someone will witness the same thing I do. A little voice in my head, probably my rationale, orders me to take Otso inside, but another part of me can’t stand the idea of him trying to trespass a place he’s no longer welcome.

It’s that part of me that pulls my feet forward. Men infringing on a woman’s safe space doesn’t sit right with me. As I get closer, Otso releases a low growl as if he too knows the man before us is of questionable character.

“She’s not home,” I say, keeping my distance.

He turns around slowly, a grimy smile plastered to his face. He has a smile that makes you feel violated in a million different ways.

His cough is rough and wet and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey, beautiful. I was wondering when I’d have the pleasure of seeing you again.”

“I can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”

He laughs, faking a blow to the chest and Otso growls again. His expression hardens. “There’s something of mine in this house and I really need it.”

“I’m sure when Anya comes back home, she can help you find it. Until then, I think it’s best you leave.”

When he takes a step toward me, I mimic him by taking a step back and he sighs. “The thing is… I can’t do that.”

Otso tugs on the leash harder and only then do I become aware that the sun has fully set. The street is no longer a medley of colors but darker as it dances with the shadows. The lack of streetlights aid in obscuring our presence.

I add to the distance between us, walking backward toward the end of the driveway. “You have ten minutes. If I see you still standing here, I’ll call the cops.”

I don’t wait for a response as I speed walk back to my house and the adrenaline pounding against my eardrums drowns out the voice in my head telling me to wait until he leaves before entering my house.

***

I forgot how much I missed our lakes. The changing season has officially sent our temperatures into a decline, but we swim for hours nonetheless and the chill on my wet skin feels like a resurfaced memory. Laughter reverberates through the air and I smile to myself. When we got here, my steps were slow and unsure and I pretty much used Ambrose as a human shield. But I wasn’t met with disdain or judgment like I’d expected. I was hugged and loved on and for the first time in a long time, I allowed it.

I watch Matty skip rocks with a few other kids, digging my toes deeper into the wet sand. Ambrose plops down at my side with a carton of loaded nachos. He holds them out to me.

My eyes widen, mouth already salivating, as I pluck a few and shove them into my mouth. I groan. “If there’s one thing the city can’t replicate, it’s Annie McLaine’s loaded nachos.” I reach for another. “Damn, you hit the jackpot too. There’s not a bare nacho in here.”

“I scooped up the top,” he says.

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