“So the hell am I,” I said softly.
He gave me a knowing look. “Yeah, you’re real fucking obvious about it.”
“Okay, you don’t gotta rub it in.”
Fiona was close now, and I wanted to jump from my seat and go to her.
“If I can do it, you can do it,” Pop said. “The scary stuff. The letting-yourself-get-hurt stuff. I don’t want what your mom did to make you feel like you can’t be there for her. You’re not like that, no matter how hard you try.”
I didn’t get a chance to respond because Fiona breezed right up to us and I was instantly stunned, nervous and sweating.
She dipped down to give Pop a hug. “You look extremely handsome, by the way.”
He’d opted for a nice, button-down shirt and real pants, not torn jeans.
“Aw, Fi,” he said, turning red. “It’s no big deal.”
I pulled a third chair over and dusted it off before presenting it to Fiona to sit in. She did, passing me a discreet smile and entwining our fingers together beneath the table.
“What are those?” She pointed to the bouquet of red roses we’d picked up from the flower stand across the street.
“I told Angela I’d be holding roses so she’d know for sure it was me,” Pop said.
She bent down, smelled them. “She’s going to love them.”
Pop fiddled with that pile of paper again. She flicked her eyes toward mine. I winked at her.
“What can I help with?” she asked.
He shrugged, grumbling a little. “I’m a little… out of sorts. Like on a first date, what the hell do you even talk about?”
“All kinds of things,” Fiona said. “But mostly what you have in common. It sounds like Angela has two sons and grandchildren. I think talking to her about family, hers and yours, is a great step. I think you’d want to know if she was someone who had the same values as you.”
“What are those?” he asked.
She touched his arm. “You love your son unconditionally and would do anything in the world to make him happy. I think Angela is looking for that trait too.”
“And music,” I said. “Don’t forget that.”
“Oh, yeah. Okay.” He was starting to loosen up a little. “You don’t think she’ll take one look at me and run away?”
“Nope,” Fiona said firmly. “She emailed you, remember?”
“And be honest, Pop,” I said. “Be honest, be yourself. She’ll like you for you. I promise.”
His eyes went wide. “I think I see her.”
Fiona picked up the roses and dropped them on the table. “Then that’s our cue to leave.”
He looked so nervous I wanted to fucking cry. “Pop.”
“Uh, yeah, Maxy?”
“What if…” I swallowed. “What if we stayed over there for a few minutes? If you feel weird or anything, we’ll take you out to the Westway Diner instead. Sound good?”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Pop.”
“Uh huh.” He was staring behind us—I was guessing at Angela. Staring wasn’t the word. Maybe transfixed. Fiona took my hand, and we walked briskly to a park bench nearby.
I recognized Angela from her pictures as she walked slowly up to Pop. Her yellow dress and cheerful body language had Pop smiling the biggest I’d seen in a long time.
“This might be the single most precious thing I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life,” Fiona whispered.
“Yeah, same,” I said, kissing her on the cheek.
Pop stood up from the table, ran a hand over his bald head, and presented the roses to her. He looked nervous but sincere. When she sat down next to him, Pop flashed us a covert thumbs-up.
Fiona turned to face me on the bench. I leaned in, gave her a proper kiss. “Hello.”
“Hello.” She grabbed my shirt, pulled me in for one more. “How’s that obsession going?”
“How’s that crush?”
“Growing bigger by the minute.”
I pulled her against my chest and kissed her temple. “Thank you for coming. I forget sometimes, how hard it was for him after my mom left. I think he closed off a lot of chances for relationships, to fall in love, after that.”
“That makes sense. Plus it is nerve-wracking, as you and I can very recently attest to.”
“The nerves are real.”
She glanced at her watch, grimacing. “How does a late dinner date sound?”
“Fucking amazing.”
“What are you cooking me anyway?” she asked.
“Oh, you’ll see. You supply the wine and the good music, and I’ll handle the rest.”
“I’ll be in pajamas by the way.”
I kissed her ear. “You really know how to make a man hard.”
She laughed, shoved my shoulder. Then she grabbed me back. “Oh my god, look.”
Angela was speaking to him excitedly, hands moving in the air, and Pop was… Pop was…
“Holy shit, my dad’s laughing. Like really laughing.”
The pair stood up and began strolling together. Pop gave us a discreet wave, and we waved back. And he gave me a pointed look, a see what we can do look.
I got the message.
“Before I forget,” I said, reaching beneath my leather jacket. “I may have stolen one for you.”
I extended a single red rose toward her. Her bright eyes flew up to mine. “For me?”
“Always for you.”
She took it, fingers shaking slightly, and pressed it to her nose. “Thank you. It’s so pretty.”
Fiona is the best of us.
Hearing what Pop had said had made me uncomfortable for a lot of different reasons. But one of them was the reminder I didn’t need that my own mother had left a relationship, fled her responsibilities. What had always seemed romantic and liberating in the past seemed off to me now. It left a sour taste in my mouth—and I still wasn’t sure why she’d called.
Fiona’s phone started chirping, and she sighed. “I have to go, as much as I’d love to watch your dad go on this adorable date.”
“I think he’s gonna be just fine,” I said, kissing her forehead. “Go, before I try to get you to have sex on this bench.”
“I mean, who knows what this second date will bring.” She stood up, brushed a wrinkle from her jacket, and then fixed a smile on her face. “Eight o’clock, and it’s a date?”
“I can’t wait, princess,” I said, voice huskier than normal.
And then she walked down the path, smelling that rose and grinning like she was having the best damn day of her life.
I knew the feeling.
32
Max
A few hours later, I stood outside of Fiona’s apartment in a nice condo building in Chelsea near her office. There was a cute welcome mat and a wreath of flowers on her door. With a paper bag of groceries in one arm, I knocked softly. Waited. My stomach was nervous, and my mouth was dry as a bone. I’d changed into, and out of, four separate shirts before deciding on the same plain white one I wore all the damn time.
Pop’s words had rattled me.