Jacob nods enthusiastically.
“It’s a deal, but now, we should finish this pasta your mom worked so hard on. We don’t want it to get cold.” Dax winks at me and gives my forearm one more squeeze, then retreats.
Relief floods me like the sun chasing away the storm clouds.
It’s comforting.
With a few words, Dax replaced Jacob’s frown with a smile. He takes a bite, then groans like Dax did earlier. It makes us both laugh, and the tension in the air disappears.
I pick up my fork to continue eating too as the difficult conversation is set aside for now. Once he swallows, Jacob tells us about his day at school. He and some of his friends are excited to start basketball in a couple of months, soon after his birthday.
He barely takes a breath in between stories and eating.
Dax and I occasionally stop him to make sure he doesn’t choke. During one of the pauses, Dax asks me, “When am I going to hear about this interview? How did it go?”
Hope blooms in my chest. “I think it went well. I’m just waiting on a call now.”
“My Spidey senses tell me”—Dax takes a dramatic pause, turning from me to Jacob—“you’re going to get a call soon, I’m sure. They’d be lucky to have you. Isn’t that right, Architect?”
“Definitely.”
Our forks scrape our emptying plates as we finish up.
After one last bite, I take in Dax, Jacob, and the table between us. Togetherness. Fun. Whole. I realize how much I missed having dinner like this. Like a family.
I miss having another adult around to help me with Jacob. Someone I can share the hard questions with. Someone to ask me about my day and how my flower bed is doing, as Dax just did.
It’s been a while since Jacob and I have had a man around.
As Mitch’s cancer progressed, he didn’t join us at the dinner table much, if ever. His appetite was nonexistent. He needed rest, so he spent most of his time in bed or on the couch. But he did the best he could.
I remain quiet, my throat thick with emotion.
It’s been a while, indeed. A while since I haven’t felt so alone.
Dax leans back in his chair, placing his hand on his stomach. “I’m full. Stuffed to the max.”
“Like Patrick Star on SpongeBob? He has a big belly.” Jacob bounces in his seat.
“Exactly.”
“Jacob, honey, help me clear the table, please.” I stand on wobbly knees and stack the plates on top of each other, while Jacob grabs the silverware.
“I’ll be right back.” Dax stands and heads to the bathroom in the hall.
Jacob and I take the dishes to the sink, and as I run the water to soak them, he brings the rest of the food to the counter. After a moment, I feel eyes on me, following every move I make. Turning the sink off, I find Dax leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen, his arms crossed.
His blue eyes are darker now, and his light scruff along his jawline makes him seem less intimidating than when he’s at the clinic.
I smile at him as Jacob puts the Tupperware of leftovers in the refrigerator.
“Can I help with anything?” Dax asks, sauntering in.
“We’re done. Want to play Legos?” Jacob asks.
I shake my head. “Honey, Dax is probably exhausted.”
“Are you?” Jacob studies him.
Dax’s thin lips curl in the corners. “We can play for a bit.”
“Awesome. My dad used to play with me on the weekends. Before he got the cancer.” Jacob’s voice fades as he walks out of the kitchen.
But his words echo in my head as though he screamed them.
I barely notice Dax exiting the kitchen. I’m left standing here with my thoughts swirling around me like I’m trapped in an elevator. I can’t push the emergency button on my life, and my claustrophobia suffocates me.
I lean my hip against the counter as their laughter becomes muffled.
My dad used to play with me. Before he got the cancer.
Suddenly, I’m nauseous.
That’s twice in one night that Jacob mentioned his father.
Just when I think we’re getting better, making peace with the past, all it takes is a couple mentions of Mitch from my son to send me spiraling.
He doesn’t often talk about him, but it doesn’t mean he’s not hurting. He misses his dad, and there’s nothing I can do to make it better.
I brace myself against the counter and vow to keep trying. To keep being there for Jacob. To keep us moving forward. We’ve already come so far.
We can’t move backward now.
Right?
Ten
Dax
“So, you’re not going to tell her, huh?” Staci cringes, then stuffs a French fry in her mouth, and next to her, Brooks rolls his eyes.
“There’s nothing to tell at this point.” I shrug and continue eating, doing my best to show them that it’s time to move on from the subject.
Staci, Brooks, and I don’t get to catch up on our personal lives too often. Our schedules make it damn near impossible to hang out for longer than a few minutes, but every now and then, we get together for drinks after work or lunch in the cafeteria, like today. The food here isn’t much better than the sloppy joes I had in school, but the company makes it better.
I take another bite, remembering Clara’s spaghetti a couple weeks ago. The dinner I just made the mistake of telling Staci and Brooks about.
Dinner with Clara and Jacob.
Fun.
I had fun with them. It felt like we were a family, but I didn’t miss Clara’s welling eyes when Jacob mentioned his father.
It gutted me.
And my guilt festered.
“Bro, that’s rough.”
“Nothing happened,” I insist. “And nothing’s going to happen, either.”
“Which is why I said that’s rough.” Brooks chews loudly in between syllables. “You’ve been blue-balled by that woman for over fifteen years, and even though she’s technically single now, you can’t do anything about it.”
I push my plate away, my appetite suddenly lost. Not just because of Clara, but Jacob too. He misses his father, and I don’t blame him.
I know exactly how he feels.
It makes me feel worse. Like absolute scum for having inappropriate feelings for his mother.
I glare at Brooks. “We’re just friends, okay?”
“Don’t listen to the jackass here. He can’t even get back into his own home.” Staci rolls her eyes at Brooks, ignoring her food as she crosses her arms on the table in front of her. “Ask her to come out for drinks with us tonight. You’ll be in a group and get to hang out socially without any pressure.”
I pause, scratching my chin. “She may not be able to find a babysitter.”
“Doesn’t hurt to ask. Listen,” she says, and I lean forward like she’s sharing exclusive secrets of the female brain. “My sister-in-law in Seattle loves to go out with her friends, if she can get a babysitter. If not, she tries to reschedule. Mother or not, we’re women, and at the end of the day, we like to be treated as such.”
I pause, contemplating asking Clara to come out with us tonight like I’m trying to decide what house to buy. It’s just drinks. Drinks with friends. That’s acceptable.
“Don’t do it, man.” Brooks grunts when Staci elbows him. “What? Don’t you think it’s time for him to move on? I mean, Dax, dude, if you can’t or won’t tell her exactly how you feel, let her go. Stop this charade.”