Page 13 of As the Years Pass

I pause, raising an eyebrow at her.

“You spend every weekend with your kids, and granted they’re adorable, you need adults in your life too.” She hops to her feet and pulls her phone from her back pocket. “I have a friend—“

“No,” I say with a firm shake of my head and zip up my backpack.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t have time for dating or for friends.”

“You have plenty of time, Adam. A lot of adults date after divorce.”

“I’m not divorced.”

“Separated, whatever,” she groans. “Just take her number.”

Just take her number.

I don’t know why it grates on my nerves. It isn’t the pushy part or even the number part. It’s the assumption that I’ll only date women. And I guess I’m the only one to blame for that. This is the life I chose, this is the part of me I’ve shown everyone for thelast fourteen years of my life. And before that, there was only one person who saw a different part of me. Someone who now lives in Seattle and owns a bar three blocks from my house.

“Cassidy, I appreciate the thought, but even if I take it, I won’t text her. I don’t have time for this.” I pull my back up my shoulder. “I have to go.”

“Fine!” she calls after me when I walk by. “But you know how to reach me if you change your mind. She’s hot as hell, Adam! And I hear she’s into kinky shit.”

As if sex is the only selling point on dating someone? I chuckle as I leave the office.

I fell asleep on the flight, so I don’t see the texts on my phone until I’m stepping off the plane.

Leslie

Judy wants to come shopping with me tonight. Ian will stay with my mom. Can you pick them up tomorrow?

Do you really think that’s a good idea?

Leslie

I don’t see why not. It’s not like there’s school tomorrow.

People have died during Black Friday shopping.

Leslie

Do you really think I would let harm come to my child, Adam? Jesus.

It’s not about “letting,” Leslie. Other people are dangerous.

Leslie

Sheltering her won’t fix that problem. She’ll be fine and we won’t be out late. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

And just like that, I’m shut out. I have no options, no choices. I do what she sayswhenshe says or I may not see my kids at all. And I guess that’s my fault too. If I went to court, we’d have an actual custody arrangement. But then they’d look at my schedule and maybe not let me see my kids either. I know how the system can be, and this is the safer option. Leslie has never threatened to not let me see them, but I’ve heard enough horror stories through the years to keep my mouth shut. But also? Damn these stores for opening earlier and earlier for Black Friday shopping.

I walk through the airport, to the parking garage, and get into my car to head home. I drive past The Butterfly on my way, as I typically do on my way home, and find myself slowing down. It’s dark, the small parking lot empty. There’s a sign on the front door, but I can’t make out what it says. I’m sure it says they’re closed for Thanksgiving, but what time will they open tomorrow? Will I have enough time to stop by before getting the kids? Maybe they’ll be closed all day and I won’t be able to see Emmet for a while.

I pull over to the side of the road and park. There’s no parking here, but the street is dark and no one is around. Besides, I’m just going across the road to look at something. I’m not staying all night. I throw my hood up to keep the rain from my face—which doesn’t work—then hurry across the street, trying to avoid puddles but failing and soaking my pants.

Closed for Thanksgiving.

Scotch tape holds the sign to the door but it looks like it’s about to fall off any second.