Page 32 of As the Years Pass

“I’ve been seeing someone,” she says, which throws me for a loop. She’sbeenseeing someone. For how long? This isn’t new? Why is she only telling me now? It’s not jealousy that I feel, it’s fear.

Fear that another man is going to take my place in my children’s lives. I’ve seen it too many times. I’ve sold houses for people going through divorces, and helped them find new homes for their new families. I know how this works.

“I’m telling you because he asked to drop by tomorrow to give the kids their gifts, but it’ll be the first time he meets them.”

“If you’re telling me, then we aren’t talking about it, are we?”

“You know, I could have just done this without giving you a heads up. I was trying to be courteous.”

“Courtesy would have been telling me this when it first started. How long has it been, Leslie?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is when my kids are involved,” I grit out.

“You do not get a say in what I do with my life, especially when the kids are with you,” she hisses through the phone. “I looked it up, and legally, you have no say.”

“That’s not—I’m not…” I clench my jaw, letting out a sigh. “You know what? Fine. It’s not worth arguing over. Thanks for the heads up.”

I end the call and grip my phone in my hand, wanting to crack it in half or whip it against the wall. She has this way of staying calm when we are in a disagreement, and it annoys me to no end.

I’d planned on spending the night in, watching movies and maybe having a drink, but now I’m in a foul mood and antsy. So I change into clothes and head out, walking down the street to the bar that I’m sure will be open. It’s just one of those places. It’s like family, and everyone is welcome, especially on days when people may not have anywhere else to go.

Plus, there’s the distraction of alcohol. And maybe a certain guy that I haven’t been able to get off my mind will be there…

He said he wanted to hang out the next time I didn’t have the kids, and though that rubs me the wrong way, maybe he didn’t mean itthatway. Maybe it came out wrong. I’ve never known Emmet to not like kids. He knows I have them, and it’s not like I can just get rid of them. Maybe I need to toughen up a little, and not be so sensitive when it comes to them or being a dad.

The walk is quick, the air cold. When I get into the warmth of the bar, I’m greeted by smiles. The group of guys that are here all the time give me a knowing look, like they know why I’m here and it isn’t because of the cheap alcohol or the constant karaoke.

It’s for him. A familiar face. A friend.

Emmet has always brought me comfort, and there have been plenty of times over the years when I’ve hated not being able to speak to him. We were so close, I told him everything, shared every secret… and then nothing.

“What can I get you?”

“Jack and Coke, please.”

Pete nods and gets to work making my drink. He’s the only guy I’ve ever seen working behind the bar, other than Emmet. It’s the sort of place that would only have one bartender.

I still can’t believe Emmet bought it.

I laugh to myself as I look around. Would I have told him not to if he’d asked? If we were still friends, and he mentioned wanting to buy this place, and I saw it, would I have told him to do it?

Absolutely not. Not from a realtor’s point of view. But as a friend? I’d have told him to go for it.

Honestly, I’m glad he did, and I’m glad he didn’t ask. This place is going to make him happy. It’s a project for him to put himself into. He’s always been so driven, so full of passion. This is exactly what he needs, especially now, when something is going on with his parents. They were such kind people, not only to me but to so many others who needed a bright light in their life. They were the sort of people meant to be parents, to take care of kids. I’d kill to get some advice from them. Emmet said it was complicated, but I don’t know what that means. Are they alive, still? Ill? Did something happen and they’re no longer speaking?

“Here you go,” Pete says, putting my drink down in front of me along with a napkin.

“Thank you,” I say, reaching for it. “Is Emmet here?”

He shakes his head. “Out of state.”

“California?” I ask.

“Florida, I think.”

Florida? What the hell is he doing in Florida? Why didn’t he tell me he was going to Florida?