Page 140 of By A Thread

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I was already standing when Ally stuck her head in the door. “Dom? Ten-minute warning for your meeting across town. Dalessandra is heading down to the car now.”

I nodded briskly, sliding my arms into my coat.

“Here,” I said, slapping the paper into her hands.

“You’re such an ass, Charming,” she called after me as I headed in the direction of the elevators.

I was. And the sooner she accepted that, the better.

47

Ally

Iwas up to my elbows in drywall spackle and feeling like a DIY badass when the ringtone I’d assigned to the nursing home cut off Maren Morris’s voice singing about bones and foundations.

I answered the call with my elbow and rested my face against the phone on the lid of the toilet. The last time I’d been in this position had been the infamous Tequila Lesbian Night. I focused on that fact rather than the instinctive fear that gripped me every time the home called.

“Ally?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Braden. Hey, no emergency or anything. We’re having some trouble settling your father down for the night. We were wondering if you’d mind stopping in?”

“Of course,” I said, checking the time. “Is he okay?”

“He’s all right. Just agitated.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.” My father, the man who had only raised his voice when the Mets were playing or when he was shouting “Bravo” in a concert hall, suffered states of agitation where nothing short of strong sleeping meds could calm him.

The nursing home was a mile from me. The buses didn’t run as often this late on weeknights, and it was too late to call Mr. Mohammad and ask to borrow his car. Walking it was. I bundled up in Dad’s old ski jacket, pulled on the thickest socks I could manage inside my sneakers, and hit the sidewalk.

It was cold enough, windy enough, for my face to sting.

At least Dad hadn’t fallen. At least he wasn’t sick. At least I had a job, temporarily, that could handle a lot of the expenses. At least I was finally making progress on the house. I counted my blessings as I power-walked my way through Foxwood.

So much had changed here since childhood. This street was one eighth-grade me had peered at through the school bus window while I planned my grown-up future. Spoiler alert: My imaginings had never looked like this.

My life in Boulder was one my eighth-grade self would have approved of. I had friends. Boyfriends. I worked jobs that I loved and took time off to live.

I spotted the big house all aglow on the corner behind its brick pillars and greenery and felt the familiar tug of longing. I’d loved this house and what it had represented my entire life. A family lived there. Two parents, kids that played outside and climbed trees and sold lemonade on the sidewalk. The Christmas light display drew crowds every year.

Now there were grandkids and Sunday brunches and holiday celebrations.

I paused on the sidewalk.

They were hosting tonight. A weeknight dinner party probably running late because everyone was having too much fun to leave. Glasses of wine. Candles. The faint notes of a jazz record spilled outside to me.

A fierce longing hit me hard enough to have me turning away. I wanted a home and a family and friends who didn’t mind a wine hangover on a Tuesday morning because we weren’t ready to end the fun.

I missed my old life. Missed the comfort of believing my father was happy and healthy. Missed being able to breathe. To be selfish. I missed being able to go out for drinks on a Wednesday or take a friend out to dinner. I missed cooking for a cute date that I was excited about. God, I missed sex. I missed not having to know my checking account balance down to the penny.

I turned my back on the big house and followed the sidewalk away from someone else’s perfect life.

Thirty-nine-year-old me didn’t have a future.

There was only now. And I’d be grateful for every minute I had here with him.