Page 94 of What Boys Learn

I wanted to get back to our previous unfinished conversation.

“If you’re saying that Benjamin could ease your stress by mowing a lawn, then yes.”

“Good,” he said, releasing my hand in order to slap the table once, triumphantly.

He turned in the booth, eyes on mine.

“I have a serious proposition, Abby. I’d like to take Benjamin to Wisconsin. Bring him up to the family house. Time for some therapeutic guidance, but mostly it would be role modeling. Work, good habits, the right amount of structure.”

I pushed into the far side of the booth to get a little more distance and half turned, just as he had. Now, the booth felt too small, our knees jostling for space.

“You’re thinking . . . a weekend?”

“I was thinking about the rest of the summer.”

Our waitress appeared, clearing the half-finished spaghetti plates. “More drinks? Room for dessert?”

I slid my credit card into her hand before Curtis could reach for his wallet.

“Just the bill,” I said firmly, waiting for her to leave before speaking again.

Before, he’d wanted a special day out with Benjamin. Now he was pressing for several weeks.

“Thank you, Curtis. Really. But there are still things I need to discuss with Benjamin. Things I’m hoping he’ll tell me. And I know that takes time. The kind of time you get with a teen when you’re not in a rush or trying too hard. Cooking, driving, just sitting around. You know?”

When Curtis didn’t reply, I continued. “As for habits and structure, he’s got that. He doesn’t sleep all day. If it’s too late for him to get the lifeguard job, I’ll help him find something else.”

Curtis’s mouth was pinched. He seemed not to realize that his right knee was pressing into my thigh.

I said, “I guess I should be getting home.”

“Of course. I’ll drive you.”

“Actually, considering all the wine . . .” I pulled out my phone, swiping in search of a rideshare icon.

“I’ll drive you,” he said again.

“Or I could walk.”

I set my phone aside, took another sip of my coffee, and looked at his, barely touched.

Noticing my glance, he said, “I didn’t have as much wine as you had. And I weigh twice as much as you do, even after losing all that weight.” He tapped his flat belly. “You never asked me how I slimmed down, by the way.”

“Ozempic?”

“Loneliness.”

The divorce. His daughter, far away. “Oh, Curtis.”

He took a long sip of coffee, then smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That wasn’t a bid for sympathy!”

I felt embarrassed for him now. For myself, too. I should have understood. He wasn’t maximizing time with Benjamin only for my son’s sake. He was trying to fulfill a fatherly role. His daughter—the very same age as Benjamin, he’d told us at the pool. The same birth month, even.

“You’ve been good for Benjamin,” I said. “But . . .”

“But?”

“I’m his mother. He’s going through a difficult time. I need to be there for him.”