Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
Ben
I’m turning the key in my front door when my phone buzzes. Antonia.
The giddiness from the drive home resurfaces. She only asked me to dinner an hour ago, and the arrangements are already made. I’d expected her to reconsider. Or at least hesitate.
But Clerkenwell? Not an area I would have placed her in. I’d have pictured her in Mayfair. Somewhere polished and anonymous. Where the linen is starched white, and the glass sparkles under false candlelight.
When I’m inside, I search the restaurant on my browser. A small family-run Italian place, open since 1956. The photos of the interior suggest that it was the last time it was decorated too. The menu is traditional. All the favorites there.
Between pink Wellington boots and a sixty-year-old Italian restaurant in Clerkenwell, Antonia is nothing like the woman I first assumed she was.
Maybe tomorrow isn’t about dinner. Maybe it’s about seeing the parts of her she doesn’t bring to work.
That intrigues me, excites me even. I want to know more.
I quickly type out a reply:
Looking forward to it.
Then, I take off my shoes, hang up my coat, and walk into my kitchen as if there’s nothing to tell. As if my sons won’t notice.
***
My pillow is crushed flat by morning. All I can think of is her and what tonight could bring. I manage an hour’s sleep here and there, but certainly not the rest I hoped for. I’m already showered and dressed when the boys appear for breakfast. Both still with their lids half-closed.
“Morning,” I say.
The table is set—cereal, milk, bowls, and a few extra treats. Two sets of suspicious eyes land between my shoulder blades. I can feel them.
“You’re in a good mood,” Ollie mumbles.
Wood drags against porcelain, then there’s a thud as each of them drop into their chairs.
“It’s a lovely day.”
“It’s raining,” Liam says. I spin, frying pan in hand, and drop a fried egg onto each plate.
“It’s nature,” I say. My sons’ jaws slacken in unison. Breakfast tends to be a time full of chatter in our home, but today, they’re looking at me as if I’ve grown a second head.
“Are you feeling okay, Dad?” Ollie asks, voice laced with genuine concern.
“I’m fine.” I move to the sink. The water splashes into the first pot, and I pick up the scrubbing brush. “I won’t be home for dinner tonight.”
“Why?” Liam walks over to the fridge, his eyes narrowing at my work calendar we keep pinned there. “You’re not scheduled for tonight.”
“I didn’t say I was working.” I try to keep my voice level. “I’m having dinner with a friend.”
“A friend?” Ollie says. “Do you have any of those? Apart from Aunt Amy.”
I should be offended, but I’m not. Since Bex died, my life has centered around my kids. There’s been no time for anyone or anything else. I didn’t want a distraction from them. They kept me sane.
“Who?” Liam chimes in.
His head tilts to one side, eyes running over my face. Curious.
“Antonia.”
Silence. Even Ollie is lost for words. No doubt surprised I’m going out at all, never mind with a woman.
“Is it a date?” Liam says. No edge, just interest.
“No.”
“Is she not the scary one?” Ollie laughs at his own comment. The two boys sneak a glance and smirk.
“No,” I say again. “She’s just professional.”
“And it’s not a date?” Ollie probes. I shake my head. “Who invited who?”
“She invited me.” Both sets of eyes pop wide. “As a thank you.”
“For what?” Liam continues. “Surely, you should be thanking her. She’s the reason we can build Mum’s retreat.”
That makes me pause. The mention of Bex and Antonia is the same sentence. The connection they have without ever knowing each other.
“She is,” I agree. “We are lucky to have met her.”
“Hmm…” Liam returns to his seat. His knife slices the egg into tiny bites before he pops one into his mouth and chews.
“I think it’s a date,” Ollie says like he’s already decided. “What do you think?”
His brother doesn’t even look up. “It’s a date.”
“It’s dinner,” I mutter, although even I’m not convinced. “Now, eat your breakfast.”
***
The day drags. Every time I check my watch, only minutes have passed. The hands crawl as the sun sets.
Finally, my last patient leaves.
The drive home is long. The GPS is constantly advising of delays. Roadwork appears on all sides. Every traffic light turns red as I approach. Maybe it’s a sign that tonight is headed for disaster.
Two hours until dinner. It takes thirty minutes to get to the restaurant across town. I’ll have an hour to get ready if I’m lucky.
Though it’s not a date, so I shouldn’t need more. It’s not like I should want to impress her.
But I do.
The butterflies started after lunch and haven’t stopped. It reminds me of high school, asking the first girl I liked on a date and waiting for days for her to tell me no. At least this time, the only answer I’m waiting on is whether it is a date.
It’s probably important I know.
Eventually, traffic eases, and I make it home. The front door opens before I’m halfway up the path. Ollie comes running out, phone in hand, holding it toward me.
“Rose wants to talk to you,” he says. He thrusts his cell in my face, and my daughter stares out from the screen.
“So about this date,” she half-sings.
“It’s not a date.”
She laughs. So does Ollie. I almost do as well.
“Well, you’re not going dressed like a middle-aged dad on your non-date,” she shoots back. “I’m in charge.”
“First of all, I am a middle-aged dad,” I tell her, and she rolls her eyes. “And second, I can cut you off any time I like.”
“I’ll just call back.”
“I’ll block you.”
The banter continues as we enter the house. Ollie throws in the odd grenade to keep the conversation interesting. It’s then that I notice Liam, sitting on the sofa playing his video game, his headphones firmly in place.
“I’ll call you back,” I say to Rose. She opens her mouth to argue, so I add, “I need to speak to Liam.”
Her mouth snaps closed.
Whether this is a date or not, me seeing someone will be hardest on him. Even if it’s been almost five years since his mum passed.
I cut the call and pass Ollie his cell, he disappears without a prompt. I walk over and sit down next to my son. He glances over but continues to play his game, so I pick up the second controller.
Getting ready can wait.
The game ends, and he starts a new one—two players. The headphones slide back off his ears. The cars race. He beats me by a lap, the same as he always does. “When are you leaving?” he says, his eyes never leave the screen.
“Seven thirty.”
“You’re not wearing that?” He glances over, then refocuses on the game. My car smashes into a wall.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“You look ready to host a board meeting, not eat dinner. Wear the blue one with the palm trees.” His expression doesn’t change. Everything continues like every other night.
“The palm trees?”
“Yeah…” he says. “You look less dad-like.”
I watch him for a second longer than necessary, but he doesn’t turn around.
“Alright,” I tell him, then, when the game ends, I head upstairs to change.
***
Downstairs, I’m pulling my coat on when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn to find Liam standing quietly by the door. He offers me my car keys.
“You’ll need these,” he says, lips tight but threatening to smile.
“Thanks.”
I hold out my hand, and he drops them into my palm. “Have a great night, Dad.” He steps forward, his arms wrapping around me. “Just don’t bore her with medical jargon.”
“Thanks,” I say again, the only word I can push past my lips. Before emotion gets the better of me, I step out into the night. The path beneath my feet is already crunching with the dropping temperatures.
Once in my car, I look back at my family home. Liam is still standing in the doorway, hand raised, wishing me a good night. I start the engine before I can change my mind. Then leave, palm trees and all.