4. Weston
4
Weston
E arly morning darkness covers me like a cloak as I roll over and hit my alarm clock with a yawn. Instinctively, I reach a hand out to Lydia’s side of the bed. The familiar ache stirs in my chest when I find it empty, but it’s fainter now. It doesn’t take my breath away like it once did. Still, after more than two decades together, it takes time to get used to waking up alone.
On autopilot, I shower and dress for work before heading downstairs. Jess came in late last night, and he’s left a pile of dirty clothes by the washer. I step over them as I head to the kitchen, trying to ignore the irritation that fizzles in my gut. As desperate as I am to mend the rift between us, I’m getting sick of his lack of respect. I don’t want to pull the whole “as long as you’re living under my roof, you’ll obey my rules” shit with him—I mean, he’s not a child, and he wouldn’t respond well to that anyway—but I’m also not running a damn hotel. When he first moved back in I went easy on him, but it’s been over a month of playing video games all day in his underwear, then staying out at all hours. I might be trying to fix things between us, but I’m also his father, and it’s my job to provide boundaries and guidance whether he likes that or not.
I pour bran flakes into a bowl and add milk, thinking about my son. I think he’s started dating someone, but given he hardly grunts two words in my direction, it’s hard to know. The only clue is the goofy look on his face when he picks up his phone, and that I’ve caught him heading out more than once in the evenings in a cloud of cologne, his hair styled neatly. Last time I checked, he doesn’t make that kind of effort for Rex.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs makes me pause, and I nearly drop my spoon when Jesse walks into the kitchen. It’s ten to six in the morning. The only time I’ve ever seen him awake so early is when he’s getting in from a wild night out.
“What are you doing up?” I ask as Jess sticks his head into the pantry.
There’s a long pause, and for a second I think he’s going to straight-up ignore me, but finally he answers, “I have a job interview downtown.”
I try not to balk. “For real?”
He turns from the pantry to stick two Pop-Tarts into the toaster before glancing back at me. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
I quickly school my features. “I just… wasn’t aware you’d been looking for a job.”
He casts his cool gaze over me. “There’s a lot you’re not aware of.”
This fucking kid. Honestly.
I grit my teeth, about to finally give him a talking to, when he says, “My girlfriend set it up.”
I snap my mouth shut. Girlfriend ? I figured he was seeing someone, but didn’t know it was that serious. Whoever this mystery woman is, she’s obviously good for him.
I hide a smile behind my hand. “Girlfriend, huh?”
Back when we were close, we’d talk like this all the time. Jess had a long-term girlfriend of two and a half years before his mom died, and I’d assumed those two were going to settle down for good, like Lydia and I did at that age. But after his mom’s death, everything changed.
Jesse contemplates me as if he’s considering sharing more. I’d give anything to have him slide onto the stool at the island beside me and tell me about this girlfriend, like the old days.
Instead, he turns back to the fridge and pulls out the orange juice, pouring himself a glass, saying nothing.
“Well, I think it’s great you’re going for an interview.” I run my gaze over his jeans and plain tee, wondering if I should suggest he change. Surely he shouldn’t be dressed so casually?
But before I can say anything, the toaster pops. He drains his juice and grabs his breakfast, turning on his heel.
“Good luck,” I call as he leaves the kitchen, but either he doesn’t hear me, or simply chooses not to respond.
My money’s on the latter.
I finish my bowl of cereal with a sigh. What’s it going to take for Jess to start talking to me again? I’ve given him somewhere to live. I feed him. Hell, most of the time I even do his laundry. He’s not a kid anymore, but I’m doing this because I love him, and I want him to see I’m trying. I want him to see I still care, despite everything.
I glance at my watch and realize I need to get moving, especially if I want time to enjoy the quiet at Joe’s before the day starts. Dumping my bowl in the sink, I decide I’ll load the dishwasher and do the laundry later. Then I grab my wallet and keys and head out into the fresh morning air.
Joe’s is only a few blocks from my townhouse on Fruit Street, and it’s a pretty walk. Brooklyn Heights is a designated historic district, lined with four and five-story townhouses and brownstones. The oak trees are a vibrant green in spring, but the short walk doesn’t have its usual invigorating effect. All I can think about, as I push open the glass front door of the coffee shop, is the chasm between me and Jess.
“Good morning,” Daisy chirps from behind the counter.
“Morning.” I sink into my usual seat in the window, where the newspaper waits for me. She always leaves it here, knowing I’ll want to flip through it while I drink my coffee. As the hum of the espresso machine fills the air, I wonder who else she does that for.
“You okay?”
I glance up in surprise. Daisy appears at the table with my latte, and I realize I’ve been staring into space, lost in thought.
“Sorry. Yes.” I glance into her rich brown eyes. Today they’re subtly ringed with eyeliner, highlighting her natural beauty, and she’s woven her long hair into a braid that snakes over her right shoulder. Out of nowhere, I have an image of that braid wrapped around my fist as she straddles my lap. Heat pools in my abdomen at the thought, and I suck in a breath, glancing away. I haven’t felt such a sharp, visceral sensation of lust like that since…
Well, for a very, very long time.
She hovers by my table, looking uncertain. “You sure you’re okay?”
I swallow, pushing the image away. When I glance back at Daisy, her eyes swim with concern, and something breaks a little in my chest. She doesn’t realize it, but she’s become the one constant in my life. The one good thing.
“My son won’t talk to me.” The words slip from my mouth without my permission. She’s not my therapist. She’s only the local barista, trying to go about her day. But compassion knits across Daisy’s brow, and she lowers herself into the chair opposite me.
“What happened?”
“He…” I blow out a long breath. “It’s complicated.”
“Right.” She smooths a hand over the table, apparently unbothered by my vague answer. “Is there anything you can do?”
I shake my head. “I’ve tried everything. The harder I try, the more it feels like he pulls away.”
“That’s rough.” She’s quiet for a moment, then gives a small, humorless laugh. “It seems like everyone I know is arguing with their parents lately.”
A smile whispers across my lips. “I guess some things never change.”
“Yeah.” Daisy studies me, her gaze warm and reassuring. “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll come around. Maybe he just needs time.”
I nod, wishing it were that simple. “I hope you’re right,” I murmur, looking down at the coffee in front of me. When I see the Ghostbusters symbol she’s crafted into the foam, my heart lightens. “Another masterpiece,” I say with a chuckle.
She laughs too. “Glad you like it. I’ve been practicing that one.”
“I love it.” I lift my gaze to hers again. “It’s one of my favorite movies.”
“Mine too. At least, the original is.” She wrinkles her nose. “None of the new movies compare.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” I murmur, surprised that a woman so young would love an eighties film. Her answering grin is pure delight, and warmth suffuses my chest. “You always know how to make me smile, Daisy.”
A blush touches her freckled cheeks as her gaze sears into mine. Her breathing becomes unsteady and she swallows. “You make me smile, too.”
My gaze falls to her full mouth, and for the first time since Lydia died, I contemplate what it would be like to kiss someone else. To wake up beside someone else. To share my life with someone else. Is it too absurd to think that someone could be Daisy? Sure, she’s young, and it would be unconventional to date a woman her age, but I’ve never played by other people’s rules. Everyone said I was crazy to marry Lydia at nineteen and start a family at twenty. Everyone laughed when I quit my stable job to start my own ad agency at twenty-five. I didn’t listen, because I’m a man who’s always known what he wants.
And looking at Daisy, I know what I want.
I gaze at the pretty brunette in front of me, thinking about the way she lays the newspaper out for me, the way she tries to make me smile with her coffee, the way she always stops to talk to me.
She feels this too. I know she does.
When her lips curve into a soft smile just for me, I decide that sometime, when the moment feels right, I’m going to ask her out.
Daisy rises from the table, brushing past my shoulder as she returns to the counter. My skin tingles from her brief touch, warming me through, and when I head off to work, I’m smiling again.
Smiling at the thought of new possibilities.