Chapter 4
GRIFFIN
Saturday is usually a tradeoff.
Sylas gets a playdate, I get three hours to blitz the house.
Joyce used to take him out while I did the things on my never-ending to-do list. Floating shelves in the laundry.
A mudroom bench with cubbies that actually fit backpacks.
Re-hanging the bathroom door so it stops kissing the frame.
Swapping the old switches for dimmers. Laying the first row of tile for a kitchen backsplash I promised Lila I’d finish years ago.
Sylas is by the doorway, already in his sneakers, hoodie half-zipped, blond hair still sticking up in the back. He looks so much like his mother in moments like this that it sometimes hurts to look at him.
Some days, the resemblance is a gift.
Other days, it lands like a fist to the chest.
“Are we going?”
I still have to break the news to him about Joyce. I wipe my hands on a rag, crossing the kitchen. “Yeah. Just give me a second, bud.”
He nods, rocking on his heels.
I crouch in front of him, fixing his zipper.
“Hey… you know how Joyce usually takes you out on Saturdays?”
“Yeah. We get donuts sometimes!” A small grin. “She lets me pick the flavors.”
Joyce and Sylas have been attached at the hip ever since his mother passed away. She taught him how to tie his shoes, sat next to me through countless school events, and somehow convinced my son that broccoli wasn’t the enemy. Half the routines in our house exist because of her.
“She won’t be doing that anymore.”
His brows pinch. “Why?”
“She had to move away. For good.”
He absorbs that, quietly.
“So… she’s not coming back?”
I shake my head.
Sylas’s face falls as he looks down at his shoes, nudging a toe against the floor. “Oh. We’re totally screwed.”
I burst out laughing. “First of all, language. Second, you’re totally right.
We’re screwed. But, we’ll find someone to replace her.
And Joyce will come visit. We’ll be okay.
” I rest a hand on the back of his neck, giving it a squeeze.
“So, it’s just us today. Thought we could hit that indoor place you like. ”
“The one with the big slide?” He brightens.
“Yeah. I asked Jordan to join us.”
“Yes! You’re the best, Dad,” he shouts, wrapping his arms around my neck, and it’s the best feeling ever.
When we arrive at the indoor playground, I’m hit with the smell of sanitizer and smelly socks. Sylas and his friend disappear into a maze of blue tubes, laughing like banshees, hair charging with static.
I plant myself on a bench with a clear line of sight, and count exits, sightlines, obstacles. Then, I take a sip of coffee that tastes like hot cardboard.
I grab my phone and it buzzes in my hand.
Mya
How are you holding up, G-man? Any luck on finding someone who will tolerate your grumpy ass?
A small smile tugs at my mouth.
I told Mya about Joyce leaving when we were at the W.H.M. Women’s Shelter Gala last week after she noticed I was off. I’d tried to brush it aside at first, but Mya is annoyingly perceptive.
I explained that I was struggling with finding someone new for Sylas and hated the idea of leaving him with someone I didn’t know well. Mya, being Mya, immediately informed me that I was catastrophizing.
Still alive. Ask me again next week. And no, not yet.
Three dots appear instantly.
Mya
Wow. Progress.
I roll my eyes.
You’re funny.
Mya
I know. How’s Sylas doing?
My gaze shifts across the indoor playground until I find him halfway up a climbing structure, laughing with Jordan.
Fine. Better than me.
Mya
That’s because he’s six and you’re forty pretending you can control everything.
I huff out a laugh despite myself.
Thirty-eight.
Mya
Same difference, Grandpa.
Worth is older than me.
Mya
Don’t drag him into this.
Why not? I’m sure your little crush would love the attention.
Mya
I do NOT have a crush on my boss.
Right.
Mya
Before I can think of a comeback, Jordan’s mom drops onto the seat beside me.
“Alyssa,” she says, offering her hand like we didn’t text about meeting here. “Officially.”
“Griffin.” I shake it.
She glances at my left hand, at the ring I don’t take off. People around here know the story. Some of them think it’s sweet. Some think it’s weird. Most can’t seem to help commenting.
“It’s really cute that you still wear it,” Alyssa says with a smile.
Wow, straight to it.
“Not many men would,” she adds.
I hum, noncommittal, eyes tracking a flash of Sylas’s red socks through the netted climb. He’s fine, but my shoulders don’t get the memo; they’re halfway to my ears anyway.
“So,” she tries again, crossing one ankle over the other. “How is the first grade treating your guy? Jordan says Sylas is the robot king.”
“He likes anything with parts. If it can be taken apart, he’s already destroying it.”
She giggles, but the sound is grating.
Alyssa leans in a little. “You look tired, by the way. Long week?”
I sigh, but keep my tone even. “Long year.”
She tilts her head. “Single parent life, right? I don’t know how we do it.”
“Me neither. But he keeps waking up, so I’m doing something right.”
Alyssa laughs, like I told a joke. I didn’t.
My eyes go back to the climb. Sylas pops out the top and waves. I give him a thumbs-up.
The next few weeks will be an adjustment. Losing Joyce will throw a wrench into our routine, and I wish she’d change her mind about moving away, but for all the stress it’ll cause, there’s an unexpected upside: I’ll be spending more time with Sylas than I have in a little while.
The circumstances aren’t ideal, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t appreciate that part of it.
Alyssa follows my gaze. “You’re doing great, though. It’s… hot.”
“Hot?”
“Dads who show up. It’s attractive.”
I sip the coffee so I don’t have to answer. It tastes even worse now.
She tucks hair behind one ear and tries a different angle. “We’ve been meaning to have you over one night. The kids can destroy the basement. And I make a mean charcuterie board.”
Here we go.
“Thanks, but we’re packed this month.”
“Spontaneous is fine, too.” She smiles with teeth. “I’m great at spontaneous.”
I hum once more, which isn’t an answer but reads like one if you want it to. I slide my thumb around the edge of my ring, finding the nick I never bothered to buff out.
“So what were you going to do today if you weren’t here?” Alyssa asks, still working. “Nap? Golf? Guys always say golf.”
“Rip out the baseboard in the hallway,” I say. “Scribe new pieces so they meet right. Oven light’s out, too. Might troubleshoot. And my kid’s closet rod is a disaster, so a proper cleat and a second bar.”
She blinks. “That is very specific.”
I shrug. “Occupational hazard.”
“You’re the COO at that big firm downtown, right? Why are you doing your own trim?”
“Because if I hire someone, I’ll redo it. It won’t sit right otherwise.” I let out a breath. “And if it’s off, I’ll feel it every time I walk past.”
Alyssa laughs again; this time it’s real. “Okay, that I get.” She scoots half an inch closer. “If you ever need help… I paint. I can tape like a pro. Or I can bring wine and cheer you on. I’m multitalented.”
“Good to know.” I keep my voice friendly. Neutral. “I’m good for now.”
She nudges my shoulder lightly with hers. “You’re allowed to try at other things, too, you know.”
I pretend to not know what she means.
But the stupid part of my brain immediately supplies an image of her from one of her videos.
She’d been talking about getting out of your comfort zone, encouraging her followers to try something new that scared them. Something that made them feel alive.
“Life gets really small when you stop letting yourself experience things,” she’d said with that easy smile of hers.
For a brief moment, I wonder what it would be like to take that advice. To stop overthinking everything and treating every decision like it requires a risk assessment and a backup plan. To want something and simply go after it.
The thought disappears quickly, because some things aren’t meant for me.
And that gorgeous woman is firmly at the top of that list.
“We should set a timer for five more minutes,” I say, not taking Alyssa’s bait. “If I don’t give him a timeline, I’ll never get out of here.”
“Bossy,” she teases, rising with me.
I ignore that and wave at the kids. “Five minutes, Sy!”
“Aw, man,” Sylas groans. “Two more slides,” he bargains, already climbing. I nod because I’m not heartless.
Alyssa falls into step with me as I circle to the exit side of the structure.
“You ever think about taking the ring off?” she asks suddenly. “Like…when you’re ready?”
“Not today.”
“People talk, you know.”
“People always talk.”
She lifts her hands. “Fair.”
We stand there in silence until I can’t take the coffee anymore and toss it. The timer on my phone buzzes. I wait until the boys have gone on a few more slides, then whistle; two heads snap up. The boys barrel down the slides, and collide with my legs in a tangle that somehow doesn’t knock me over.
“Shoes,” I say, ruffling Sylas’s hair.
Alyssa touches my elbow, one last try. “Text me if you change your mind.”
“Will do.”
I buckle Sylas in while he tells me every detail of a game I don’t understand. When I round the hood to the driver’s side, I catch my reflection in the window and sigh. I love spending time with my son, but I don’t want to have to go through another one of these with Alyssa in… ever.
These are the types of conversations I can’t steer.
As soon as I sit in the car, I glance at Sylas, “We’re looking for a new nanny starting tomorrow.”