Chapter 5
ALEX
“Hey, Dad! Let’s go see if they have the new Mario game!”
I so want to go see if they have the new Mario game.
“Nope.” I grab a shopping cart and call out to Ryder in my Dad Voice as soon as he starts to run off.
“Get back here! Stay with me. Stay focused. We’re here to get your back-to-school supplies and that’s it.
No games. No toys. Just school stuff. And if they’re out of that stuff here, then we’ll have to go to another store.
I don’t want to spend more than half an hour here, you got me? ”
He stops in his tracks, turns around, and twists his lips to one side. “Can I ride in the cart?”
“Nope.”
“Can we get a donut at the Starbucks?”
Fuck, I want a donut from Starbucks.
“No. You just ate breakfast.”
“Can you get a coffee at the Starbucks, then? Because you’re being a really big grumpy dumpy face.”
He’s not wrong. I am being a really big grumpy dumpy face.
I was in the middle of some very enthusiastic and filthy reminiscing about Emmy From the Club this morning, when my son started banging on the bedroom door, yelling that my mom was on the phone and she said it’s an emergency.
The emergency was that she saw her friend’s daughter post on Facebook about how the Office Max in her neighborhood was cleaned out of back-to-school supplies yesterday.
She wanted to make sure I get to Target as soon as it opens.
School starts in a week, and I was just going to order this shit online, but here we are at Target, and I just want to go back to reminiscing about Emmy.
It’s been two and a half weeks. I can’t stop thinking about her. I also haven’t had one free minute to do anything about it.
“I don’t need coffee, but thanks.” I muss up his hair. He’s a good kid. And he’s just trying to get me in a good mood so I’ll buy him the new Mario game, and I’m not falling for it.
He heaves a sigh of exasperation. “Well, what do you need, then?”
Emmy. I think I need Emmy From the Club. That mouth and those hands and all the surprising things she said and did with them.
“I need to get your school supplies, and then we need to drop you off at Grandma and Yayo’s because I have a couple of meetings. And then we’ll spend the rest of the day at home, okay?”
He hunches his shoulders, groaning and trudging along beside me.
This kid.
Ryder always comes first, but Nova really picked a shit time to drop a bomb on me.
I just wish there was some way I could find Emmy and explain why I had to bolt that night.
I’d figured she was going to throw up and I followed her so I could hold her hair out of her face or something, but then I saw her go into the ladies’ room.
And then I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket.
There were eight notifications from my ex-wife, so I went outside to call her back.
That’s when she told me that she’d just been offered a role in the ensemble for the international tour of Cats, but she’d have to leave in two days.
For an indefinite amount of time—a few months at least.
Which is insane. But she’d been in that ensemble ten years ago, so she knows the show and a lot of the people involved, and it’s been so long since she’s really been able to dance professionally.
Being in her thirties, it might be the last big dance gig she ever gets.
She was so excited. I knew that if I tried to talk her out of it, she’d resent it, and ultimately Ryder would be the one who’d be affected the most.
Because of Cats.
Fuck you, Andrew Lloyd Webber. You can kiss my magical Mr. Mistoffelees.
I had to go pick up Ryder so he wouldn’t have to be around the manic chaos that is Nova Tully when she’s getting ready for an international tour.
I had to call my agent to get me out of a TV job that shoots in Canada in October so I can be here for Ryder full-time.
And I am here for him.
Full-time.
I love having him around.
He’s my buddy.
But every so often, when he’s sleeping or watching Pokémon, I close my eyes and I can still feel Emmy’s lips on mine.
Those sweet, pink lips.
That kiss that felt like the end of all my jaded thoughts and the beginning of the kind of story I really want to tell myself.
That there’s still love and magic out there to be made, even when you know they both die a bewildering, miserable death eventually.
“Are you sure you don’t need coffee? Because you don’t look awake to me.”
“I’m awake. Where’s the school supplies aisle?”
Ryder points me in the right direction. He comes here with his mom a lot. I pull my phone out to look at the list that his teacher sent, along with a somewhat alarmingly cheerful email introducing herself to the parents.
And speak of the alarmingly cheerful devil, there’s a new notification from Ryder’s school.
“Oooh! Can I get a calculator?!”
I can’t help but laugh at how excited he is by the shitty plastic calculator he’s holding up. “You think you’ll need one for school?”
“Maybe? Can I just have one for home?”
“Sure, why not. You can use it to count up all the times I was awesome.”
“I don’t even need all my fingers for that,” he deadpans.
This kid.
“Harsh.”
“How many notebooks do I need?”
“Hang on, I just got an email from your new teacher.”
It’s only addressed to me. Not a bcc email to all the parents. Which is weird and slightly disturbing.
TO: directoralexvega@
FROM: estiles@
SUBJECT: school supplies
Dear Mr. Vega,
Good morning!
I hope this email finds you well and as prepared as possible for Ryder’s new school year!
I am the new second-grade teacher here at Silver Lake Elementary School, and I have the note from Mrs. Hernandez (at the front office) to address emails to you regarding Ryder Tully-Vega this year.
I just wanted to make sure that you received the email I sent a few days ago.
The one regarding Ryder’s school supplies.
I didn’t hear back from you, so I wanted to confirm that you have the list. I’m attaching it again here.
Please let me know that you got this!
Thanks so much!
I look forward to meeting Ryder next week.
Best,
Miss Stiles
Well, at least there are about six fewer exclamation points in this email.
“What’s she say? Is it about me?”
“She just wants to make sure we got the list of school supplies. Hang on.”
I reply with a three-word email and then open up the list.
Miss Stiles. Another “Miss.” I hope this one isn’t going to be like Ryder’s first-grade teacher. She eye-fucked me so hard at the parent-teacher conference, I was chafing by the time I got out of there.
I finally look over at Ryder, who’s watching me with an expression on his face that nearly breaks my heart. It’s concern. For me. Why would my seven-year-old son be worried about me?
“What’s wrong, buddy?”
He shrugs. “Are you sure you don’t want a donut?”
“Yeah. But let’s try to get everything on this list, and then if we have time, we’ll see if they have the new Mario.”
“Okay!”
“Okay.”
Maybe a new Mario adventure is what I need to take my mind off of Judge-y Leggy Glasses Girl with the Soft Pink Lips.
Or if there’s a single-player mode for this game, I can finish reminiscing about her while Ryder keeps busy.
I don’t think I’m ready to take my mind off of her yet.