“Patrice,” she says, the name coming out as a happy memory. “She was lovely. How is she?”
I take a step down, then lean against the railing. I could spend all night out here talking with her, catching up and reminiscing. “Good. I don’t see her much, but since she no longer works for my family, I spent last Christmas with her family.”
A soft smile comes, and I’m beginning to detect a devious side to Story. I approve when it comes to my family. Story says, “I could see how much she cared about you. She’ll love Reed.”
“She would.” The thought of introducing Reed as my son to people in my life isn’t something I’d given myself permission to dream about. There aren’t many, but Patrice is one of them, if not at the top of the list. Anytime her family was going on an adventure—the beach, the zoo, Coney Island—she’d add me to her brood. She’s the only saving grace I had as a kid until I became too difficult to handle as a teen. “Maybe we can take him together to meet her?”
“That’d be nice.”
It’s not a date on the calendar, but I’ll take the positive reaction. Some things take time, and I’m not sure Story and I should rush any changes in Reed’s life. I’m not looking for an upheaval, but more of a slow adjustment where it’s normal for me to be around. And then one day, maybe that name change.
Rocking back on her heels, she asks, “So, the zoo?” She nudges me with her elbow. “I bet you’re excited about that.” The sarcasm is duly noted.
Sliding my hands into my front pockets, I look at Story. Us in our matching alma mater T-shirts, both a little older, but God, she’s still so beautiful. I think life has been harder on us, making us detour when we would have preferred a straight shot. But slowly and steadily, I’m starting to think we’re getting back on the same track. At least, I hope we are. “Everything with the two of you is exciting to me.”
She looks at me, strands of hair escaping from her ponytail and the streetlamp shining in her eyes. Tilting her head, she asks, “What?” with a modicum of shyness creeping in. “What are you looking at, Cooper?”
I want to kiss her. I want to hold her in my arms again, knowing it’s not just because of some tragedy that forced us together. I want to go to bed with her, even if we didn’t have sex, just for one more chance to wake up with her in my arms and watch the sunrise in her eyes. I remember so much about that morning in May six years ago—brushing our teeth together and kissing in the shower until the water ran cold, coffee and donuts from the gas station as I filled the tank before we headed to Haywood for my graduation party. How she loved me. I could see it in her eyes. I felt it in her touch. My soul knew I’d never survive without hers wrapped around it.
I never got the warning that it was the last time we’d do those things, we’d love that hard, or we’d be us.
I want what we used to have so badly I could shout, but only on one condition. Reed would still be a part of the package. “I just like looking at you, babe.”
She blushes, tucking her hair behind her ear, not caring that I slipped in the name at the end like it’s another time, another opportunity for us.
The front door opens, and we startle apart like we were busted doing something we shouldn’t. Lila looks at us and shakes her head. “We’re going to bed,” she announces, then points at me. “You’re going to make sure this one . . .” She nods to Story. “Gets home safely.”
Story checks her watch. “What do you mean, you’re going to bed? It’s eight o’clock.”
“Jake’s already reading, Reed’s asleep, and yeah, Lou and I are heading upstairs. But us going to bed doesn’t mean you have to.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Take this as an opportunity to go out and have some fun.” She shrugs. “Or stay in, just not here.” She tosses Story her purse. “I’ll get Reed to school in the morning. Have fun, you two.”
Story’s mouth is hanging open when the door shuts. Two bolts and what sounds like a chain are slid into place. “I’m thinking she means it,” I say.
Stomping down the steps, she says, “She definitely means it.” When she reaches the sidewalk, Story turns to look back up at me. “Well? You heard the lady. We don’t have to go home, but we can’t stay here. Are you coming, Dr. Haywood?”
I jog down the steps. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” Stopping next to her, I ask, “Where are we going?”
Story wouldn’t let me enter her duplex, conveniently located around the corner from Lila, but she left the door open for me to peek in. The space feels big with the height of the ceilings and the walls painted white. Shelves of colorful books are tucked between two large windows. On the opposite side is a wall of eclectically framed photos I imagine she took, breaking up the gallery feel. Toys litter one side of the living room, and cups left on the table bring the most human element to the space.
For every inch of white, there’s an equal section of color. She runs down the stairs, her lips glossed and the wild strands tamed by the elastic. She didn’t change clothes, but I catch a whiff of her floral scent when she dashes out and turns to lock the door. “Snoop,” she says with a smile she’s struggling to restrain.
Leaning against the railing, I chuckle. “I don’t know what you’re hiding in there. You have great taste.”
“Thanks, but I’m hiding the mess.” The street is quiet. Other than the occasional car passing by, I’ve only seen a family going for a stroll. It makes me happy that Reed lives somewhere he can see blue skies instead of only skyscrapers. That patches of grass exist nearby, even if they’re small, rather than needing to head five blocks or more to a park.
Still embarrassed, she goes on, “Between my schedule and Reed’s, I’m not as neat as I used to be. I would have cleaned up if I were expecting guests.”
I don’t like the sound of that. Does she have guests over? I’ll have to revisit this. “I liked the way it looked. Mine is . . . lifeless in comparison.” Ready for that visit, I say, “Maybe I can come over sometime and help put together the puzzle on the floor?”
Tucking her key into her bag, she nods. “Reed would love that. Just let me know your schedule. I’m sure you work crazy hours.”
“Yeah, it’s busy, but we’ve just set our new schedules for the next six months and hired two new doctors, so I won’t be working eighty hours a week anymore.”
“Don’t burn yourself out,” she says, her voice dipping in concern. It’s not just the worry I hear. I detect it in her eyes when she passes me.
“I could come by when I’m on call. It would be just as easy being here as at my place to take calls.”
We start down the steps, and she asks, “I just realized I have no idea where you live. I bet you live in a fancy tower in Manhattan.” I do, but I’m having flashes of college come back—a conversation of the building I lived in then versus how cozy her little studio walkup was. Glancing back at her front door, I find not much has changed in our styles. We’ve just grown up.
“It’s a nice building.”
She only takes a few steps down the sidewalk before stopping. “Doorman?”
“Yes. His name is Frank.”
“That’s a good solid name. Is Frank a solid guy?”
Chuckling, I reply, “Yes, Frank is good people.” That makes her smile for some reason. It doesn’t matter what either of us achieves or earns or our successes. She’s always making sure others are treated right. She should be protected at all costs.
Rolling her hand on an outstretched arm, she sing-songs, “We’re here.”
I look behind her at the empty sidewalk and the row of homes and back to her front door. “Where?”