Drew went to the bedroom, and I poured myself a glass of wine and sat down at the dining room table to look through the pictures.
The first photo was of Drew shaving. He stood in the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. There was shaving cream on the left side of his face, and he held the razor near his chin after shaving one line down. The other cheek was already cleanly shaven. Off to the side, in the reflection of the mirror, I could see Beck holding the camera with one hand, and the other held a spatula covered in shaving cream up to his face, which was also half cleared of white foam.
The next photo was of Beck standing in a stream. It looked like it could be upstate somewhere. It was probably taken a year ago, given how much Beck’s face had matured. He wore waders and smiled huge for the camera as he held up a small fish he must have just plucked from the stream.
I kept scrolling—photos of Beck and his dad ice skating, a shot of them sitting together on the subway, one of Drew reading Harold and the Purple Crayon in Beck’s bed, them riding bikes with Roman in Central Park, one that I had to turn the phone upside down to realize I was looking at the picture right side up—it was Beck taking the photo of the two of them while on Drew’s shoulders. He’d leaned over to snap the shot of their faces.
Photo after photo revealed their life together and showed just how much Drew was Beck’s father, no matter what a lab test said.
The very last photo surprised me. I hadn’t even known Beck had a phone at the time it was taken, much less that he had snapped a picture. It was the afternoon we’d gone ice skating—prior to my falling and injuring my ankle. Beck must have been standing on one side of the rink, while Drew and I were on the other, and I attempted to skate. My legs were spread wide—something I couldn’t seem to stop that day—and I was laughing on my way to falling into an ungracious split. Drew had one arm wrapped around my waist, trying to hoist me back up, and was looking down at me while he too was laughing. We looked so happy—almost…like we were falling in love.
My heart swelled in my chest. Drew was right. The best way to get to know someone was to steal glances at their pictures. He looked through the pictures and saw the love of a father and son—a reminder of why he needed to fight. I saw a good man, one fiercely passionate about the things he loved and who would do anything to protect them. Rubbing my finger across the screen as I stared at the picture of us, of me falling, I realized I’d fallen in more ways than one that day.
I had to blink back tears to keep my emotions from getting the best of me, and decided I should get up and cut the lasagna to busy myself.
Still preoccupied, I wasn’t thinking and grabbed the side of the hot lasagna pan to turn it so I could cut.
“Damn it.” I shook my hand and flipped on the kitchen faucet to run cold water over the mild burn. I’m batting a thousand around this stove.
Of course, Drew appeared at that moment. “What happened?”
“I touched the hot pan. It’s not bad, just stings a little.”
Drew took my hand out of the stream of running cold water, inspected it, and returned it when he was done.
“I’ll serve. Go sit. I don’t want to end up in the ER for a third time already this year.”
We spent the entire dinner catching up, since we hadn’t exactly spoken too much last night or this morning—unless you counted communicating with our bodies. Drew filled me in on his custody-trial strategy, and I told him about some new clients I’d taken on. The entire thing felt bizarrely domestic and natural. After we were done eating, Drew loaded the dishwasher while I cleaned the counters and table.
“Where was that picture taken of Beck fishing? He looked so adorable in his little waders.”
“Upstate. Roman has a cabin in the mountains up in New Paltz. It’s rustic, but has a big old clawfoot bathtub you’d like. We should go up in the spring.”
“I’d love that.”
A few hours later, we were brushing our teeth and getting ready for bed when Drew said, “Tess called today.”
“Who?”
“My secretary. She said her doctor thinks she can come back part time in two weeks. Her recovery after the hip surgery is better than expected, and moving around is good as part of her physical therapy.”
“That’s great.” In the whirlwind of the last month, I hadn’t really been looking for a new office. The first week I’d called one real estate agent, who’d shown me closet space in areas I didn’t want to be for more than twice my budget. I’d taken a break after that. Although at the moment, the thought of what I could get for my money wasn’t half as depressing as the thought of not seeing Drew everyday anymore.
“I’m sorry. I need to get back to looking for new space.”
Drew’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”