“When she said they were going to Egypt for a year,” I continued, “and that she was taking Christian, I said no. I told her I wasn’t letting my son leave the country, and we fought. A lot.
“But I was done being a coward. I wanted my son with me.” I didn’t know why, but I wanted Easton to understand that. “I thought it was too late when he was two. I thought it was too late when he was ten. And now that he’s fourteen I’ve finally fucking realized that it’s never too late,” I told her.
I swirled the brown liquid I had yet to drink, knowing that I was still failing with my son and wondering what Easton was thinking of me. Maybe she’d learned too much, and I’d fucked up.
I’d gone to her apartment tonight because, after what I’d seen online, I didn’t want to bring her any unhappiness. I wouldn’t be so arrogant as to think I could make her life better – she seemed to be doing pretty well – but I was reminded that what others let us see is very little. There’s a lot I didn’t know about her, but I did know she was hiding something.
She deserved to smile, and for some reason, I wanted to give her that.
But telling her my own shit might’ve pushed her away.
Women didn’t tend to like weakness and mistakes in men, but when she’d looked so interested, something compelled me to spill everything.
I guess I hadn’t really told anyone all of that before.
She sat there, watching me, and I tipped my drink at her, blowing off the whole thing with a smile and suddenly feeling like I’d made a huge mistake in telling her.
“Anyway,” I joked. “That’s why I want to be in politics.”
ELEVEN
EASTON
W
hat is he doing to me?
I’d sat there, silent nearly the entire time, and listened to the things that had brought him to where he was now. The mistakes of his youth, the teacher who’d pushed him, the son who thought nothing of him, and all the things he didn’t know how to fix.
And all I wanted in the world was for him to keep talking.
I liked how his experiences had shaped him and how he was committed to succeeding. He didn’t give up. When I saw the moments he’d looked away from me or heard the hesitance in his voice during his story, I knew he still felt like that twenty-two-year-old kid down deep.
The midthirties construction mogul who dominated conference rooms and crowds still didn’t think he was a man.
I had no doubt that Christian’s mother had every reason to be angry and not to trust him. She’d been young, too, I was sure, and he’d left her holding the bag.
But I could see the regret and pain Tyler tried to hide on his face at all the lost years with his son.
And he wouldn’t give up again.
A man who endeavored to be better was already superior to the men who claimed to be great.
He took my hand, leading me out of the restaurant, and I threaded my fingers through his, holding back the smile at the chills spreading up my arms.
We stepped out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk, stopping to take in the sight of the rain pouring down in buckets and yet doing nothing to deter the party in the street.
The heavy drops hit the ground in sheets upon sheets, and I had to squint to make out people’s faces, dancing in the midst of the celebration.
Trumpet music played off to my left, and I looked over, seeing an older man with graying hair swaying to and fro under the canopy as he played “When the Saints Go Marching In.”
Peering back out to the crowd in the streets and lining the sidewalks, their black and gold football jerseys glued to their drenched skin, I realized that it was Monday-night football. The Saints must’ve won.
I couldn’t care less about football, but I envied how something so insignificant in the scheme of things could make people so happy.
Women adorned with beads around their necks clutched the long green necks of the Hand Grenade drinks in their fists and twirled, kicking up the water that had accumulated on Royal, while men smiled, nearly tripping over their own steps. All laughing and probably enjoying one of the best moments of their lives, because they felt truly free right now. Chaos lost in chaos. Liberty in being a small part of a larger madness.
When you weren’t seen, you weren’t judged. There was a desirable freedom in that.
“You think less of me.” He spoke at my side, still watching the rain. “Don’t you?”
I narrowed my eyes on him and shook my head. “No.”
“I’m not the same man I was back then, Easton.” He looked down at me. “I take care of what’s mine now.”
His hard stone eyes held mine, and there was nothing that I didn’t want him to prove. Would he be rough but never hurt? Get me to want more?
Make me never want to leave?
I turned away from him and stepped off the sidewalk, instantly pummeled with heavy raindrops as I walked into the street.
Water filled my flats, and my skirt and shirt instantly stuck to my skin. I closed my eyes, feeling him behind me, watching.
The cool rain soaked my hair, and I threw back my head, letting it cool off my face.