I look at my watch. “It’s only a little after five. Just wait, five thirty will roll around and we’ll be swarmed.”
“I’m kind of excited to see the hordes of kids you speak of. I grew up here and never knew about such a special street.”
“See what happens when you leave? Things change.”
Amelia glances at my chest and licks her lips, her eyes burning straight to my core. “They sure do.”
Fuck. That little look and comment woke me up.
“Why did you come back?” Emma asks, opening another Swiss Roll. If I wasn’t so happy about her question right now, I would be mad about her commandeering the rolls. I have yet to probe Amelia about her reasons to come back, what she’s doing, and how long she plans on staying. Hell, I’m happy I get to see her more often, so there’s no way I’m about to scare her away with a bunch of nosey questions I’m sure she doesn’t want to answer.
Keeping my eyes cast down, seeming casual as possible, I listen intently while busying myself with swirling the candy around again. Don’t seem too eager to hear why, be cool.
“My dad is having problems.”
I know that, and fuck if I don’t want to know what kind of problems. I connected with Marvin the instant we met. He’s the kind of man I look up to, admire, and it had been like finding a dad I never really had. When I broke up with Amelia, I also felt the acute loss of her dad’s input in my life, and now, knowing he’s not doing well, fuck, my gut churns. Please ask more, Emma, please be drunk enough to not sense Amelia’s tone.
“Oh no, that’s terrible. What happened?”
I’m buying Emma all the pretty things. I don’t care what Tucker says.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Amelia spotting a glance in my direction, but I keep my eyes cast on the candy. Don’t make any sudden moves.
“He has dementia. Had a pretty bad fall and is struggling now. He has his good days and bad days. Today was a bad day.”
And there’s my fucking answer about why she was crying earlier. A part of me hopes she is opening up to Emma to indirectly feed me information she wants me to know. High hopes right there, but a guy can dream.
And dementia? Shit. Mrs. Ferguson told me that when she told me about Amelia’s arrival. Way to go, Aaron. Marvin struggling with such a disease is mind-boggling to me. He got around slowly when Amelia and I were together, but this is horrible. Hell, I lost the love of my life breaking up with Amelia, but now that I know this, I hate that I wasn’t there for him during this change in his life. It just about kills me.
I can’t imagine what Amelia must be feeling, what’s going through her mind. She’s always been so close to her father, so to see him slowly pull away must be killing her.
Before Emma can answer, I turn my head and try to convey kindness in my eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
She gives me a sad smile and shrugs her shoulder. “Such is life.”
“It’s commendable for you to come here. Are you liking your new job? What do you actually do?”
God, you would think I gave Emma a list of questions to ask Amelia, but I did no prepping whatsoever.
The shift in conversation from her ailing father to her job brightens her mood. She sits a little taller in her seat. “I’m a counselor at the high school. It’s what I always wanted to do.” That’s a truth I know all too well. She wanted to stay in Binghamton with me, and I wanted her to pursue her master’s degree at Columbia, where she was accepted on partial scholarship. It’s the positive I’m clinging to: I did the right thing; she’s doing what she always wanted to do.
Emma leans forward, intrigued. “That must be fun. What kind of stuff do you talk about? Is it petty stuff like Sally stuffs her bra with socks to get all the boys’ attention?”
Tucker chuckles to himself while resting back in his chair, clearly enjoying his wife’s prodding.
“Sometimes, but a lot of the times it’s serious stuff and I’m glad I can help them.”
“Like what?” Emma takes a sip of her soda. Thankfully Tucker has cut her off.
“Drug abuse, wanting to have sex, coming out to parents. I have some heavy conversations that amaze me, because when I was young, I don’t think I would have gone to the school counselor for anything.”
Me either, even though teachers urged me to many times. But hell, if Amelia had been my school counselor, I would have gone to see her every damn day.
“Wow, that’s crazy. When I was in high school, my biggest worry was cleaning up after my friends.”
Tucker leans over and gives Emma a kiss on the temple and holds her hand, lacing their fingers together. What I wouldn’t fucking give to do the same thing to Amelia right now. “That’s because we were causing all the commotion.”
“Oh, you knew each other in high school?” Amelia asks, pointing to the two of them. “Ahh, are you high school sweethearts?”
Emma and Tucker exchange glances and smile. “Not quite . . .”
For the next ten minutes, before the trick-or-treaters arrive, Tucker and Emma—mostly Emma—recount their “love story.” The whole time, Tucker beams at Emma, kisses her hand, and loves every second of the telling. Even though there were some dark parts of the story, in the end it all worked out.
“What about you, anyone special in your life?” Emma asks just as trick-or-treaters start to arrive.
I already know the answer to this question, so I’d rather not hear it again, but hell, maybe she’ll divulge more information than I already know.
Between handing out candy to a lot of mini superheroes, Amelia answers, “Yeah, I have a boyfriend. His name is Trey. He lives in the city right now, but is hoping to relocate soon.”
Wouldn’t that just be special, living next to my brother and my ex-girlfriend, watching them play house being all cute and shit? Fucking. Great.
Yeah, I might have to move.
“I hope he finds a job soon.” When I’m about to give Emma an evil eye, she shakes her head as if to say she didn’t mean that. She’s in fine form tonight, that’s for sure.
Soon, droves of children start to show up, keeping us rather busy. We start tallying up the number of Trolls, Batmans, Lego men, and princesses we see. The most popular costume? Batman and Superwoman with the fabrics and accessories varying from child to child. But my favorite so far is the girl who dressed as Little Debbie, but then again, I may be biased.
“I think she might be my new favorite,” Emma says as a little girl dressed as a nurse walks away.
“That’s because you’re a nurse, but you can’t play favorites,” I say, reminding Emma of the rules.
She levels with me. “This coming from the guy whose favorite child was dressed as Little Debbie.”
“Come on.” I lean back in my chair and motion to my head. “She had the rim of blue on her hat. That’s attention to detail.”
“And good fucking parenting,” Tucker chimes in, and we clink our beer bottles together.