Life and Other Inconveniences(62)

“And I think I’ve done a lot more than most guys would’ve in my shoes,” he said.

It was a threat. And yet, it was also true.

Two months later, he came out for a visit and everything seemed fine. He was happy to see us, kissed me, swung Riley around and called us his little family. The child support increased without me having to ask, which was good, because Riley was starting nursery school, and even at that age, there were extra costs.

At Christmas, he came out again, with a bike for Riley that she’d have to wait three years to ride, it was so big. On Valentine’s Day, he sent me a card that said, You treat me like a unicorn when we both know I’m an ass. Not exactly romantic. In March, he came out, rented an unremarkable hotel “suite” that had an alcove with a twin bed for Riley, and invited me to stay over.

I did. We had quiet, not-great sex while our child slept. We were each other’s first love. And, I told myself, sex, even not-great sex, showed we were still a couple. It was a fragile, fraying thread, but a thread nonetheless. He never mentioned a girlfriend, and I sure as hell didn’t have the time or inclination to date. While the sex wasn’t what it used to be, it was at least comforting.

The truth was, Riley was the love of my life now. The terror of being a mother had subsided when she learned to talk, when she got past the Year of Tantrums. Now her sunny, sweet personality was a gift. I was so used to our setup—my daughter, work, school, home life with Pop—that the vision of the little house got harder and harder to picture. Sometimes I’d take it out and dust it off, and try to imagine the day when Jason and I would get married. We were still so young, I told myself. There was no rush.

And so it went for two more years. Jason would visit, call once a week or so, mostly to talk to Riley, making her laugh and giggle. He’d send those checks. We’d see each other when I visited Hope—two nights in a hotel together. I figured out that talking about the future made him glum, so I only mentioned things that didn’t involve him—what classes I’d be taking next semester, that kind of thing.

He never invited us to Stoningham. It was just as well, given how horrible his parents had been. Fuck ’em. Same with Genevieve. Not a word, and certainly not a check. So it was just Jason, Riley, Pop, Hope when I could see her, and me. My family. At least we had each other.

Then, when Jason and I were twenty-four, he came out and asked if we could have dinner in the city without Riley, who was then five.

“It’s always hard to talk when your grandfather is standing there like the angel of death,” he said.

True. Pop had never warmed to Jason, but he begrudgingly agreed to babysit; he loved Riley. It was me going out with Jason he didn’t care for.

Jason made a reservation at Gibsons, and I took my time getting ready, because I didn’t have a lot of chances to eat out. Especially not at an iconic steakhouse. Especially not on a date with the father of my child. I bought a pair of barely used shoes at a secondhand store—black suede with three-inch heels, my first indulgent purchase since becoming a mother. I wore a black dress I’d had since high school and a silver necklace. Put my hair up, because Jason had always loved my neck, back in the olden days when we were teenagers.

I figured he was going to propose. He didn’t. He did talk about marriage, though. He waited till our appetizers had arrived—shrimp for me, oysters for him, and we were on our second glass of wine. “I’m not sure how to say this, Emma,” he said, and then I knew.

He’d met someone. She was really smart and nice. I would like her a lot. So would Riley. It was pretty serious. They, uh, they were thinking of getting married. But he wanted my blessing first.

“It won’t change anything with Riley, of course,” he said, covering my hand with his. I looked down. I’d painted my nails with clear polish this afternoon. They looked strangely nice.

He was marrying someone else. Jamilah, her name was. I waited for heartache and rage and . . . and . . . well, something.

“Are you going to want joint custody?” I asked, just before my throat clamped shut. An image of me putting my fiery-haired first grader on a plane flashed in front of me, and then I did feel something. A knife in my heart.

Jason pulled his hand away. “No! No, of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Such a giver. And yet, I was glad, because for a second, I thought I might stab him if he said yes.

“I do love you, Em,” he said. “Just not romantically.”

“Yeah. That’s fine.” I took another bite of shrimp.

Riley would stay with me. That was all that mattered.

No house with a stone wall. No blue couch, no puppy, no swing in the backyard. No tulips. The pigeon, who’d flapped intermittently all these years, finally gave up the ghost. I’d known all along that Jason would never come through. It was time to admit it.

When Jason dropped me off later that night, after I’d had filet mignon and scalloped potatoes and crème br?lée and was slightly drunk from the wine and the dessert martini and more than happy to stick him with the enormous bill, he opted not to come in. “I’ll see you and Riley tomorrow, okay?”

“You bet,” I said. “Thanks for dinner.”

I wobbled inside on my unfamiliar heels, kicking them off the second I went through the door. Pop was sitting at the kitchen table, doing the crossword puzzle.