This Is Not How It Ends(38)

“It’s nothing,” I said.

“You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Something like that,” I said.

Ben began to relax, and he wasn’t so bad to be around. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I could give it back and tell him he couldn’t fix it, but we had reached an impasse that had me willing to talk. I let out a long-held-in breath and relayed the story of how Philip had reached out to the father I hadn’t seen or heard from since I was seven. “He thought it would be a good idea to reconnect after all these years.”

Ben looked confused. “That’s a long time.”

“Yeah, they’re not all doting dads like you.”

“Are you going to call him back?”

“I’m not sure.” I reached for my phone to see if he left a message. My fingers were shaking, and if I wasn’t possibly with child, I’d attribute the tightness in my belly to how close my father had come. How a potential reunion was nearing. “I used to think I didn’t care. I buried the pain . . . It’s part of why I became an English teacher . . . I lost myself in other people’s stories.”

He stopped eating and listened. “When I was younger, I thought I had these magic powers that could erase pain and rejection. It never goes away. You can mask the pain, but it’s always there.”

A knot was forming in my throat. “I’m sorry. My loss doesn’t come close to yours.”

“I have an idea,” he said. “Let me teach you how to cook. It’s always been helpful to me, a great source of comfort. It’ll free your mind from all this stuff. Besides, it’s the least I can do for my friend, seeing how you’ve almost blown up his kitchen.”

I eyed the phone, the bag, and a framed photo of Philip and me on the wall. “Well, I did save your son,” I said, breaking into a smile.

“You need my help.” He said it in a way that wasn’t offensive. “And you know something, Charlotte, I think we need your help, too. Jimmy and me.”

I was pushing the food around the plate, and he was standing up to leave, watching me with an intent grin. “If you’re planning on destroying my creation, at least wait until I go.” I’d been starving when he’d arrived, but our conversation left me unable to finish.

We walked to the door, and I thanked him for the delivery. I held the brass handle as he passed through to the first step. When he was halfway down, I cleared my throat. “Philip travels a lot,” I called out. He stopped and turned around. “You know that already . . . um, well, if you need a babysitter for Jimmy . . . you said you have someone, but I can help out. It’s really not a problem. I’m happy to do it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” A tiny speck of gratitude squeaked through, enough to show he appreciated the gesture. “And good luck,” he said referring to the purchase he hadn’t seen. “And with your dad. Whichever way you want it to go.”



I never did end up taking the test. The box sat there on the kitchen counter taunting me—as did my father’s unanswered message. However, the universe had a different plan for the first of my quandaries by way of nature’s rite of passage. I frowned at the sight of crimson, an unspeakable loss creeping through that barely had time to take root. Philip had asked a few times how I was feeling, but his general lack of enthusiasm did little to convince me this was what he wanted. If he ignored it, it would just go away. And it did.

He arrived home for three days before leaving again for LA and San Francisco. Three days. It was hardly enough time to make up for the letdown when I got my period, for accepting the spate of nausea as a weird virus that manifested in unexplained ways. I watched him climb the steps to our door, eyes blank, cheeks sallow, but his exhaustion quickly disappeared when he swooped me in his arms and twirled me around—no baby in there to worry about. Sunny growled and Philip growled back. “I brought you into her life, you little bugger.” He dropped me down for Sunny’s scratchy tongue to lather my legs, when I noticed the Band-Aid on his arm. It covered the patch of skin where blood was drawn, and I questioned him with my eyes. “Philip?”

“I had a physical. Mandatory for the insurance renewal. Glorious fun.”

“And all was good?”

“Darling,” he said, shaking his bottom and wiggling his hips. “Look at me. I’m perfect.”



The weather was hot, and we set out on foot to the restaurant. My father’s presence uncoiled around me like a snake, ready to strike or to slither away. Philip gripped my hand while attempting to humor me with airport observations.

“Don’t forget you met me on an airplane,” I said.

“Charley, this generation is rather bizarre. You weren’t photographing yourself with your lips puckered like a duck.”

I laughed, and the release felt good, if only temporary. The familiar walk reminded me of the dozens of walks that preceded it. When it was the two of us. Philip and I. When dreams were scattered wishes, before they rooted themselves to the sand and climbed close to the shore. Marriage was once as distant as memory. Children, the players in someone else’s plan. Yet, the loss of what I didn’t have turned me inside out. And while it was only days of wondering, the idea turned to wonderment. Something inside of me had changed.