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Which is as comforting as it is sad.
I may not have had the kind of marriage I dreamt about, but I can still have a decent relationship with my son, maybe even a close one.
Adrian’s old enough for us to have an honest conversation about our past and how to move forward with love for each other. Hell, he’s past old enough. We should have had a real talk years ago, once he was eighteen and no longer living under his mother’s roof.
I’m willing to do the majority of the work to make things better, I just need him to put away the grudge Angela saddled him with and start fresh. I know if he’d only let me in, just a little bit, I could prove to him that I’m not such a bad guy.
Am I perfect? Not even close. But I love my son and it hurts to see him moving through life with so much resentment for no good reason.
When Smith finally fights his way into Manhattan and onto the narrow streets of the East Village, where delivery trucks block every other street, despite the fact that it’s nearly nine o’clock, the first sign of Adrian’s event is a giant smiling cat projected on the brick exterior of the Inheritance Hotel. I decide to take it as a good omen. He loved my parents’ cat when he was little. We used to have so much fun playing with Banksy before dinner there on Sundays.
We have good memories together and I know we can make more, if he’ll only give me the chance…
“I’ll drop your bags off at your apartment and make sure you have coffee, fruit, and donuts for the morning,” Smith says, as we queue up behind the other cars dropping guests at the party.
“You don’t have to do that. Just leave the bag with the doorman and head home. It’s already late.”
Smith shakes his head and grunts. “Nope. Not going to do it. If we’re ever going to convince you to come home, we have to make sure it feels like it when you’re here.”
Smiling, I say, “Thanks, Smith. I appreciate you.”
I do appreciate him, far too much to tell him that the city doesn’t feel like home to me anymore. It hasn’t for a long time, not since my wife took my son away and my life toppled like a house of cards.
“Here goes nothing,” I mutter, running a self-conscious hand through my hair.
I’m wearing an edgy—for me—combo of a burnt orange dress shirt, navy suit pants, and a matching vest, but I’m sure I’ll still look out of place. The people emerging from the cars at the head of the line look terrifyingly trendy.
Just another reason to stay in Vermont. If there’s a place that cares less about fashion and appearances, I have yet to find it. I love that about my adopted state. I’m of the opinion that clothes should be comfortable, durable, and classic enough to stay in fashion for at least a decade. The less time I have to spend shopping or thinking about what to wear, the better.
“You’ll be fine,” Smith says. “Just find the snacks. That’s where the rest of the old people who don’t care about shaking their ass on the dance floor will be.”
I catch his gaze in the rearview mirror with a frown. “I’m not that old. Not yet.”
Smith laughs. “Mr. Gideon, you’re a fossil compared to these kids. I just saw that teen singer my granddaughter loves walk in a minute ago. Just make an appearance, let Adrian know you’re proud, and I can be back to pick you up in an hour if you want.”
“I’ll order a car,” I say, cutting him off when he tries to protest. “I insist, Smith. Go home, bring Marian some donuts, too, and have a nice weekend. I won’t need you tomorrow. Mitch is coming over to my place for a meeting, and we’re going to stick close to Union Square after.”
He grunts. “All right. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” I smile as I pull in a breath and grab my small cross-body bag from the floor. If I’m lucky, I’ll have time to sneak into the restroom and freshen up before I join the party. I should have run a comb and some product through my hair at the airport, but I didn’t want to keep Smith waiting. “See you on Monday,” I say. “Have a great weekend.”
“You, too,” he says as I swing out of the car.
Instantly, the heads of the reporters covering the red carpet swivel toward me, only to swivel away again just as quickly. It’s obvious at first glance that I’m not part of the in crowd, which is fine by me.
Great, even. No one’s going to care if I bypass the red carpet and head straight to the main entrance to the hotel farther down the block.
I’m heading that way—planning to find a washroom, drop my bag with the coat check, and go looking for Adrian—when I hear my son’s laugh. I know it’s him right away. Adrian tries so hard to play it cool, but when he laughs—really laughs—it’s high-pitched and goofy and wonderful. It reminds me of when he was a toddler and I’d tickle him until he couldn’t breathe. His laugh is still exactly the same, just deeper.
I spin toward the sound, a smile on my face.
As soon as my gaze lands on Adrian, the smile falls away—fast.
Because Adrian isn’t alone. He’s with a beautiful woman in a tiny black dress, his hand resting at the small of her back as he beams at the reporter holding a microphone to his face.
The beautiful woman is gut-punching-ly familiar.
It’s Sydney.
