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My fizzy bubbles transform into giant helium balloons capable of ferrying me across the rooftops to Gideon’s door. “Me, too. So, we’re done pretending this is a one- or two-night thing?”
There’s a smile in his voice as he says, “Yeah. That sounds good. I can’t wait to see you again.”
“Same,” I say, lifting my face to the warm autumn sun. “Maybe we could get dinner tonight? If you’re free?”
“I’m free. Assuming Adrian doesn’t need me. Thanks for the heads-up, by the way. If he’s finally turning to me for something other than financial support, I want to prove I’m up to the task.”
I sigh, my happy glow fading as I remember why we’re on this call. “You’re welcome. I don’t feel comfortable sharing exactly what’s going on—that feels like Adrian’s story to tell—but I wanted you to know that he’s scared, Gideon. He may play it tough around you, but you should have seen his face this morning. He was like a little kid. I think the stuff in the past, when his mom cut the visitations short when he was younger and the things she said to him about you, really messed him up. He seems to think you don’t like him. And that you really won’t like him if he gives you the chance to get to know him. Rejection seems to loom pretty large for him.”
“I would never reject him,” Gideon says, the hurt in his voice making my throat tight. “He’s my son. I love him. He drives me crazy sometimes, and I wish I could rewrite so many things about our past, but…he’s my baby.”
Unexpected tears sting at the backs of my eyes.
Damn, this man…
He’s such a good one, the perfect mixture of strong and tender, with such a beautiful heart. I don’t know what Adrian’s mother was smoking. If Gideon was the father of my child, I’d feel like the luckiest woman in the world.
The thought sends a pang through my stomach I don’t fully understand until several minutes later, after Gideon and I have said our goodbyes and he’s promised to touch base about dinner later. It’s only as I’m stretching out on a cushioned lounge chair to stare at the robin’s egg blue sky that I realize the pang is about children.
I want them, someday. I always have, ever since I was a little girl and wasted years fruitlessly begging my mother for a baby sister. When it became clear a sibling wasn’t coming, I shifted my focus to planning my own family. When I grew up, I would have at least two kids, but hopefully three or four, so they’d never be lonely or without someone to play with.
And they wouldn’t have to hold the hopes of the entire family alone on their shoulders…
But Gideon already did the whole “dad” thing and has a grown son. Chances are, he considers kids a part of his past, not his future. It’s something we’d have to discuss if things got serious between us, but even the chance that he wouldn’t be interested in starting another family isn’t enough to scare me away. Gideon’s too special for that. So is the way I feel when I’m with him, like the bravest, best version of myself.
On impulse, I text my dad, suddenly not wanting to leave this conversation until Monday at the office—Hi, Dad, I hope you’re having a great weekend. I just wanted to let you know that my audit of the company structure is taking longer than expected. Now that I’m in the weeds, it’s clear things are more complicated than I anticipated, and I don’t want to miss anything. But I feel confident I’ll have this tied up and my suggestions for reorganization to you by mid-October.
My thumb hovers over the screen, my pulse picking up as I imagine my father’s reaction, but I push the anxiety aside and hit send. Then, just to prove to myself that I’m serious about my new, boundary-friendly lifestyle, I add—And I’d love to be more involved in the retrofitting project for the shelter in the Bronx. I think it would be a great way to learn more about the charitable wing of the organization and put my area of expertise to use.
It’s true—reimagining spaces to make them more energy efficient and sustainable in a warming world, is my area of expertise. But a quick search of the company database after Adrian left also confirmed my suspicion that G.P.G. Green is our contractor on that project. Taking a more active role in the reimagining of the space will give me the chance to prove to Mitch that I’m a worthy new ally and maybe…if Gideon ends up staying in town…
The thought of working with him is exciting.
Nearly as exciting as the thought of seeing him again tonight.
Crossing my fingers that Gideon’s talk with Adrian goes well—and that my dad decides to return my texts in a speedier fashion than his usual five to six hours—I stretch out on the lounge chair and pull up the October book club pick in audio.
I’m still listening an hour later when my phone dings with a new message.
I lift my cell to see a text from my dad saying—That sounds wise. Better to be measured and thorough with something like this. Let’s circle up about the Bronx project on Monday. Enjoy your weekend. And think about coming to the beach house with me next weekend if the weather’s still good. We haven’t been out on the water in ages and the fishing is incredible this year.
Smiling at my father’s uncrushable belief that I’m eventually going to learn to love fishing as much as he does, I reply—Thanks, Dad. I’ll think about it. And thanks for your support. Have a great rest of your weekend. Hope you catch a big one.
I rise from the lounger, heading back downstairs, marveling at how much easier that was than I was expecting. Hopefully, Gideon’s talk with Adrian is going even half as well.
I keep hoping that right up until the moment Adrian slams into my apartment a little after one p.m., shouting for Ben to “Get dressed, Benjamin. We’re going day drinking. I need approximately ten shots of whiskey to erase this shitty day from my head.”
Before I can ask him what happened with Gideon, he turns to me and says, “You’re a great person, Syd, and I know you give solid advice about most things, but don’t ever suggest I talk to my dad again. He doesn’t get me, and he never will. Some people don’t deserve second chances.” He spins, motioning for Ben, who’s still reeling from being startled out of a nap on the couch with Noelle, to follow him. “Now, Ben. Best friend emergency, bro. Your lady will still be here in a few hours when we’re wasted and feeling no pain.”
Speaking of pain…
I text Gideon, asking—Where are you? I can be there as fast as the subway allows.
Seconds later, he answers. I’m not far, actually. By the obelisk in Central Park. Saddest bench on the path. You can’t miss me.
Chest aching for him, I promise—Be there in ten minutes. I’ll jog.
And jog, I do.
