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“God, no. You know I still think she’s out of my league. We just aren’t sure marriage is the right path for us. We’re both divorced. I’m close to my late forties, for Christ’s sake. I think we’re enjoying doingthisright now. Loving each other without all the legal shit. Maybe that will change one day down the road, but for right now, it works,” he says.
“You have to do what’s best for you,” I say. “There’s not a one-size-fits-all happily ever after.”
A phantom ache sprouts behind my ribs as I offer my support, and I rub my hand across my chest. The pain pops up from time to time when the people close to me talk about their significant others and the loves of their lives. About how happy and lucky they are, enduring heartache and sadness until a pivotal moment in history happened: the day they met The One.
It’s jealousy, I think, not of the person but of their situation. Of having someone to come home to every night. Someone to share their day with, the good, the bad, and the mediocre moments in between.
The ache has turned more painful the older I get, more poignant and harder to ignore.
It’s a stubborn reminder the years are moving faster and time seems to be flying by. Like a clock is ticking, counting down the seconds until I reach a point where it just makes more sense to be alone forever instead of dealing with the headache of dating.
“You okay?” Aiden asks.
“I’m good.” I smile and jump off the stool. He gives me a look that tells me he knows I’m lying, but he doesn’t press me for more details. “Let me help you.”
“I’ve got it. You have a big game this weekend. Just relax.”
“A big game where I’m standing on the sidelines. It’s probably the least physically demanding job of anyone on the field.”
“Still. The Titans are undefeated this season for a reason, Shawn. Give your brain a break.”
“Fine.” I sit back down and drink my beer. “If you insist.”
“You’ll be here for Thanksgiving, right?” Aiden asks, and I nod.
“I will. We have a home game that night, so I won’t need to head to the field until about four. Are you cooking?”
“The works. Turkey. Mashed potatoes and stuffing. Maggie wants cranberry sauce, so we’ll have that, too. What about Christmas? Are you going home?”
“Yeah. My sisters and their families are flying in, and it’s going to be a big thing like usual. I’m going to drive to Philly and stay for a couple of days. I’m also giving the guys some time off between our game before Christmas and the game on New Year’s Day. They deserve it.”
“I can’t believe Katelin and Amanda have kids. It feels like yesterday they were in middle school and we teased them because we were the high school freshmen,” he says. “We thought we were so cool.”
I chuckle at the memory of us in our early teenage years, friends from childhood to now. I’ve known him for forty years, and my family is his family. He doesn’t visit my parents’ house as frequently as he used to, too busy balancing shared custody of his daughter, a loving relationship, and a heavy workload at the local hospital where he’s a pediatric oncologist, but there’s always a place for him at the table if he wants it.
“I know. It’s wild. Doesn’t stop Mom from hounding me about more grandkids, though.” I sigh and run my hand through my hair, the strands still wet from my post-practice shower. “I think she’s expecting us to give her an entire football team of offspring.”
“You haven’t met the right girl yet,” he says. “It’ll happen soon. Plus, you know there are other options out there. Like adoption.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”
The front door to his apartment flies open, and Lacey comes tumbling inside like a bat out of hell. There’s snow stuck to her dark hair, and her cheeks are bright pink. Her puffy jacket makes her look like a marshmallow, and her smile is bright, a beam that instantly warms the room.
“Hey,” she says. “Am I late?”
I match her smile with one of my own. “Right on time,” I say. “Do you want a beer?”
“Please.” Lacey shucks off her jacket and hangs it on the rack by the door. She kicks off her black leather boots and walks toward me with fuzzy purple socks on her feet.
I gesture for her to take my seat and I move around the counter, grabbing a chilled bottle of beer and setting it in front of her. “How was the rest of your afternoon?”
“Tolerable. Thanks.” She lifts the drink in my direction and takes a sip. “Hey, Aiden.”
“Lace,” he says, and he abandons the pot of boiling potatoes to kiss her cheek. “I heard you got shit on today.”
“You got shit on and you didn’t tell me?” I prop my elbow on the counter and grin. “What happened?”
“It was an accident, but it caught me off guard. I had poop under my fingernails.” Her eyes flick to mine, and there’s a sparkle behind the dark green. “That’s why I was in the shower when you stopped by.”
