“Zina…”
She gives me an unconvincing smile and says, “It’s fine. I’m going home to crash. It’s been a long day.”
“Okay,” I agree. But as soon as she’s out the door, I dial Leslie and ask him to hang out with my sister at her place until I can pass Punter off and get to her.
I take my time driving to Bryant’s place on Dauphine from work and even stop to pick up a chai latte at my favorite coffee shop near my place. When I arrive at his home, he’s already there with ten giant pet store bags.
“He’s a four-week-old kitten. What in the world did you buy?”
Bryant bounces around like a young child excited for his first pet. “Toys, food, treats, and look at this little collar,” he says as he holds it in the air for me to see. He touches the little green bell on the collar.
The grin on my face nearly splits me in two when a familiar face rounds the corner of the den. “Ben!”
I hand Punter to Bryant and take off across the room for my old friend. He catches me in the air and spins me around. “Coach!”
When he puts me down, I notice his son, Ansel, beside him. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Ansel very many times. Ben is a single dad, and he’s super protective of his son. When Ben divorced, he pulled away from everyone. Even after Bryant and I divorced, I made many attempts to check in on Ben, but he never returned my calls.
“Hi, Ansel,” I say to the adorable child with Ben’s amber brown eyes and Cupid’s bow mouth. But Ansel has his mother’s jet black hair.
“Hello,” he replies. “I’m Ansel.” And he sticks his hand out, serious as can be, to shake my hand.
“You wouldn’t remember me, but I’ve known you since you were born.”
“I was born on March 4th at 10:03 a.m. in Detroit, Michigan.”
A chuckle escapes me. “Yes, you were. I remember very clearly the morning you were born. It snowed the night before, and your Uncle Bryant and I were almost late arriving at the hospital in time for your birth.”
“You knew me when I was born?” he asks.
“Of course. I’ve known your dad a long time.”
“Are you Uncle Bryant’s girlfriend?”
Why does a simple, innocent suggestion make me feel slightly violent? “No, sweetie. We’re friends.” God. I don’t know how else to explain it to a small child. Divorce isn’t usually an acceptable topic around little ones.
Ansel looks to Bryant with big, wide eyes. “I don’t think I want a girlfriend either, Uncle Bryant. They cry a lot.”
I do my best to hide my smile from him as do the other adults in the room.
“They smell really good, though,” Bryant argues. “And I like their silky hair.”
“Yuck,” Ansel replies, and then he tugs on Ben’s hand. “Do I have to have a girlfriend?”
Ben ruffles his hair. “No, son. You’re a bit young for that right now. You have more than enough time to worry about it.”
“Can I see the kitten?” the little boy asks Bryant with hopeful eyes.
“Of course. Why don’t we sit you on the couch so we can place him in your lap?”
“It’s a boy cat?”
“Sure is, buddy,” Bryant says. “His name is Punter. Here you go. Will you hold him still while I put his new collar on?”
“Yes, sir.”
I watch my ex with our friend’s son and feel a pang of loss. He would’ve been a good dad to any child we brought into the world. I didn’t have long to dream that dream before it was all taken from me in a divorce neither of us saw coming. Love is far more fragile than any of us realize until we’re on the other side of a separation.
I clear my throat, slightly thick with emotion. “I should go. I need to check on my sister.”
