Page 108 of Reeves

"This wasn't what I expected." The words slip out before I can stop them.

Reeves glances at me. "What do you mean?"

"When you asked to meet him, I imagined this would be more formal. Maybe a brief time on the beach, and I figured that would be it."

"Yeah." He runs his thumb along the bottle label. "I wasn't sure what to expect, to be honest, but this whole thing has knocked me on my ass. Pardon my French."

"When have you ever apologized for cursing? Benjy's asleep."

"I don't know. I forget sometimes I'm not in the desert with a bunch of crass men. I want to be respectful."

The admission hangs between us. There’s an honesty and unguardedness in his voice that grabs hold of me and won't let go.

"I didn't know what it would feel like," I say. "Watching you two together."

"What did it feel like?"

I think about Benjy's hand slipping into Reeves’s at the deli,the way Reeves crouched down to Benjy's eye level when explaining things, and how naturally they moved around each other on the beach.

"Right. It felt right."

I shouldn't have said that.

But Reeves doesn't pull away from the words. He just nods, like he understands.

"I need to ask you something." His voice stays steady, but his grip tightens on the bottle. "The letter. Did you really think I got it and just ignored it?"

"I left it on your windshield. We always communicated like that after a blow-up. So, yeah, I didn't have any reason to believe you didn't."

"I never saw it."

"I know that now."

The silence stretches, but it's not uncomfortable. It's the kind of quiet where both people are thinking the same thing.

"I fucked up." The words come out flat, matter-of-fact. "I should have opened it."

"I could have tried calling again. Or reached out to Ridge or your dad."

"You shouldn't have had to chase me down to tell me I had a son."

Finally being able to talk to him like this, about our son, doesn't feel heavy or accusatory like I always imagined it would be. We're two adults acknowledging mistakes without trying to wound each other.

"We both handled it wrong," I say. "But we were kids, honestly. We didn't know what the fuck we were doing."

"Were we?"

The question catches me. Because looking at him now, watching how he moved through this evening, I'm not sure I know the answer.

"I think we've both grown in the six years since we were together. I can tell you have. And I like to think I have, too. I'm a mom, now, and I own my own business. I don't have time to be petty and an emotional basket case."

"You're a great mom, Charli. I love watching you with him. He's a lucky kid to have you."

"I feel like the lucky one."

The night grows darker around us. Crickets start their evening chorus, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barks once before going quiet.

Reeves shifts in his chair, the metal creaking softly. He's studying his beer bottle like it holds answers.