Page 48 of Reeves

She tears at the damp napkin under her cocktail glass. Little bits of soggy napkin are balled up around the glass.

“I can’t just bring someone new into his world without understanding what you expect.”

She studies my face for a moment.

“What exactly are you asking for?”

It is a fair question. I haven't thought past the part where I see him with my own eyes.

“I’m not asking you to tell him who I am,” I say. “He doesn’t need to know that yet. I just want to meet him.”

My thumb moves slowly along the rim of my glass while I search for the right words.

“And then what?” Charli tilts her head slightly.

“You disappear again for another six years?” she asks quietly. “Or you drop into his life when you happen to be in town between deployments?”

I hold her gaze.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

The truth is heavier than anything else I have said tonight.

“My life isn’t exactly predictable. I spend months at a time overseas. I only just found out I have a son. I need time to figure out what that means.”

“That’s exactly the problem.”

She sets her glass down carefully on the table.

“Benjy isn’t a thing you figure out later. He’s a little boy. And little boys need people who show up.”

What she is saying is absolutely correct, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me to hear. This is the moment I have to do the fucking right thing, not the easy thing.

“Let me see him,” I say quietly. “Just once while I’m home.”

Her eyes search my face like she is trying to measure the kind of man I am, if I’m good enough to know the son she’s protected by herself all these years.

“Give me some time,” she finally says. “My first job is protecting him.”

I nod slowly.

“I can respect that.”

A moment passes before I add the part she needs to know.

“I’m only here for another week before I leave again. I fly out a week from tomorrow.”

She doesn't answer me. I drain the rest of my drink and suddenly realize I need to move. I can't sit here anymore.

I nod and signal the server for the check. Neither of us speaks while the receipt prints. After the server leaves, I look at her, trying to find the right words, but they don't come.

"I'm sure you need to get home to him. Thank you for meeting me."

Charli studies me for another moment, as if she is trying to decide whether I mean that or if I am already pulling away.

“I'll think about what you're asking,” she says.

It's not a yes.