“I’m going to figure out how to do better, Kells.”
“I know you will. Nothing you can say will make this distance better. I’ll get over it, and I’m here for you, Dr. Sunshine, I just… I need you to be here for me too.”
My throat pinches; he shouldn’tget over it. I shift on the bed, curling onto my side and sliding closer to the propped-up phone as if distance could be undone this way. So many feelings trickle from where I shoved them away, there’s no way to whack them all down.
“I should let you get ready…” He tries for light, normal, a change of topic to vanish this cloud that’s settled over us. “You’re meeting your guy.”
“Julian—” I try to hold onto this moment of realness between us.
“I mean it, Robyn. It’s good.” He’s done, though. “You had a crisis to survive and a career to protect.” A softer shuffle. “Now I have a son.”
“You’re doing great?—”
And I’m sure he is, I can see it, but he’ll only believe itwhen my words hold weight again—once I get my butt back to Chicago. I justneedto do it.
“Only time will tell.” He lowers his voice again. “I gotta put him in the bassinet. Good luck tonight. Maybe your guy will finally figure out how to… pay attention.” He covers the baby’s ears before adding, “Not just rub your clit like it’s a panic button when he’s running out of time.”
“Jeez, Kells.” I pause mid-massage, smoothing lotion over my shin. “You’re holding your baby.”
He shrugs one shoulder, eyes dipping toward the baby. “What? It’s a pretty nuanced skill, showing up for someone. Not just do the perfunctory stuff and call it intimacy.” Julian huffs a breath against his son’s forehead. “When it’s real, you feel it in places hands can’t touch. And when it’s gone, you realize how rare it was. Believe me, I know.”
“You do?”
He looks down at his son and strokes his tiny shoulder, then nods. The phone’s shifted again so I can see his face better. He tilts his chin and nuzzles his son without waking him up.
“For what it’s worth,” I murmur as my chest squeezes, “I miss you.”
“I miss you too.” He rubs his son’s back, under the blanket, and Julian’s eyes flutter closed. “Being a dad is really fucking hard.”
“Kells …”
“I really gotta go. Talk soon, okay?” He shifts, then stands, making sure the baby’s neck is supported.
Before I can respond, the line clicks dead. I rub the leftover lotion into the back of my hand, grounding myself. My bedroom suddenly feels too quiet, and as much as I still think this was the right move, I wonder, as something hollows out that lower part of my belly, if maybe coming here cost me something I didn’t foresee.
Zac opensthe door to his apartment almost before I knock. Garlic and roasted homemade tomato sauce waft out when I step inside. He’s a good cook, even if his recipes are a bit repetitive and everything he does seems somewhat backward to me—why do you add salt after you’ve plated the pasta?
It’s strange that Zac covering for Lara one day led us here. He yelled, “Who else is in the mood for a damn fine cup of coffee?” while I stood in line at Loam & Latte, and I couldn’t resist calling him out on the quote. Soon after, we were just rewatching the show together, but it wasn’t until recently that we started to do more than quiz each other on pop-culture one-liners.
“Perfect timing,” he says, grinning as he gets the pan out of the oven, biceps flexing, forearms roped with veins as he steadies the hefty tray.
His blond hair is still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the ends. The thermostat reads seventy-two degrees, which explains the black tank top he’s wearing. Threads of ink peek from under the fabric on his back, at the top and sides. It’s the giant forest landscape—lake, mountains, all of it—inked across his skin. I’ve wanted to trace it with my fingers in tenderness, but so far, I’ve only managed to grab at it in lulled passion.
My ability for tenderness has atrophied. A bit like my ability to trust.
I take a sip of wine, letting the bitter red sit on my tongue. My mind drifts and lands, uninvited, on the image of Nate from an hour ago—him on the balcony, hands braced on the railing, watching me unlock my car. I picture the way his shoulders straightened when he realized I saw him.
“So… I had a surprise waiting for me a couple of nights ago.”
Zac lifts one eyebrow, sipping from his beer and waiting for me to continue.
“Nate, my ex, has become my neighbor. He now lives in the building adjacent to mine.”
He puts the beer down and offers me his hand, palm up. “Are you good with that?”
I take his hand, but we don’t intertwine our fingers. “It’s… unexpected.”
I don’t understand what Nate’s doing herenow, seven months later. I tighten my fingers around the stem of the glass: Nate here in Bend doesn’t help me. Zac’s gaze is focused on the TV. I shake my head, forcing the impulse to dissect anything regarding my ex to dissolve.
