Lennox
The Winter semester ended without fanfare, and the Spring semester started with several full classes, a waitlist for the Fall semester, a new book deal, booked speaker engagements, and a Mentorship program that promised to be fulfilling for years to come. My career was back on track, but my personal life… Did I want to move forward with Blake?Of course. Yet the mechanics of making that happen, the reality of our situation, and her obvious fear made it a harder question to answer.
I knew what I wanted. And when Blake was with me, I knew whatshewanted. When we were together, we were in sync, on the same accord. But Blake wasn’t here now; she hadn’t been here for days. With little notice, she’d left town formommy-sistertime. Which wouldn’t have been a problem for me under normal circumstances. I wasn’t that guy. I didn’t need to police my partner, know her whereabouts every single moment of every day. I did want to be respected, though. While I’d never require her to tell me everything, Iwantedher to share her life with me. I wanted to build a life with her.
A knock on my office door pulled me from my thoughts. My father poked his head in. “Son?”
Smiling, I stood. “Pops. What brings you by today?”
My father’s office was located a short five-minute walk away from my office, but he rarely stopped by in the middle of the day. Our busy schedules had prevented spontaneous visits. I welcomed his presence, though, because I needed the distraction.
He took a seat. “Your mother told me to get in more walks during the day, so I figured I’d see if you were free for lunch. My favorite hot dog vendor is back.”
I laughed. “When Ma told you to take walks, I’m sure she didn’t intend for you to eat greasy smoked sausages and salty chips.”
“Ah,” he grumbled, waving a dismissive hand my way. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
My stomach growled, and I met his amused gaze. “I guess I could eat right now.”
With temperatures in the low seventies and plenty of sun, it felt like spring had finally arrived. The bipolar weather in Michigan had tricked us many times through April, but the temperatures had held steady since the start of May.
My father bit into his sausage and groaned. “This is good.” He stared at it lovingly. “I should’ve bought two.”
I laughed, taking a bite of my much-smaller hot dog. “It does hit the spot every now and then.”
We ate in silence as we walked back to my office building.
Once he finished, he tossed his trash into a bin and wiped his hands with a napkin. “How are you feeling about the situation with Dory?”
Jace had contacted us yesterday to let us know she’d managed to post bail. “I knew she wouldn’t be in jail long. The prosecutor told me they’d pursue the aggravated stalker charges in court, but I’m not holding my breath for a long sentence or anything. It’s not like she committed murder. And, honestly, I just want her to get help.”
“Well, we’ll see how it plays out in court. And security?”
“I added a few cameras outside my house. But I’m not going to live my life watching the bushes or anything.”
“And you shouldn’t.” He finished his bottle of water. “Anyway, enough about her. I want to throw your mother a surprise birthday party.”
My mother was turning sixty in July and she’d never had a birthday party. Not that we hadn’t tried to plan anything for her through the years. We’d actually tried several times, and she’d always nixed any plans we’d made, preferring to spend her day quietly. “She’s not going to like that,” I said.
“I don’t care. I want to celebrate her in front of every damn body we love. She deserves it.”
I grinned. “As long as we can blame you, I’ll help any way I can.”
He barked out a laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle your mother. I’ve already talked to Dana and Emerie. They’re ready to help. I think we’ll do it at the Detroit Institute of Arts. She loves it there.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“How’s Blake?” he asked.
Over the years, my father had been my sounding board. I’d always been able to go to him about anything, without judgment. I hadn’t talked to him about my relationship with Blake at all. They’d met each other. She’d been to my parents’ house for Sunday dinner and had even volunteered at the pantry several times.
Still, his question surprised me. As with everything else in my life, my father usually waited until I broached a subject with him before he brought it up or gave advice. Giving him a skeptical glance, I said, “She’s okay. I guess.”
“I don’t like the sound of that, son.”
“She left,” I admitted.
He frowned. “Left you?”
