Page 51 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

When the check comes, Nathan covers it without looking at me for permission. He stands, pulls my chair back, and offers his hand as if we’re still the same people who walked in here two hours ago.

I take it, partly from habit and partly because my legs don’t feel reliable.

Outside, he walks me to the car and opens the door again. The ride back is quiet in a way that doesn’t feel peaceful. Nathan keeps his eyes on the road, and I keep my hands in my lap, fingers laced tightly enough that my knuckles ache.

Streetlights pass across his face in brief intervals.

He looks composed, but his silence isn’t gentle. It feels like he made a decision at that table and locked it into place.

We reach my building and he parks along the curb. The engine continues running while the dashboard glows faintly in the dark.

Nathan turns slightly in his seat.

“Athena,” he says.

I look at him, forcing my expression into something neutral.

He watches me for a moment.

“You’ve been holding something back all night,” he says quietly. “If you want to tell me something, tell me now.”

My heart stumbles.

There are ten different ways to answer that. None of them end clean. I picture his face again when he said he didn’t want to be a father, and the words tools and agendas echo like a bruise being pressed.

I swallow.

“I’m tired,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I just need to rest.”

Nathan’s eyes search mine. “That’s all.”

“Yes.”

He holds my gaze for another beat then nods once. His hand lifts slightly, like he might touch my cheek, then it drops back to the steering wheel instead.

“Alright,” he says. “Get inside.”

I reach for the door handle.

“Athena.”

I pause and look back.

His voice is lower now.

“If something is wrong, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

“I know,” I manage, then force the words out before I can stop myself. “Goodnight, Nathan.”

His expression shifts, restrained and unreadable. “Goodnight.”

I step out of the car and shut the door gently. Nathan waits until I’m inside the building before pulling away, his headlights sweeping across the lobby wall as he turns back into traffic.

Upstairs, my apartment feels too quiet.

I kick my shoes off and set my keys on the counter, then I stand in the middle of the living room without moving. My dress still clings to my skin. My makeup feels heavy. My whole body feels like it’s running on adrenaline and denial.

I change into a t-shirt and shorts then wash my face at the sink until my skin goes pink. When I catch my reflection, my eyes look too big in my face.