Page 186 of Wait for Him

He's all smiles and energetic hands as he lays out the rules, and I can't stop watching him. He's funny and animated and clearly enjoying the tiny amount of authority this box has granted him. This whole, generous person sitting across from me came out of the worst day of my life and the best decision I made afterward. I used to be terrified that giving him away would be the thing I regretted most. Sitting here looking at him now, I know I gave him exactly what I wanted him to have.

"Do you have a partner? I didn't help hide the stuff, so it wouldn't be cheating if you wanted me to be yours."

His eyes dart up to my hair, and then his hand rises almost unconsciously to touch his own white streak.

Well, shit.

He doesn't say anything about it, and neither do I. His fingers linger there for a second before dropping back to the table, but I saw it and he knows I saw it. I'm not touching that one yet. I already have enough emotional explosives scheduled for this evening.

"That would be awesome," I manage. "I could use a partner, and you've got home-court advantage."

"Hell yeah!" His hand flies to his mouth. "Sorry."

I run two fingers across my lips like I'm zipping them shut and raise my other hand for a high five. He grins and slaps his palm against mine, and I manage not to cry over a fucking high five, which feels worthy of recognition.

I can't keep my eyes off him for however long it takes before food starts arriving at the tables. I ordered the seared wagyu with roasted fingerlings, Oscar asparagus, and a glass of white wine I'm mostly ignoring because I need all available brain cells tonight. Drunk biological-mother disclosure feels like the kind of decision people discuss in therapy for years afterward, and I already have enough material.

I'm unrolling my silverware from the napkin and settling it across my lap when I look up and find James standing beside the table with a plate of food in his hands.

"Oh, they brought mine already," I tell him, assuming he's running deliveries again.

He doesn't move.

Instead, he shifts his weight and looks down at the plate, and the confident emcee who was running the scavenger hunt five minutes ago has disappeared. Now he's nervous, which immediately makes me nervous because one of us really needs to have our shit together and it should probably be the adult.

"Would it, umm..." He looks at the empty chair across from me. "Since we're partners, could we maybe eat together? Talk strategy?"

My eyes go straight to Samson and Lauren.

They're both watching us now, but when I catch them, Samson gives me a small shrug and Lauren's eyebrows shoot up. Their confusion looks genuine.

Not them.

This is all him.

And fuck me if that doesn't hit somewhere tender.

I must take half a second too long absorbing it, because James starts backing out before I've even opened my mouth.

"Sorry, I just thought—"

"No, please. Sit." I reach toward the chair before he can escape. "I'd actually love that."

He sets his plate and drink across from mine and slides into the seat, and he's still nervous. His fork gets rearranged. Then his napkin. Then his glass moves approximately an inch to the left for reasons known only to him.

I pretend not to notice.

Whatever he's working himself up to, I'll let him get there in his own time.

"Do you help your dad with the cooking?" I ask, cutting into my steak and hoping some easy conversation will settle both our nerves.

"Sometimes, yeah. I like it. Cooking, I mean."

"Is that what you want to do?"

"No. Not even a little bit." He laughs, rooting his fork around his plate without actually eating much of anything. He went with the salmon puttanesca. "I'm taking a gap year to do an internship here in LA, and then I'll start my degree. Engineering. Mechanics."

Pride swells in my chest before I can remind myself I had absolutely nothing to do with any of that. I didn't encourage the interest, help him choose a school, or sit at the kitchen table while he filled out applications. But fuck it. He's my son and he's brilliant, and I'm going to allow myself this one.