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I’ve never introduced her to anyone I’ve “dated” before, so I’m not sure what she thinks she’s confirmed. Technically, Juliet and I aren’t related. My wife was Juliet’s older cousin. I’ve tried to maintain a relationship—look out for Juliet—since my wife died. With varying degrees of success or failure, depending on how you look at it. I have a lot of regrets about not being there when she needed me. Introducing her to a woman I’m seeing feels weird and disloyal, no matter how many times Juliet’s said she wishes I’d find someone.
“Where’s your husband?” I ask, ending the conversation about my love life.
“Right here, Mr. Taskmaster. Settle down.” Vapor enters from the hallway, carrying their son.
“Jesus, what’re you feeding this kid? He’s huge.” I grin as Vapor sets Atlas down and he wobble-walks his way over to me.
“Welllll,” Juliet says, drawing out the word in her sweet but sarcastic way, “you haven’t seen him in a while.”
“Nah,” Vapor says. “I swear sometimes he’s bigger when I get home from work than he was when I left in the morning.” He slips his arm around Juliet’s shoulders and pops a kiss on her forehead.
I crouch down and Atlas runs right into my arms for a hug and lets me pick him up. “Can’t be that long. He remembers me.”
Juliet reaches up to fix the collar of Atlas’s T-shirt. “You might be right. He doesn’t let just anyone hold him.”
As if to agree with his mother, Atlas curls his fist in the ends of my hair and yanks. “Strong grip, little buddy. We’ll have you riding in no time.”
“The hell you will,” Juliet mutters.
I lift an eyebrow and she flashes an innocent smile. Hanging onto Atlas with one arm, I curl the other around Juliet’s shoulders and squeeze her again.
“Daddy?” Atlas twists, seeking Vapor, and I hand him over.
“Well, come in,” Juliet says, waving her hand toward the living room. “Don’t stand there like you’re going to bolt any minute. Let’s have dinner.”
I follow her into the kitchen, salivating at the scent of whatever she’s cooking. Garlic. Lots of garlic.
“Smells good,” I say.
“We’ll see,” she mutters, stirring a long, wooden spoon in a tall pot.
Vapor’s busy setting what looks like a sectioned pet dish of bright blue plastic and chubby toddler utensils on the table.
“Why doesn’t he get a normal dish?” I ask, lifting my chin toward the square plate.
“Please don’t,” Juliet warns. “He’s fussy enough about trying new things. Don’t insult his dinnerware.”
“You can’t bethatfussy. Not when you’re already getting so big,” I mutter. I wink at Atlas and he burble-giggles at me.
A few minutes later, Juliet sets heaping bowls of bow-tie pasta and meatballs in a thick, rich red sauce on the table.
Vapor spoons a bit of everything into the separate sections of the toddler plate. Atlas shows interest in the pasta. And by interest, I mean squeezing it to mush in his chubby little fists. Vapor stabs a chunk of meatball and piece of pasta onto a fork and offers it to Atlas who takes an uncertain bite.
I reach over and run my finger over one of his hands. “The three of you really need to come up to the clubhouse on family day. He’d have a good time with the little guys.”
Juliet and Vapor share a look.
“You’ve met some of the ol’ ladies,” I remind her. “Hope asks about you all the time. Her little girl’s just a bit younger than Atlas. We’ve got a couple kids up there now. He’d have other kids to play with.”
“He has friends at daycare,” Juliet says.
“That’s not the same. I’m talking aboutfamily.”
“But your club isn’tourfamily,” she insists.
“They’re your family, whether you think so or not,” I say. “Now that you guys are living in New York again, I’d like to see you more often.”
Vapor’s wisely chosen to stay out of this conversation. I catch his eye. “And not just when I have a job for you.”
