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No. I definitely do not. It feels like a cruel joke that the world would do this to all of us. I just want to go back to Sunday morning, when the worst thing I was dealing with was being confused about Aria. But now, I see everything all too clearly.
Our date last Saturday was a test of some kind. She wants to know who I am now, and I was my usual flirty self. I didn’t know I was being tested for fatherhood. I didn’t know the stakes.
Every footfall crunches on either snow or twigs, and the steady rhythm feels good. I’m working up a hefty sweat, and I need to slow down or I’ll burn out, but that’s okay. I want to burn out. Physical exhaustion will clear my head. But somehow, the hike isn’t enough, not even after three hours.
I turn back and hope that six hours will do it, but with confused, curious energy coursing through me, I don’t hold out much hope. My hikes for work can be longer than this, and I’m always carrying more gear then.
The miles pass by like nothing, and before I know it, I’ve made it back to my truck with no answers and no exhaustion. I could go again, but I doubt it will change much. I’m still pissed at Aria. Still confused about Owen. Things aren’t going to get easier from here on out. I have to face the fact that my life has completely changed overnight.
My phone buzzes a few times, as though the reception has cleared near civilization. Sure enough, there’s a few dozen work texts on our group chat. I scan through them.
A huge forest fire in Maine. Mobilization is gearing up. Some of the crew had parted ways, since things had calmed down—I was not the only one to split off for a bit. But Cap is asking for anyone available to join in.
I take a breath. I could face the facts that my life has changed, or I could take off like I always do when things get heavy.
When I shrug off my rucksack, I can breathe again, and it feels like a sign from the universe or a metaphor of some kind. Take the heavy thing off and breathe.
So, I text the group chat. “I’ll be there soon.”
18
Aria
What I need right now is a long, hot soak in the tub. What I’m getting is playing on the floor with dinosaurs while drinking hot chocolate with Owen. It’s not a bad substitute, but also not quite the same thing.
Not that I mind—he’s been in a much better mood today than he had been after his fight with Storm. In fact, he drew me some flowers before I’d even woken up this morning. As Mondays go, this is a pretty good one. Billingsley Academy has a monthly holiday programed into every month of the school year, so I am happy to enjoy a quiet day off with my son.
When my phone rings, I ignore it. I’m not at work today, my parents are in good health, and my son is right here. Whatever it is, it can wait. But my stomach will not. I’m famished and the hot chocolate is not cutting it for breakfast.
“Feel like breakfast? How about chocolate chip pancakes?”
Owen grins when he glances from his stegosaurus. “Hot chocolateandchocolate chip pancakes? Okay!”
I chuckle and plant a kiss on top of his head as I stand up from the living room floor. “Coming right up.”
My phone rings again, and a bad feeling sinks into my gut. No one calls this frequently without a reason. My therapist’s voice cracks into my subconscious. Maybe it’s two different people. Stop catastrophizing. I sigh at her in my head, and pick up the phone. Her best tactic for ending catastrophizing is to accept reality, so I check the caller ID. It’s Lily, and she’s sent a ton of texts, too, but I had ignored them. All of them demand I call her.
I sigh, and take my phone to the kitchen so I can pancake and chat without Owen hearing everything. I grab the pancake mix, and as I search for the chocolate chips in the pantry, I give a quick prayer that this isn’t an emergency. “Hey, hon, what—
“Are you okay? Since when don’t you answer your phone?” Her frantic energy pierces through the distance and into my ear. It isn’t like her to panic over much, and the worried tone sets me on edge.
“I’m having a day off with Owen. What’s going on?”
“He knows, Aria.”
“What does Owen know?”
She huffs. “Everett. He knows. About Owen.”
I stand straight—well, I try—but the shelf I’d bent into has a shelf above it, and I smack my head right into it. “Fuck.”
“I’m sorry, Aria—"
“No, I…I hit my head. He knows?”
“Yeah.” Guilt laces the word.
I already suspect the answer, but I want her to tell me directly. “How does he know?”
