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“We do only have each other.” And now I do sound hurt.
“And sometimes… I don’t know… the way you always know what he’s saying, even though he doesn’t speak?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Beth, I’m not criticizing. Honestly. It’s just… it’s what I’d call intense.” He pauses while I struggle to find a reply. “It doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.”
“It sounds like it does.” The hurt vibrates in my voice even though I don’t want it to.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just wanted to give you an honest answer, because… well, because I think it’s important to be honest.”
I shake my head, taking a sip of my Coke, and Mike reaches for my hand. I let him take it; I crave the contact, the comfort, even though I still feel hurt.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I really am sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” My voice sounds clogged and I draw a heavy breath. “It’s okay.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Mike looks miserable, and I squeeze his hand, recovering myself.
“It really is okay, Mike. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t be in this position if something wasn’t wrong, would I? I mean, I know you think DCF have been unfair, but…” This feels like the hardest, most honest thing I’ve ever said, and yet some part of me needs to say it. “Maybe… maybe they haven’t been.” The words seem to fall into the stillness between us, like stones in a pool, the ripples going endlessly outward.
Mike doesn’t say anything, but he keeps holding my hand.
After a minute or two, the waitress comes with our pizza, and we stop talking about heavy stuff as we dig into the huge slices. The food and the lighter conversation are both a relief. I’ve definitely had enough soul-searching for one day. More than enough.
By the time we finish at Barb’s, it’s dark and starless outside, the air holding the cold, metallic edge that promises snow. I tilt my head to the sky, looking for stars, but there’s only a pale sliver of moon, looking impossibly small and distant.
“It’s Thanksgiving next week,” I remark. “Will you be with your mom?”
“Yeah, she always does a turkey and all the rest. It’s nice. What about you?”
I don’t want to tell him that I’m going to be on my own for the holiday. I probably could have asked Susan if I could have Dylan for Thanksgiving, but the truth is I was afraid of him not wanting to be with me, especially when Ally and her family could give him so much more. Still, I don’t want Mike to think I’m fishing for an invitation.
“I’ll probably see some friends,” I murmur, but Mike isn’t fooled.
“Look… you could come with me.” He sounds uncertain, which makes me even more so.
“I don’t know…”
“It would be casual. My mom is really relaxed. It wouldn’t, you know, have to mean anything.” He sounds embarrassed, and I duck my head and start walking without replying, because I don’t know how to handle any of this. I’m twenty-seven years old, I have a child, for Pete’s sake, and yet dating—if this even is that—is beyond me.
“Think about it,” Mike says as he falls into step next to me.
We walk in silence back towards Boulevard, and it isn’t until we turn onto my street that I realize he’s walking me home, and I start to panic. Is he expecting something? Should I ask him in? I can’t. I don’t want to; I’m not ready for anything like that. My steps slow as we come to my building; I feel frozen with uncertainty.
“This is me…” I finally say with one of those awkward little laughs and Mike turns to me, his hands jammed into the pockets of his parka.
“This has been fun,” he says. “I’m glad you asked me. So, I’ll see you soon?”
I exhale in relief that he’s leaving it at that and Mike’s mouth twitches in a smile. I wonder how much he realizes of what I was thinking. I give an embarrassed laugh and his smile widens. I have a feeling he’s been privy to my entire thought process.
“I really did have fun,” he says quietly.
“So did I.” And for once I don’t feel guilty, for enjoying something without Dylan.
We smile at each other and then Mike leans forward and kisses my cheek. His lips are cold and the kiss is so quick, but somehow it feels exactly right. Anything more would have been too much. Anything less would have been a disappointment.
“Bye, Beth,” he says, and then he’s walking back down the street, his hands still in his pockets, his head lowered against the bitter wind that’s blown up.
