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I sat down across from him. “I have a son,” I blurted out.
He dipped his chin once, easily rolling with the change in topic. “I know.”
“You know? How do you know?”
“My custody battle lasted for over two years. I looked you up when it ended and saw that you’d settled down. I was sad for me but happy for you.”
I nodded, suddenly weary of the twists and turns and near misses. “It didn’t last. He relinquished his parental rights years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
I sighed. “It’s better this way. I prefer to rely on myself rather than a man who’s here one day, gone the next.” I winced even as the words spilled from my lips. I could not look at him. He might take those words personally. I shrugged mentally. If the shoe fits…
He cleared his throat. “My ex-wife and her husband moved. The custody agreement that didn’t allow me to move without losing my visitation was revoked.”
I felt my mouth twist with bitterness. “She trapped you quite neatly, didn’t she?”
He looked away, something akin to shame mixed with not a small amount of anger on his face. “She did.” He paused. “I take full responsibility. I should not have married her.”
I sighed, then smiled at him. “Then you wouldn’t have George, and what would your life be without George?”
He smiled back at me, and his face softened further. “Is having your son what waylaid your plans to franchise?”
I smiled. “Yes. But it was worth it. I never thought I’d have a child. He was a really good surprise.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“So.” I picked up my pen and doodled flowers on the edge of my papers. “What are you doing here?”
I needed to know what his immediate plans were, if he had hopes of spending time with me, and if I wanted to consider going down that painful road again, knowing what would happen at the end of the weekend. I sighed internally. I knew I would take what I could get with him.
“I live here,” he stated quietly, his eyes watchful.
I understood the words when I thought of them individually, but put together their meaning eluded me. The pen fell from my hand, and I slowly tore my eyes from my doodles to stare stupidly back at him. “What?”
One corner of his mouth curved slightly upwards. “I live here. I moved my business as soon as the ink on the new custody agreement dried. I wanted to be close to you. Yesterday, I found out you’re single. Today, I’m here.”
I pushed back my chair and stood abruptly, staring at him. Fear like I’d never known unfurled in my chest like a rose blooming on high speed time-lapse.
I pulled in a breath and lay my palm over my touchstone. I walked away from the table where he sat watching me and then paced back.
Anger that I didn’t know I was carrying, suddenly boiled over. “You can’t just show up here like this!” I wrapped my arms around my waist. “I have a son! I can’t afford another broken heart!” He started to protest, but I cut him off with a slice of my hand through the air between us. “No. Just no. You need to leave. It shouldn’t be too hard. You’re good at that,” I sneered.
I stomped off into the back room.
I paced back and forth in front of the produce table, shaking out my hands, filled with nervous energy. I needed to get away from him, from the hope that only he could awaken inside me. A foolish hope, one I should not begin to entertain considering our history.
Hope for what? We weren’t even the same people anymore! He had a family. I had a family. He had responsibilities that never included me. I had responsibilities that had nothing to do with him.
I rubbed my hand over my chest. Just the idea of him living here had my stomach tied up in knots of anxiety. My heart skittered in my chest. I didn’t know the ending to this story. What if we tried and failed? What if we ran into each other afterwards? What if I had to see him with someone else in person?
Bile rose in my throat at the thought. I needed stability. I needed peace. I needed certainty. I’d worked hard to attain that for myself and my son.
I circled the table loaded with produce, my arms wrapped in a tight hug around my waist. The broken heart that I painstakingly pieced back together, with nothing but determination, threatened to come unglued.
Fucking bullshit. That’s what this was. He can’t waltz in here and tell me he came to see me and that he moved and expect me to just roll over.
The thought that I hadn’t actually given him a chance to tell me what he wanted niggled at my brain, but I dismissed it.
