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“Okay, thanks. I’ll pick him up around nine then?”
“Oh, he’s welcome to spend the night. The party usually goes late and Mikey is so excited to have a friend his own age there this year.”
“If you’re sure it’s no trouble?”
“Of course not. Owen is always a pleasure to have over. He’ll call you Saturday morning when they’re up and ready.”
“As long as Owen’s ready by ten. He has plans with his other father.” I wrap up the conversation with Helen and turn toward Owen. “Hun, our ride is waiting. You’ll see Mike tomorrow.”
“Yeah, okay, Pop.” Owen continues to chatter with his friend, but they both mosey toward the door. So I take Owen’s stuff and follow the boys out to the parking lot. Helen guides Mike to her van and Owen waves before scuffing his battered sneakers through the snow behind me. I bite my tongue on a rebuke. His shoes are going to be soggy tomorrow if he keeps that up. Should have made him switch to his boots instead of carrying them for him.
“Whoa!” Owen stops when I guide him to the side of Saint’s car. He casts wide eyes between me and the Mercedes. “Dude! Did we get a new car? Sick Christmas present!”
“No,dude, we did not get a new car. You remember my friend Saint?”
“Uncle Carl’s husband?”
“His ex-husband.” I say, weirdly defensive about the correction. Why? It’s not like Carl’s relationship with Saint somehow invalidates whatever we’ve got between us. I’m just acting insecure.
Friends. Saint is my friend. My very good friend who spent the past hour sucking me off and is now smiling at my kid as he rolls down the window.
“Everything alright?” Saint asks.
“Yeah.” Owen shrugs, saying for Saint to hear, “Except they’re always together still. It’s kind of weird. You and Dad aren’t like that.”
“Your father and I aren’t the best example of how exes should behave, Owen. Saint, can you pop the trunk for this?” I heft Owen’s gear bag. Saint pushes a button and the rear hatch opens.
“So cool!” Owen says. “I like your car, Uncle Saint. Pop says you’re giving us a ride home?”
“I am. Your pop’s car was having some trouble.”
“Ugh, again? Pop, I don’t want to take the bus tomorrow!” Owen scowls and stomps his foot in the snow.
“Why not?” I wrestle his bag carefully into Saint’s trunk.
“Only little kids take the bus. It’s embarrassing,” Owen whines. I don’t point out that he’s certainly acting like a little kid about this.
“Well, you can wake up early and walk or try to get a ride with your sister and Vic,” I shoot back, exasperated. Vic’s older sister has her license and a car, so she sometimes takes Meg to school in the mornings. She’s also the one giving Meg a ride home tonight. “Get in, let’s not keep Mr. Saint John waiting.”
Owen rolls his eyes at me, but he gets in the car, running eager fingers over the buttery soft leather interior, faux wood panels, and chrome accents. I can empathize with his interest. Everything about the car feels expensive and luxurious when I’m used to bare bones. I get back into the passenger seat next to Saint and turn to shoot my son a quelling look over my shoulder. If he fucks up Saint’s car, I’m going to be mortified.
“This is so cool!” Owen crows, finding the button for his heated seats. “Pop, his car toasts your buns!”
Saint stifles a snort, turning it into a cough.
“Buckle up,” I demand, suiting actions to words and trying not to flush at the thought of what else Saint has done to my buns. Saint pats my thigh and I don’t react to the brief intimacy, but I know Owen notices.
There’s something strange in Owen’s voice when he says, “Sure, Pop.”
Hopefully, it’s just that he’s not used to seeing me with another adult who shows me open affection like that. I ignore the pang of loss at not getting to show him that. But at least I showed him not to stick around with someone who doesn’t respect him, right? Years too late, but I can’t bring myself to truly regret the choices that gave me Owen and Meg.
“What time do you have to be at school in the morning, kiddo?” Saint cuts through the silence.
“Eight fifteen.” Owen perks up, sensing a treat in the offering.
“Hmm, I could probably swing by on my way to the office and give you a ride to school, if it’s okay with your pop.”
“Seriously? That would be wicked cool! Pop, can I?” Owen hits me with the puppy-dog eyes. Damn, I love the kid.
