“I’m all yours.”
“Friday night would be great. It’s her birthday.”
“How nice! Take her somewhere wonderful. Maybe Chateau Grand Traverse. Or one of the new wineries! You could have dinner at one of the tasting rooms.” She noticed my expression. “Does that eye roll mean I’m meddling?”
“Yes. I can handle the date details if you can handle Scotty.”
“I can.”
“Good. If you come down in the early afternoon, you could take him to swim therapy after school. He really loves it.”
Her eyes got misty. “Oh, I’d love that. I’m so happy, Levi. This is perfect.”
Nothing was perfect, but an entire night with Jillian sounded pretty close. I couldn’t wait to tell her.
When I checked my phone Monday after work, I noticed I’d missed a call from Levi. He hadn’t left a voicemail, but he’d texted. Give me a call when you get a moment. Good news.
What kind of good news? I wondered. Maybe he’d talked to his sitter and she was available Friday. I would be happy if that was the case, but part of me kind of hoped she wouldn’t be able to watch Scotty, and Levi would ask me to come over instead of canceling the date. I didn’t need anything elaborate for my birthday, and getting to meet his son would have been a wonderful gift. But I didn’t want to pressure him.
I called him back on the drive home.
“Hey you,” he said when he answered.
“Hi.”
“How was your day?”
“Good. Yours?”
“Good. I had lunch with my mother.”
“Oh yeah? Was that planned?”
“No, it was an ambush. She pretended to miss me and said she just wanted some time with me, but really she’d heard about you from my sister and wanted the scoop.”
I laughed. “That sounds like something my mom would do. Or my sisters. How’d it go?”
“It was good, actually. I tried to get out of it at first, but she guilted me into going, and then once we were there, I ended up saying some things to her I probably should have said a while ago.”
“Really? Like what?”
“Nothing earth-shattering, but I let her know that her criticism of my parenting choices wasn’t appreciated. And I’d be glad to spend more time with her if she agreed to stop doing it.”
“Good for you. It’s hard to stand up to your parents, even as an adult.”
“Yeah, I think she understood where I was coming from. And honestly, a lot of what I took as criticism or felt as censure might have been typical mom advice I was just extra sensitive to, because I already felt like I had no idea what I was doing.”
“That’s possible.”
“I’d always felt like the bad kid growing up, because Monica was so perfect and never got in any trouble, so when I got Tara pregnant I kind of assumed they viewed it as my biggest fuckup ever.”
As ridiculous as it sounds, the phrase I got Tara pregnant spiked a rush of jealousy so fierce, my heart rate sped up. Had he said when Tara got pregnant, I don’t think I’d have reacted that way, but somehow the I got made me think of him actually having sex with her. Creating a child inside her. Watching that child grow within her. Being present at his birth. Experiencing with her all the wonderful and miserable things new parents experience—hearing him cry for the first time, changing diapers, feeding him, giving baths, taking him to his checkups. Every day I saw bleary-eyed, adoring new parents in the office. He’d already done all that with someone. It’s not like I hadn’t known it before, but I felt an ache in my gut all the same.
I tried to clear my head. “Wow. Did you say that to her?”
“I did, actually. And she swore it wasn’t true.”
“Good.”
“She also promised to do less criticizing and more listening, and she offered to come down with my dad and stay overnight with Scotty at the house so you and I can have some time alone together.”
“She did?”
“Yes. She called it treating you to a proper courtship.”
I winced. “Oh, God. That’s embarrassing.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s weird that your mom knows we have sex!”
“Well, considering I have a son, I’m pretty sure she already knows I have sex.”
“I’m talking about me. You can do no wrong, you’re her son, but I don’t want her to think I’m promiscuous before she even meets me.”
“But after she meets you, it’s OK?”
I groaned. “No.”
“Listen, stop worrying. She will love you when she meets you. Trust me.”
I wondered when that would be. “OK.”
“So let’s talk about your birthday. Can I pick you up a little early? Like around two?”
“Uh, sure. What’s the plan?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Pack an overnight bag.”
My heart pumped faster again, for a good reason this time. “OK. What should I wear?”
“You always look gorgeous. Anything you want—but if it shows your legs or neck or shoulders, be warned I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.”
I smiled. “Got it. I can’t wait.”
• • •
On Friday morning, I treated myself to a massage and facial before heading home to shower and pack a bag for the night. I still had no idea where we were going or what we were doing, but I really didn’t care—I was happy that we’d finally have our night together. In the back of my mind was the fear that he’d get the call and have to go home, but there was no sense dwelling on that. Part of loving him was accepting that he was always a father first, and I could do that. It made having all his attention that much sweeter when I had it.