To Live Again (14 page)

A mix of sadness and relief tangled in my chest. I couldn’t remember when Becky and I had stopped sleeping like this. When that tiny bit of space between us had started expanding until it became a gap, a canyon, and then a rift.

The worst part was realizing even more than before how long my marriage had really been over. How long it had been since Becky and I had touched like Sailo and I touched now. There was nothing sexual about the way he held me. It was all comfort and affection, the gentle warmth of one person keeping the other from coming completely unraveled. I missed her, but I’d missed this too, and realizing how much I must have deprived her of it, realizing how much I craved it myself, realizing how far gone our marriage had been before she’d finally dropped the hammer… It was too much.

It hurt to realize how long the divorce had been brewing, and how blind I must’ve been for it to catch me by surprise. The writing had been on the wall, clearer than our kids’ names and heights between their bedroom doors, and I hadn’t seen it.

And yet, there was relief, because even though all of that was hard to swallow, the fact was, I wasn’t lying in bed with someone who was a million miles away. The last few weeks had been hell, but the silver lining was the man who’d suddenly come into my life. Without this divorce, without all this upheaval, I never would have known him. Whatever Sailo and I were doing, it gave me some hope I hadn’t had in a long time. Like even if this wasn’t love, and didn’t turn into anything remotely resembling love, it gave me that little inkling of hope that love like that was still a possibility for me. Maybe, just maybe, I was still someone a person could fall in love with someday.

Sailo eventually broke the silence. “You all right?”

“I will be.” I kissed his temple. “And thanks again. For being there.”

“Don’t mention it.” He lifted himself and kissed me, gently pressing his lips to mine but not pursuing anything more. As he settled in beside me again, I closed my eyes and tried to think of nothing but the warmth of his skin against mine.

Yeah, I’d be all right. The divorce sucked. Starting over sucked. But the dust was settling. Maybe that was the hardest part. Not the shock, not the transition, but the realization that the book was closed and that piece of my life was now buried and gone. There was nothing left to do now but catch my breath, pick myself up, and move on.

He gently freed himself from my arms and pushed himself up on one elbow, gazing down at me. “I know it’s not the same, but like I said, I’ve been through my share of breakups. None of them were as long as your marriage, and there weren’t kids involved.” He touched my face, his eyebrows pulling together as he held my gaze. “But I understand. It hurts, and it shakes up your whole life.”

I nodded. “It really does. And I’m still worried as hell this is fucking with the kids more than they’re letting on.” I glanced at him. “Is it crazy that I really want to come out to them?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I guess…I don’t know. I want them to know I’m moving on, and I also want to be honest with them. About who I am.” I absently scratched the back of my neck, then rested my hand on his arm. “I’ve kept this side of myself a secret for so long, and now that I’m actually living it…”

“You want to tell people.”

I nodded again.

“So, tell them.”

“You don’t think…” I moistened my lips. “You don’t think that would be too much for them right now?”

His eyes lost focus, and he seemed to mull it over for a moment. “Well, if it were me, I’d want to know that my parents were getting back on their feet after a divorce. And I think if one of them could look me in the eye and tell me they were gay, I’d be happy they could be that honest with me.” He gently rested a hand on my chest. “But you know your relationship with them better than I do.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. “They probably know their mother is dating again. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to let them know I’m dating. Dating a man.”

He smiled. “Well, you’ve finally had a chance to explore a side of you that you thought you never would. You have the opportunity now to be honest with yourself. So maybe this also means you can be open and honest with your kids about it too.”

I swallowed. “I… God. I want to, and then I don’t know if they could…right now…”

He squeezed my hand. “If they were little, then maybe they’d be angry and want you back with your wife because that’s the family they’re used to. But they’re adults. Change is still hard for them, but they’re mature enough to understand that their parents need to be happy too. It might take some getting used to, knowing their dad isn’t straight, but it might be a sign to them that you’re going to be okay after the divorce. Like you’re going to move on and be all right.”

“Assuming they don’t think the divorce was because I’m gay. Or bi. Or…or whatever I am.”

“Tell them,” he said simply. “They’re old enough to understand.”

“True.” I sighed. “I guess I’m just terrified of them hating me. Thinking I cheated on their mom, or…” I shook my head. “I’m overthinking it, I know.”

“These are your kids. Of course you’re worried. You don’t want to hurt them or make them think you hurt their mom.” He kissed my fingers. “Tell them the truth. If they don’t understand right away, they will eventually.”

“I hope so.” I paused, then laughed dryly. “Why do I get the feeling this is going to be an awkward conversation?”

Sailo whistled. “It will be.”

“Been there?”

He laughed. “Greg, I had my son with a lesbian couple. You don’t think I’ve had a few awkward conversations with family members?”

“How did your families take that?”

“Eh, there were mixed reviews. My parents were happy to finally have a grandchild. Lea’s family was iffy about the whole thing right up until the day Mika was born. And C.J.’s parents disowned her the day they found out she was a lesbian, so I don’t even think they know about Mika. The rest of her family was thrilled, though.” He ran his hand up my arm. “Your kids might have mixed reviews too. And, I mean, you know them, so you’d know better than I do if they’re ready to hear this. But it could be a chance for them to see that you’re moving on, and not wallowing in the divorce. It’s good for kids to see that.”

“True.”

“Sleep on it tonight.” He caressed my face with a lightly callused hand. “Settle into your place. When you’re ready,
then
talk to them. But take care of you too.”

“I will.” I lifted my head and kissed him softly. “Thank you again. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m here if you need me.”

I shouldn’t need you as much as I do.

“Maybe…” I hesitated. “Maybe we should grab a shower and call it a night. I think I’ve had enough of unpacking things. You’re, um, welcome to stay if you want to.”

I was sure he was going to politely bow out and never look back.

But instead, he leaned down and kissed me again. “I’d love to.”

Chapter Eighteen

Sitting in a coffee shop, I tore tiny pieces off an empty sugar packet and tried not to stare at the door. I hadn’t seen much of my kids recently—they’d been busy with their lives, and I’d been busy restarting mine. We kept in regular contact via e-mail and texts, but hadn’t had a lot of opportunity to actually see each other.

Now, I was waiting for my daughter to meet me for lunch, and I was nervous as fuck. More so than I’d been the day Becky and I had sat her and her brothers down to let them know we were separating. That day, I’d been pretty certain how things would go. There’d be some shock. Some questions. They’d probably need some time to process it, and maybe there’d be some anger or some tears. But they were resilient, always had been, and I knew they’d cope with this somehow. We’d all move on together—well, sort of—and we’d all be all right eventually.

And I’d been right. There’d been differing degrees of surprise. My eldest and youngest hugged us both before they left. My middle son didn’t, but that wasn’t unusual for him. In the days that followed, they’d approached us with questions. How long had this been going on? What happened next? Were we okay? It had certainly been a shock, and they were no more thrilled about it than I was, but they were adjusting. Yeah, we’d all be all right. Just as I’d guessed.

Today, as I ignored my untouched cup of coffee and kept mutilating the wrinkled sugar packet, I had no idea how things would play out.

I dropped the remains of the sugar packet beside my coffee and checked my phone. April was late, but that wasn’t unusual. I was just impatient today because I wanted to get this over with.

Maybe I should’ve asked all three kids to be here for this, but I didn’t have the courage for that quite yet. One at a time. And it was a no-brainer that I’d talk to her before her brothers because though I loved all my kids equally, I had very different relationships with them.

My youngest son Kurt and I had a much better relationship now than we had during his mid-teens. He’d been rebellious, as teenagers are, and there was a year or so in there where I was pretty sure he didn’t say two words to me or his mother that weren’t laced with “you fucking idiots” or “you’re making my life hell.” Somewhere around the beginning of his senior year, he’d leveled out, and by the time he graduated, the hormone-induced insanity seemed to have lifted, and the smiling young man was back.

When he was a kid, we’d hiked every trail in Western Washington. I’d carried him on my back until he could walk, and then there was no stopping him, and we kept up our regular hikes until he reached that phase where he wanted nothing to do with his asshole parents. This past summer, though, as we got him ready for college, we’d started again, and we’d promised to make a point of hiking whenever we could during the school year. We were even planning to go camping again come summer.

With Mark, my older son, I had a weird relationship these days. We weren’t hostile, but we weren’t all that close either. He’d been through some depression in his teenage years, and he was the most introverted of my three kids, so it was hard to crack through the walls he seemed to have put up around himself. I made a point of getting together with him as often as possible, texting him, e-mailing him, but he wasn’t one to initiate contact. He was a closed book if there ever was one. I was thankful he still saw his therapist regularly—at least that meant he was talking to
someone
.

I made a mental note to shoot him a text later today and see how he was doing. I had no idea how the divorce was affecting him—as per usual, he hadn’t shown many cards.

But this afternoon, I was meeting his sister, because of the three of them, I’d definitely been closest to her over the last few years. They say there comes a point when your kid becomes your friend, and April and I had absolutely reached that point. We talked frequently and candidly, and if I couldn’t tell her about this, then I couldn’t tell anyone.

It hadn’t always been that way. We’d had a rather turbulent relationship all through her teen years. She’d been the hardheaded troublemaker, the reason we’d made a handful of trips to the police station in the middle of the night, and the one whose taste in boyfriends had been the source of many,
many
shouting matches from the time she was about fifteen. Looking back, it was no wonder she was convinced we were going to lose our minds when she told us she was pregnant. We’d even threatened her about that very thing before.

“The way you’re going,” we’d told her time and again, “you’re going to wind up pregnant before you graduate. And how exactly are you going to take care of a baby? Because that will be up to
you
, not us.” I’d known it was coming sooner or later, and was both angry at her irresponsibility and frustrated at my helplessness to stop the inevitable.

Then came the moment three months before she turned seventeen when she’d looked at me with tear-filled eyes and said in a tiny voice, “Daddy, I’m pregnant.”

Instantly, I’d regretted ever threatening to leave her on her own if she found herself in this situation, and instead of shouting at her, I’d hugged her tight and promised her over and over that everything would be okay, and we’d help her any way she needed. It was the first time I’d seen her cry since she’d broken her arm when she was twelve.

The next year was hell for all of us. Stress and hormones were a vicious combination, and her pregnancy was a rough one. Her idiot boyfriend didn’t last through her second trimester before he walked out and signed away his rights. The night my granddaughter was born, there were more than a few moments when we weren’t sure she or April were going to make it, but thank God, they were both all right. Over the next year, Becky and I helped with the endless days and longer nights, and it was during that time that April and I really bonded for the first time. Even once she got back on her feet, finished school, and ultimately married the saint I called my son-in-law, we stayed close, and that hadn’t changed to this day.

Now it was my turn to confess something to her, and hope like hell she didn’t get angry. I wondered if what I felt now was what she’d felt that night seven years ago.

I can’t change this. I need you. Please don’t stop loving me.

Guilt twisted in my stomach. I still regretted ever making her feel that way. We’d only been trying to get her back on the straight and narrow, but the thought of my little girl ever being afraid I wouldn’t love her anymore or that I’d abandon her—even after all this time, I still felt like the worst father ever. Especially now that I was scared to death she was going to hate me for the confession I needed to make.

The coffee shop door opened, and what little appetite I’d had was gone.

Here we go.

From across the room, she smiled, and as she came closer, I stood.

It amazed me how much she was looking like her mother these days. Ever since she’d had the baby, her features had been just slightly rounder, and her pregnancy had left her straight hair in tight curls that had never relaxed. Just like Becky. Sometimes it was weird to realize my kid was a mother herself now.

When the hell did you grow up, and when did I get this old?

“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “My car keys grew legs again.”

I chuckled. Yep, just like her mom.

We hugged briefly and then took our seats. She ordered coffee, and we made small talk, catching up on work and life in general.

“How’s Kayla doing?” I asked. “Is she liking school?”

“Oh God, yes.” She smiled. “Put her in a room full of other kids and construction paper, and it’s a wonder we ever get her out of there.”

Chuckling again, I said, “That sounds like her. Where is she today?”

“Nathan took her to a playdate, and then they’re going to the zoo, so they’ll probably both be sound asleep when I get home.”

I smiled. Nathan was the only father Kayla had ever known, and he was the father
I’d
aspired to be when I was raising my own kids. He was also exactly the kind of spouse I’d hoped every one of my kids eventually found. A day didn’t go by that I didn’t thank God for bringing that man into my little girl’s life.

April’s coffee came, and after she’d mixed in some sugar and taken a cautious sip, she met my gaze across the table. “So, how are you doing?” Her eyebrows pinched together. “After everything with Mom?”

I wrapped my hands around my own coffee cup just for something to hold onto. “I’m doing okay, actually. On the upswing, I think.”

She tilted her head. “But…?”

“But…” I hesitated. Well, this was why I’d asked her to meet me. Might as well cut to the chase and put it out there. “Listen, um…” I let go of the cup and folded and refolded my hands beside it. “I know the divorce hasn’t been easy for any of us. And I don’t want to add to that. But…” My mouth had gone dry and I was struggling to hold her gaze, so I broke eye contact and picked up my coffee. It was cold and nearly made me gag, but it was something to do besides try to stammer my way through this.

“Dad?” She tilted her head. “What’s going on?”

“Well, let’s put it this way.” I set the cup down. “I’m seeing someone.”

She sat straighter. “Already?”

I winced. “I know, it’s probably too soon, but—”

“No, I think it’s great.” She shrugged. “Mom’s been putting herself out there too, so…”

“Has she?”

April flinched. “Oh. Shit. I…probably wasn’t supposed to say anything. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m kind of glad to hear it, actually.” I didn’t need to tell her I’d already seen signs of another life around the family home. “How is your mother doing?”

“You haven’t talked to her?”

“I have, but it’s…” Exhaling hard, I thumbed my coffee cup. “It’s hard to talk about things like that. And I don’t want you going behind her back. Nothing like that. I just… Is she doing okay?”

April nodded. “I think she is.”

“Good. That’s good to hear.” Why did it hurt to be reminded I’d been replaced?
Fucking hypocrite.
I took another sip of ice-cold coffee. “Well. So, like I said, I’m seeing someone.” I took a deep breath and steeled myself. “I, um…”

“What?” She smiled cautiously. “You have a boyfriend or something?”

My stomach fell into my feet, and my breath hitched. “Um…”

The smile vanished. Her eyes widened. “Dad, I was joking.”

“Right. But…”

Her eyebrows climbed even higher. “You do, don’t you?”

I coughed into my fist. “Yeah. I…I do.”

My daughter blinked. “You’re serious.”

I nodded, my stomach threatening to turn inside out as I waited for the shock to wear off.

“Is this…” She chewed her lip. “So, I mean, are you gay? Or…”

I studied her. “Or what?”

“Or is this some kind of rebound, midlife-crisis thing?”

“Midlife—” I laughed, shaking my head. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. I…” I sobered and stared into my coffee cup, because I couldn’t hold her gaze anymore. “To tell you the truth, I’ve known for a long time that I had some interest in men. So after Mom and I split…” I forced myself to meet her eyes. “I guess I wanted to see if I really was into men, or if it was just curiosity.”

“Oh.” She thumbed the side of her coffee cup. “Wow. That definitely wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“Are you mad?”
Jesus. Way to sound like an idiot kid instead of a parent talking to
his
kid.

“Mad?” April stared at me. “What? Why would I be? You’re a single man now.” She shrugged. “I’m just happy you’re moving on instead of dwelling on the divorce.”

I exhaled. I was doing plenty of dwelling on the divorce, but she didn’t need to know that. “We’ve just thrown a lot at you kids recently. I didn’t want to pile onto that, you know?”

“This isn’t really piling anything on anything,” she said. “You being gay…” She paused. “Gay? Or bi?”

I waved a hand. “At this point, I’m not even sure. Let’s go with bi.”

“Okay, so you being bi, it’s not exactly something for us to deal with. It’s part of who you are, not like you committed a crime or something.”

“So it doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course not.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised. I really shouldn’t have. And surprise might not have been the word to describe it. More like profound, all-the-way-to-the-bone relief. Confirmation that who and what I was didn’t change things between us. The bond I had with April was hard-won, and few things scared me like the thought of losing that.

She absently tapped her fingers beside her coffee cup. “Can I be completely honest about something?”

I searched her eyes. “Please do.”

“The divorce wasn’t as much of a shock as you might think.”

Good thing I wasn’t taking a drink just then, or we both would’ve been wearing it. “What?” I sputtered. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m surprised you and Mom made it as long as you did.”

“You are?”

“Yeah.” She folded her arms on the table, the motion tense as if she didn’t know whether she was trying to look casual or defensive. “It’s hard to explain, but you guys always seemed like you were just kind of…there. Like you weren’t really into each other. I mean, when was the last time you and Mom went and did something when it wasn’t an anniversary or something?”

As I mentally ran through the last few years, I couldn’t argue with her. If we weren’t doing something with the kids, we were celebrating an anniversary, a birthday, Valentine’s Day…

There was never any “just because,” at least not in recent memory. And if I was honest with myself, I couldn’t remember the last time there was. Or if there ever was.

I exhaled. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know. I’ll admit it caught me by surprise, but, well, you know what they say—hindsight is twenty-twenty.”

Grimacing, my daughter nodded. “Tell me about it.”

We exchanged uneasy glances. I didn’t want to pick apart my defunct marriage with one of my kids, but I wasn’t sure where to take the conversation now.

She sipped her coffee. “So, do I get to meet this guy?”

I blinked. “You want to meet him?”