“Well, little man,” I say to my sleeping son. “Here goes nothing. If she kicks me out in five minutes, we’re going for a drink.”
I knock.
The hardwood door swings open, banging off the wall. My heart crashes along with it.
“Shit,” Katie mumbles, grabbing for the handle. Then our eyes meet, and she smiles shyly. My throat dries, the words locking behind my lips. Seconds feel like minutes as we both say nothing, staring at the person neither of us thought we would see again.
“Are you going to come in then?” she asks eventually, her tone sweet laced with feigned calm. The twitch of her lips says otherwise: she’s as nervous as I am. She steps back to allow me space to push the pram past her, never mentioning the fact I have a child I never used to.
Her room is huge, with a four-poster bed piled with tartan sheets and pillows. Two sofas sit around a large coffee table where piles of books are stacked. Above me is a light made from stags’ antlers, completing the rustic look of the room.
With David’s pram parked next to the sofa, I wander over to the books, picking one up to inspect it. She watches me intently as I flip open the pages, thumbing through, pretending to read. Buying myself some time before I need to speak. Before I work out what the hell to say.
I’m here because I love you.
Is that even true?
“I’m delighted for you, Katie.”
Simple, direct, and true.
I turn to face her. And my need for her blows my heart wide open, the false confidence I forced myself to have gone. I swallow. “Hannah told me you were doing well. Her mother’s a big fan.”
She laughs; my eyebrows rise.
“I’m not sure your ex-wife would be particularly thrilled to know that some of the scenes she reads in my books are inspired by you.” Her cheeks flush instantly.
I laugh softly, taken aback by her honesty so soon.
Even though it’s been a year, even though I’m nervous, her being here settles something deep inside me. A yearn I’ve been ignoring quieted, if only for now.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asks.
“Please. Tea if you have it.”
“Sure.” Her eyes stray to the pram. Katie can’t have children, and she finds other people’s a bittersweet experience. It was something she spoke of often during our time together. Guilt pricks at the back of my throat. I’m here, brandishing another child under her nose. Perhaps this was an unfair move.
She makes two mugs of tea, never asking what I take in mine. I’m surprised she remembers how I like the teabag dunked in the hot water for a split second, the fact that I take three sugars and a huge blob of milk. As crazy as it sounds, it gives me comfort that she remembers these little things. Sometimes I wonder if the pedestal I placed our relationship on is a figment of my imagination or if the deep connection really happened at all. Today, proves it did.
She passes me the white mug of hot tea. Our fingers connect, and undeniable electricity pulses between us. I find myself not wanting to break the physical connection—our hands drawn together like magnets. She goes to sit on the sofa, her mug clasped firmly between her fingers. Her gaze drops to the floor, then rises back to mine. I take the seat opposite.
“How come you’re in Edinburgh?” she asks. Her bluntness surprises me, my eyes pop wide. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so sharp. I’m just amazed to see you. Of all the people in the world I thought I might see today, I never thought it would be you.”
Sweat beads on the back of my neck. Now is the time to be honest.Don’t tell lies that will trip you up. Hers did before.
“As I said, Hannah told me you’re doing well. She told me about your book signing.” A smile plays on her lips, and she nods, encouraging me to continue. “So, I drove down to see you. A lot has happened and...” I trail off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.A lot has happened, and I realize life is too shortis what I want to say, but my confidence nosedives. I stay mute.
“You came here to see me?” Her eyebrows arch as if hitting her hairline. “Thank you. It’s wonderful to see you. So, tell me about what’s been happening with you. Obviously, quite a lot.” She gestures to David, still dozing where I left him. “He’s beautiful, Lance. Just like his dad.”
“He’s not mine,” I splutter, and she relaxes, I think. “Well, not biologically. Dog had a holiday romance. His mother left him on my doorstep.”
“What?” she shrieks, making me wince. I lean over to check on David—still sleeping. “She left him on your doorstep? Where is she now?”
“David’s mom isn’t well, Katie. No one has been able to contact her since she left him. The police have listed her as a missing person.” I see her visibly thaw. “Amber and Dog had a brief fling in Ibiza last summer. I didn’t even know her surname until the social worker told me.”
There’s a knock at the door. Katie rushes over, and an attendant walks in with a bottle of wine. He pours two glasses, then leaves without uttering a syllable. Katie retakes her seat and lifts her glass in a silent toast before raising it to her lips.
“Where’s Dog?” she asks. And the familiar twist in my gut aches. I hate saying it out loud.