Page 4 of Playing With Forever

“Anytime.”

“See you Friday,” she announced on her way to the door.

“Yes, I’ll be here,” I unnecessarily answered since she hadn’t asked a question.

I sat back down, looked at my phone, and saw two texts from my youngest son, Kane.

Text one: Sorry Mamalious, I can’t come up this weekend.

Text two: Don’t be mad. I miss you.

I wanted to be mad, but my boy was busy—they both were.

As much parental pride I had knowing I’d raised two great men, that didn’t negate the loneliness.

This was not the dream I’d had for my life. At least not the part where I was enjoying the fruits of my labor alone.

I messaged Kane back: I miss you too. Please make time for your mother before I have to start laying on the guilt. I’m texting DJ; I want both my sons and Carrie at my table inside of 30 days. I’ll leave you three to work out the details. Let me know when you’ve set a date.

Five minutes had passed when my phone vibrated.

Text one: Copy that, mama bear.

Text two: No need for guilt. I picked up an extra shift this weekend.

I’d long ago stopped explaining that it was annoying getting multiple texts in a row when he could simply send one long text. It boiled down to Kane’s impatience.

I refrained from once again asking why he couldn’t have chosen dentistry like his brother, or law like his father, or plumbing like my father, and instead told him what I always told him: Love you. Be safe.

With a heavy sigh and a tad bit of unpleasant jealousy, I decided it was time to call it a night. I’d been so busy trying to forget Evan I’d forgotten to eat.

Dinner, then home.

Alone.

CHAPTER TWO

“Hey, Dad,” Lindy greeted from the kitchen sink.

Her arms were covered in red, yellow, and blue paint.

“She lives,” I teased and dropped a kiss on her temple. “Working on something new or in the middle of something?”

“Finished one.”

Ah. That was why she was inside what she called the big house. Years ago, when Lindy had decided that her love for art was going to turn into a profession, I built her a studio in the backyard. When she proved to be serious and would lose herself to her painting or drawing, I added a bathroom to stop my kid from running across the yard, busting into the house, and dancing to the bathroom before peeing herself. When she graduated high school, undecided if art school was the right move, and the time had come for her to have some privacy, I once again added to her studio, which now had a small bedroom and a very small living room area. It was essentially a tiny house with a fridge and microwave. If she ate out there, she had to wash her dishes in the bathroom sink. I forewent adding a kitchen knowing if she had a place to cook real food, I’d never see my daughter.

“So you’re in here to clean up and eat a meal that wasn’t prepackaged and reheated.”

“Bingo, Daddio. So what’s for dinner?”

I felt a sharp pain in the left side of my chest at hearing an old, ridiculous nickname she rarely called me.

My plan had been to order a pizza, but if my daughter was willing to give me time, I wasn’t wasting it on shitty delivery.

“Get cleaned up and we’ll hit BT’s.”

“You know everyone just calls it The Joint,” Lindy laughed.