I bitterly laugh at her joke. “I just don’t understand. My walls can be cinder block solid, but he didn’t seem defensive about anything before I learned about his daughter.”
Amelia sips her holiday-special drink, taking a minute to collect her thoughts. She twists her long dark hair into a knot at the base of her neck. At forty, she’s the kind of beauty you long for because she looks twenty-something.
“Do you think he was hoping to just hook up with you and move on? Maybe closure or something.” Amelia leans on the table.
“Closure to what? A summer fling when we were eighteen?” I fall back into my seat, exhausted from verbally spewing the story.
“You said he told everyone you were the love of his life back then.”
“He was drunk.” I huff and turn my head. The bar is packed for midweek and damn Christmas carols are audible over the din of conversations. “Well, not drunk, but drinking. He had to be kidding.”
“But did he have to be? Are you sure he was kidding? Maybe he did have feelings for you.” Her brown eyes narrow.
“He couldn’t have.” The retort is quick and sharp.
“Why not?”
I don’t have an answer. Why couldn’t he have felt more for me? I felt strongly about him. He dared me to kiss him. He stole into my room. I gave him my trust and my virginity. But I’m almost forty and none of that should matter now.
“Maybe it’s like that movie,The Holiday, where the guy who’s a dad just wants to be a man for a little while. He doesn’t mention his kids, wanting to be seen as a sexual being and not a spit-up cloth.”
“His children were older than spitting up in that movie and so is Zebb’s daughter. His girl is this beautiful cherub.” My thoughts rush to the angel wings I left her. Has she used them? “And besides, this isn’t a movie. This is real life.”
“In real life I bet single dads want to be seen as more than a father just like single mothers want to be seen as more than a mom.”
Neither of us would know. We’re single, nearly forty, and living in a pulsating city that shouldn’t be lacking in good men. And the one good man I’ve found in years, no longer seems interested in me.
“Isn’t there some rule about five days later?” I ask, as if I don’t know that I’ve been shoveled into the coals.
“I think the rule is three. He should have called by day three.”
See, no longer interested. I’ll add it to my list of shitty things about this holiday season.
The problem is I was starting to think Zebb was different. Still that boy I’d loved and held onto in my heart, but presently a man who was obviously open with his feelings and confident in who he is. He was like an evergreen. You can dress up the tree in shiny ornaments and pretty decorations, but underneath the décor is a faithful pine tree with forever green needles and strong boughs. Where you learn things have changed, but at the core of the letter, everything is the same about that person. He is still a great man.
“Speaking of ghosts, have you seen your mom?” Amelia hesitantly asks.
“Yeah, every Sunday we have a date.” Sarcasm fills my voice and yet I’m the one who foolishly goes to see her each weekend. Isn’t that how it should have been? If she’d only stuck around when I was a child. She could have divorced my father, and I would have seen her every other weekend. Or maybe during the week. She could have been active in my life, if she’d only made a different decision.
And now she’s back.
“I’m sorry. I know it must be hard.” Amelia is one of the few people who knows my story. It’s a classic tale of woman leaves behind daughter and then returns when she’s an adult. Insert more sarcasm. I didn’t read much psychology about such a thing when I took Psych 101 as a pre-requisite in college, but I am definitely the poster child for the chapter about abandonment issues.
“And how’s your dad with all this?”
I dismissively wave. “Passive as always. Upset but burying it with the new woman in his life.”
Our conversation shifts to plans for Christmas. Amelia knows I don’t celebrate the holiday. With it forced down my throat for a solid month, I’m happy to have a day off and not think about Christmas. She’ll be going to her sister’s house in Michigan because her wayward older brother has returned.
As we’re ordering a second drink, my phone rings. I’m so startled by the buzzing vibration against the table I’m almost afraid to touch the device at first.
Flipping over the phone, the screen reads: Ghost of Christmas Present. I changed Zebb’s contact name when he hadn’t called after forty-eight hours, the standard amount of time for a missing person’s report.
“Answer it,” Amelia demands, eyes sparkling across the table from me.
“I should make him suffer and ignore it.”
Amelia sighs. “Or you can pulloffyour Grinch panties and just hear what he has to say.”