“Closest thing we have to shared custody is a house plant we bought.”
“I’m sure you’re both wonderful fathers to your plastic cactus. She’s the kid’s mom. Sounds like she’s going to be in the picture one way or another. Do you think you can deal with that?”
She asked an honest question. I mulled it over. There was no precedent for the situation. A couple of my exes were friends with the people they previously dated, but most kept them at arm’s length. There was nothing that bound them together, especially not a kid.
“I get it, it’s different.” She turned back to her table and picked up the pen. “It sounds like an adventure to me.”
An adventure. The positive spin on new experiences. Maybe Amanda had a point. Dating a man with a kid had turned into an adventure in my head. How different could it be dating a man with a child with an ex-wife still in the picture?
“Now go away,” Amanda said. “One of us is trying to work.”
She must be in the zone if she was demanding I leave. As much as I wanted to lament on the subject, I wanted her to finish the comic. Right now, I needed that happy ending.
“Fine,” I said, clawing my way off the couch of doom. “I’m off to be the face of a Comic Con.”
I eyed the groceries. I had stopped by the store to pick up Mom’s order, and something looked amiss. Had Dorothy given me the wrong bag? I couldn’t remember a time when Mom used thyme in her cooking. Mom knew how to make a belly happy, but I wouldn’t call any of her cooking fancy.
Opening the door, I continued inspecting the bag. “Mom, I think Dorothy mixed up your order. This doesn’t?—”
The burly arms reached for the bag, snatching it away before I could process. It wasn’t uncommon for Amanda or Jon to show up for dinner. At times, I thought they might be my mother’s favorite children. By the time I looked up, I was gawking at the back of Simon’s head.
“What’s going on?”
Simon set the groceries down on the kitchen counter and started rummaging. Nothing about this made sense. Of all the people who could have set foot in Mom’s house, I never… “Oh, God. Mom.” She had been alone with Simon for who knew how long. What damage had unfolded while the two of them waited for me?
I went into the living room and saw them, every child’s worst nightmare. The leather-bound books. Volume one, two,andthree? Inside was a cornucopia of photographs that no adult man wanted to be seen by the light of day. From photos of Dad bathing me in the kitchen sink to my phase when I wanted to be in a boy band, complete with torn midriff shirts. There was nothing sacred when Mom pulled those off the shelf.
For a split second, I debated burning down the house and running. A judge would understand. I shuffled my way into the dining room to see four plates set on the table. He had brought a bottle of wine. Had Mom tracked him down and invited him to dinner, or had it been a chance encounter?
I knew the answer before I asked the question. “I’m going to kill her.”
“Are you going to stand there or be my sous chef?”
I looked up to see Simon wearing Mom’s apron. The burly bear with the half-naked man. It paled in comparison to the man who wore it. I shook my head. No imagining him naked while in my childhood home. The last thing I needed was little Jason tenting the front of my jeans.
I walked into the kitchen to Simon, flipping steaks and sprinkling them with salt. Mom sat at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee. She hugged the mug with both hands, trying to hide. It was the look of pure guilt. She knew she had meddled.
“I need you to get me three cloves of garlic.”
Simon had three pans on the burners. He gave each one a quick shake before tossing in the thyme. “Before the butter burns.” Oh, he wasn’t kidding. This wasn’t cute romantic cooking as a means of foreplay. I suddenly felt like I had been given a test I didn’t study for.
“Should I ask the obvious question?”
“How to peel garlic?”
I gave Simon a dirty look. “Where did my mom find you?”
“Find me?”
“Don’t play coy, Mr. Peterson.” I grabbed the garlic, peeling three cloves before smashing it with the flat of the blade. For a moment, I felt like a chef. They didn’t need to know I had been watching cooking shows since our date. “My mom spent her childhood hunting. Finding a bear wandering Firefly isn’t any different.”
The sizzle of meat drowned out Simon’s laugh. I brought over the chopping board. He threw the garlic into the butter sauce in each pan. This was already more luxurious than any meal we had growing up. Then, to see a pot filled with mashed potatoes, he had outdone himself.
“I stopped by the Bistro. We got to talking, and I invited him over for dinner.”
“To make him cook?”
“That was his idea. There hasn’t been a man cooking in this kitchen in years.”
