“He’s doing okay,” I reply, taking another pull of the beer. “Enjoying retirement.”
“He still in that house off Maple?”
“Yeah, he is.”
“Are you living with him, or did you get something of your own?”
“With him,” I say. “The older he gets, the harder things are for him, and it’s just too much house to keep up with on his own. It’s not so bad. The house is plenty big enough, and he takes the room on the main level, while I take the upstairs because his knees have gotten so damn bad, he can’t go up them all that often.”
“I’m sure he appreciates you being there, too.” He glances over his shoulder, a smirk shining bright. “Even if Roger would never admit to it.”
We both laugh, knowing how stubborn my old man is. If it weren’t for my aunt insisting that he finally retire, and keeping me updated on his condition, he probably would’ve worked himself into the ground. That practice is his pride and joy, and I know it was hard on him to make the decision to leave, but it was the right call. He wasn’t fond of the idea of me moving in either, but Conrad’s right; I think he appreciates it now that I’m there.
“What else is new with you?” He flips the meat on the grill, the smell already making my mouth water. It’s been too long since I’ve had a nice steak dinner.
Dark brown hair, flirty sea-green eyes, and a slew of inappropriate memories that surround them pop into my head, but I shove them away. There’s no way I’m sharing all ofthatwith Conrad today, or ever. “Nothing, really. Just settling in.”
We spend the next little while talking about how ranch life has been treating him, while he finishes grilling the meat. Once they’re finished, we head inside and dish up. It’s a nice evening, albeit a little warm, so we opt to eat on the porch. The food tastes damn good, and it’s an effort to not inhale it too quickly.
With the crazy work schedule I had in Seattle, I rarely found time to home cook meals for myself like this, and fuck, do I miss it. A goal of mine now that I’m back in Copper Lake and will have a more set schedule at the practice, is to make the time to cook dinner most nights. Sit down and eat without interruption. I don’t know how many nights were spent eating in a rush while I was looking over patient files and prepping for the next day.
“How’s things with you?” I ask Conrad as we’re finishing up our meal. “Doing any dating?”
“Things are good. No dating. I don’t have the time or the energy for all that. I’m getting too old.”
I chuckle. “I feel you there.”
“How’s Annie?” he asks, turning his head slightly to look over at me.
“She’s good,” I murmur. “We grabbed lunch before I left Seattle.”
Annie and I met in college. Both of us come from a long line of doctors and wanted to follow in our family’s footsteps. Wehit it off and got married before going to med school. Since we ended up going to programs at different schools, the first several years of our marriage were spent long distance, which wasn’t ideal, but we made it work. About ten years ago, we decided to move to Seattle when we both got an incredible job offer that neither of us could refuse. It was a fresh start I was seeking, and it seemed like it held the answers to all of our problems.
After a few years of opposite shifts, busy schedules, and a lack of any real intimacy, we decided we’d be better off as friends and decided to call it quits. It’s probably the most civil and stress-free divorce I’ve ever heard of, both of us on the same page and wanting nothing but the best for each other.
“She’s getting married next spring,” I mention as we get up and head back inside. Tossing the plate and my empty beer bottle away, I pad over to the fridge and grab another two.
“Is she?” he asks, looking at me curiously. “Have you met the guy?”
“I have. He’s cool, and he’snota doctor, which I think is great for Annie.”
“That’s awesome,” he grunts. “Tell her I said congratulations when you talk to her next.”
“How’s Whit been?”
Conrad’s jaw flexes as soon as I say his name, but that’s the only outward sign that the question bothers him. Like me, Conrad is divorced. But unlike me, I’ve always been under the impression that it wasn’t something he wholeheartedly wanted. It’s too touchy of a subject to bring up with him, so I usually don’t, but he brought up my ex-wife first, so it seems like fair game.
“He’s good.” The response is clipped as he works on putting the condiments away in the fridge.
“He took over his father’s clinic a few years back, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Does that mean you see him quite a bit, what, with the animals here?”
“Yeah, usually a few times a month, give or take.”
“You guys at least get along okay?” I ask as I put the leftover food into Tupperware while Conrad gets started loading the dishwasher.
