“Renn has to agree. And you can’t just show up whenever you want without letting us know. You need to text before you go, and it can’t be after dark, so no one worries.” Pete looked at Renn, who dipped his chin in agreement.
Robbie almost smiled. “What about Gage?”
“This would be just for you. I might offer when Gage is a teenager, but I don’t think he’s old enough to take the bus by himself right now. I mean, Gage will still come to my apartment if we’re doing something together, but the key and the coming and going privilege will just be yours.”
“It’s okay, Renn, right?” Robbie asked hopefully.
“Yeah. I think it’s a good idea.”
Robbie lit up. He didn’t even complain when Renn asked him to take out all the garbage cans in the studio in exchange for reducing his restriction to three days. Once the tween was out of earshot, Renn turned to his uncle. “Did you just come up with this, Pete?”
“Honestly, yes. I want to help. And I’d like to spend more time with the boys. I’m serious about that.”
“Well then, I’ll take you up on it. I think it would be good for Robbie to have something apart from Gage. He’s just so angry all the time, and I’m willing to try anything at this point. Hopefully, getting a little space will help.”
Pete smiled at Renn as though he’d won the lottery and I stood there while they discussed logistics for this new privilege of Robbie’s. Renn warned Pete to hide anything inappropriate or embarrassing because there was no way a twelve-year-old wouldn’t snoop around if he found himself alone in the apartment. Also, he’d need to lock down the controls on the Wi-Fi and the cable. Pete agreed to all of it and said he’d have a key cut the next day.
“Just don’t forget he’s a teenager,” Renn warned. “I appreciate you doing this, but prepare yourself that he’ll probably only last a month before he does something you don’t like.”
As it turned out, it took less than a month.
CHAPTER
Eleven
February 13, 2015
So far, ithad been a pretty shitty thirty-fifth birthday.
Despite positive momentum in some areas of my life, I couldn’t seem to stop finding roadblocks in others. In particular, my goal of being an excellent best friend seemed doomed to failure. Zach had been my rock for years, but instead of returning the favor, I had nothing but disappointments to offer him.
My proposal to be his surrogate had hit a wall. Although he and Teddy hadn’t started making firm plans yet, I couldn’t resist some preliminary fact-finding—all to discover that no reputable agency would permit someone to be a surrogate if they hadn’t carried at least one pregnancy successfully to term. I was pretty sure Zach had done no comprehensive research yet, focused as he was on his purchase of the bar these past few months, so I was not looking forward to admitting how naïve I’d been in offering my services. I was determined to help him pursue his dream of fatherhood, but how? Was there even a way to be more than just a shoulder to lean on?
I also needed to quit Hal’s, or at least severely cut back my hours. Once school started up in the spring, I wouldn’t be able to manage late work nights and early classes. I needed a day gig. And while Zach didn’t expect me to stay there forever, and he’d been nothing but encouraging of me finding career direction, I knew he relied on me at the bar.
Adding to the birthday shitstorm was the reality that my forced interactions with Renn were ending. This would be my last day coming into the studio for the tattoo because as far as I could tell, no touch-ups were needed, and he was just going to take final pictures. Whatever came next between us would need to be a choice, not a circumstance.
There was so much to consider. The weight of my future sat like lead in my belly, the question mark of how I could help Zach a blinking light in my brain. Not to mention my therapy, starting classes, looking for a new job, and keeping up with my runs. I was all but certain Renn wanted to be with me, but I still wasn’t sure whatIwanted. What I was capable of.
I’d put off thinking about it too much because I could. I’d been enjoying all these interludes we’d had in large part because they’d been guaranteed. It was one thing to text regularly and have monthly appointments on the calendar, but another to choose to make space for someone in my day-to-day life.
Renn and I were already aware of each other’s most intense baggage, heavily invested in each other’s lives, but had done none of the usual dinner-and-a-movie-a-few-times-a-week routine to get there. Did we even have a foundation?
I was still contemplating that question when I arrived for my appointment. Once inside, I noticed Renn bent down in the corner, frowning at a trash can collecting dripping water from the ceiling tiles. Another artist, a woman with a rockabilly vibe, was tattooing her client’s ankle on the other side of the room.
Renn must have heard the door open but didn’t look up. “Dammit, Arch. I think it’s getting worse. That’s all we need is another fucking leak!”
“Well, I wish I could help you, but I’m afraid my plumbing experience is limited exclusively to bleeding the air out of the kegs at Hal’s.”
“Oh, Sadie. Sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.” Renn stood up and gestured toward the corner. “I didn’t mean to sound so pissed, but this stuff can be frustrating. I’m sure my dad and Pete thought they were doing the right thing when they bought the property back in the day when things didn’t cost you your first-born child, but between the mortgage and the constant maintenance… Shit. Sometimes I wish I just had a landlord to yell at.”
“No, I can relate. Zach and I do have a landlord to yell at, and believe me, we take advantage. I think Zach gets an actual high out of asking George to change outdoor fluorescents at midnight. It’s his passive-aggressive way of dealing with yearly rent hikes. Along with dumping our recycling into George’s bin and starting a change.org petition to have the pool open twenty-four-seven.”
“Have I mentioned lately how much I like your friend Zach?” He smiled and brushed his hands against his thighs. “Ah, well. Hopefully, this setup will hold for a day or two until I can get someone out here.”
Done worrying for now, he asked me the usual questions about how the tattoo was healing. I told him everything was great, but when Renn inspected my thigh, he decided to touch up part of the last panel.
“I want it to be perfect,” he said. “It’s just a small line, and I’ll still take the pictures before I put the plastic on, but I want to make sure I’ve done as good of a job as I can for you.”
