but the truth is I was afraid of him not wanting to be with me, especially when Ally and her family could give him so much more. Still, I don’t want Mike to think I’m fishing for an invitation.
“I’ll probably see some friends,” I murmur, but Mike isn’t fooled.
“Look… you could come with me.” He sounds uncertain, which makes me even more so.
“I don’t know…”
“It would be casual. My mom is really relaxed. It wouldn’t, you know, have to mean anything.” He sounds embarrassed, and I duck my head and start walking without replying, because I don’t know how to handle any of this. I’m twenty-seven years old, I have a child, for Pete’s sake, and yet dating—if this even is that—is beyond me.
“Think about it,” Mike says as he falls into step next to me.
We walk in silence back towards Boulevard, and it isn’t until we turn onto my street that I realize he’s walking me home, and I start to panic. Is he expecting something? Should I ask him in? I can’t. I don’t want to; I’m not ready for anything like that. My steps slow as we come to my building; I feel frozen with uncertainty.
“This is me…” I finally say with one of those awkward little laughs and Mike turns to me, his hands jammed into the pockets of his parka.
“This has been fun,” he says. “I’m glad you asked me. So, I’ll see you soon?”
I exhale in relief that he’s leaving it at that and Mike’s mouth twitches in a smile. I wonder how much he realizes of what I was thinking. I give an embarrassed laugh and his smile widens. I have a feeling he’s been privy to my entire thought process.
“I really did have fun,” he says quietly.
“So did I.” And for once I don’t feel guilty, for enjoying something without Dylan.
We smile at each other and then Mike leans forward and kisses my cheek. His lips are cold and the kiss is so quick, but somehow it feels exactly right. Anything more would have been too much. Anything less would have been a disappointment.
“Bye, Beth,” he says, and then he’s walking back down the street, his hands still in his pockets, his head lowered against the bitter wind that’s blown up.
I stand there for a few seconds, letting myself feel the wonder of a first kiss, even if it was just on the cheek. It was still sweet, still precious.
I tilt my head upwards, but there are still no stars. Yet as I gaze at the heavens and that pale slice of moon, the first snowflakes begin to fall.
20
ALLY
Nick and I don’t have a chance to talk to Josh for three days. I’ve been on high alert the whole time, full of nervous energy, unable to concentrate on work, even though now I have the luxury of six hours to myself every day. Still, our schedules demand we wait till Friday.
On Wednesday, Nick has a conference call in the evening, and on Thursday Josh has training and I have to take Dylan to the dentist after school. Apparently Dylan had never been to the dentist, so I suppose it should not have been a surprise that he needed four fillings, but I still felt shocked. That little voice of judgment I kept trying to silence spoke a bit louder. What kind of mother doesn’t even take her son to the dentist?
What kind of mother has a son who deals drugs?
I schedule the fillings for the next week, dreading how Dylan might handle the whole process—the Novocain, the needle, the drilling. All with the potential to set him off.
Admittedly, he’s gotten so much better. He only had one meltdown today, when the dentist closed the door behind him, and it ended as soon as I asked him to leave the door open a little bit. I do think Larissa, his special-ed assistant, along with the therapy sessions, are helping him. They seem to be.
So all that meant we couldn’t talk to Josh until now, and I think both Nick and I have been feeling the strain of not knowing. We are certainly both edgy by the time I put Dylan to bed and we call Josh down to the family room for the Big Talk.
Josh slouches into the room, wearing a black hoodie and sweat pants, his brows drawn darkly over his eyes as he looks between us suspiciously. We are caricatures of concerned parents—Nick standing self-righteously in front of the fireplace, and