We talked a little longer, careful, both of us picking our way through unfamiliar territory neither of us had a map for.
He told me, almost as an afterthought, that he’d started seeing someone new, a woman named Patrice he’d met at work, and that she’d asked about me once, curious what his son was like.
“What did you tell her?” I asked.
“That I didn’t really know yet,” he admitted. “That I was hoping to find out, eventually, if you’d let me.”
“That’s honest, at least.”
“It’s the only thing I’ve got left to offer,” he said. “Figured it might as well be that.”
I sat with that answer a moment, surprised by how much it actually landed.
He asked if he could come to my high school graduation the following spring. I told him he could, as a guest, same as anyone else who wanted to be there for me, no special seat reserved up front.
