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“I know,” I say. I don’t want to talk about it. It feels like a complicated conversation, and I just want to stay with Penelope in this bed forever, making love to her always.
For us to move to a more secure space as a couple, I need to talk with Cameron and get us all on the same page. A page where he knows Penelope is mine, and I won’t let her go. Cameron will have to understand our feelings and accept our relationship.
I kiss her shoulder and turn her, so she faces me.
“Would you like to go on a date with me?” I ask.
A shocked expression covers Penelope’s face, but she smiles.
“A date?”
“Yeah, a date. We haven’t been on one of those, and I think we should. So, what do you say, Pen? Want to go out with this old man?”
Penelope giggles, and I swear it makes me love her even more.
“Yeah, I’d love to go out with you,” she says, and I lean in to kiss her.
While she’s in the shower, I call the restaurant and make a reservation for tonight. Then I head to my closet and pick out a suit. I don’t really date anymore, so most of my suits are for work. They’re basic: black, brown or blue. My wardrobe is meant to convey a no-nonsense and clean-cut image. Series clothes that aren’t fun to wear or the least bit casual. Like a work version of a tux.
I push away all those clothes and try to find something in the back. I reach all the way in and pull out a brown blazer with matching pants on a hanger, along with a white button-down. I place it on the bed and inspect it. I don’t remember owning this, but it feels nice as I run my fingers over the fabric.
I bring it up to my nose, and when I inhale, I remember this suit.
This is the suit I was wearing when Cameron was born. The memory hits me like a ton of bricks, and the jacket curls in my fist. It was an amazing day. My ex was in labor for hours. I was there the whole time as she gripped the sheets and pushed our little boy out of her like a superhero.
I was in awe.
I expected the memory to fill me with guilt as I hear Penelope sing in the shower, but I don’t feel any. Because my feelings toward Penelope aren’t related to Cameron. They’re separate. Penelope is my love, and Cameron is my son.
I love them both, and the relationship those two have is between them and doesn’t involve me. Sure, Penelope’s original game plan was to sleep with me to get back at him, but even then it didn’t have anything to do with me.
I walk to the nightstand and pick up my phone, dialing my son’s number.
He doesn’t pick up the first time, but I don’t give up easily. I dial again, and he picks up after the third ring.
“What do you want, Dad?” he grumbles over the phone.
“I want to talk to you,” I say, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
“Yeah? ‘Bout what?”
“About you,” I tell him, “About what you saw and about us. I know we don’t have the closest relationship, but you’re still my son. I care about you.”
He doesn’t speak, but at least he doesn’t hang up.
“I know you and Penelope have a complicated relationship, and I’m not taking sides, but I don’t want us to drift farther apart. I know most of that has been my fault. I didn’t try hard enough. But I'd like to start fresh if you give me a chance.”
Finally, Cameron speaks.
“Did Penelope make you say this?”
“No, son. This isn’t about her. This is about us.”
The silence on the phone feels like it goes on forever until Cameron speaks.
“Okay. I guess we can do that. Listen, Dad, I’m really sorry about how I handled things with Penelope. Before and at the house. I did an idiotic thing I can’t take back. But if you really want to do this, then I guess I owe it to Penelope to try.”
“What do you mean?”
