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But it’s not, it’s Patricia.
Patricia: Hey, would you be able to grab Colson from school? Meri has come down with something, and her doctor just called, and she can fit us in.
Me: Yeah, I’ll pick him up and keep him for the night.
Patricia: That would be amazing, thanks.
“Okay, boys, I have to go.” I put the phone back in my pocket. “See you tomorrow.”
“In a better mood, we all hope,” Charlie prods, trying not to laugh at himself.
I ignore him, walking to the truck and getting in. If I sit still for a couple of minutes, I can still smell her in here. But as the days go by, it’s fainter and fainter. I close my eyes, turning the truck on and heading toward Colson’s school. The parking lot is almost full by the time I get there, so I get out and walk to the playground.
I do a chin up at most of the people who I walk by and to some of the moms I know. Sharing a couple of hellos to some of the dads before walking into the chain-link fence.
The door opens as soon as I get there, and kids start to slowly come out. My eyes are trained on the door for Colson, and when he walks out, he looks around before he spots me, and his eyes go big as he runs over to me. “Dad,” he says, surprised by my being here. He hugs me around my waist.
“Hey, buddy.” I bend to kiss the top of his head. He’s growing like a weed these days. Each time, I have to bend less and less.
“Where is Mom?” I put my hand around his shoulder as we walk out of the schoolyard.
“Meri had a fever, so you got me tonight.” I look down at him, and he smiles up at me. “Do you have homework?”
“No,” he replies, “I did it all in class.”
“Want to go riding?” I ask him, and he jumps up beside me, making me laugh. “I take that as a yes.”
“Yessss!” he shouts, running to the truck and getting into the back seat. He tosses his backpack beside him before buckling his seat belt.
I make sure he’s buckled before pulling out of the parking lot and heading to the barn. When we pull up, I see it’s just the two of us since everyone has gone home. “I’ll grab your saddle,” I tell him, reaching over to the passenger seat and grabbing the cowboy hat Zara gave me.
It’s with me all the time in the truck, but I never, ever wear it when I’m working for fear that I’ll dirty it. But when I’m not working, it’s on my head. Why? I have no idea. I mean, I know why. I’m just choosing not to discuss it.
“Got it, Dad,” he assures me, going to the office where he has his cowboy boots. He kicks off his sneakers before shoving his feet into his worn cowboy boots and running to me to get on his horse. He helps me saddle him; I get Colson on his horse as he nudges his side to get him to move a bit faster. I grab my own horse and join him outside. “You good to go?”
“Yeah,” he says, smirking as we make our horses go into a trot before heading to the trail and then moving a bit faster. The wind is on my face as I watch Colson from beside me. He smiles over to me as we slow down when we get out of the forest and into another clearing.
“You good?” I ask him, and he just nods and looks down at his hands. My eyes go to the forest where I took Zara on our date. It’s someplace where we used to always go, but I haven’t been since she left.
“Dad,” he calls me, and I look over at him, “are you okay?”
“What?” I ask, confused by his question.
“It’s just that…” He looks like he’s worried about saying what he is thinking, and my stomach sinks.
“Buddy,” I call him, and he looks back at me. “Whatever it is, you know you can tell me anything.”
He nods and starts talking. “It’s just that you seem sad.”
My stomach sinks as I listen to him. “Like, you smile and all that and you tease me, but sometimes when you stand in the kitchen and you look out, you get this sad look on your face.”
I think about it for a second. “I’m fine, buddy,” I tell him the truth, more or less.
“It’s okay to be sad,” he tells me, and I try to hide my smile as he gives me advice. “At least that is what Mom says.”
“It is okay to be sad,” I agree with him, “but I’m not sad.” I lie to him for the first time, something I said I would never do as a parent. I had the best father growing up, and good or bad, he always told me the truth. I knew that once I had a child, I would take the same parenting style. But what the fuck am I supposed to tell my eight-year-old child? I’m sad because I fell in love with a woman, and she left? Am I supposed to admit to him I read and reread our text thread every night before I go to bed? Am I supposed to admit to him my heart hurts every fucking day when I think about her, and I think about her for fucking hours? Am I supposed to admit to him I have my coffee every morning at my sink, looking out the window because she used to do it when she was here? Am I supposed to tell him I fucking miss her with every fiber of my being, and I would give anything just to hear her fucking voice again? Am I supposed to tell him all that? No, I’m supposed to be strong for him and make sure he doesn’t worry about me, something I dropped the ball on.
“If you were sad,” he adds as the horses walk side by side, “would you tell me?”
