Page 24 of Something Borrowed

“Wow. I never would’ve guessed.”

Vic’s head tilted. “What does that mean?”

“I mean, I should’ve been able to do the math—just you look so young. I keep thinking you’re forty max, not my age.”

“Thanks, I think.”

Cal winced. “I did mean it as a compliment.”

“I know, I know.” She looked on the verge of saying something else but shook her head. “Never mind me. I’m weird sometimes.”

“You can be whoever you are with me.”

Vic was swishing her bottle of pomegranate juice in a slow circle, making the contents swirl. She looked up at him. “That is a very nice thing to say, Cal. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Does your son live here too, or—”

“No, no. He’s only visited here with me a few times when he was a kid. His home base is Toronto these days, but he’s a day trader and can work anywhere there’s good internet. Right now, he’s in Italy.”

“Sounds like he leads quite the life.”

Vic nodded.

“Are you close?”

The bottle of juice in Vic’s hand was being twirled in again, the juice sloshing. “He’s half of my heart, if that’s what you mean.”

“It wasn’t exactly. No.”

Those expressive brows of hers rose again. She was surprised he’d pushed a little, he thought.

“I wish we were closer. I made endless mistakes in the relationship department—and in the parenting department too, probably in more ways than I even know. I think he’s forgiven me, or doesn’t bear me ill will, at least, but it definitely affected him. I don’t think he feels close to me.” Vic bit her lip. “Wow, sorry. That was a lot—”

Cal’s brow knit. “It really wasn’t. And I asked. I’m sorry you guys don’t have the relationship you want. For what it’s worth though, thirty-five’s still young these days. Give him another five years. I got easier on my folks after I hit forty and realized how you should live and show up for other people is a really hard thing to figure out sometimes—but by then they’d both passed away, so I never got to tell them.”

“Oh, man . . . that sucks. I’m so sorry.”

Cal shrugged, surprised he’d told her all that. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, yeah . . . so we do the best we can with what we know, but really, who knows anything until after they’ve screwed something up? Kids hold that against you—and maybe it’s even fair—but they often come to understand. Or fingers crossed, anyway.”

It was a speech and Cal suddenly felt like an old, boring, crotchety lecturer, the way Mel had so often complained he was.

Vic, however, had seemed to listen intently, even to appreciate it. She nodded and made a non-committal but hopeful sound. “And what about you? Married? Divorced? Kiddos? I confess I pictured you married to your college sweetheart or something with a whole baseball team of kids.”

“It’s the beard. Plus, according to my sister, I dress like I live on a farm. People always think it’s a religious thing or something, and that I must have eight or nine children.”

“You’re right!” Vic laughed. “You do look . . . wholesome or something. Like you should have a horse and buggy or—”

Cal laughed too. “Okay, stop. I don’t think my manhood can take this.”

“Oh, I think your manhood can take whatever I give it.”

“Oh, do you now?”

Vic laughed again, turned red—but her smile was a little wicked. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”

“Too bad.” Their eyes locked, and humor and heat simmered between them. Again, however, Vic broke eye contact.