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“At least I’m saving my daily allotment of carbs for when it counts.” She side-eyes me. “What gives with the no coffee for the coffee connoisseur at a coffee shop?”
“I had two today and am in the mood for something else. And I’m hungry, so the tapioca pearls will fill me up.”
“So will a chocolate croissant, and the scratch-baked ones here are worth every sinful calorie.”
I make a meh sound. Although when Sloan adds one to her tab as we pay for our beverages, I secretly hope she’ll let me tear off a flaky bite.
We leave Aidy behind the counter to do her job, knowing as soon as her break starts she’ll join us.
Holly enters, places her order, and takes the chair opposite me and next to Sloan. She apologizes for being late, and then again for forgetting she wanted to buy my drink. It’s not as if the opportunity won’t present itself again. Holly’s the type that gets to work in the nick of time and remembers important events as they’re happening.
On the flip side, like most working moms, Holly juggles a lot, and she does it with the positive attitude of a cheerleader under the Friday night lights. Holly also rarely calls out sick, which makes her literally the best assistant manager anyone could ask for.
“What happened to Cece?” Sloan’s brow furrows, and she glances at the entry. The line at the counter is getting longer.
“She said she didn’t feel good and went back to the mill to sleep it off.”
“Must be all those germy little people in the pediatric office.”
“What do you have against kids all of a sudden?” Holly questions Sloan.
“Nothing. I like yours and hers.” Sloan says about me. “I held O all the time when he was a new baby, didn’t I, Kimber? My only point was she’s around sick children, so I hope she’s had her flu shot before any of them sneeze in her mouth.”
Gross. However many times Owen’s done that to me, my nose still wrinkles. My stomach tumbles at the idea. I need something more than tasteless decaf inside of it before it’s too late and rethink my plan not to get a pastry or mini quiche.
In the nick of time, Aidy slides a tray with four drinks on it in front of us. She scoots her bottom onto the bench seat beside me and leans her elbows on the tabletop. “I switched breaks with someone else,” she tells us.
I run my fingers through the trailing ends of purple in her long hair, thinking back to what Sloan mentioned about being enamored by a newborn O. Both of my babies were cue-ball bald. A familiar sharp pain stabs the center of my chest that’s become increasingly difficult to ignore.
“Are you ready for the excitement this afternoon?” Aidy bubbles.
Sloan and Holly’s expectant eyes land on me. My lungs fill with air and I puff out my cheeks.
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3
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It isn’t even noon and I’m nursing a beer on the nineteenth hole. I have better things to do today than stroke anyone’s puny putter. In a perfect world, I’d be at home, sipping a second cup of coffee with my arm slung around Kimber, watching our kid play on the carpet with his toys.
I’ve got shit going on this afternoon that’s more important than glad-handing a bunch of puffed up asses with their golf shirts tucked into their fucking pants. Wearing caps and jackets embroidered with either sporting company logos or their own business’, these men are walking billboards. It’s like the boomer version of Aidy’s “look at me” social media feed.
Jake’s in control of my morning, though. He wanted me to help him pull some strings, so he’d have the advantage on the back nine playing Rex Stanton. All I’d agree to was an early tee time so he could “accidentally” run into the man and strike up a conversation. With a Cheshire grin plastered on his ugly Nordic mug, Jake’s across the room, chatting up Rex Stanton before the unsuspecting prick hits the links.
I sigh. My back teeth grinding.
Four friggin’ hours on a Saturday stuck pretending I couldn’t have outshot every pretentious man on the green this morning with one hand tied behind my back.
It’s rare when Jake allows either of us a win. He needs them mailable to get what he wants, and that leaves me in the sand trap. Jake loves the hustle. Until the end, the friendly wagers build as they lose control of their over-inflated egos. Sometimes he ups the ante all the way to the end and then poof! he blows it.
Naturally, of course. There’s a breeze that blows or a twinge in Jake’s back and the ball sails in the wrong direction, quelling his lead. Or mine. I prefer making the rounds of the country clubs with Carver, who doesn’t give a shit if I beat him because golf isn’t Carver’s snatch and grab.
I used to suck it up, enjoy the folly of fools, even. However, the number of times since Owen was born and Aidy came back into Kimber’s life that I’ve wanted to tell Jake to take a hike are too numerous to mention.
Kimber and I have a good life. A house. A family.
Sure, like my wife, it’s one I want to grow bigger, but that doesn’t seem to be the hand we’re dealt. Yet, nobody will ever hear me grumble that it’s not enough. Kimber is more than I deserve and giving her one baby was a hurdle a few short years ago I wasn’t sure we’d make it over.
