I spend most of the next week avoiding Jake. Because I'm an adult who deals with his problems in a rational and grown-up way.

Not that Jake is a problem. He's… great. I can still remember the taste of his lips, the rough feeling of his stubble against my face, the grip of his arm around my shoulders. I catch myself daydreaming about it way too much, and knowing that I am, for sure, one hundred percent into guys—or at least this guy—definitely hasn't done anything to curb the dreams I keep having.

But as much as I'm trying to process and accept this new facet of my sexuality, there's one thing about it I can't get past: I still feel like I'm cheating on Sid. Every stray fantasy about Jake feels like a violation of our marriage vows. Sidney was the love of my life—the mother of my child. Having this kind of response to anyone feels wrong, man or woman, and it's just something I can't seem to reconcile.

It sure hasn't stopped me from thinking about him, though, and wondering what might have happened if we'd gone beyond kissing. My cock was hard the whole time his mouth was on mine. If he'd touched me, would I have responded even more? Would a man's hand feel any different than a woman's? Would it be just like my own hand, or would there be something more to it? What about a man's mouth? He has the same equipment as me, so it'd probably take him a lot less time to figure out what I like.

These are the sorts of things I think about as I'm working during the day, or when I'm sitting outside Riley's school, waiting to pick her up. They're the things I think about when we're at Gracie's and she's busy texting Julie. I caught myself imagining Jake's hands on me when I was waiting on the phone with my credit card company, for fuck's sake.

It's a distraction, and one I'm honestly hoping will pass soon enough. Preferably before next Wednesday, when I'm officially supposed to see Jake again for our progress report meeting. I should technically get together with him this weekend to make sure the fundraiser is set for launch, but I'm already banking on being able to feign some kind of work emergency or illness or something.

Again, because I'm an adult who definitely handles things in an adult way.

I'm composing that very text in my head on Friday night when Riley comes downstairs. She's smiling a lot more these days, and it warms my heart to see. No matter what weirdness is going on in my life, at least she's okay right now. I don't think I could have said that even just a week ago.

"We heading over to Gracie's?"

"I'm pretty sure if we spend any more time over there, she and Eric are going to start charging us rent," I say with a smirk. "I figured we could fend for ourselves tonight."

She lets out a dramatic sigh, but bounces toward the kitchen with no less energy. "Cereal it is."

I bought lots of stuff for sandwiches, canned soup, those personal mac-and-cheese cups, and even the fixings for pizza. But true to the people who raised her, Riley's going for the lowest-effort dinner there is.

"You want anything?"

This catches me so off guard that I set down my phone and blink at her, my arm draped over the back of the couch. That isn't how this works. I'm always the one doing the asking. It's not that Riley's inconsiderate or anything, she's just… a teenager. I've gotten used to a certain pattern of behavior, and this sudden interest in my welfare is throwing me off my game.

"Uh, yeah. Pour me some Golden Grahams?"

I hear the sound of cereal hitting a bowl and I go back to my phone, reviewing my message so far:

Hey Jake. Sorry I've been incommunicado lately. Lot going on. I'm still down for our regular meetup, but I won't be able to get together this weekend. Let me know

The whole thing sounds so deliberately casual that I just want to punch the guy who wrote it right in the face. He seriously sounds like he's got a secondhand leather jacket with weird wear in the shoulders because of how much he shrugs.

I don't know how to construct a normal human sentence that conveys, “Hey, I'm not super freaked out or anything—I mean, maybe a little—but mostly I just need time to figure shit out."

Mostly I need to figure out how to stop thinking about how warm his body was against mine, and how insanely good he smelled, despite the fact that it was late at night and we'd both had some questionable choices at the diner.

I slam my finger into the backspace, getting rid of the whole text. I'm poised to start again when Riley comes out with two bowls. She hands me one, then actually sits beside me.

Weird.

"Not that I'm questioning the motives of my dear, darling daughter, but it's Friday night. Don't you have better things to do than hang out with your uncool dad?"

She shrugs. Not like that idiot in the leather jacket, but like his obnoxious traits actually skipped a generation. Lucky her.

"Are you offering to hand over the keys?"

"Hah. No." She has her license, but we had a deal. No driving until she passes her sophomore year. "I figured you'd have a Skype date or something, though."

"Dad."

The corner of my lips tug upward at that little whine and the blush that accompanies it. It's been currency for me over the past week. Eventually I'm going to cash in—probably when I'm waiting for my turn to get a one-way ticket to the Bad Parents Club—but for now I'm just hoarding them like some bespectacled ginger dragon.

"What? Is that outdated? Kids probably don't use Skype anymore, do they. What do you use now? The FaceTimes?" I ask, doing my best old man voice.

Riley laughs, shoving me lightly. I grin and tamp cereal down in my bowl, trying to make sure the top pieces get some quality time with the milk, too.

"Julie's got some church thing tonight," she says with another shrug.

Okay, she's approaching leather jacket levels of fake apathy. I'll have to keep an eye on this.

"So you're just hanging out with your dad because he's super cool, right?" I ask, finally taking a bite of cereal.

"Well, yeah. That and…"

"Hah! I knew it," I exclaim, pointing the spoon at her accusingly.

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, fine. There's an ulterior motive. Sue me."

"It's funny that you think I have money for a lawyer." I swallow another bite, then ask, "What's up, kid?"

I've gotten better at not jumping to the absolute worst conclusion. Jake's helped with that. But that doesn't mean my mind isn't a wasteland of one nightmare scenario after another.

Riley sighs and pulls her feet up onto the couch, sitting cross-legged while she turns the rest of her body toward me. The undivided attention I'm getting definitely doesn't do anything to ease my nerves.

"Okay, so… maybe this is gonna sound weird. I don't know. I might be way off base here, but… is something going on with you and Mr. Morrison?"

If ever a human being could look like a deer in the headlights, that human being is me right now. My eyes are wide, I can feel the blood drain from my face, and I'm just looking at Riley in this state of complete and utter shock.

She doesn't mean what I think she means. There's no way. I've been discrete with my daydreams. Haven't I?

"It's just you get really… weird whenever I talk about him. Like… kinda spazzy. I'm pretty sure I saw you blush once. And I definitely saw Mr. Morrison blush when I mentioned you."

God, she's making us sound like we're two kids in her class, not grown-ass adults who've interacted romantically with other adults… ever. But I can't deny her description. I have been weird. "Spazzy,” even. I haven't been able to meet her gaze whenever she talks about Jake, and I've tripped over myself to change the subject. I'm a fucking mess, and I should've known Riley would notice. She's a smart kid.

"I mean, I could be wrong. If I am, tell me and I'll go hide under a rock for a while or something. But Julie said it would be good tell you how I felt about it, and I just want you to know I'm cool with it. If there is something going on."

I could try to deny it. I'm not sure how well I'd pull that off, but I could definitely try. I know Riley took a risk in even talking to me about this, though. I can't imagine what would've happened if I'd tried to talk to my dad about something like this.

So I know I owe her the truth, even if it's not something she wants to hear.

"You're not wrong," I say, letting out a shaky little breath. The fact that her face lights up makes my heart drop straight into my stomach. "There was… something. But not anymore."

"What? Why not?" She gives me a stern look. "Dad. What did you do?"

My brows lift and I let out an incredulous laugh. "I didn't—why do you think I…?" I shake my head. Doesn't matter. "It's just… not the right time, kid."

Her brow furrows and she takes a bite of cereal before finally asking, "What does that mean?"

"It means…" I tap my spoon on the side of the bowl, thinking. "Look. I'm so, so proud of the fact that you're open-minded enough to just accept that your dad's maybe not as straight as he thought he was, but it's a new concept to me, and not one I thought I'd have to tackle in my late thirties."

"Get over it," she says cheerily. "I did."

I can't help but laugh. What else can you do when your daughter's calling you out? "Okay, well we can't all be as quick on our feet as you."

She shrugs for a third time, stuffing her face with grahams. "You remember Jamal Harris, from my old school?"

I just nod. Out of all the kids Riley started hanging out with, Jamal was probably my favorite.

"His mom didn't figure out she was a lesbian until she was in her thirties. She divorced his dad, and now she lives with another woman."

I seem to remember something about that. Jamal's dad had a Facebook meltdown over it.

"People process things differently,” I tell her. “That's just the way the world works. And…"

A heavy weight settles on my chest. The biggest reason has hung over me since that night, and it's more of a burden than I want to put on Riley. But if I don't tell her everything, she's just going to keep pushing.

Setting my bowl aside, I decide to give her the real reason there can't be anything between Jake and I.

"Your mom was the love of my life. Nobody's ever going to come close to taking her place."

She stares at me, making that squinty-eyed "I can't believe you just said that" face. "That's it? That's your reason?"

Some overprotective notion in me flairs up at that. First of all, I shouldn't need a reason. Who I choose to pursue or not pursue is on me. I'm the adult here. Second of all—

Second of all, I need to chill out and remember she's trying to help.

"Yeah, that's my reason, Riley. When you're married to someone for fifteen years, then you can tell me it's totally okay to just forget about them. Until then, you're going to have to trust me on this one."

"But you wouldn't be forgetting Mom. It's not like dating somebody new means you just toss out all of your memories of her," she says, finally giving up on her cereal, too. "It's been a year, Dad. You're allowed to move on."

Some part of me can't believe I'm having this conversation with my teenage daughter. That must show on my face, because she gives me a look and continues.

"You remember about a month after Mom died? There was a new Star Wars movie out, and I really wanted to see it but I felt bad because…"

"Because you thought it was wrong that you didn't feel miserable all the time? Yeah, I remember," I say, already knowing where this is going.

"You told me Mom wouldn't want me to sit around and just feel sad all the time. That I shouldn't feel guilty for having a life."

I do remember that. As out of it as I was at the time, I can remember almost every part of that conversation.

"It's not the same, Riley. There's a difference between doing things that make you happy and—"

"Being with somebody that makes you happy?"

I let out an exasperated sigh, though the hint of a smile tugs at my lips. "Why are you like this? Why aren't you all mad and sulky because Dad's suddenly discovered he's bi and wants to date somebody new?"

"Lots of Disney Channel," she says sagely.

I knew there was a reason we sprung for the cable package. Though I sure as hell don't remember getting these kinds of life lessons when I was growing up. The most I learned was that drugs are whack and being a hateful little shit is bad.

"Maybe it would've been weird when we were still in Chicago, in our old house. But things feel different here," she says, reaching for her bowl again. The next time she speaks, it's around a spoonful of cereal. “Plus, if you start dating Mr. Morrison, we can be like The Incredible Bi Duo."

That pulls a genuine, hearty laugh from me. The kind the makes Riley start to giggle, which inevitably leads to the old phenomenon of "milk coming out the nose," which just induces more laughter. I think we fight back tears and pain on that couch for five full minutes before I speak again.

"That would be pretty cool."

She smiles at me, using the paper towel I fetched for her to wipe off her nose and mouth. "Yeah, it would."

We finish our dinner, and Riley heads back upstairs after she gets a text from Julie. Part of me thinks I can just quietly ignore my daughter's tacit approval and her insistence that I really need to get on with my life. As much as she's trying to help, it's not her decision whether I'm ready or not.

But as I lounge on the couch, half paying attention to whatever's running from my Netflix queue, I can't help but think about it. And when I let myself entertain the idea of actually being with Jake—actually dating him, having free reign to kiss him whenever I want, doing more stuff with him that totally doesn't make me feel way too anxious—I realize that maybe Riley's right.

Maybe I am ready. Maybe all I've been waiting for is the right person to move on with.