Miles
After I put down the menu, I read William’s note one more time.
William: Hey, I saw Roxy earlier. I don’t presume to know what went down, but it sounds like neither one of you said what needed to be said. Even though you pay me for financial advice, not personal advice, I’m going to give you some—you should consider talking to her. And, maybe, talking to her soon. Also, if you hurt my sister, I will break your hands, and broken hands are not going to help your career, and it won’t help my career since you’re one helluva important client to me. That means I’m telling you this NOT as your financial advisor, but as your friend.
Soon.
Talk to her soon.
How soon is soon?
I hope soon can wait thirty minutes, because the waitress has arrived, and Ben is ordering a chicken sandwich.
“And could I please have an order of French fries with that too? With ketchup? Thank you very much,” Ben finishes.
The petite blonde smiles at him. “Of course. And you are the most polite little boy I’ve ever met.”
“Thank you.”
I order a burger, and when I’m done, the waitress winks at me. “Let me know if you need anything special tonight, Mr. Hart. I’ll be sure to take special care of you.”
I nip that in the bud. “I’m all good. Just the food, thanks.”
As she walks away, I pick up a glass full of crayons from the center of the table. “Want to draw?”
He shakes his head. “No. I want to talk.”
I sit up straighter. “What’s on your mind, little man?”
“I heard what Miller said when we were leaving. He told you to call Roxy and talk to Roxy, and then he said to get your butt moving. And I want you to know I agree.”
“Oh, you do?” I ask, curiosity gripping me, since there’s little better than the insight of the young.
“Yes,” he says emphatically. “You should just be best friends forever with her.”
I chuckle. “You think so?”
“I know so. It’s pretty simple, Daddy. You love me, I love you, I love Roxy, Roxy loves me, Roxy loves you, and you love Roxy. So there. Be best friends forever.”
He lays it out so clearly, so beautifully, in a way that only a child can. My smile is as wide as a city block. “It’s that simple?”
“It’s super simple. It’s like when you’re hungry, you eat. When you love someone, you tell them. Like this.” He leans closer, reaching across the table and giving me a peck on the cheek. “I love you, Daddy.”
Now the grin stretches the whole length of Manhattan. “I love you, Ben.”
He’s right.
It is that simple.
On the one hand, the situation is vastly complicated. I have a young boy who I’m raising alone in a new city as I navigate playing in a band while falling in love with my buddy’s sister who’s six months pregnant with a sperm donor’s baby.
On the other hand, it’s easy, so easy. The way I feel for him, for her, and the other her, the little person in Roxy’s belly, is patently clear. So clear, in fact, I know what to do.
And I know, too, this is a chance to show my son how it’s done.
Only, when I call Roxy after the food arrives, she doesn’t answer, and I remember she was planning to drop off papers at her new place tonight.
“We need to go, and we need to go now.”
Ben stuffs the rest of his chicken sandwich in his mouth, and we take off.