12. Adrian

12

ADRIAN

T here's been no word from Britt since I left her house this morning.

Me

Last night was amazing. I think we over-delivered at the winter dance

My attempt at a joke gets no response, so an hour later, I try again.

Me

Thanks for letting me stay over last night. Can I see you later?

But as soon as I send it, I know it's too casual. Too flippant. Something's going on with Britt, and I can only hope she lets me back in. Because maybe I can help her work it out.

When she doesn't respond for two more hours, I send another, because I'm desperate, apparently, or maybe just in love.

Me

Hey. Are you okay?

I should have said something different. My text implies something is wrong, and maybe nothing is. Maybe I should've told her how beautiful she is, or how much I don't regret last night, or how much I want to kiss her again.

Was last night a mistake? Not for me. No way. But what if it was for Britt? The look on her face this morning was full of complex layers of emotion, and not all of them good. And the way she wants to be friends with Reese? Shit.

I want to help her get everything she dreams of, but that might be too much.

I stand in the toiletries aisle at the pharmacy. Britt's family room was fully decorated for Christmas, complete with a beautiful tree and stockings lining the mantel. One for her, Jackson, and each of her cats.

That's when I realized I don't have a stocking—or stocking stuffers—for Chelsea.

So far, I've added some apple-scented hand lotion, a loofah, nail polish, and an app store gift card to my basket. Will she like any of these things? Probably not, but then, I'm pretty sure that she won't like anything coming from me. The girl will be forever mad at me for this divorce. And it'll get even worse if I keep seeing Britt. That look on Chelsea's face as she watched us in the gym last night wasn't a good one.

A cold tendril of despair weaves itself around my insides. Shitty husband, shitty father, shitty friend, and shitty, well, whatever I am to Britt.

And I don't even have an actual stocking for my daughter. I grit my teeth. If I can help Britt find one hundred boxes of lights, I can find a stocking for Chelsea and stuff it until it explodes.

I leave the aisle and head over to the Christmas decorations, which are mostly picked over, except for a shelf full of gross-sounding flavored candy canes, like hot tamale and sour apple. I grab some for Chelsea's stocking.

That's when I spot it. My feet freeze in place and I stare at the single box of fairy lights on the shelf.

I pick it up and turn it over in my hands, remembering the laughing fit Britt and I had on Wednesday at store number, what? Three? Four? A smile crosses my face and stays there, refusing to be bullied by my previous negative thoughts.

I snap a photo and send it to Britt.

Me

Need another box of lights?

There's nothing in response.

I wish I knew what she was thinking. That I could tell her what I am thinking.

I wish I could tell her I love her.

I close my eyes and breathe in through my nose. What is holding me back? I'd upset my ex-wife. I'd upset my daughter. I'd feel like a bad person.

Seriously good reasons, actually.

But those things are all happening anyway. Should I punish myself forever for the mistakes I made in my marriage? Is that how it's supposed to work? Maybe it is, but it doesn't feel right. Last night, this week, all those hours spent with Britt. That felt right. Good. Pure. Not wrong.

Nothing happened with Britt while I was married. I didn't know she had feelings for me. I didn't let myself consider falling for her, not on any kind of conscious level.

But now, I'm divorced. And I need to figure out a way to live the rest of my life. Could I make it work with Britt? Even if some people would hate it?

I could talk to Chelsea. Convince her of how much I love her and that I'll do everything I can to be the best father possible.

I could talk to Reese. Tell her about me and Britt. Do it in a way that makes her feel like a friend. Is it possible? I don't think so, but at least I can remove volatility—which infiltrated all of my parents' interactions—from the conversation. Maybe it wouldn't have been as bad if my folks had been able to keep their emotions under control and just dealt with the reality of their situation. Maybe they would have divorced years earlier and kept things civil.

Maybe Reese and I could do that.

I'm sure she hates me right now, but maybe over time, we can develop a better relationship. Be the best co-parents we can. Maybe even be friends, like Britt so desperately wants.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

Britt

I think we're good with lights

No smiley face, no heart emoji, nothing. I need to talk to her in person. I want to tell her I love her.

That I'm in love with her.

Me

Can I see you tonight?

Britt

I can't. I have Jackson and we're doing movie night

Me

Tomorrow?

Britt

We have lunch plans at noon with my parents

Me

How about after that?

Britt

I don't know. Maybe. We should probably talk

Uh oh.

She's planning a way to cut me out of her life. Maybe even hoping I'll disappear on my own. But that isn't going to happen. I know she still has feelings for me. I could see it in her eyes, even though I could also see she's not going to let herself fall. I'm going to have to think of a way to win her over. Will she try to break things off with me? My insides twist. Probably.

But that just means I have to fight for her.

I move a few feet down the aisle and scan the remaining stockings, most of which have cartoon characters on them. That will not fly with my daughter. I push aside the dogs from Paw Patrol, the crew from Mickey Mouse, and other characters I don't recognize.

But then I spot it. Like the box of lights in my basket, there's just one left on the shelf. I grab the red fuzzy stocking and add it to my shopping basket. I got lucky.

Maybe I'll get lucky with Britt, too.