Sniffing, I laughed. “Maybe a dog. We’ll have to see, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You know what else will help?”

“What?”

“Talking to someone about how you feel. Aunt Frannie gave me the name of a counselor, and I’m going to make appointments for you and your sister after we get back from skiing.”

“Okay.”

I leaned over and kissed his head. “See you in the morning.”

“Night.”

Inside my room, I shut my door and flopped face down on my bed, wanting to believe I’d earned at least a B+ in parenting tonight, but feeling like shit for lying so blatantly to Whitney. It’s not like I didn’t understand her fears.

But being with Henry was the one thing I was doing for myself. Was it too much to ask to start the new year with something I was excited about? A little promise of hope that maybe I wouldn’t be so fucking lonely all the time?

Hope is something you can’t afford, scoffed that bitchy inner voice. Just where do you think this thing with Henry can go, anyway? How long do you think you’ll be able to hold his interest? You should put the brakes on now while you still can. For your sake, and for the kids’.

“Shut up,” I said into my pillow. “Just shut up.”

Maybe the voice was right and I should put the brakes on, but like a child, I didn’t wanna.

I just didn’t fucking wanna.

16. Henry

Sixteen

Henry

Believe it or not, I’d planned to keep my hands off her on New Year’s Eve.

Not because I felt any less attracted to her—if anything, I wanted her more every day—but because her entire family was going to be there, I still felt anxious about what her daughter suspected, and I didn’t want Sylvia to think all I wanted from her was physical gratification.

The first night she’d come to my house, it had been a lot about the sex, but over the last few days, things had shifted somewhat, at least for me. I wanted to know her more deeply. I wanted to spend time with her doing everyday things and making her laugh. I wanted to learn her expressions and smiles and sighs. And as ridiculous and juvenile as it sounded, I wanted to take her somewhere and hold her hand. Buy her dinner. Be the guy who got to put his arm around the back of her chair.

Be the guy who made her happy.

I knew that would take time, and it surprised me that I even believed myself capable of it after my marriage had disintegrated so spectacularly, but something about her wouldn’t let me be.

I was ready to move on, and I wanted it to be with her. But what if she wasn’t?