We drove to her apartment in silence. It was in a quiet neighborhood I had never been to before. The building was old but clean with narrow stairs and a faint smell of fresh paint in the hallway. We walked up three flights. Emma unlocked the door and stepped inside first. Her apartment was small, maybe 600 square ft, but it felt warm. Real warm.
Not fancy, not perfect, just lived in. Paintings covered the walls, not store-bought art. Real paintings, some bright and bold, some soft and emotional. Kids drawings were taped to the fridge. Tiny shoes sat by the door. A small blue backpack hung on a hook near the kitchen. “Owen’s with my aunt,” Emma said.
“She’ll bring him back in a couple of hours.” Quote. I nodded, trying to calm the nerves building in my chest. She made coffee even though she told me she actually prefers tea. We sat at her small kitchen table like strangers, pretending to be something more. “My lawyer is meeting us tomorrow,” she said. “Her name is Michelle.
She’s going to prepare us for court. We need to get our story straight. I leaned back in the chair. Okay, so how did we reconnect? Emma thought for a second. A bookstore downtown 2 months ago. We ran into each other by accident. Did we start dating right away? No coffee first, then more coffee, then dinners. I nodded and tried to memorize it.
And why didn’t we tell your family? She gave a tired smile. Because you’re Claire’s ex-husband. she would lose her mind. That sounded accurate. For the next hour, we talked about small details, the kind of things couples should know. Her favorite color was yellow. She hated mushrooms. She painted late at night when she couldn’t sleep.
She worked at a coffee shop during the day and taught art classes two evenings a week. I told her I ran every morning at 6:00. I was allergic to shellfish. I hadn’t dated anyone since my divorce because I didn’t trust easily anymore. The more we talked, the less this felt like acting. Around 3:00 in the afternoon, her phone buzzed.
“That’s my aunt,” she said softly. “They’re here.” My heart started pounding. The door opened a minute later. An older woman with kind eyes walked in first. She looked at Emma, then at me. Her eyes widened slightly. “This is Ryan,” Emma said carefully. Her aunt studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly.
Behind her legs, a small boy peeked out. Owen, messy brown hair, big curious eyes, dinosaur shirt. He looked at me like I was an alien, which in his world I was. Emma knelt down. Owen, this is Ryan. He’s going to be staying with us for a while. Owen didn’t answer. He just stared. Her aunt said goodbye and left. The door closed.
It was just the three of us. Owen walked over to a toy box and started pulling out blocks. I stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Owen loves building things, Emma said softly from the kitchen. I took a breath and walked over, sitting on the floor near him. That’s cool, I said. What are you building? A tower, he said without looking at me.
Can I help? He thought about it for a long second. Then he handed me a red block. This goes on the bottom. I placed it carefully. He handed me another and another. We built in silence at first. Then he glanced at me. Are you my mom’s friend? I looked at Emma. She was watching us nervous. Yeah, I said gently. I’m your mom’s friend. He accepted that.
