grandma, God rest her.”
I hold the picture to the light.It’s a wallet-sized version of a black-and-white print, with a woman about thirty dressed in a floral dress.She’s standing in front of a fountain, waving to the photographer, her smile outlined in dark lipstick.I still don’t see much of myself in her, or my father, but I don’t refuse the notion altogether.
When Benji moves to slide the picture back into its place, I notice another photo—two kids, teenaged.The boy, younger, has braces and a buzz cut.The girl is dark-haired and sweet-looking.
“Are those…”I pause, nodding to the photo, trying my best to look unfazed.“Do you have any other kids?”
Benji blinks; I’ve caught him off-guard.To his credit, though, he doesn’t flinch.“B.J.,” he says, pointing to the boy.“Uh, Benjamin, Jr.And this is Chloe.”He hands me the photo.“Sixth and Eighth grade. Chloe’s debate team captain this year, and B.J.’s doing Little League. Been at it for a while now, but just between us…he doesn’t quite have a knack for it.”He laughs sheepishly.“I think it’s just not his game, personally, but his mother’s going on about ADHD and all this nonsense.”
We laugh politely, watching him replace the photo.I take another gulp of water, feeling a tiny piece of ice shoot into my throat and melt there as I try to be casual.“What’s your wife like?”
“Ex,” he says.He turns his ring absentmindedly, or like he’s a little ashamed to have it on.“Divorce finalized around Thanksgiving.”
“Oh…I’m sorry,” I tell him.I mean it, too—Benji’s a nice guy, and even if my life was worse off for not having him around, I don’t want his life to be unhappy.And besides, it’s not his fault he couldn’t be there.
Benji shrugs.“Long time coming, honestly.We didn’t have much in common to begin with.And I’d just turned forty when we met—she was thirty-four—so I think that played into it.We rushed into things, thinking we were running out of time, or something.”He shrugs again.“Got two great kids out of the marriage, so can’t say I regret it, though.And we still get along, their mother and I, which helps. If you gotta get divorced, an amicable one’s the way to go.”He smiles, which we mirror, if only because we don’t know what else to add to this.
“If you’d like to meet them,” he adds, brightening, “they’ll be at my house this weekend.How long are you two staying?”
“Just ‘til tomorrow,” I say, and something in Benji’s expression—disappointment, I think—makes me glance at Alex.He nods, and I turn back to my father.“But we could come back.Next month, maybe?”I scratch my wrist nervously.“It’s just…meeting them would be kind of weird if, you know…we didn’t know for sure.”
Benji nods and takes a sip of his beer.“Guess you’re right.Just in case.”
“Just in case,” I repeat, quietly.
We pick at our complimentary bread a while, plates clinking in the lull. After a moment, Benji says, “Well, I’ve told you some about myself—tell me about you.”
I look at Alex awkwardly, then blush.“I…don’t know where to start.”Where can you start?
“Well,” he says, “tell me about anything.What you like to do in your free time, where you work, all that.What made you decide to track me down?Just as a ‘for instance.’”
“Aunt Jane,” I tell him, and we all chuckle at the mention of her again.“She gave me your name and where you worked on a piece of paper, so I could get to know you if I wanted
I hold the picture to the light.It’s a wallet-sized version of a black-and-white print, with a woman about thirty dressed in a floral dress.She’s standing in front of a fountain, waving to the photographer, her smile outlined in dark lipstick.I still don’t see much of myself in her, or my father, but I don’t refuse the notion altogether.
When Benji moves to slide the picture back into its place, I notice another photo—two kids, teenaged.The boy, younger, has braces and a buzz cut.The girl is dark-haired and sweet-looking.
“Are those…”I pause, nodding to the photo, trying my best to look unfazed.“Do you have any other kids?”
Benji blinks; I’ve caught him off-guard.To his credit, though, he doesn’t flinch.“B.J.,” he says, pointing to the boy.“Uh, Benjamin, Jr.And this is Chloe.”He hands me the photo.“Sixth and Eighth grade. Chloe’s debate team captain this year, and B.J.’s doing Little League. Been at it for a while now, but just between us…he doesn’t quite have a knack for it.”He laughs sheepishly.“I think it’s just not his game, personally, but his mother’s going on about ADHD and all this nonsense.”
We laugh politely, watching him replace the photo.I take another gulp of water, feeling a tiny piece of ice shoot into my throat and melt there as I try to be casual.“What’s your wife like?”
“Ex,” he says.He turns his ring absentmindedly, or like he’s a little ashamed to have it on.“Divorce finalized around Thanksgiving.”
“Oh…I’m sorry,” I tell him.I mean it, too—Benji’s a nice guy, and even if my life was worse off for not having him around, I don’t want his life to be unhappy.And besides, it’s not his fault he couldn’t be there.
Benji shrugs.“Long time coming, honestly.We didn’t have much in common to begin with.And I’d just turned forty when we met—she was thirty-four—so I think that played into it.We rushed into things, thinking we were running out of time, or something.”He shrugs again.“Got two great kids out of the marriage, so can’t say I regret it, though.And we still get along, their mother and I, which helps. If you gotta get divorced, an amicable one’s the way to go.”He smiles, which we mirror, if only because we don’t know what else to add to this.
“If you’d like to meet them,” he adds, brightening, “they’ll be at my house this weekend.How long are you two staying?”
“Just ‘til tomorrow,” I say, and something in Benji’s expression—disappointment, I think—makes me glance at Alex.He nods, and I turn back to my father.“But we could come back.Next month, maybe?”I scratch my wrist nervously.“It’s just…meeting them would be kind of weird if, you know…we didn’t know for sure.”
Benji nods and takes a sip of his beer.“Guess you’re right.Just in case.”
“Just in case,” I repeat, quietly.
We pick at our complimentary bread a while, plates clinking in the lull. After a moment, Benji says, “Well, I’ve told you some about myself—tell me about you.”
I look at Alex awkwardly, then blush.“I…don’t know where to start.”Where can you start?
“Well,” he says, “tell me about anything.What you like to do in your free time, where you work, all that.What made you decide to track me down?Just as a ‘for instance.’”
“Aunt Jane,” I tell him, and we all chuckle at the mention of her again.“She gave me your name and where you worked on a piece of paper, so I could get to know you if I wanted
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