I leaned my elbows on the table and let my head fall into my hands. “He didn’t use me.”

“He did. He used you, and he doesn’t even remember doing it. This time, make him remember. Make him sorry he ever forgot.”

***

During the rest of the week, avoiding alone time with Bryan became a bit of a game. I called the game, Keeping My Shit Together At Work. I even cancelled our Wednesday appointment. Every time I saw him I was overwhelmed by the urge to cry. And this time I feared I really would cry.

In the end, I didn’t cry. Instead, I used the time avoiding Bryan to give myself pep talks. Every time I encountered a mirror, I mentally spoke to myself.

This isn’t about you.

You don’t want anything from him.

Patrick is what’s important.

So what, you like him? So what, you’re forgettable? So. What? I’m sure he’s forgotten hundreds of girls.

Not surprisingly, this last mini pep talk didn’t make me feel better. In fact, it sent me face first into a pile of night cheese and canned sardines. As an aside, I learned a valuable lesson that night: keeping chocolate in the kitchen—for emergencies—was both wise and good.

Since I was the world champion at avoiding Bryan Leech, we’d been forced to work out the details via text.

Bryan: I tried to catch you but Alice said you already left. When can we discuss this weekend?

Me: This Saturday, 11. Stephen’s Green Park. We’ll be at the playground.

Bryan: Do you want to talk about the details beforehand?

Me: I’ll introduce you as a family friend. After you take some time to think things through, we can discuss next steps.

Bryan: What does that mean?

Me: Once you decide what you want your level of involvement to be, we can talk about what to tell Patrick.

Bryan: I don’t need time. I’m all in.

I didn’t respond because I didn’t know how he defined all in.

Worst-case scenario, all in meant Bryan wanted full custody and I would have to prepare for a custody battle.

Best-case scenario, all in meant Bryan wanted to spend as much time as possible with Patrick and be a supportive, positive figure in our son’s life as a parent. Patrick would have a dad who loved him.

I guess time will tell . . .

Even though I’d prepared Patrick—telling him that Thursday evening we were going to meet someone new over the weekend—Saturday afternoon arrived much, much, much sooner than I’d anticipated.

My reasoning for not telling Patrick who we were going to meet was simply: I still didn’t know Bryan very well.

What if he flaked out? What if he changed his mind and decided he didn’t want to know his son? What if he convinced himself I was lying?

I couldn’t bear the thought of telling my son he was going to meet his father and then Bryan not showing. If that happened, it would break Patrick’s heart.

And then I’d be forced to torture and murder Bryan Leech.

So I was vague about who we were meeting.

“You should sit down.” Sean’s voice was softer than usual, laced with concern and something else I couldn’t place.

I shook my head, my eyes on Patrick as he climbed up a ladder leading to a long, metal slide. He waved at me when he reached the top, a big grin on his face.

“I can’t sit. I’m too nervous.”

“That’s perfectly understandable, darling.”

My heart twisted. In truth, it hurt. It felt bruised and tender. I could barely breathe.

“He’s here,” Sean said.

I turned my head and spotted Bryan immediately, a jolt of anticipation and fear and resolve shooting down my spine, making my fingertips tingle. His eyes were on me and he looked . . .

“He looks excited,” Sean remarked, his voice betraying a hint of confusion. I sensed my big cousin stand, moving the short distance to hover behind me, offering silent support. I was so thankful Sean had come. I couldn’t fathom doing this alone.

“He does look excited. Excited is good, right?” I couldn’t stop the worry from bleeding into my tone.

“Yes,” Sean confirmed. “Excited is the best possible emotion for him to be feeling at present.”

Bryan’s gaze flickered over my form, then ensnared mine, but I barely noticed. I couldn’t think. I was out of breath by the time he reached us, panic driving the air from my lungs.

“Eilish.” His eyes moved between mine searchingly, then he surprised me by closing the distance between us and wrapping me in a tight hug.

At first, I reacted as best I could given the situation. I stood like a terrified statue and stared forward with wide, panicked eyes.

“Bryan,” I squeaked as he held on, the warmth and strength of him melting my fears and succeeding where all my attempts to calm myself over the last week had failed.

He affected me.

His arms around my body, the feel of his sturdy—yes, sturdy like a table—form poked a hole in some wall I’d been hiding behind. After a moment, I returned his embrace. I held on to him. I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pressed my face against his chest. I leaned against him. I gave him my weight, the burden of my worries.

Just for a moment.

I breathed him in and he smelled . . . fantastic. Familiar. He smelled like my dreams. And he felt too good to be true.

He is too good to be true.

And you’re forgettable.

Just like that, the moment ended, reality a cruel and painful but truthful reminder. I needed to keep my distance. I needed to be cautious and careful. Josey’s loony suggestions that I leverage Patrick to seduce Bryan were just that, loony. I would never use my son that way. Not ever. My mother used us against my father, and I knew what that felt like.