Page 51 of My Dead Wife's Ex Will Do
“Same, kiddo,” I tell her. “Same.”
Twenty-Four
Jason
I head for the birding platform instead of the bar after the rehearsal. I didn’t bother to stop at the casita for my binoculars, because I’m not starting an eBird checklist here; I just need a place to sit for a minute. To pray, maybe, but I don’t know what I’m praying for.
Thankfully, no one else is here when I arrive. No people, anyway. It’s only a few seconds after I settle on one of the benches that a pair of blue-gray tanagers swoop in and perch on the wooden railing. Then some scarlet-rumped tanagers show themselves in the small bush on the side of the clearing, and within moments, it’s a passerine party at the birding platform.
I’m smiling at a couple of euphonias fighting over the last scraps of banana, when Kelsey approaches. The birds scatter, the bolder ones to the safety of branches within the thicket of bushes surrounding the platform, and I know they’ll be back.
“Can I join you, Dad?”
“Sure, honey.”
She settles on the bench next to me, then sets her backpack on her lap and withdraws a tall bottle and two small glasses. She hands one glass to me, sets the other on the bench on the other side of her, and unscrews the cap of the bottle. A delicious orange and clove aroma wafts out.
She pours three fingers of the amber liquid in my glass and two fingers in her own, then screws the cap back on and tucks the bottle back in her backpack. She sets the backpack on the floor at her feet and holds her glass out toward me.
“Macallan 18,” she says. “A peace offering.”
I clink the rim of my glass against hers. “How did you find this?” The restaurant’s bar doesn’t stock this brand of Scotch.
“Logan bought it for Adrienne as a sort of wedding present. Actually, I think it was supposed to be for celebrating a deal they made just before they left. I don’t think he’ll mind why we drink it, though.”
“And will Adrienne mind us drinking it?”
Kelsey shakes her head and takes a tiny sip. “It was her idea.”
Of course it was. My soon-to-be daughter-in-law and I share a taste for good whiskey. I take a sip and hold the liquor in my mouth for a few seconds, letting it seep into my membranes, then swallow. “Thanks, sweetie.” It’s very good Scotch.
“Daddy said I should come talk to you.” The birds have returned and flitter around the bushes and the empty banana peels pinned to the fence rail. Kelsey’s looking at the birds rather than me. “I told him the same thing I’m about to say to you. I really don’t understand what’s going on with you two. What are you doing, Dad?”
“I’m entitled to a private life, Kelsey. What I do behind closed doors isn’t something I owe you a report on.”
“That’s not what I—“ She presses her hands to her face for a moment, her drink tucked between her knees, then drops them. “I’m not trying to police your sex life. I don’t care who you sleep with. But Daddy? Really? You work for the Church, Dad. You’ve built your whole life around Saint Sebastian’s.”
“I’m aware of my own employment situation, thank you.”
“Don’t be glib.” Her voice sharpens. “I left the Church, Dad. I know what it costs to be queer and Catholic. I know what it feels like to realize that the institution you were raised in doesn’t have room for who you actually are.”
I don’t have a response to this.
“So either you’ve thought about this and you’re risking your job, your community, everything you’ve spent your whole life building—” She’s blinking hard now, her eyes bright. “Or you haven’t thought about it at all, and you’re just, what? Having a fling with my father during my wedding week and hoping nobody notices?”
“It’s not a fling.” The words come out before I can stop them.
Kelsey goes very still. “Then what is it?”
I don’t know. I don’t know what it is. I’ve spent the last two days telling myself it’s just physical, just this week, just scratching an itch. But sitting here with my daughter’s eyes on me, I can’t make that lie come out of my mouth.
“It’s complicated,” I say instead.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have right now.” I take a breath, trying to steady myself. “Kelsey, I hear you. I do. Everything you’re worried about, I’ve thought about it too. I know what’s at stake.”
“Do you?” Her voice wavers between anger and something that sounds more like fear. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re ‘complicating’ your way into getting fired.”
