Page 32 of Love Expert

“Jeremy!”

“But since you’re in my house,” he lowers his voice and leans closer, “then it’s my turn to think of you. Is that chair comfortable under your bum?” He draws the lock of hair to his nose. “Are you thirsty? I could getyou water or something. Also, we were gonna watch a movie with our dinner, but you’re here now, which means you maybe get to choose the movie.” Uncertain, he glances over his shoulder. “Is that right, Dad? The guest gets to choose?”

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

ROUND FOURTEEN

BILLY

“What does your typical shift schedule look like?” Maggie’s like a dog with a bone, asking her questions despite the Spy Kids movie playing on the television. She doesn’t care about the food filling my mouth. Or my consistent refusal to answeranyof her questions over the last forty-five minutes. “Successfully planning your calendar means I need to know what hours you work.”

“No comment.” I sit forward on the couch and trade the container of rice for the container of sweet and sour pork. Because we’re men, and in this house, we have assigned forks on Chinese takeout night and simply rotate through the containers of food. “Not interested.”

“Jeremy.” Pasting on her sugary-sweet smile, she picks up the television remote, pauses the movie, and captures my son’s heart with nothing more than the glitter in her eyes. “What days does your dad work?”

He releases a grunt of displeasure. “All of the days. Every day. All the time.” Pursing his lips, he shoots a glare my way. “My dad is alllllways working.”

“Geez, bud.” My stomach, hungry a moment ago, turns to lead instead. “You make it sound like I’ve never got time for you.”

“He’ssupposedto work Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday and Friday.”

“Not weekends?” Maggie picks at their shared bag of prawn chips and balances her folder on her lap. “He never works weekends?”

“He’s notsupposedto work weekends. He’s not on the schedule oranything. But he goes to the station most weekends anyway. And on school days, his shift is supposed to start at eight and finish at four.”

Eight till four, M-F.She writes that shit down, too.

“How do you get to school if your dad is working those hours?”

“Are you a parenting expert now, too?” I growl. “Mind your business.”

“I usually go to the station with him in the mornings. School’s just up the street from there. And then I go to the gym afterwards for classes. Then he picks me up from there.”

“Hey, now.”Why do I feel so judged?“I pick you up from school most days and take you to the gym myself. Make sure we’re telling the full story.”

“Eliza picks me up sometimes. Or Alana, cos Franky is two grades ahead of me. Or Mrs. Jenkins sometimes picks me up, cos Molly is in my school, and she goes to the gym, too.” He inches forward and blasts me with a glare. “My dad doesn’t pick me up from school very often. He’s too busy.”

Ouch.

“You go to the gym five days a week?” Maggie doodles and makes her notes in shorthand. “What time do you usually finish? And what about on weekends? Do you go then, too?”

“We finish at the gym whatever time my dad comes and gets me. Sometimes at four-thirty, and sometimes at five-thirty or six, like today.”

Because I was working! I was busy!

“But it’s okay, cos Alana and Tommy and them keep an eye on me. They don’t let me leave till my dad gets there, and sometimes when Molly and Franky are there, too, I get to hang around with them.” From sour to thrilled, his eyes light up. “Franky taught me how to play chess. Do you know how, Maggie?”

“Ah…” She places the end of her pen on her bottom lip. “I guess I used to play when I was younger. In school. But I haven’t played in a long time, so I’ve probably forgotten a lot of the rules.”

“Maybe I can teach you sometime.” He leans against her side. He fuckingflirtswith her. “But don’t play against Franky after that and tell him I taught you, cos if I teach it wrong, he’ll get cranky.”

“I won’t tell him you taught me.” She draws a cross over her heart. “Swear. Also, what do you think makes your dad the happiest in the whole wide world?”

“Magnolia—”

“Like, if there were no rules,” she continues. “And money didn’tmatter and work wasn’t on his mind, and bad stuff never happened ever, what do you think would make him smile the biggest?”

“Um…” Stumped, his eyes come around to me, his brows pulled tight to create wrinkles on his forehead. “I… hmm…”