Mary, Mary

from asking more questions, even though I wanted to. I didn’t have a right, did I? If anything, I’d brought this on myself. Why had I done it, though? Why wasn’t I able to commit? Because of what happened to Maria? Or Christine? Or maybe to my own parents, who had broken up in their twenties and never even seen each other again?
    Jamilla leaned across the table and spoke softly, keeping this confidential, just between us. “I’m sorry. I can tell I’ve hurt you, and I didn’t want that. We can finish dinner and talk about this if you want. Or you can go. Or I can go. Whatever you want, Alex.”
    When I didn’t answer right away, she asked, “Are you mad at me?”
    “No,” I answered a little too fast. “I’m surprised, I guess. Maybe disappointed, too. I’m not quite sure what I am. Just to get it straight—are you telling me you want to see other people, or was it your intention to break things off tonight?”
    Jamilla took another sip of her wine. “I wanted to ask you how you felt about it.”
    “Right now? Honestly, Jam? I don’t think I can continue like we’ve been. I’m not even sure of my reasons. I’ve always been pretty much—one person at a time. You know me.”
    “We never made any promises to each other,” she said. “I’m just trying to be honest.”
    “I know you are. I appreciate it, I really do. Listen, Jamilla, I think I need to go.” I kissed her on the cheek, and then I left. I wanted to be honest, too. With Jamilla and with myself.

Chapter 54
    I LEFT IT ALL BEHIND , everything, and flew up to Seattle for the weekend.
    As I drove from the airport toward the Wallingford neighborhood where Christine and Alex lived, I grappled with the idea of seeing her now. What other choice did I have?
    I brought no presents, no bribes, just as she had done when Alex lived with me in Washington. Christine was letting me see Alex, and there was no way I could resist. I wanted to be with him for a while—I needed it.
    The house was on Sunnyside Avenue North, and I knew the way by now. Christine and Ali were sitting on the porch steps when I got there. He ran down the walk to meet me like a little tornado, and I scooped him up. There was always a fear of finding a different boy than the one I last saw. All that dissolved the second I had him in my arms.
    “Man, you’re getting heavy; you’re getting so big.
Ali.”
    “I gotta new book,” he told me, grinning. “A hungry caterpillar that eats anything. It pops up. Then it
eats
you!”
    “You can bring your book with you today. We’ll read.” I gave him another squeeze and saw Christine watching from a distance, arms folded. Finally, she smiled and raised one hand in a wave.
    “Want some coffee?” she called. “Need some before you two take off?”
    I squinted at her, a silent question in the still, fragrant air.
    “It’s okay with me,” she said. “C’mon. I won’t bite.” Her tone was bright, probably for my sake as well as Ali’s.
    “Come on, Daddy.” He climbed out of my arms, took my hand. “I’ll show you the way.”
    So I followed them inside. Was this a good idea? I’d never actually been inside before. The house was tastefully cluttered. Several Arts and Crafts-style built-ins overflowed with books and some of Christine’s art collection. It was more informal and comfortable-looking than her home outside D.C. had been.
    I was struck by how naturally both of them moved through this space that was so foreign to me.
I don’t belong here
.
    The kitchen was open, very bright, and smelled of rosemary. A small herb garden thrived on the windowsill.
    Christine set Alex up with a sippy cup of chocolate milk and then put two mugs of steaming coffee on the table between us.
    “Seattle’s drug of choice,” she said. “I drink way too much of it. I should switch to decaf in the afternoons or something. Maybe in the mornings,” she added with a laugh.
    “It’s good. The coffee. Your house looks great, too.”
    The chitchattiness was striking in its banality, and almost as uncomfortable as a real conversation might have been right now. I vowed not to ask Christine about the weather, but this was weird for both of us.
    Little Alex slipped off his chair and came back with his new book. He climbed onto my lap.
    “Read. Okay? Careful, it pops up and eats you!”
    It made for a good distraction and also put the focus on him, where it was supposed to be. I opened the cover and began.
    “‘In the light of the