“The same could be said for love.”
“Not a believer in absence making the heart grow fonder?” I asked.
“No, not really.” He lifted his sunglasses. “I think love can die from neglect. Not think, know.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“I don’t know how much you want, or need, to know about my past, about my life with Anita, or about my mistakes.” He waited for me to nod, then continued, “The short version? I’ve grown up a lot in the last five years.” He laughed. “That’s an understatement. In my teens and early twenties, I believed I could do no wrong. Anything I wanted, I had. Anyone I wanted, I had.”
That I could believe.
“I split my time between Europe and America, acting spoiled on two continents.”
“How many continents have you visited?”
“Six. You?”
“Five. I’m interrupting. Sorry, continue.”
“No, it’s okay. I love that you enjoy traveling.” He met my eyes. “Sure you want to hear this?”
I motioned for him to continue; he’d piqued my interest. I wanted to learn about Anita, and what went wrong.
“Anita’s parents were friends with mine, but we didn’t see each other often. I attended boarding school in the States.”
Boarding school? Holy rich boy.
“One summer during college while I was home for a month, Anita and I met again at a party. Turned out, she’d been going to Brown.”
Damn super humans with their super human smarts.
“We started dating. Everyone approved.”
“Approved?”
“Her parents, my parents.”
“Ah. The golden couple.”
I thought of my friends Ben and Jo. Despite fooling around with me freshman year, Ben was destined to marry someone like Jo. They were the perfect couple with the perfect life and perfect kids.
Kids.
Suddenly something Anita had said at JFK flashed in my mind.
A teen daughter.
“You have a daughter.”
KAI NEARLY CHOKED on his beer. “Anita told you about Cibele?”
“She told me she had a daughter, but not her name. I’m guessing that means you’re Cibele’s father?”
He gave me a tiny smile. “It does.”
I nodded, my ears ringing. My brain swam with beer, nicotine, and revelations.
Not only was Kai the marrying type, he was the daddy type.
Kai was a DILF.
Or in my case, a DIF.
I didn’t do kids. For the most part, they didn’t like me and I didn’t like them, especially the little ones. And babies? No way. Too much screaming and shit. Literal shit. Too many babies born the last two decades. When my friends had outgrown their baby-making phase, the gays started adopting. Or breeding. My best friend Quinn and his husband had a baby. Or surrogated a baby. I didn’t know the lingo. Lizzy had joined our motley family of friends and brought along non-stop regurgitation and pooping. And cuteness, I reluctantly admitted. She’d be much better in a few years. Or decades.
A teen daughter.
Kai had a daughter.
“You have a daughter.”
He nodded. “You said that already.”
“I’m in shock. Be nice.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve fucked this up with my lack of honesty when we met in Amsterdam.”
“Do you normally talk about your ex-wife and daughter when you first meet a woman?”
He shook his head and chuckled. “No, but then again, I’m not normally introduced as a brother. This whole meeting has been …”
“Unexpected?” I used his description of me.
“To say the least.”
I turned away to find our waitress. Once I caught her eye, I made the international hand gestures for another round of large beers. After I resettled into my chair, I found Kai regarding me with wariness, his thumb rubbing the scruff on his chin.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“So tell me about your daughter.”
He continued to scan my face.
“Or not.”
Our beers and food arrived, disrupting the staring contest taking place at our table.
“Anita got pregnant senior year at Brown.”
“Planned or unplanned?”
“Unplanned. I didn’t handle it well at first.”
“Bastard behavior?”
“Pretty much. I got drunk the following weekend and mourned my life.”
“You thought your life was over? At twenty-one?”
“Having a baby wasn’t our plan—at all.”
“Ever?”
“We had a great relationship, but the distance and our ambitions didn’t lend themselves to the idea of marriage and a young family.”
I understood completely. Earning my doctorate held priority over other aspects of my life for a decade.
“But you did get married? What changed your mind?”
“I did the right thing. When we told our parents Anita was pregnant, we received pressure to marry. I realized I was acting like a spoiled child, thinking only of myself. But I loved her.”
“Who? Anita or the baby?”
“Both. Cibele owned me from the moment her little heartbeat appeared on the monitor.”
My own heart skipped from the love in his voice. Something deep inside of me flickered.
He continued. “Even with the blessings of our parents and a lavish wedding, I didn’t feel ready. Twenty-two, newly married, and a father while working on my MBA created one cranky jerk.”
“Yikes.”
“Yikes is right. Anita is a saint. She postponed grad school while I finished, then agreed to move home for me to work with my father.”
“Sounds very traditional.” I didn’t hide my disdain for the word.
Kai frowned and tapped his fingers on the table. “We were young. All I focused on was ambition and making my own money before I hit thirty.”
“Then what happened?”
“I hit thirty. And the shit hit the fan. I had achieved everything I wanted professionally. I made more money than I could spend in a lifetime; I had the office and the title; and I also had the ego.”
“Sounds charming.”
“Anita agreed.”
“And your father?”
“His disdain came later.”
Another Russian doll to be opened another time.
“And when the shit hit the fan?”
“I woke up and realized I didn’t like myself. Or even recognize who I had become. I had everything I thought I wanted and realized it didn’t make me happy. My marriage had faded from lovers into roommates without me realizing it. Anita wanted more for herself. She deserved more.”
“Good for her.”
“Good for all of us. Anita is happy and that makes me happy. She loves Chicago and what she does. Cibele is happy.”
“And you? Are you happy?”
His fingers stilled. “Getting there.”
“Do you visit Chicago often?”
“A couple of times a year. Cibele joins me on my trips sometimes and visits our families in Amsterdam.” He frowned. “It’s never enough time.”
My heart softened at his obvious love for his daughter. I recognized yet another side to Kai. “I can tell how much you love her.”
“She’s my heart.”
I hated to admit to myself, but there was something sexy about the love he had for his daughter. Not in a creepy way. Maybe the shock hadn’t worn off, or the beer had gone to my head, but I did something I never do when people started talking about their kids. I asked to see a picture.
Kai took out his phone and tapped the screen. His wallpaper displayed a young girl with stormy sea-colored eyes and lavender streaking her blonde hair. Her black Cure T-shirt caught my eye.
Be still my Robert Smith loving heart, Cibele was a twenty-first century goth girl.
“The purple is new.” He chuckled. “My parents were not amused, but I love it.” His voice was filled with pride.
“I love that band.” I pointed at her T-shirt. “I remember my first concert.”
“You’ll be her idol.”
His words implied I’d meet her someday. The idea sent cold waves of fear crashing against my legs, hinting at an undercurrent that could pull me under. Whatever warm feelings I’d had about Kai’s daughter minutes ago washed away. After a month of knowing each other—a month which included a handful of days together and a week of sex—this was too much, too soon.
“Selah?” His voice snuck through the cold fog in my brain. Warm fingers intertwined with my own.
“Sorry. Lost myself in memories of boys with black hair and red lips,” I fibbed.
“As you do.” His voice teased.
“Thanks for sharing about her.”
“Thanks for listening.”
The moment settled between awkward and polite. I poked at my fish; its dead fish eye stared up at me. My appetite disappeared. “Maybe we should drive to the hotel.”
He eyed me warily. “You okay?”
“Sure. Digesting.”
“But you hardly ate anything.”
“Figuratively digesting.”
“Ah.”
“Ah.” I covered my plate with my napkin. My stomach sank, not from the food, but from realization. Despite telling myself Kai wasn’t my type, it was me who wasn’t his. Nothing about me said golden or perfect. If anything, at best, I could have been Rizzo to someone’s Sandy. Spotlights and leading men were out of my reach.
“Shall we?” He stood and extended his hand.