The Absolution of Aidan(57)

“I love you, Deidre.” Dad and I spend another half hour or so talking, and laughing, and carrying on about anything and everything. It feels good to talk to him. To see his face light up whenever I mention something about the baby. I also tell him about wanting to go back to work, at least part time when this scandal is over. He agrees. After we hang up, I call my mom. She hates FaceTime, so I kick back on my bed and chat away with her, telling her the same things I’ve told my dad, which gets her going on about being the babysitter. My response is basically a “Duh. Who else would I leave my boy with?”

“I love you, mom,” I say right before I hang up. My mind isn’t at ease. It won’t be until Ryan is found, but at least my parents can comfort the burden squeezing my throat like it’s closing up, making it impossible to breathe.

“I love you, sweetheart. Everything will be fine.”

“I hope so, mom.” I hang up and toss my phone onto my bed. The bed where I gave myself over completely to Aidan last night. I lie all the way down on the bed and splay my hands out to the side. “Why can’t life be normal?”

“I ask myself that very same question daily.” I jump up. Shocked, I might add. Alina is standing in the doorway. “You scared me.” I smile at her. Then I cock my head to the side. “You look different.” She does too. I look her over, scan her up and down, then my eyeballs plunge out of my sockets at the huge rock on her left hand glistening from the sun shining through the windows.

“Oh, my fucking god.” I bolt off of my bed, stomping toward her.

“It’s exquisite, Alina.” I lift her hand so I can get a better look. I seize it, lurching her forward in the process, both of us giggling as I do.

“It’s called a blue moon diamond. Roan says it’s one of the rarest stones you can find.” I give her a wonky smile, letting her know I get the true meaning behind the word ‘rare.’ Alina is rare, genuine, and the best friend I could ask for. Then I turn my gaze back down to the round cut single diamond adorning her finger. “I’m happy for you.” I slide her hand out of mine and pull her into my arms to hug her close. Resting my head against her shoulder, my gaze drifting to the floor, I begin to lose control, unable to shake the urge to cry.

“Hey.” She drags herself back from me. My sweet friend’s hands glide up and down my bare arms.

“What’s wrong?” Tears begin to sting my eyes. Tears I’ve held in for way too long, trying to be strong for not only myself, but for Aidan. I need this, to break down and cry. I feel like crap, raining down on her happiness. But I cannot help it.

Crying doesn’t make you weak. It’s made for the strong. I cry, sob, and spill my guts out after dropping down to the floor in the middle of my bedroom. I continue to cry even when I hear Diesel wake up, only for Jackson to holler that he’s got him. Then I cry some more. Crying is respectable. Talking is moral. Listening to a crying woman on a day that should be one of the happiest days of your life outshines them all.

Best friends make the hard times calmer, the great times memorable, and the in between times better than the ones before. I have that in my selfless best friend, who carries the weight of so many burdens herself. She’s overcome them. Made herself stronger, independent, and successful. Yes. Crying is good. It’s very good.

Alina stayed the remainder of the day. We baked, laughed, and managed somehow to get Jackson in on our now little adventure.

Now here we are, sitting at the table. I’m getting ready to place Diesel in his new chair. Alina’s idea I might add. She was right when she said we should get this. The perfect dig to Aidan. One that is bound to make me laugh.

It was delivered a little over an hour ago. It’s amazing how when you offer the store a hell of a lot more money than you paid for the chair they have it couriered right over to you.

“What the hell?” Aidan’s eyes are overspun with hatred as he stares at the chair.

It’s meant to be a joke, to liven the tension. Only Aidan does not find it funny.

“I told you so,” Jackson scolded.

“Whatever.” I swat him away with my hand.

“You’ll think whatever. Alina, get my son out of that goddamn chair.” My back goes rigid.

“Quit it. He’s my son, too. And we do live in New York, not Detroit.” Seems everyone finds this situation funny except him.

Man, this guy may love his Tigers more than I love the Yankees. I’m beginning to realize it now. Even Roan starts laughing his ass off from behind my big, tall, brow-beating man the minute he sidesteps him and gets a look at the chair.