Chapter 6 - Seven Years Too Late
Six months passed.
Marcus kept his word.
Not perfectly.
But consistently.
He took Julian every Saturday afternoon.
He attended pediatric appointments.
He stopped making excuses.
Our divorce became final without a courtroom war.
Nathan remained careful.
Almost annoyingly careful.
We had dinner.
Coffee.
Walks with Julian.
But he never kissed me.
One evening, after Julian fell asleep, I found Nathan standing on my balcony.
“You're avoiding me.”
He looked surprised.
“I am literally standing at your apartment.”
“Emotionally.”
“That sounds like something a therapist would say.”
“I have one.”
“That explains it.”
I folded my arms.
“Nathan.”
He sighed.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
“The truth is complicated.”
“You told me tax law was complicated.”
“That was you.”
“Still true.”
He smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
“Elena, I'm afraid.”
That shocked me.
“Of what?”
“You.”
I laughed.
“I'm five-foot-four.”
“That's not what I mean.”
He looked through the balcony doors toward Julian's crib.
“I loved you when I was twenty-four.”
I said nothing.
“I asked you to come to New York.”
“I remember.”
“You chose California.”
“My mother was sick.”
“I know.”
“You never asked me to stay.”
“You never asked me to stay either.”
That hurt because it was true.
Nathan continued.
“Then you met Marcus. You got married. I built a company because work was easier than wondering whether I'd made the biggest mistake of my life.”
“Nathan…”
“Now you're here.”
He looked at me.
“And there's Julian.”
His voice softened.
“I love that kid.”
My breath caught.
“That scares me more than loving you.”
“Why?”
“Because if we try this and it fails, I lose both of you.”
I stepped closer.
“You're assuming failure.”
“I plan for worst-case scenarios.”
“You always did.”
“That's why I'm successful.”
“No. That's why you're lonely.”
Nathan stared at me.
“That was cruel.”
“It was accurate.”
He laughed quietly.
“Also accurate.”
I took his hand.
“I can't promise you forever.”
“I know.”
“I can't promise this will be easy.”
“I don't expect easy.”
“I can promise that I'm not asking because I'm scared anymore.”
Nathan looked at our hands.
“What are you asking?”
I smiled.
“Dinner.”
“We had dinner.”
“A date.”
His eyes lifted.
“A real one?”
“No baby monitor.”
“That seems reckless.”
“Marcus has Julian Saturday.”
Nathan considered it.
“Seven?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Seven-fifteen.”
“Why?”
“I've waited seven years. I'm negotiating back fifteen minutes.”
I laughed.
Then Nathan kissed me.
Softly.
Carefully.
Nothing dramatic.
No fireworks.
No movie music.
Just Nathan.
When we separated, he rested his forehead against mine.
“Was that okay?”
I smiled.
“Seven years late.”
“That's not an answer.”
I kissed him again.
May you like
“That is.”
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