Page 42 of Tito

He let out an audible sigh, which wasn’t really like him. He normally didn’t hesitate to say anything, nor did he express a tremendous amount of emotion, excluding anger or frustration.

“I’m sorry, and I’m not,” he said. “Eventually, you two were going to break up. It was inevitable. I’m sorry for how it came about, but I’m glad it happened before you two were married.”

“Yeah, me too—”

“Or had a kid together.” He wiped his brow. “That would have been a goddamned disaster. Having that turd coming by for the next eighteen years to share custody of a child he fathered? That’s been a nightmare of mine for the past four years.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that.”

“Thank God.” He leaned back and gave me a look. “So, what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Meet a surfer boy at work? Single for a while? Online dating? What’s the plan for your relationship future?”

I felt compelled to tell him about Tito, but for no other reason than to allow him to see I was truly over Jared. After a little thought, I opted to keep my mouth shut.

“Single,” I responded. “At least for a while.”

“Don’t sulk over that piece of shit,” he said. “He’s not worth it. At least get out and meet a few people. It’ll be easy to get in an emotional rut after a long-tern relationship. If anyone knows that, I do.”

My mother left when I was twelve. My father claimed it took him until midway through my high school years to recover. I often wondered if he ever truly recovered.

“I won’t sulk,” I assured him. “Don’t worry.”

“You’re my only child,” he said. “I worry.”

“I went on one date right after Jared left.”

His brows knitted together. “How long’s he been gone?”

“Ten days.” I shrugged. “Give or take. Sunday before last.”

He smiled a prideful grin. “You’ve already been on a date?”

I’d managed to go there and wished I hadn’t. I decided to keep it short. “Yep. I think Mel and I are going to go up to wine country next weekend and have a little weekend wine-fest.”

“What was he like?” he asked. “Nice guy?”

“Who?” I asked, even though I knew what he was asking.

He scowled. “The guy you went on a date with.”

“He was nice. Intelligent. Polite. He had a great moral compass. I got drunk, and he didn’t try to take advantage of me.”

“Sadly,” he said. “That’s a plus. Especially in this day and age.”

It wasn’t as rocky as I thought. Glad that it was over without incident, I gave a nod. “I agree,”

“What was his profession?”

I should have known it wasn’t going to be so easy. In high school, he demanded that he meet everyone I’d gone on a date with. In college, he did the same—if I made the mistake of mentioning them. He said his exposure to all walks of life prevented him from trusting any man who wouldn’t look him in the eyes and shake his hand.

“He manages carwashes,” I muttered.

He seemed entertained by my response. He cocked his head to the side. “High-end car washes? Detailing Bentleys and Lamborghinis?”

“No,” I responded. “The self-serve type.”