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Apparently I am having this conversation with my daughter and both my sons on speaker. Because now we are on a group call in the car, and I’m stuck in traffic so there’s absolutely no escaping.

“Dad doesn’t think Channing was giving him the look,” Tala says, and the boys jump in.

“She was fluttering her lashes with her face in his lap, it was the look, Dad.”

“What look? She was measuring me for a suit.”

“She measured me, and not once did she lick her lips or make eye contact,” Fallon says. “And normally any girl with her face that close to my dick is blushing red and making eyes at me.” I’m blushing now. I don’t need to know certain things.

“You need to get out more, you don’t even know when a woman is hitting on you,” Lycan adds his three cents worth. “When last did you get some?” I am not answering that.

“It’s been so long, you’ve shocked him into silence,” Tala says; they’re all laughing now. This is very entertaining to them.

“They have pills to get it up if that’s a problem, Dad.”

“Fuck off. I don’t need a pill. It gets up just fine.” I’m not that fucking old.

“Then why are you so against dating? Surely you have needs?” Fallon asks. “Your hand just isn’t the same thing.” It does the job.

“Can we not have this talk?” I ask. “Can I just opt out right now?”

“No, I want to know why you’re determined to be lonely and miserable forever.”

“I am not miserable.”

“Really, you're sulking over a half inch square of paper. You don’t even know what fun is anymore.”

“I am not sulking.” I am, but I won’t admit it. “And I do not need you three to help me with dating, or getting any — or anything else that involves women. I can take care of myself.” They all laugh, and I end the call with the button on the steering wheel.

“So are you going to text her?”

“I’m driving!”

“It’s called talk-to-text, Dad, all cars have it nowadays.”

“Fucking hell. No, I am not going to text Channing,” I say to end this interrogation. “I am happy with my life as it is. I don’t want to complicate it.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t complicated in any way that’s for sure.”

“It wasn’t until you three came home.” They are like a tropical storm, my kids — destruction has always followed them.

“Just promise me you’ll try to at least get out and meet someone. It doesn’t have to be on Tinder.” I know my daughter is just concerned about me. But, I will not be Tindering again.

“I’m not, not trying.” I haven’t avoided dating on purpose, it just never really seemed right. “I just know exactly what I don’t want and that makes it slim pickings in this city.” I don’t want someone else's first wife, I don’t want anyone that has had more than one plastic surgery, and I can smell a gold digger at a hundred paces. Do I miss sex - yes. But my wild youth taught me a thing or two about sex, and how it can completely wreck your life. I love my kids, but they were a broken condom that completely changed my life. Looking around me at my friends and colleagues that are in their second and third marriages, with kids six or nine on the way, blended families. That’s not the way I see this part of my life; I want to travel and buy stamps and eat in restaurants that don’t have playgrounds. If I date, it needs to be someone that is in the same phase of her life — and sadly they never are.

At home, the house is a train wreck of party planning and my adult kids’ mess all over the place. I can tell they’ve ordered in for four days straight. Empty pizza boxes, Chinese food cartons, and sushi trays are scattered all over the kitchen. I pretend I can’t see it and take my bags to my room to unpack. I’m tired, the trip has taken it out of me. I was furious over losing at that auction. I need to rid myself of some rage, so pull on my gym clothes and go downstairs. A workout might take my mind off all the things that my kids have put in it.

The fitness center in the building was one of the biggest reasons I chose this place. Just because I’m in my forties doesn’t mean I don’t take care of my body.

“Hi, Mr. Ward,” the lady behind the counter greets me; some of the ‘yoga’ ladies are gathered in front getting ready for a class. I try not to make eye contact. I just want to work-out, and be left alone. “Would you like to join the yoga class that is about to start?” she asks.

I glare at her. “What part of me looks like I do yoga?”

“Just checking, Mr. Ward. It’s my job to make sure everyone is happy.”

I put in my AirPods, turn on some nineties rap music, and go to the weights section that overlooks the river. The gym at my hotel the last four days was small and claustrophobic. I didn’t enjoy my workouts. I like my gym — this gym. It’s open and clean. I know where everything is, and usually no one asks me to go to yoga. However, I think the yoga invitation had more to do with the housewives waiting for the class. They were undressing me with their eyes, and obviously rumors spread fast in this place.

When the yoga ends, I am still working out, and I don’t miss the fact that the ladies who usually leave right after are lined up on the treadmills behind me, so they can take advantage of the view. They’re not looking at the river. I know they’re married, their husbands are either upstairs or at work, while they’re window shopping at the gym. I bet they have Tinder too. When the feeling of being watched gets too much, I grab my water bottle and leave. There’s just no peace to be had today, not even that has quieted my busy mind.

I haven’t been able to sleep a wink; eventually I get up and go to my study. There’s no point in trying. I open my phone and stare at the number I saved earlier. Channing.

Why are you still in my head, Channing? With your plump red lips and your long lashes.