Page 21 of Alfie: Part One
I scrolled through the list, recognizing the majority of the handles. Some parents from Trip’s school, some from Ellie’s kindergarten. A teacher or two. Family and friends.
I flicked a glance around me. Still no movement.
Fuck, I just wanted to go home again.
I popped open the glove compartment and dug out my smokes, and then I rolled down the window.
Once I’d lit up and taken the first drag, I made my way through his photos, not for the first time.
Hundreds of pictures of our children—and never in a location that revealed much about how he lived. Sure, there were several of Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, some from the couch in the living room. Just…always at an angle that didn’t give anything away about the size of his house.
For the area he lived in on Pine, the house had to have been at least one point five.
Most of the photos were taken outside, however. In the car—his veryexpensivecar—at the grocery store, water parks, toy stores, road trips…
That was one of the things I missed more than I could say. We’d loved heading out. Spur-of-the-moment road trips—and I never cared where we went. Down the shore, to Florida, New York, DC, the weekend we’d spent in Savannah, the time we’d tried hiking in the Shenandoah.
And the food places.
Alfie wasn’t great in the kitchen, so he knew the best spots in the city. Rarely fine dining, more like hole-in-the-wall pizza places with good steaks, the best donut locations, fried chicken, and an abundance of hoagies.
He also put together the best picnics and snacks for road trips. He’d raid a deli and a bakery, and we were off.
I took another drag from the smoke and rubbed at the tightness in my chest.
What the fuck was I doing?
Alfie O’Dwyer.
No longer Scott.
O’Dwyer.
If I ordered another drink, Lance was going to think I had an alcohol problem.
This restaurant setting was way too romantic for a first date. I had major regrets about picking it. In my defense, I hadn’t known. I’d looked at the reviews and the menu. No pictures.
I smiled politely and cut another piece of my steak.
Good food, shitty company—and that was my fault. Lance was perfectly lovely. An up-and-comer in marketing for an agency that had offices all over the East Coast. He was born and raised in Manayunk.
Alfie and I had looked at houses there before we’d found the place I lived in alone now. I liked Ardmore, but in retrospect, I should’ve listened to him when he’d claimed we’d picked the quietest part. The most boring part. Ardmore did have a good nightlife scene these days, albeit small, but?—
Alfie O’Dwyer.
I cleared my throat and reached for my glass. The wine was almost gone. I wanted whiskey or vodka or rum.
“…and then I went up to my boss, gave him a piece of my mind, and I was promptly fired,” Lance laughed.
I chuckled, wanting to shoot myself in the face.
This was such a farce. Lit candles, romantic music, and happy couples all over.
And me.
“I’m so glad my new job is better,” he finished.
Riveting.