Private Relations Read Online Free

upset. I’d picked up on all her nonverbal cues when we were together. Ten years later, I still hadn’t forgotten them.
    “Forgive me if I don’t quite believe you,” she said.
    “Look, we need to hash this out. Do you want to meet for lunch? Just the two of us. There’s a lot I need to know. A lot I want to know.”
    “Fine. Where should we go?”
    “Let me hop in the shower and get dressed. I’ll text you the address in a few.”
    *        *      *
    Sometimes, on a cold winter day in Manhattan, all you want is a good diner.
    TriBeCa, like most neighborhoods in Lower Manhattan, was known for its exorbitant rents, high-end boutiques and celebrity residents. Converted warehouses lined the spacious cobblestone streets, where well-dressed residents sipped coffee in cafes, dined in the restaurants, or browsed the many art galleries.
    Parents pushed children in strollers, with a few Dads giving them a bird’s eye view atop their shoulders. Quiet, safe, and spacious, TriBeCa was one of the most desirable neighborhoods in all of New York City. And when the sun shone down from a cloudless sky, and the winds blew snowflakes off the rooftops, I couldn’t help but appreciate how far I’d come.
    I looked down, and saw the red-cheeked little girl standing atop her scooter. I’d been blocking her way, and consequently, she was rather irritated with me.
    “Sorry,” I said, stepping aside. “Careful. The streets are slippery.”
    “Yeah, my Mom already told me that.”
    Moments later her mother arrived, out of breath and struggling with a slew of shopping bags in her hands. “Rachel, slow down!”
    “I don’t think that’ll do much good,” I said.
    The mother shook her head, chuckling. “Headstrong -- just like her father!”
    I continued on, laughing about the little girl. Only a child could get away with telling a stranger more than twice their size to get the hell out of their way. A few friends I’d kept in touch with from the Academy were married now, and some were even expecting their first child. For those who decided to pursue a corporate career in New York City, having a child was something that didn’t usually happen until their thirties, if at all.
    Tell people that you weren’t sure about having children, and they’d inevitably tell you that you’d change your mind, that it was all a matter of finding the right person to settle down with. Little did they know that at one time, I was about to become a father, albeit at far too young an age. Of course, I was completely ignorant of my impending fatherhood at the time.
    Vanessa only told me she was pregnant after having the abortion.
    I shut my eyes, cleared my throat. A cold wind whipped through Greenwich Street and shook me out of my memories. When I arrived at Gee Whiz Diner, I pushed through the wooden doors, grateful to be out of the cold. I found Vanessa seated at a booth near the window, and joined her without saying a word.
    “Really, Jesse? This place?”
    “What? This place is great.”
    “You always were a creature of habit. Let me guess, you found this place when first arrived in New York and didn’t have any money. They were nice to you, maybe gave you a free slice of pie, and you’ve been coming back ever since.”
    “That about sums it up. Cherry pie, for the record.”
    Vanessa rolled her beautiful blue eyes. Not out of spite, but due to the fact that I was confirming an old adage she had about men: No matter if they’re fifteen or fifty-five, men never change.
    The diner itself was spacious for the area, and featured a mix of wooden tables and cozy booths. The food was standard burger-and-fries fare, and it attracted everything from students to families to the occasional tourist who’d wandered in from Midtown. Mostly, it was families. Many of whom weren’t much older than us.         “I’ll order for you if you like,” I said. “You can get a grilled chicken salad if you’re watching your figure, but I’ll