“Oh, look at you two, sitting side by side!” she cooed. She bounced Odysseus a few times on her hip. “Look at Auntie Emma and Uncle Brett!” she said in her baby-talk voice, widening her eyes at her son. “Aren’t they so cute together!”
Odysseus glanced at us and then went back to whacking his mother in the head with his truck. “Screw, screw, screw!” he yelled in delight, evidently recalling his breakfast-hour language lesson.
Jeannie reddened. “Odysseus!” she said. “We don’t say screw in this family!” She shot me an evil look, and I shrugged.
“Screw, screw, screw!” Odysseus insisted.
Brett looked embarrassed. How strange, considering that he’d been more than willing to partake in the activity with Amanda.
Jeannie put a hand over Odysseus’s mouth so that his babbling was muffled. “You’ll have to excuse him,” she said to Brett. “He hasn’t been himself since Emma got here.”
“No problem,” Brett said uncertainly.
“Anyhow,” Jeannie said smoothly, “have you asked her yet?” She looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
“Asked me what?” I said apprehensively.
Brett nodded at Jeannie and turned to me. “I wanted to ask you to consider moving back in with me, Emma,” he said. He glanced at Jeannie, who nodded encouragingly. I felt like I was being ganged up on. “After all, we were perfect together, don’t you think?”
“I used to think so,” I muttered after a moment. “But that was a very long time ago.”
“Please, Emma,” Brett said. He sidled off the couch and awkwardly knelt beside me on one knee, holding the red roses up like a peace offering. I considered again the joy I would derive from beating him over the head with them. But being that I had obviously already begun to corrupt poor, innocent Odysseus with my lack of vocabulary control, I figured that attacking a man with flowers wouldn’t exactly be the most responsible thing to do in front of him.
“Please what?” I asked wearily.
“Please consider getting back together with me,” Brett said. “Please consider moving back in.”
I stared at him with pursed lips.
He shifted uncomfortably and lowered the roses. “At least have dinner with me tonight, Emma,” he pleaded. “So that I can have a chance to explain.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but as usual Jeannie was way ahead of me.
“She’d love to,” she said firmly. I started to protest, but she shushed me. “Why don’t you pick her up at seven? I’ll make sure she’s ready.”
“Perfect,” Brett said, scrambling to his feet. He laid the roses on the coffee table and made a beeline for the door before I could protest. “ ’Bye, Odysseus!” he said cheerfully, stopping to give my nephew a little peck on the top of the head.
Odysseus responded by whacking Brett with his toy truck.
“Huband-hut! Huband-hut! Huband-hut!” he screamed as Brett rubbed the back of his head in surprise. “Screw, screw, screw!”
True to his word, Brett was at Jeannie’s door at seven that evening, bearing a brand-new bouquet of red roses and dressed in charcoal pants, a pale blue button-down shirt, and a dark gray tie.
“You look beautiful, Emma,” he said softly. Clearly a lie, as I was wearing a T-shirt, holey jeans, and flip-flops. And I hadn’t bothered to brush my hair.
I smiled tightly. “Thank you.” I had to admit, he looked good. He always had. But I couldn’t say that to him.
“This restaurant we’re going to in Thornton Park just opened,” he explained, breaking an uncomfortable silence as he drove. “I think you’ll like it. It’s like Ruth’s Chris, but nicer.”
I bristled at the mention of the upscale steak restaurant where we’d had our first date three years ago. Unexpected tears pricked the outside corners of my eyes, and I blinked them back quickly.
-Forty-five minutes later, we had ordered—medium-well filet mignon for him and medium-rare for me, with asparagus, garlic mashed potatoes, and creamed spinach to share—and the waiter had uncorked and poured a bottle of Pinot Noir for us before disappearing into the kitchen.
Brett raised his glass in a toast. “To us,” he said, looking straight into my eyes.
I hesitated and lowered my glass. “I can’t toast to that.”
Brett stared for a moment, took a long sip of his wine, and then set his glass on the table, too. “Why not?” he asked carefully.
“Are you kidding?” I asked. “Do you seriously not have any idea why I’d basically hate your guts?”
Brett sighed. “Emma. You don’t hate me. Do you?” His eyes were sad, and his regret looked almost genuine. He took another sip of his wine. “Look, I know how much I hurt you. I know I will always regret it. More than I could ever tell you.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think you regret it at all.”
Brett looked upset. “That’s not true, Emma,” he said. He stared at me. “Look, it was the biggest mistake I’ve made in my life.”
“Yeah, well, maybe it was for the best,” I muttered. I took a long sip of my wine and wished I was anywhere but here. Why had I agreed to this?