“Yeah…” Now we’re talking hockey? I have whiplash, I think.
Blake sits down again, and he’s his usual buoyant self. The food is, as Blake promised, terrific. I tell Mama Riley this, and she beams.
Playing the part of the good girlfriend, I gather our dishes when we’re through. “I’ll just pop these into the kitchen, honey,” I offer, laying it on a little thick. “Do you need another beer? Or coffee?” Does Blake drink coffee? Fuck. I should have done my homework.
“I would love a cup!” he says. “Black, of course.” He winks.
“Of course!” I jump up and take my leave.
In the kitchen, I rinse our plates and pop them into the biggest dishwasher I’ve ever seen. Then I pour two cups of coffee from the big urn on the counter. Just around the corner, a tearful conversation catches my ear.
“It’s hard,” someone sniffs.
“I know, I know,” another female voice soothes. “Your baby would have turned four just next month. They would have been cousins.”
A chill climbs up my neck. Could she mean…?
Grasping the cups carefully, I walk off, keeping my back to the whispering women. But I can’t resist. When I’m a safe distance away, I turn my head.
Sure enough, it’s Molly and Brenna, their heads bent close together in conversation.
I have a million questions, at least. But for some reason the first one that pops into my mind is: Will Brenna now forfeit the collection of game pins on her dress?
17 The Godzilla Roar
Blake
Sweet Cheezus, I’ve almost done it. If this baby shower were a baseball game, then I’d be stretching my legs toward home plate right now.
Sure, there were a couple hiccups getting to first, second and third. Like the fact that Molly was glaring at Jess all afternoon. And the suspicious looks my mom kept throwing my way. And I may have pissed off Brenna a wee bit. But I rounded those bases and now I’m sliding to home plate, about to be free of the tension that’s been coiled up inside me since—
“Blake? Can we talk for a second?”
Shitballs.
I almost dive back into the bathroom when I find Molly waiting for me in the hall. Fuck. Why did I have to duck inside to take a piss? I should’ve just held it until I got home. Or used that empty Gatorade bottle on the floor of my Hummer. Jess would’ve probably thrown up, but the fast getaway would’ve been worth her repulsion.
But now I’m stuck, and Molly’s staring at me with that sad, doe-eyed look she’s perfected over the years.
“Ah…Jess and I need to take off,” I say awkwardly. “Can we do this some other time?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone?”
I guess we’re doing it now.
Swallowing my annoyance, I try to think of a suitable answer. Why didn’t I tell her I was seeing someone…
Well, first and foremost, because it’s none of her fucking business.
But that’s too harsh. Right? Too harsh?
Maybe…because we broke up five years ago?
Damn it. Still harsh.
Because I’m not an angry guy, but every time I see you or hear your name I want to Hulk out and smash an entire metropolitan city.
Okay, even worse.
There’s nothing I can say that’ll appease her. The best I can come up with is, “It’s new.”
“Six months isn’t new!” Her cheeks redden when she realizes she’s yelling. She quickly lowers her voice. “A heads-up would have been nice, Blake. You knew I was going to be here today. I would have appreciated a warning that you were bringing someone,” she says tightly.
My voice is equally terse. “No offense, Mol, but I don’t owe you any warnings. It’s been five years. Shouldn’t be a shocker that I’m dating other people.”
Her lips part in dismay. Then she blinks, rapidly, and I prepare myself for the inevitable tears.
“You don’t have to be”—blink blink—“cruel about it,” she whispers. Blink blink blink. “After everything we’ve been through”—blink blink—“I deserve more than that.”
And cue the tears. They cling to her dark lashes for a second before slipping free and streaming down her cheeks. I pray that none of my sisters walk in right now, because they’re all super protective of Molly. If they saw that I’d made her cry, they’d kick my ass to next Sunday.
“Molly.” I shove both hands in my pockets. I’m not going to touch this woman. Not going to comfort her. “You need to move on.”
Her tear-filled eyes widen. “I have moved on.”
“No, you haven’t. But it’s time for it, honey.” My hands slide out of my pockets and dangle at my sides. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this right now. Take care of yourself.”
Then I lumber past her without a backward look. Am I an asshole? Maybe. Do I fucking care? Nope.
Molly is lucky to be here. One word from me and there’d be no more invites to these kind of events. If my family knew what she’d done, they wouldn’t even let her approach the front door.