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“The gym.” I blinked a few times, an unwitting smile pulling at the edges of my lips. “My manager was pretty impressive in trying to bargain her off the steel beams holding up the heavy bags.”
Eloise cleared her throat delicately. “The same manager you sparred with tonight?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know, Aiden,” she said. “You tell us. You just”—she waved her spoon at my face—“smiled. A little. Sort of.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” Mom chimed in. “Sort of.”
I sank my head into my hands.
“Is he crying?” Eloise whispered.
My head lifted just so I could glare at her. My mom laughed.
“I liked it better when you were too young to be involved in these conversations.”
“Wellllll, you can thank Mom and Dad for that. Not like I chose to be fourteen years younger than you.”
Mom held up a hand. “Don’t look at me. It’s your father’s fault. He couldn’t keep his hands out of my pants when we were in high school. Being a teen mom was never in the plan.” She leaned over and ruffled Eloise’s hair. “But it all worked out. We made all our mistakes parenting Aiden, so by the time the rest of you came along, we knew how not to screw you up too badly.”
Pressing the palms of my hands into my eye sockets, I took a few deep breaths.
My mom laid her hand on my back. “What happened, Aiden?”
I paused. “Nothing.”
It was the truth. But it wasn’t.
I’d made peace with the loss of Beth, and what it might mean for my future. Grieving my wife, grieving the absence of her sweet, funny nature, the knowledge that Anya may not remember her when she grew up. Not once in the past two years had I met a woman who stirred up any sort of reaction.
So, while nothing had happened with Isabel, inside me, it didn’t feel like nothing.
It felt an awful lot like someone had flipped a switch whose location had been kept a secret, even from me. It wasn’t like I’d been fumbling around in the dark, trying to force attraction to someone. There was no empty gap in my life that I was looking to fill.
But now, all I could think about was how she would’ve responded if I’d slid my hand behind her neck and took her mouth with mine. How well she’d fit me, how well we’d move together because she already proved she could match me step for step. If I allowed the images to progress with Isabel, I’d never have to worry about breaking her, because the likely truth was that she’d probably have me on my back and at her mercy before we ever got to that point.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
Mom tsked. “Language. I raised you better than to curse in front of me.”
Eloise cackled with glee. “Ohhhh, this is good. Come on, give us the scoop.”
“Is she pretty?” my mom asked.
Eloise sighed. “Mom, we do not reduce a woman’s worth to their physical features anymore. She can be pretty and a raging bitch monster with the IQ of a salad, and then it’s all wasted.”
“She’s not,” I heard myself say. At their stunned silence, I wanted to yank the words back in.
“A bitch monster?” Eloise asked.
“No. I mean, she’s not that either.” I kept my gaze down at the counter because, at the age of thirty-five, I’d never had a conversation with my mom and my baby sister about women. “Pretty. Or … it’s not the right word, at least.”
For some reason, the path of my brain caused a tremor of panic down my spine. Trying to define what Isabel was or wasn’t, in this context, made my chest feel heavy and tight, and my hands held a slight tingle.
No, Isabel was not someone that I’d ever describe as pretty. It was such a weak word.
