“Yes, yes of course.” I confirm, biting my lip in thought, “I just…was curious, I guess. We cooked the other night and he shared one of Ben’s recipes with me.”
Ana’s blue eyes roll over me. “The baked spaghetti?”
I nod.
“That boy really does love you, then.” She airs a disbelieving laugh. “He doesn’t even letmemake him that dinner. Says I never get it right.” Her smile dims slightly, as if the nostalgia both hurts and warms her.
“Oh.” I huff a laugh, almost denying it, but realize that might be odd for a wife to say about her husband. If hedoeslove me, why hasn’t he told me already? Why haven’t we had that conversation? Then again, I guess I haven’t told him how I really feel, either. So, rather I say, “I hope he does.”
Ana’s returning smile is reassuring, gentle. Like she understands Wyatt,us, better than I do.
Chapter Thirty-Five
WHITNEY
“Oh, god.” I eye the large man leaning against my kitchen counter. “Who gave Haden a clipboard?”
“Wesley,” Blake grumbles, taking a sip of her wine. “After the last family dinner, he decided teams would be written out on paperbeforethe festivities start.”
Vivienne huffs a laugh, “Probably not a bad idea.”
My sister seems off today, but I haven’t had the chance to pull her aside and ask her what’s up. Currently, we’re standing around while the boys chat in the corner, and Ana, Elise, and Elain are placing their finishing touches on our Thanksgiving dinner. It smells amazing in the house—roasted and fried turkey, gravy and mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and fresh-baked pies. My mouth is watering at the smell alone. Brinley’s down for a nap before we eat. The atmosphere is light, everyone in a bright mood and ready to celebrate.
The doorbell rings just as I finish pulling the last pie out of the oven. “I’ll get it,” I sing-song, walking towards the front door. It must be Harper–she mentioned she would be running late tonight. But when I swing open the door, my entire body plummets into fight-or-flight mode. I blanch, nausea and unease curdling my stomach. My lips part, “Mom?”
“What the hell were you thinking?”I bark, grabbing my sister’s shoulder and whirling her around. We’re on the back deck, Haden and Wyatt having followed us out here.
Vivienne blinks, straightening her shoulders and stepping out of my hold. I’ve never been this angry with my sister, and I don’t think I’m above clawing her face off and pulling her hair right about now. “I was thinking it’s the holidays,” Vivienne snaps back, “I was thinking it’s time you two get over your shit, and I was thinking she deserved to meet Brinley.”
“That isnota decision you get to make,” I hiss, taking a step towards her. She doesn’t back away. The audacity she has to be upset withmedoesn’t go unnoticed. “Girls, maybe-” Haden starts, Wyatt mutters something too, but Vivienne and I whip our heads in their direction, snapping, “Stay out of it.”
“Why is it such a big deal?” Vivienne protests, crossing her arms. My vision turns red, and finally my voice reaches an octave far too high and way too uncontrolled. “Because I don’t want her here!”
Vivienne stills, Wyatt and Haden, too, and I glance over my shoulder, noticing the quiet atmosphere that’s on the other side of the door. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Thiscannotbe happening right now. “Please, Whitney.” Vivienne’s pleading tone slams against my walls, and I peel my eyes open. “Just please give her a chance.”
I stare at her for a few moments, shaking my head. But I think,reallythink. This is my sister. This is Brinley’s aunt. And I know, beneath all that rage I feel right now, she means well. Vivienne pushed a boundary, shattered it really, but it was out of the goodness of her heart. That alone causes those walls I’vebuilt to crumble a fraction, and I’m sighing. “Fine.Fine.”I hold up one finger. “She gets the night. That’sit.But don’t think we won’t be talking about this later.”
I don’t wait for her to respond before I’m stomping back inside, eager to get the day over with.
“You, okay?”Wyatt’s gentle voice reaches my ears, and I turn to look at him. I hope the sight of him will calm my nerves–it doesn’t.
Earlier, when Brinley woke up from her nap, my mother tried to scoop her up for a hug. She bolted in the opposite direction. Wyatt had picked her up, muttering, “Yeah, not happening. Even if she does like you, I don’t.”
The gape on my mother’s face will forever be engraved in my brain, but I’m glad Wyatt didn’t let it happen–or try to force Brinley into saying hi. I’m not sure I would’ve been able to handle it. Unfortunately, I know she’ll get him back for that little dig, and I’m just on the edge of my seat waiting for it.
“No,” I mutter back honestly. My anxiety is at an all-time high. I feel hot, and shaky, and completely unsure what to do with my body. The clank of forks and chatter from everyone wraps around me. Every move I make, every bite of food brought to my mouth feels mechanical. I’m already down three glasses of wine and considering another.
Wyatt and I sit at the head of the table, with Brinley on the corner in her highchair. My mother sits across from me, right next to Ana. Blake and Wesley are on the other end, with Vivienne and Haden across from them. Elise and Elain are side-by-side, giggling about something I can’t quite hear. But I don’t focus on anyone else in the room. Only her.
Years. It’s beenyears.
My mom smiles and talks with Ana like she hasn’t been gone and out of my life for over a decade. The sight twists my stomach. Wyatt’s hand brushes mine under the table, like he can sense my shift in mood. It steadies me for a moment, before it all takes a turn for the worst.
Brinley starts fussing, Wyatt immediately pushing back and turning in his chair towards her. He’s already on top of it—before anyone else can move an inch. He murmurs something low and gentle as he picks up the spoon she dropped. Her cries quiet down, and he presses a quick kiss to her forehead like it’s instinct. My mom’s syrupy-sweet voice flitters across the table. “It’s sweet. The way he treats her like his own.”
“Excuse me?” I ask calmly, setting down my fork.Do not cause a scene. Do. Not. Cause. A. Scene.My manifestation doesn’t work, because the entire table falls silent. Even the scrape of forks against plates halt. Blake shoots a nervous glance across the table to Vivienne.
“Some men just have a knack for pretending,” my mother continues, taking a delicate sip from her wine glass. “Whatever happened to Andrew? Such a pity you didn’t marry him instead.” A distasteful glance at my ring, then Wyatt. I feel his body stiffen next to mine.
