“I’ll bethenever apologized.”
She recoils as if I’d struck her.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I don’t know anything about the situation.” I hesitate, because honestly that’s not true. “Except for everything my father has told me. Which is admittedly kind of a lot.”
I know Nora’s father was a serial cheater who used to teach courses about the psychology of lying. I also know that he tricked Mrs. Applebaum-Peebles, a very upstanding woman, into believing all of his lies for many years.
Nora smiles at me, her eyes still full of raw emotion. “You make apologizing sound so easy.”
I shake my head. “No, Nora. None of this social stuff is easy for me. It never will be.”
I hadn’t meant to say that, but I don’t take it back.
Nora’s gaze dances on my skin but also prickles, because I don’t know if she likes what she sees.
My phone buzzes, and I check the screen, grateful for the excuse to look away.
It’s Dottie.
Perhaps I’ve imbibed too much tonight, but I’m confused, dear. While I have nothing against a May-December romance, and indeed, my own man is younger than I am, I do hope this doesn’t mean you’ve already moved on from Nora. You two are perfect for each other.
I stifle a laugh, realizing I’d forgotten to include any context in my message, then type,
No. Nora’s mom is sad. I was hoping you might have some ideas for cheering her up.
That will never do. Tell Moira and Eugene to open the present.
I smile at Nora, who’s frowning at me.
“It’s Dottie. She and Ann and I have a group chat too.”
The annoyed grimace clears from her face.
“You’ve been texting Dottie?” she asks with a smile. “You didn’t even know who she was a couple of weeks ago.”
“A lot of things can change in two weeks. Look at you, not hating me.”
“I never hated you.”
“I’d prefer for you to hate me than not think of me at all.”
She looks stunned by this, and I have to admit, it doesn’t make much sense. But it’s still true.
“You were never invisible to me,” she says after a moment.
“Good.” I hesitate, wanting to touch her. Wanting to run my fingers over her soft cheek and kiss her, right here in the kitchen. But I can’t. Obviously I can’t. So I clear my throat and say, “Dottie says we should have your mom open the present.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
NORA
I’m not an emotional person.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself for years, maybe my whole life. So why do I feel like a reality TV star tonight, shaking with uncontrollable laughter one minute, near tears the next?
I study Cormac as we walk into the dining room together. He smiles and nods in encouragement, and I feel another gush of stupid, gooey emotion.
He is infuriatingly adorable. I mean, what thirty-year-old man has a group chat with two senior citizens and a sweet neighborly relationship with a third? He doesn’t have to be good to them. It’s not like he doesn’t have friends his own age.
