Page 23 of It's a Widow Thing

“Are you in love with her?”

The question hung over his head like so many others. Could what he was feeling be love? He certainly didn’t want to see anyone else. She had become his sun and moon. His reason for freaking breathing. But exactly how dangerous a path was he treading on? Sabrina could change her mind about him at any minute, and he would have absolutely no reason to argue with her. “I’m not ready to put labels on it, but I know I’m falling.”

Brian and Daniel looked at each other, then turned to Michael. “Good,” they managed to say in near unison.

Michael laughed. Message received, loud and clear. They wanted him to be happy. “Love you guys. Even though you’re both total dorks.”

Their food was brought to the table a few minutes later by a runner. The aroma wafting off Brian’s steak made Michael want to stab himself in the back of the hand with a fork. Instead, he did his best to look lovingly at his salmon.

“So, we need to talk about Mom’s seventieth. It’s less than a month away,” Daniel said, stuffing an enormous bite of luscious, creamy pasta into his mouth. “It’s on a Saturday. You know she’s going to ask us to come to DC that weekend. Or maybe the beach house. And she’s going to say that we’re just getting together and she doesn’t want a fuss made over her birthday, but we have to do something.”

“You’re right,” Michael said. “Any ideas?”

“We all need to clear our calendar for starters. And I was thinking that we could get some of her favorite champagne and a really fancy cake? You know she won’t let us cook or bring in dinner. She’ll want to do all of that on her own.” Daniel had clearly put thought into this, but that was normal for him. He was a planner. He liked to have things under control.

“I’ll talk to Dad. See if he has any ideas.” Michael felt like he had to take charge of some part of this, but he already knew what his mom was really going to want on her big day. She was going to want everyone there. That meant all three sons, of course, and then Zoe and Alyshia and Erika. And once again, it would leave Michael as the odd man out. The one person without a partner or a child. Even in the days when he’d been devoted to staying single, he’d felt awkward about it. “Would it be weird if I invited Sabrina to meet the family that weekend?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized what a leap that was. He’d promised he wouldn’t push, and yet his inclination was to do exactly that.

“You know Mom would love it,” Brian said. “And I know Alyshia would like to meet her.”

“Well, we’ll see.” Michael took a big bite of his salad. “And I’ll call Dad tomorrow to ask about a gift for Mom.”

“If you could email or text both of us afterward, that would be great.” Daniel looked at his watch. “Do you guys want to grab a drink somewhere after this? It’s still pretty early.”

Despite the fact that Michael was trying to not drink, he did relish the idea of spending more time with his brothers. Plus, Sabrina was at a meeting with her widows group, so he wouldn’t get to see her tonight. Eating up some time was a wise strategy. “Sure. I’m up for anything.”

The waitress returned with their check and Michael immediately offered up his credit card. This time, his brothers didn’t argue. “Thanks for coming in tonight,” she said.

“Let me ask you a question,” Michael said. “We want to get a drink. Any suggestions for a place we can walk to?”

“There’s a cool bar around the corner called Bad Axe. They have axe throwing, but it’s also just a fun place to hang out.”

The brothers all looked at each other and shrugged. They didn’t need any more convincing than that. “Sold.”

CHAPTERTEN

As Sabrina’scab pulled up in front of Bad Axe, she spotted Kendra and Orla waiting for her outside.

“I’m afraid it’s just going to be the three of us tonight,” Orla called out as Sabrina climbed out of the car. “Aurora got a cold from one of her grandchildren and Daisy had a date.”

“Apparently the barista got clingy,” Kendra quipped.

“What about Leticia?” Sabrina asked as she reached for the door to the bar.

“She thinks this is too dangerous, but she didn’t want to hurt your feelings by saying something at our last meeting,” Orla answered.

Good God, that wassoLeticia. Sabrina stepped inside, with Kendra and Orla behind her. “Hopefully this will be okay. Our reservation was for six.”

“Just tell them that the rest of our party is on their way,” Kendra muttered under her breath. “I’ll tip generously. It’ll be fine.”

The place was hopping, especially for a Monday, with a wide array of customers —twenty-something hipsters, thirty-something professionals, some college students, a group of couples in their forties or fifties, and possibly a bachelorette party. The decor had a rustic industrial vibe, with rough-hewn wood on the walls and a distressed concrete floor. Large round tables dotted the space, which had a bar along one long wall, with liquor bottles on display and nearly every stool occupied. The far side of the room had six throwing cages, constructed with chain-link fencing and painted targets of red and blue for taking aim.

“Your reservation was for six people,” the hostess said loudly above the din of music blaring through the PA—Separate Waysby Journey.

“The other three should be here any minute.” Sabrina hated lying, but she wasn’t about to give up on her night out with Orla and Kendra. They were her closest friends in the group, and she knew she could talk to them about Michael with zero judgement.

“Okay.” The hostess led them over to their table. “Marcus will be your wait person. He’ll be over soon. Your throwing time starts in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you.” Sabrina took a seat, then Orla sat on one side of her and Kendra the other. Whenever the widows went out, like for a movie, dinner, or Broadway show, figuring out the seating arrangement was always an ordeal. Orla and Daisy didnotlike to sit next to each other, but they were always oddly polite about it, so that made it uncomfortable as they each jockeyed for their spot. Leticia was always examining the ceiling for air ducts, as she was prone to complaining about drafts.