Page 57 of Weddings, Revenge & Fake Dating

The Beefmobile parks in front of the hotel. The bridesmaids say their good-byes, hug, and make plans for the next event.

Despite everything, the outing was good. That is, until an agitated Roman appears from the revolving door of the lobby like he’s been waiting for me.

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jeanie

Walled Ladyfest

“I need to speak with you, Jeanie,” Roman says.

“What’s up?” Sophia loops her arms around his shoulders, but I can tell by his stern demeanor that something’s wrong.

When isn’t something wrong?

“This is about Dex,” he says to Sophia. “It doesn’t concern you.”

At his brush-off, Sophia quiets and her arms fall away.

I recognize her shrinking reaction. He dismissed me like this for years. Turns out, when he does it to her, I still don’t like it. Something inside me flips to protective mode.

“I think it’s time to include Sophia in the parenting,” I say, shocking myself.

I glance around to make sure I was the one who said it. I was.

“Yeah.” Sophia parrots me, even though she’s looking at me with surprise. She leaves Roman to stand beside me.

Suddenly, it’s two against one. Again.

For once, my innocent smile is real. For the most part.

Roman’s lips press tight. Knowing him, he’s sniffing out my game plan. Behind the chaos of his glare, he’s strategizing how to play this.

“Okay, Sophia,” he says. “Our child was out past curfew. What do you think we should do?” he asks condescendingly.

“Go, Tex! I’ll bet he hooked up with that cute brunette.” Sophia leans close as if we’re gossiping.

Because we’re on the same team now, temporarily, I shake my head, signaling wrong answer. She nods, taking the hint, and reevaluates.

“Lock him in his room with no food for a week?” she asks.

Roman flashes me an I-told-you-so look and folds his arms over his swelling chest. He’s not amused. But I am, a little bit.

“She’s joking,” I say, trying to contain a smile.

“Gotcha!” Sophia pokes his belly.

Roman rolls his eyes.

“We’re on vacation. Let him have some fun,” Sophia says, sounding very chill.

“He didn’t roll in until one a.m.” Roman taps his wristwatch.

I understand his concern. Dex typically has the bedtime of a ninety-year-old who eats dinner at 3:30 p.m. Staying out until one a.m. is the equivalent of an all-night rager for him. It’s highly out of character.

“He’s a good kid. I’m sure he has an explanation,” Sophia says. “Let’s give him a chance to right the wrong.”

“Nice job.” I pat her on the shoulder and then lean close. “Except for one tiny important detail.” I pinch my fingers and whisper, “His name is Dexter or Dex. Not Tex.”