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“Yes, she is,” I agreed, half-listening. Ethan’s pancakes had to be perfect circles with exactly 13 blueberries, or he wouldn’t eat them. That kind of precision required concentration, and I was nothing if not thorough.
“Look, Dad. Doesn’t she look pretty? Like a princess.” Olivia had come into the kitchen when I wasn’t paying attention, and when I turned, she thrust her tablet in my face.
The kids went to the Boys and Girl’s Club after school, and Olivia liked to browse their calendar to see what next week’s activities would be. She had a page open to the site, and a photo pulled up of Ellie, wearing a sparkling dress and an even brighter smile, clutching the arm of Zachary Grafton.
“Very pretty,” I agreed, trying to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach. “What is that from?” It had to be an old photo she just happened across while being nosey on the site. I drew in deep breaths and tried to slow my racing heart. I still had no real claim on Ellie, and despite my feelings, we hadn’t discussed exclusivity.
“It’s from the fundraiser last night. ‘Isabelle Tremont and long-time beeyoo Zachary Grafton attended the annual fundraiser gala, along with seventy-five other business owners in the area,’” Olivia recited, reading carefully. “Dad, what’s a bee-yoo?”
“Spell it for me?” A sinking feeling told me I already knew what the word was, but I had to ask.
“B-E-A-U, beeyoo.”
“It’s beau, honey. It’s pronounced beau, like b-o-w.”
“That’s dumb. It doesn’t look like that at all.”
“Well, that’s the English language for you,” I murmured, flipping the pancakes.
“So what’s it mean?”
“What?”
“What does beau mean?”
“Um…” oh god, there was no good way to explain this. “I’m not sure, honey. We’ll have to look it up later.” Feigning ignorance was the chicken’s way out, but it worked.
“You don’t know what it means?” Olivia’s tone was incredulous, and I kept my back to her penetrating stare so as not to give myself away. “You knew how to pronounce it, so you have to know what it means.”
“Well, I remember seeing the word before, but lots of words have different meanings, you know that.” Desperately, I flipped the script. “What do you think it means?”
She was quiet for a minute, thinking. I slid the pancakes from the pan and poured another set.
“I think it means friend. They look like friends.”
“I think that’s a good guess, honey. Why don’t you go tell your brother to go potty and wash his hands? You too, breakfast is almost ready.”
“Okay Dad.” She trounced into the living room, and I sighed in relief.
It was bad enough not really knowing where I stood with Ellie. But having my kids so invested was harder than I thought it’d be. And now this?
If we were being more open with each other, why didn’t she tell me she was going out with Zach last night?
After breakfast, I let them have another half hour of tablet time while I researched the event. Down into the rabbit hole of online gossip I went, landing upon a gallery full of photos from the gala. Sure enough, every photo of Ellie included Zach, down to the table where they sat, close together, surrounded by empty chairs.
Then, because I needed to hurt my own feelings further, I started reading the comments.
“Such a handsome couple!”
“So happy for these two.”
“Are they engaged yet? They’ve been together forever.”
“Yeah, I want to know when we’re going to see a ring!”
The comments section was full of admiring comments from well-meaning community members, all of them stumping this relationship that Ellie insisted she wasn’t in. But if that was the case, why was she there alone with Zach? Clearly, there was no ‘family event’ excuse for this one.
My mind dredged up the question my heart didn’t want to ask: why hadn’t she asked me to go?
