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“We don’t,” I said, my voice rising. “Shechose. Or have you forgotten she walked out on us.Allof us.”
“Please don’t tell him. I’ll find a way. Just let me do it in my own time.”
I crossed my arms. “I can’t do that. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
She clutched the sleeve of my shirt. “I can’t lose him.”
“Do you have that little faith in the man who raised us? All on his own?” I stared at her. “What’s happened to you?”
I stomped down the sidewalk without waiting for an answer. She’d betrayed all of us and put me in the terrible position of having to keep her secret or hurt our father. I didn’t want to do either. And I didn’t want to lose my nephew. But right now, I could hardly stand to think of Marlow, let alone consider being in the same space with her.
How long has this been going on?Why had she kept it from all of us?
My brother would have never condoned the relationship, but he wouldn’t have tried to stop her if this was what she wanted. Dad wouldn’t either.
Dad.
How was I going to tell him Marlow had been seeing our mother? I didn’t know, but there wasn’t a choice. He deserved the truth.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Baker
“Where’s the little lady?”
Trish was empty-handed when she opened her door.
“Andrew is picking her up from his dad on his way home.” She stepped to the side to let me in.
I hugged her tightly.
“Hope leftovers from Delores are okay for dinner. I’m bushed.”
“I’m not picky, especially when it comes from your food truck. And as long as I can take something back for Holt.”
Trish gave me a strange look and a secretive smile. “I think that can be arranged.” She linked her arm through mine and led me to the kitchen. “Speaking of, how’s the roommate situation going?”
I widened my eyes in mock-horror. “Donotuse that word in front of him.”
“Why not?”
I filled her in on the whole fiasco.
“So let me get this straight. You’re not seeing other people, but you’re not exclusive?”
“That about sums it up.” I threw my hands up and shrugged.
“Do you want to be?”
Trish transferred food into serving dishes. She looked back at me when I didn’t immediately answer.
“No.” I knotted my fingers together. “Well, I mean, I don’t want him to date anyone else, and I don’t want to either. But I’m not ready for commitment.” I rested my arms on the kitchen table and dropped my forehead on top of them. “I’m not sure I’m ready for what we’re doing.”
“Most of us rarely are.”
“I think I might have agreed to live with him because I didn’t want to look like a chicken.” The confession came out in an annoyed huff. Not with him, but with myself.
“You agreed to live with him because it’s what you wanted to do,” she corrected.
