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Finally, my brother breaks into a smile.
“I missed you too, Chrissy,” he says, pulling her into a hug.
After, Christine turns to Cora. They stare at each other for a fraction of a second before smiling.
“I’m truly sorry that you’re going to be stuck with this doofus,” Christine states.
Cora shrugs. “He’s not all bad,” she says with a wink.
Christine laughs at that and it’s like everyone around them collectively releases a breath of relief. The newlyweds leave and my mom pulls Christine over to sit next to her at the table. I’m just about to take a seat myself when I meet Christine’s father’s eye. I don’t know what he knows about his daughter’s story, but I would rather not hear him tell me anything.
I decide to just leave altogether. After lying and telling Matt I have a headache, I get into my car and drive to the cottage. Too bad I forgot there’s one other person who knows I like to spend my time here. I haven’t been here for more than fifteen minutes before there’s a knock at the door. I open it and find Christine standing on the other side.
I’m immediately transported to six years ago. She stood in front of me like this back then, when things were so much more complicated. Now, all I have to do is convince this crazy woman that there’s no way I impregnated her. There’s just no way.
“What do you want?” I ask her, leaning against the doorway.
She arches an eyebrow. “I see your manners haven’t improved in the last six years,” she states before pushing past me and walking in.
“Neither have yours, it seems.”
She doesn’t say anything in response. I follow her as she walks into the living room.
“This place hasn’t changed one bit,” she mutters.
“I haven’t been here in years. Not since…” I trail off.
“Since we slept together,” she finishes.
“Right.”
“So, you remember that we slept together,” she muses.
“Of course I remember.”
It’s not an experience I’ll likely forget.
“So why are you convinced I’m lying to you about having your child?” she questions.
I groan and head for the fridge in the small kitchen to grab a cold drink. When I return, she’s sitting on the couch, waiting for me.
“I’m more likely to give you an STD than a child, Christine,” I say, sitting down on the sofa across from her.
Her eyes widen. “Why? Are you infertile?”
“What? No! Both a child and an STD aren’t even in the realm of possibility.”
“He’s your son, Michael,” she says, sadly. “You have no idea how sorry I am that I didn’t tell you until now. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was doing what was best for all of us, but I realize now that I was wrong.”
I raise my hand, gesturing for her to stop.
“I don’t need your apology because I don’t have a son,” I insist.
“You do, though. You’re my baby daddy, Michael. I don’t like knowing that any more than you do, but it is what it is.”
“Don’t call me that.”
She tilts her head to the side a little. “Denial’s not a good look on you, Michael.”
