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She cleared her throat. “I, um, I couldn’t help but notice Roe still refers to your house as home.”
What?
I looked at her quizzically.
“With the lemon tree.” She gestured toward the stage. “It’s probably nothing, but I can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever feel at home living with me.”
Oh.
“I’m sure it’s just a habit.” I had no idea if that was true, though it sounded plausible. Roe was officially moving out after Mexico.
Sandra nodded slowly and glanced down at her belly. “The thing is, Jake, that…Roe can’t say no to you. And…now that he and I are starting a family, I need him by my side.”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and stood a little straighter. Definitely not liking what I was hearing. But what I liked even less was that I had no argument for what she said. Of-fucking-course she needed Roe by her side. That was where he belonged.
Not with me.
“Would it be super rude of me to ask for your help?” she wondered. “Like, if his excited work brain pushes forward to another project and then one more, maybe you can slow him down a little? Help him prioritize me?”
Fuck. Despite how much I wanted her out of my life, she reached inside me and tugged at my heartstrings with those words. She was pregnant and worried. She feared her own husband would neglect her because he and I had put work first for so long.
She didn’t deserve to be mistreated.
I could reassure her with one thing, though. “Roe has dreamed of being a dad for as long as I’ve known him. That includes the whole family. He will put his family first.”
She smiled a little again, more ruefully this time. “The problem is that you’re part of his family.”
Oh? That was the problem?
My guard went up, along with my eyebrows.
She seemed to realize what she’d just said, and she started backtracking. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean that’s a problem per se, it’s just…”
“Contestants back to their marks!” someone hollered.
Thank you.
“I’m sorry, Jake, I—”
“It’s cool. I gotta get back.” I left the water bottle on the table and returned to the stage, my heartstrings intact. Fuck her.
*
Remember to smile.
Be there for Roe.
Smile for him.
This is about him.
It’s their big day.
I looked fucking dead.
For the life of me, I couldn’t muster an ounce of happiness.
Albany, New York. Catholic church. Approximately a hundred guests. Everyone was thrilled for the couple about to be married. I’d greeted countless people I’d probably never see after today. Some, I definitely would. Roe’s family wasn’t just big. It was massive. Most of his cousins arrived with their own spouses and kiddos, then add distant relatives to that. And Sandra’s family wasn’t small either, though their guest list consisted of “important work associates” of her father’s too.
I did my absolute best to shoulder my role as best man. I was at Roe’s side from the moment he woke up till we got to the church. After we’d greeted the guests, his brothers requested a moment with him, so I stepped outside for some fresh air.
I could do this.
Smile.
Sandra’s theme was Lady in Red, and I guessed I could admit I’d thought it was going to be tackier than it turned out. The pews were decorated with white and red roses. Roe’s red accent was his tie. Mine was a pocket square. The maid of honor, Sandra’s best friend, wore a red dress. Sandra’s bouquet, red roses.
I blew out a breath and dropped my chin.
Get through the day.
I swallowed hard. All fucking day, I’d been assaulted by memories I shared with Roe.
“Okay, we’ll totally edit this part out,” he said, “but I sort of see us as condors.”
I chuckled silently, watching him through the lens. “We’re scavenging vultures?”
“Well, kind of!” he laughed. “Not just us, but LA people—especially those tryna make it in the business. We’ll take whatever we can get our hands on.”
I could see his point. And I could capture his dumb, dimpled grin as he scratched the side of his head and peered up at the hole in the tree. That was where he insisted a condor had laid an egg. He’d said it fit their behavior. Condors didn’t build their own nests; they used what was out there.
“It’s about more than scavenging, though,” he continued thoughtfully. “Condors are survivors—with a little bit of help. Kinda like you and me. We get by, but not on our own. We have help too. Just like the condors around here had some thirty years ago when they were almost extinct.”
I glanced up from my camera and listened to him.
He smirked after a moment of silence. “We may not have a ten-foot wingspan, but we’re scrappy, aren’t we?”
I’d read that condors mated for life too, which I’d informed him of when I’d been drunk off my ass.
