Page 76 of The Perfect Mistake

Nate gives her a crooked smile. It doesn’t look like it reaches his eyes. “Yeah. She’s… great.”

“That kinda reminds me… I’ve been thinking lately,” Connie says, “how was Dad before Mom died? Did she change him?”

I look back at her. Nate is looking at her, too, but she just gazes serenely back at us. “Come on, guys,” she says. “It’s not that weird of a question. I’ve asked about her a ton, but I realized, I’ve never asked about him. I’ve only known him as a widower.”

Nate runs a hand through his hair. “Well, he was… at work all the time. Contron was in a big expansion phase at the time. It was gaining ground in the Canadian—”

“Not the company. Dad. How was he at home, with you two?”

The question stings. It shouldn’t, but it does, on the heels of what Isabel had told me yesterday.

Nate looks at me. I look back at him. It’s not a time we’ve spoken about a lot, either. And it was almost three decades ago.

“Mom was the one who was present,” I say quietly. “She went to every game, every school event. Dad came sometimes.”

Nate nods, but he looks thoughtful. “Dad was more fun, though. He was definitely not such a hardass when Mom was around. We used to go on trips as a family. It was different, yeah. He was different. I don’t know if he’s ever truly gotten over her death.”

Another silence. This time, it feels oppressive, and both of them glance away from me. For fuck’s sake, I’m not…

I don’t know what I am.

I’m not still grieving Victoria’s passing. I don’t think. Who knows what that even means? She left a hole in our lives and blew up everything I had expected my future to be. It’s unfair beyond belief that she never got older than thirty-four, that she never got to see Willa play piano at a recital… that she remains frozen in time, with her children still babies, and her husband working too much… fuck.

I take another sip of my beer. All this time, I’ve never once considered that my siblings may think I’m irrevocably lost in grief. But now, it’s stuck in my mind. One more thing to worry about.

A roar of excitement sweeps through the pub, and it drowns out our own awkward silence in a heartbeat. On the screen, the score reads 2-2, and only a few minutes left till the end of the match.

“Look at that,” Nate says. His voice is filled with awe. “Maxwell leaving it all out there before retirement.”

I watch the English footballer race across the field. He’s easy to spot because the camera makes it impossible not to. The man is a worldwide legend. I’ve seen more of his half-naked body plastered on the Times Square billboards than I’ve ever wanted to.

“The British press keeps wondering if he’ll get to play in the World Cup next summer,” Nate says. “With his history of injuries.”

“Yeah, you’ve definitely been gone too long,” Connie says.

Nate just shakes his head, and despite Connie’s comment, she’s watching the TV, too. I take the opportunity to look down at my phone. Two messages from my assistant, a message from Mac confirming the pickup time later… and a text from Isabel.

We’ve texted before. About the kids, logistics. But this is nothing so mundane.

Isabel: I know what I want now. I left my Kindle on your bedside table. The first five books have highlighted parts in them… if you want to check them out.

My brain short-circuits, and then I have to put my phone away. Her Kindle is waiting for me on my nightstand. I’ve never been more interested to read anything in my entire goddamned life. To see what Isabel reads, late at night and in the comfort of her bed, where she can reach down and—

Fuck. Painful thought. Wrong thought.

Connie excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and I force my focus back to Nate. He’s smiling into his beer.

“Looks like you got bad news,” he says. “Or… surprising news?”

“All good,” I say.

“Right.” He glances over at where Connie has disappeared. “So, Isabel. How are things going, working with Con’s best friend?”

The fucker. “It’s going fine.”

“Just fine, or better than fine?”

“Just fine,” I say.

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