Daire isn’t the kind of guy to give up. He’s always been this way, so I set my cup down and smooth my hands down my thighs, then force myself to dive in.
“She called about wanting to schedule a time for me to look at dresses.”
His brow creases. “Dresses?”
“Wedding dresses.”
“Oh.” He nods, picking up his drink. “Right. Go on.”
“I told her I didn’t have time.” It’s the truth. Between school and the house and Daire trying to get some sort of custody of Sammy, my days are jam-packed. “But you know how she is.”
“Pushy.” He chuckles, though he quickly sobers and rests one elbow on the table, shifting to face me. “But I don’t see why that would’ve had you upset.”
The snowman marshmallow in my cup swirls around, the edges curling in on themselves are a perfect representation of how I feel at the moment.
“It’s what she said at the end of the conversation that got to me.” I tap my fingers against the side of the Styrofoam cup, stalling. The idea of saying it out loud is painful. Even more so than hearing it. “She told me to lose ten pounds before we go so that I fit in the samples easier.”
With a thick swallow, I drop my eyes to the table, waiting for his reaction.
Daire goes eerily still at my side. He lets go of his cup, his left hand curling into a fist on top of the table.
I can’t help but zero in on the ring on his finger, getting far too much satisfaction at the sight of it than someone in a fake marriage should.
“She said what?”
Cringing, I take a sip of my drink, wishing it were spiked. “Don’t make me repeat it.”
He fumbles in his pocket, then pulls out his phone. “I’m calling her.”
“No!” I shriek, grappling to get ahold of his phone. “Don’t do that.”
He glowers, holding it in the air. “Tell me why the hell not.”
“She’s my mom. She didn’t mean to hurt me.”
He holds my stare. “It doesn’t matter whether she meant to. Shedidhurt you.”
I lift one shoulder and let it fall. “I’m used to it.”
His gaze softens, and he sets the phone on the table. Slowly, he cups my cheek. With a soothing stroke of his thumb, he says, “You shouldn’t be used to that. No one should.”
“Well,” I drop my eyes, “I am and I’m fine.”
“No.” Finger on my chin, he tips my chin up, forcing me to meet his eye. “You’re not. It’s okay to admit when someone hurts you. You’ve certainly given me hell all these years.”
I let out a watery laugh at that. Tears burn my eyes, but I sniff them back. “It’s all so stupid.”
“There’s nothing stupid about your feelings, and I’m sorry I hurt you too.”
“Back at you.” I nod and sit a little straighter. “We really made a mess of things, didn’t we?”
Chuckling, he brings his hand back up to my cheek. His thumb moves in slow, careful circles. “I think we’re starting to get it together.”
With just a few simple words and a couple minutes of his time, he’s managed to make me feel better.
Sometimes, all it takes is seeing that someone cares.
“By the way,” he says carefully. “The guys are picking me up to go out tonight. They said that since I never got a proper bachelor party, they owe me one.”