Page 82 of Our Long Days
My promise to be patient is fading. Fast.
Johanna twirls her phallic-shaped straw in her virgin mojito, laughing at the Patrick masks Quinn hands out. Bellies full of carbs and too many cocktails, Harriet, Quinn, my mom, and I sit around the table in the restaurant, ignoring the bewildered stares from the other patrons.
We came into the city, wanting something a little fancier to celebrate the future Mrs. Sadler, and settled on Italian, because apparently, the baby is craving pasta.
“Was this your doing?” Jo snorts, addressing her sister.
“You only get married once.” Harriet grins. Or, I think she does. It’s hard to tell behind the emotionless mask of my brother. “Okay, next question. Who made the first move?”
Jo chews her lip. “Umm, me. No, Patrick. Gah, we were a little tipsy. Can I say both?”
Harriet tilts her head. “Approved. My vote was Pat. That guy started planning your wedding at seven years old.”
“They’re soulmates,” my mom says lovingly, before turning to Quinn. “As are you and Graham. And Aly and Booth. You’ll be next, Harriet.”
In my mom’s eyes, I’m still a baby. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but it hurts that Dexter and I don’t follow my siblings and their partners.
Harriet tears off a chunk of bread. “Unfortunately, Claire, there are no eligible bachelors in Iris Meadows. And the men in Nashville are too…”
“Young,” Johanna finishes with a smirk.
The piece of bread goes flying over Jo’s shoulder.
“Shush, you.” Harriet huffs. “I’m happy. If the right guy comes along, then so be it.”
“Dex is older. And single.” Mom hiccups.
My stomach bottoms out. The table goes silent, or maybe it’s the roaring in my ears drowning out their reactions.
“Dex?” Harriet laughs. “Nah, he needs a woman who will bring some fun into his life, to draw him out of those woods he’s hiding in.”
Harry’s words do nothing to soothe the sting.
“Dexter needs someone who takes life seriously. With a good head on her shoulders, steady job, who wants the same things he does,” my mom replies.
She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t know. She loves you.
Eyes downcast on my empty plate, I murmur my agreement. The last thing I want is to raise suspicion.
There’s no doubt in my mind that he enjoys being with me.Whether it’s sharing the single chair on his porch or drawing pleasure from each other, I’ve never felt so cherished.
But what does he want?
I’m the one who went back on my word and agreed to keeping things quiet while he worked up the courage to speak to Patrick. My brother isn’t the type to throw a hissy fit or punches, and the longer we wait, the more I suspect there’s more to the story. He said I’m not a convenient hookup, but as I sit here, listening to my mom describe his “perfect girl,” the less convinced I’m her. He’s never made out like our age difference is an issue. Does he want kids? Marriage?
Suddenly, there are so many pages—are we even on the same one?
Condensation drips down my wrist and over my healing tattoo as I reach for my paloma, knocking it back before eyeing the server for another.The sweet liquid does the trick in numbing my brain, calming the chaos temporarily.
When my mom excuses herself to use the restroom, three pairs of eyes whip my way. They know something is wrong. I push the tips of my fingers into my eyelids, staving off the brewing tears.
“Florence,” Quinn says carefully over the deep tenor of the cello playing through the speakers.
I wave her off. “Nope. Tonight isn’t about me. What’s the next question?”
“Has something happened?” Jo asks cautiously, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Hormones,” I croak. “Lucky I got my period now and not during the wedding.”
