Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ALLEY
THEN—A YEAR AND A HALF AGO
JANUARY
Megan’s updating Christy and me about the kids while I pick at the bread in the middle of the table. I tear a piece off, slather it in an absurd amount of butter, and take a bite.
Oh God, that’s good.
I’m only half-listening.
My mind’s split in two—here, and with Jensen. He’s been… I don’t know. Different. I can’t quite explain it. He’s stressed, irritable, tired, withdrawn, late. Just off.
It’s sporadic, too. I never know which version of him I’m going to get. He’ll seem completely normal for a few days, and then—bam, something shifts. Last week, he said he forgot something at the office and disappeared for three hours. On a Saturday.
“Hello? Earth to Alley.” Megan waves a hand in front of my face, her voice pulling me from my thoughts. I blink, jerking my gaze toward her.
“Sorry.” I say as both their faces come into focus. Christy’s watching me closely, and Megan’s trying not to laugh.
“Where’d you go?” Megan asks, raising a brow.
I push the thoughts away. “Nowhere. Sorry. What’d you say?”
She nods toward Christy. “Mom asked if you and Jensen are coming to family dinner next week.”
“Yeah, we’ll be there. Can I bring anything?” I turn to Christy, doing my best to sound normal.
“Nope. I’ve got it covered. Just bring yourselves.” Her eyes narrow slightly, her voice softening. “You okay? You’ve been quiet today.”
I wave it off. “Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about a friend at work.” I swallow, forcing a small, sad smile. “She had to get a biopsy on a mole. She’s been really worried while she waits to hear back.”
Cindy is waiting for results, but I don’t know why I just lied.
Maybe because there’s nothing technically wrong.
Or maybe because I don’t want them thinking less of Jensen—or me.
Voicing concerns about our relationship to his mom and sister doesn’t feel right.
What would I even say? Things just feel off, and I don’t know why?
Besides, Jensen’s amazing. Things are still great ninety-five percent of the time. We’re probably just hitting a bump. Doesn’t that just make us… normal?
“Oh, that’s too bad. I hope everything turns out okay,” Christy says gently. She means it. She’s one of the most thoughtful, genuine people I know. It’s no wonder Jensen turned out the way he did—well, all of them, really. They’re all so great. I love every single one of them.
Our server comes by to refill drinks, and Megan launches into details about the surprise Disney trip she and Kevin are taking the kids on for Easter. I pull off another piece of bread and dip it into the ball of butter, practically scooping the whole thing.
We do monthly brunches the last Sunday of the month. Amber’s out sick today, so it’s just the three of us. It’s always the same place: The Porcupine, Christy’s favorite, where designer purses sit upright in their own chairs like honored guests.
It’s a little fancy for my taste, but the food and coffee are incredible.
In the summer, the outdoor patio is to die for—huge hanging flower pots, crisp white linens, strung lights.
It’s gorgeous, and one of my favorite ways to start the day.
Jensen and I go often when it’s warm, just us or with Matt and some of our other friends.
“Al, do you and Jensen have any trips planned? I know you mentioned Miami a few weeks ago. Did you book anything?” Megan asks.
I set down the piece of bread I’ve clearly been using to manage my feelings. “No. Not yet. We talked about April or May, but haven’t booked anything. So far, just the Berkshires next week. Everyone’s still going, right?”
“I think so.” Megan takes a sip of her Bloody Mary. “I’m so excited to be going over Superbowl weekend. Maybe Jensen can teach Kevin how to make better bets. I swear that man will bet away the kids’ college funds. He can’t win to save his life, even if it’s a fifty-fifty shot.”
I laugh, grateful for the distraction. Jensen definitely has the good luck charm on his side. “Oh my God, poor Kev. I still can’t get over the fact he was up five grand at Jensen’s bachelor party, and then lost it all on red.”
Megan scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Don’t remind me. Seriously, what an idiot. I love him, but—God.”
“Well, I can’t believe that after all these years your father and I still aren’t invited to the Berkshires weekend,” Christy teases. We all know she doesn’t really mean it. She secretly loves that the kids have something just for them—that they’re all close like this.
“I know, Mom. You give us shit every year. But we all know you don’t really want to come.
One, you hate skiing. Two, do you really want to be cooped up with all your kids, drunker than skunks, talking about stuff you definitely don’t want to know about?
And three, we can’t talk shit about you guys if you’re there.
” Megan sticks out her tongue and laughs, and Christy playfully smacks her arm.
I laugh along with them, my mood officially lifted. The server brings our checks, and Christy grabs it, of course. She does every time, and while I feel bad, I’m also not complaining.
We chat for another fifteen minutes before finally making our way outside.
It’s a cold January day, and I have zero interest in walking, even though it’s not far.
I’m looking forward to spending the rest of the day with Jensen.
It’s football Sunday, Conference Championship weekend.
He and Matt will be glued to the game, a few beers deep, and the charcuterie I left for them will most likely be destroyed.
I’m really excited for the Berkshires trip next week, especially with it landing on Super Bowl weekend.
I’ve fallen hard for football this season, and I’m not mad about it.
I even joined two fantasy leagues: one with Jensen’s family and one Michael started with our dad, Adam, Leo, and a few others.
The leagues are over, but the trash talk hasn’t stopped.
Jensen won in the Adams family league, and one of Leo’s buddies, Ryan, took the win in Michael’s.
As we reach the exit, we all stop to hug goodbye.
I push the heavy door open, walk to the curb, and hail a cab.
I slide into the back seat for the five-minute ride home, watching out the window as it starts to flurry.
I hate the cold, but I love the snow. I lean back in the cab, giving in to the smile tugging on my lips. It’s going to be a great day.
Everyone’s wearing a Bengals jersey. Everyone… except Matt, who just walked into the kitchen wearing a Rams jersey and the biggest smartass grin I’ve ever seen.
Jensen laughs when he sees him. “Bro. You’ve got to be kidding me. Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face and go change. That jersey’s banned in this house.”
Matt chuckles. “Fuck off. This is my house. You’ll be wishing you had one in a few hours.”
Kevin pipes in. “Seriously, dude. You don’t like the Rams. You just did that to piss us off.”
I can’t help but laugh. They’re absolutely ridiculous, arguing like it’s life or death over a team they don’t usually root for. Things are about to get heated. We all chipped into the Super Bowl squares pool, so the trash talk is only going to get worse as the night goes on.
“What are you talking about? I love the Rams,” Matt says, rounding the kitchen island with a smirk. “You assholes are all going down. All my money’s on Stafford.” He leans in, lowering his voice near my ear. “I totally did it to piss them off.”
I laugh again, slicing open another pack of cheese for the charcuterie board, the chaos around me oddly comforting.
I couldn’t tell you why the Adams siblings are all-in on the Bengals because they’re die-hard Jets fans.
I’m just along for the ride, but I was told it was very important that I wear a Bengals jersey.
So, I did—though Jensen was deeply upset that I had to wear pants.
We’re back in the Berkshires. We got here three days ago, and it’s been a blast so far. I’ve needed this. We’ve needed this—time away to destress and reconnect. It’s been really, really good.
And yes, I delivered my now-annual tradition of road head on the way up.
“You need therapy, Matt,” Megan calls from across the kitchen. “There are other ways to deal with Jordan not coming.” She pauses, realizing what she said. “Ha. No pun intended.”
Kevin snorts while Jensen high-fives her.
“Oh, Jordan’s coming, Meg,” Jensen says. “She’s just not coming with Matt.”
Yep. That’s my sweet, sweet husband. And I love him all the more for it.
“I mean, we’re all here, Matt. We all came. What’s wrong—you can’t make Jordan come?” Jensen slaps him on the back, and Megan spits her drink out with laughter, wine spraying across the counter.
“Jesus, Megan. Get it together,” Kevin says, cracking up.
Matt’s face does it for me. I can’t hold back either. He’s a ticking time bomb, and I almost feel bad—almost.
“Ha. Ha. Ha. You’re all so funny. She’s with Dr. Douchebag again this weekend.”
“Is every guy Jordan dates going to be a douchebag?” Megan asks, one eyebrow raised.
Matt scoffs, eyes darting to the side. “For the record, I made her come two weeks ago. Joke’s on you fuckers.” He flips both middle fingers up, grabs his drink off the counter and storms off to the living room, flopping onto the couch beside Jeff, who’s glued to his phone.
Jensen raises his brows at me, grinning.
“That was mean, babe,” I say, smothering my smile.
“He asked for every bit of it by wearing that jersey.”
“You got that right,” Megan adds.
“Besides,” Jensen points to Megan. “She started it with the whole coming innuendo.”
Megan grins proudly, dramatically rolling her shoulders and stretching her neck like she’s gearing up for a fight. “He shouldn’t mess. He knows better.”