18. A Plate Too Full
A Plate Too Full
T he scent of roasted vegetables and garlic wafts through the house as Sadie and I step inside, the low hum of conversation trickling out from the kitchen.
My mom’s voice—warm, familiar—mingles with Primrose’s gentle laughter, Logan’s voice, and the occasional fussy coo from the twins.
It’s the first family dinner we’ve had since the twins were born six months ago, and it’d be almost peaceful, if it weren’t for the troubling pile of secrets and tension threatening to bury us all.
Sadie tugs at my hand, leading me into the kitchen where Mom stands at the counter, preparing a salad. She looks up when I enter, and only briefly smiles before dragging Sadie into a tight hug.
Should she even be standing up after she twisted her ankle?
Primrose, holding one of the babies, grins. “Oh, good, you’re here!”
Sadie darts toward the twins with a delighted squeal. “Can I hold them?”
“Are your hands clean?” Logan asks.
Sadie huffs but marches to the bathroom without complaint. After watching her go, Logan finally looks at me and nods a half-hearted greeting.
Conversation flows easily enough as I settle at the table, though my responses are stilted.
I don’t know what to say to Mom that doesn’t circle back to the one thing we’re not talking about.
I don’t know how to sit at this table knowing she’s making me lie to Logan.
And I’m definitely out of ideas when it comes to getting him to open up.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I slide it out under the table, not unlocking it, just glancing at the screen. There’s a voice message from Charlotte, along with the preview banner of three separate texts.
Thinking about you tonight.
Don’t play this in front of Sadie.
Or anyone else you’re not okay sharing me with.
I stare at my lock screen a beat too long, fighting a growing smile, before shoving the phone back into my pocket. I can’t wait to listen.
Primrose launches into a story about the twins’ latest milestone, and Logan chimes in with a correction, and Mom asks questions. It’s all deceptively normal, until I see from the corner of my eye Mom’s hands shaking as she tries to twist a jar of olives open. She grits her teeth, twisting harder.
Without thinking, I push back my chair and stand. “Here, let me?—”
“Do you think I need help opening a jar, Aaron?” she asks, voice too loud, silencing the room as her head snaps up.
“I just—” I try, heat crawling up my neck.
“I don’t ,” she barks, slamming the jar onto the counter.
“Daddy?”
Sadie, back from the restroom, looks up at me with wide and worried eyes, so I sink back into my chair like nothing happened. “Took you a while, sweetheart. All good?”
“Y-yeah, I was talking to Grandpa.” She walks closer, clinging to me and throwing a disgruntled look at her grandma. She’s not the only one who noticed, unfortunately, because as I meet my brother’s gaze, I see the silent question in his eyes.
“Oh, everyone is here already!” Darren says, interrupting the awkward silence as he steps into the kitchen.
Sadie settles into her chair, her tiny arms carefully cradling one of the twins with a face of pure concentration as she supports the baby’s head just like Primrose shows her.
Logan watches her like a hawk, but when she doesn’t drop his kid, he snaps his fingers.
“Aaron, help me grab the fold-up cribs from the car.”
I know a bullshit excuse when I hear one, especially since my brother could probably carry the whole car inside the house. But I follow him obediently into the evening cool air.
He heads for the trunk, lifting it open before giving me a look. “What did you do?”
“What?”
He crosses his arms, leaning against the bumper. “Mom flipping out like that? You must’ve done something.”
Of course he’d assume I did something.
“We had a bit of a spat,” I admit. “But it’s fine.”
“A spat, huh? Does it have anything to do with her visit to the hospital the other night?” When I hesitate, wondering how much he knows, he shrugs. “Is that why you told me not to come?”
“What? No, I?—”
“Take a second to really think about what you want to say right now, Aaron.”
I scoff, watching his jaw tighten. “What, you’re going to punch me like you did two years ago?” I point at the house. “Should I call my daughter so she can witness it this time? Your children? Our parents?”
“What are you hiding, Aaron?”
I look away, teeth grinding. I really need Mom to tell him about her diagnosis, because the last thing the two of us need is more reasons not to trust each other. “Nothing, I told you. We just had a spat.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t push it. Instead, he studies me for a beat too long. “You had a spat with Amelie too?”
For a moment, I’m too stunned to speak—her name was the last thing I expected out of his mouth. “What?”
“She called.” He pulls the first crib from the trunk and sets it on the ground. “Said she hadn’t heard from you in a while. Apparently, you’ve been ignoring her texts.”
I focus on the crib, on anything but the weight of his judgmental stare. I haven’t answered because she’s the last person I want to lie to. And I will have to lie about everything that’s happened with Charlotte. About what I’ve done with her every day this week.
“I’m not ignoring her,” I say flatly, grabbing the second crib. “I’ve just been busy.”
Logan watches me for a second longer before nodding. “Aaron, if you’re in some kind of trouble...”
“I’m not.” The response comes too fast, but I don’t care. “Everything is fine.”
He lets out a deep breath through his nose, the kind that usually means he’s barely holding on to his patience. “Really? ’Cause you’re acting cagey. And the last time you were acting cagey, you were fucking my girlfriend.”
My fingers tighten around the crib frame, knuckles aching. I’ve wanted to talk about this for years, but now that the moment is here—brought up with all the grace of a sledgehammer— I want to shove it back into the dark corner we’ve both been pretending doesn’t exist.
“Oh, so we’re going there?”
Logan’s expression hardens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you’ve avoided having more than a surface-level conversation with me for years. I wasn’t sure we were allowed to discuss Josie.”
He glares. “If you wanna talk, just talk.”
I tug out my phone. “You know what? I’ll text Amelie right now. Just to prove it’s nothing, okay? Get off my back.”
I unlock the screen, but instead of hitting Amelie’s contact, Charlotte’s voice message blasts through my speakerphone.
“Mmm . . . oh, fuck . . . I’m thinking about your tongue, Chef . . .”
Holy shit!
My hand flails for the screen like I’m swatting a bee. I miss. Miss again. The audio continues, lewd and unmistakable, echoing off the damn driveway like it’s surround sound. I finally manage to slam the volume down, but not before a low whimper squeaks through.
When I look up at Logan, he’s staring at me like I just kicked a puppy.
“I—sorry, I—” I clear my throat and try to summon a lie. Any lie. “I was just watching...porn today. Yeah. I love...porn.”
He blinks.
“Audio porn,” I clarify, because apparently I’m not done ruining my life. “It’s...more immersive, you know? You get to picture yourself...and it’s more family-friendly, right?” Huh?! “And, uh...”
There’s a beat of silence so long I wonder if I’ve entered a different plane of existence. “Are you sleeping with Amelie?”
“ What? ” The air is sucked from my lungs so fast it leaves me lightheaded, my chest twisting violently enough that I physically clench.
His eyes are sharp, assessing my reaction. “Because I might not like Ian, but I will kick your ass in his place.”
The idea of him even thinking that makes the blood boil in my veins. Is that how he sees me? As some asshole who goes after other men’s wives? That Josie wasn’t just an isolated incident, but a pattern?
I step forward before I can think better of it, closing the space between us. “Are you fucking kidding me? You think I would do that? After everything?”
His expression doesn’t change. “You tell me. Did she send you that?”
“No! I told you, it’s?—”
“You know, it’s not very reassuring that you’d rather me thinking you listen to family-friendly audio porn—whatever the fuck that’s supposed to be—than just tell me who you’re seeing.”
I laugh, but it’s humorless, jagged. “I’m not sleeping with Amelie. She’s a friend.”
He smacks his lips. “So was Josie, before you slept with her.”
Wow.
“So that’s it?” I ask. “I’ll forever be the guy you can’t trust around your wife? The guy who’s just one step away from fucking someone else’s woman? I make one mistake, one misstep, and that’s all I am?”
“Why won’t you just tell me why you’re avoiding her, huh? Just tell me who that was.”
I pause, mind wandering.
Maybe Logan has a point. Sure, Charlotte is single, but she’s also the last person I should be involved with. Is he right? Am I just a step away from shoving my dick somewhere I shouldn’t?
Instead of saying any of that, I lean closer to his face. “It’s none of your fucking business.”
Logan bends down and grabs the crib. “Fine.”
My heart is still hammering, but the moment is over. I should be relieved as he walks back into the house, ready for another evening of polite, empty chatter.
I’m not.
“Why don’t you let her sleep here?” Mom says as she closes the door behind Logan, Primrose, and the girls, then makes her way back into the kitchen. She’s talking about Sadie, who’s currently napping on Darren’s shoulder in front of the fireplace.
“Hm? No, that’s okay.”
“You look like you’re not getting much sleep. Is she still having nightmares?”
I nod, watching her struggle to walk. “Yeah. But Miss Delaney, her teacher, says she’s doing better. I’m worried about Mother’s Day, but...she’ll get through it. We both will.”
Mom settles onto the chair next to mine in the silence that wraps around us. She pats my hand and asks, “You and your brother had a fight?”