Chapter 23 Sydney
Sydney
One Week Later
Islide the baking stone with a loaded homemade pizza on it into the oven. Franki shifts Ian up against her shoulder and gives me a pep talk. “You bought those groceries. You cooked that pizza. And you’re going to eat it without a taste-tester. Because you’re a bad butt.”
I snicker, then stop trying to hold back my laugh.
A few weeks ago, I’d have believed she thought “bad butt” was a reasonable swap for calling someone a badass, but I’d have been wrong.
She’s just hilarious, and that ethereal voice of hers makes her sound so innocent that people don’t get it.
“Henry is serious about never swearing in front of Ian?”
Her expression turns mischievous. “Yes. I’m actively compiling a mental list of swaps. When the time is right, I’ll use all of them on Henry in one long paragraph and dazzle him with my eloquence.”
“You two have frickin’ weird ideas of fun,” I say affectionately.
She laughs. “His assistant, Spencer, tried to get him to propose to you, instead of me. Can you imagine?”
“What?” I want to shake my whole body like I walked into a cobweb, but that would probably be rude.
Seriously, though? Henry is good-looking, but he’s .
. . he’s . . . if someone took my husband’s angelically handsome looks but gave him Loki’s attitude when he’s wearing the horn helmet and had him cosplay a mildly diabolical twin of Milo from the movie, Atlantis, that’s Henry—Oh my God, I’m so mean, but he would drive me up a wall.
“Are you saying I used to date your husband?” Surely not.
Franki cringes. “Oh, no. It was just Spencer and his matchmaking. The man tried to set Henry up with everyone but me. Henry shut it down immediately, but I wanted to—” She glances down at Ian, then back up at me.
“I wanted to gently place my hands around Spencer’s neck and, politely, in a way that would not be distressing for an infant to overhear, squeeze. ”
I snort as I tidy the counter, throwing away empty packages into the trash can under the sink.
“Even if Henry had gone for it, it never would’ve worked. You and Gabriel had already met. It was all over for him from that moment on. It took years before you admitted you were in a relationship, but everyone knew.”
I stop what I’m doing to eye her in consternation. “Why wouldn’t we admit to a relationship?”
“Bronwyn and Clarissa thought you were worried about attention from the press.” She hesitates, then says softly, “I thought you were afraid if the relationship fell apart, your friends would pick sides and freeze you out.”
My heart drops. I remembered thinking that if I slept with him, I’d lose my friends. Obviously, I worked for his father. I must have thought his dad would fire me too. “That makes sense.”
“We wouldn’t have,” she hurries to add. “But I understood how you felt. Gabriel is Bronwyn’s brother, and he’s known the rest of us since we were kids.”
“Dating him would’ve been taking the risk of l-losing the only people I had to fill in the . . . ‘family’ gap in my life,” I say.
“I told everyone to back off and stay out of your business.” She shrugs sheepishly. “He didn’t have a great track record with relationships before you. So, at first, we were glad you weren’t seeing him. We didn’t want him to break your heart.”
I swallow. “Did he?”
She shakes her head. “It was the other way around, if I’m honest.”
At my indrawn breath, she says, “Not your fault, but—It doesn’t matter. It worked out in the end.”
“Tell me.”
“You told me once that he was like a pizza fresh out of the oven. You loved pizza, but you knew you couldn’t trust it not to burn you, so you had to wait and test it.”
Shame curdles in my gut. “Did I say he was like my father?”
I’d jumped to the same conclusions this time around too, based purely on the most superficial evidence.
“Yeah,” she says quietly.
“So I punished him. Because I loved him and resented him for it?” Saliva floods my mouth. I press a fist to my queasy stomach.
She shakes her head. “I don’t think it was punishment. I shouldn’t have started this conversation. I don’t know the details, and he made mistakes too. You two figured it out in the end. You were so happy after you got married, and it’s not like you guys were miserable before that.”
She adjusts Ian, and he wraps his hand around her finger as she smiles at him.
She looks up at me, her eyes still filled with humor.
“The two of you were so bad at hiding your feelings for each other that it didn’t matter what you admitted to.
You were already involved. And everyone already knew it. ”
“He’s terrifyingly attractive,” I admit.
Franki gives a startled laugh. “All I know is that for years you arrived at every event together. The two of you would lock eyes constantly and have these conversations where neither of you said a word. You’d sit next to each other and eat each other’s food.
You’d both disappear from the group at the same time and come back all flustered.
You both took long trips out of town on the same schedule.
He’d come back with a tan. So would you.
Bronwyn was the one who figured out Gabriel owned your apartment and didn’t charge you rent. ”
“He paid for my apartment? Not a housing stipend from work? Him?” That doesn’t sound like me. Even if we were together, I can’t see myself trusting anyone like that unless I had some kind of contract in place.
“Yup. If someone asked a question about the other one, somehow, you magically knew the answer. Why did you know Gabriel’s blood type?
For what reason? How would he know what brand of shampoo you used if you weren’t together?
But anytime someone asked, both of you came up with an excuse.
Driving together was convenient because you lived in the same building.
Sneaking off at the same time was a coincidence.
But the chemistry was electric. And Gabriel, who was once the biggest dam—I mean gosh darn—player on the planet, cold-turkey stopped flirting with other women. No dates with anyone else. Not ever.”
She huffs. “He said he was ‘finding himself.’ For years. Then, finally, you two show up at one of Bronwyn’s weekend house parties, together, as usual. But this time, you’ve got an engagement ring on your finger.”
“What happened when we announced our engagement?”
“His mom said, ‘Oh, good. We’re done pretending you’re not in love with each other.’”
Guilt burns through me as I wipe away the last residue of flour from the countertop.
Franki must misinterpret my expression because her voice softens. “You’ll remember it all. Just like you’ll eat on your own again.”
She doesn’t understand. I have to regain those memories, but the more I learn about myself, the more afraid I am of who I was.
“Does Gabriel know what you’re doing today?”
It takes me a moment for her question to sink in. “I don’t want him to be disappointed if I fail. He knows Dave took me shopping, though.”
“He’ll be proud of you for trying.”
“The way I’m doing this doesn’t address my lack of trust. It’s more of a workaround, but, ‘It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get ya.’” My joke goes over like a fart in church. Not only doesn’t she smile, a set of shallow dents appear directly between her eyebrows.
I wash my hands and dry them before admitting the real reason I’m doing this. “If something happened to him because he was tasting food for me, the guilt would eat me alive.”
“I believe everything in this house is safe. Nobody’s getting in here, but if I were in your shoes, I’d do the same thing you are.
” She scrunches her face. “Maybe not exactly the same. Henry is a much better cook than I am. I’d have to live off salad.
Where did you learn to make homemade pizza dough? ”
“When I think about it, I get this image of a little round lady barking orders at me, but . . . nicely?” I hold a hand up to indicate someone who doesn’t quite reach my collarbones.
“I bet I know who you’re remembering. Do you mind holding Ian for a minute?”
“Do I—Gimme my nephew,” I say with so much enthusiasm that she laughs.
The one time Ian wrapped his fist around my finger, Henry hovered over me with both hands held in midair like he was ready to snatch the baby out of my evil grasp at a moment’s notice.
The thought pulls me up short, and I freeze. “Are you sure it’s cool with Henry?”
“It’s fine. You should have seen him with the labor and delivery nurses in the hospital. It’s not you. It’s just new dad jitters.”
When they arrived a month ago, I didn’t trust myself with Ian. But I’m stronger physically and mentally now. I’ve had many new memories, but no more meltdowns or flashbacks since the one with the psychiatrist. I can support his weight for a little while if I hold him against my body.
“He’s growing so fast, but we still support his head unless he’s lifting it himself—Oh. That’s right. I forgot what a pro you are with the babies,” she says as I naturally crook my elbow to support him as she passes him into my arms.
“I babysat a lot when I was in the foster system. There were always little ones around.” I smile down at Ian in my arms, and he responds with an open-mouthed, toothless grin and grabs my braid.
“He does that to me too. When I wear my hair down, he uses it like a bell pull,” she says.
“I don’t mind. I hope I have kids of my own some day.” I smooth down the wild tuft of caramel-colored hair on the top of his head. “Sweet little babies like you,” I coo in a singsong voice.
“I thought you didn’t want children,” she says, surprise evident in her tone.
I look at her in confusion. “A lot can change in ten years, but I can’t imagine that.” I’ve always wanted a family. I desperately wanted children I could give everything that I didn’t get. Love, attention, support. A home.
Franki shakes her head. “You told me on your wedding day that you and Gabriel had zero plans to be parents. Ever.”