Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
FARRAH
I drive all the way across town just for a taste of Bruce’s stash of Tony’s chocolate. Freaking Whole Foods. I checked three different grocery stores, and no one had it. I crave chocolate like crazy during my period. And since my cycles are annoyingly irregular, I wasn’t prepared with my favorite treats.
And, of course, I also need my expensive cake knife. The one that cuts cleanly through the cake without dragging clumps all over.
This week I’ll order a backup.
My cheeks heat as I remember Bruce spying my period products in my cart. How mortifying. I’m in my thirties and embarrassed by a hot guy seeing my pads and tampons. Ridiculous.
I force the embarrassment from my mind. He seemed unaffected by it anyway. When I arrive at Bruce’s penthouse, I park in one of his guest parking spots where I parked yesterday and go up the private elevator. It’s handy that I already knew the code from when I brought the cake over.
When I make it to the top of the building, the door dings and opens slowly, and I’m greeted not by Bruce and Jackson, but by Mr. and Mrs. McBride. I hadn’t considered—until just this second—how it might look that I’m coming over for dinner.
I’m here two days in a row, and they’re going to think there’s something going on between Bruce and me.
My blood freezes in my veins…what if they know about our kiss? Is Bruce one of those people who tells his family everything? He seems like the type.
I enter the large penthouse, suddenly feeling very aware of my dog-hair covered black leggings and old Niagara Falls tee from a trip Connor and I took. I really need to throw out all clothing purchased with my ex, but I love this shirt. It’s all soft and worn in.
At least I took the time in the car just now to braid my long hair, so it’s not unkempt. The further I get inside the room, the more awkward I feel. And what’s worse is that I beat Bruce here.
“Hi,” I say, stepping closer to his father who’s wearing a kind smile, and his wiry, Asian mother who has those keen eyes that seem to see and know all—kind of like Andie, but less feral.
“Hello, Farrah. Nice to see you again,” she says. “Are you joining us for dinner?”
I scratch the back of my head, needing something to do with my hands. “Um, yeah. I hope that’s okay. I left my cake knife here, then saw Bruce at the store, and one thing led to another.”
His parents smirk at me.
“One thing led to another,” his dad says slowly, with that same twinkle in his eyes as his son. Some things are genetic, but not Bruce’s sense of humor. He definitely inherited this man’s mischievous streak.
Bruce’s parents seem like the type that dress nicely even for a simple day at home, so that must be where he got his fashion sense too. His mother is wearing a stylish tunic and black tights—free of dog hair—and his father has a Ralph Lauren button-down paired with dark, tailored pants.
“I think I know the knife you’re speaking of,” his mom says, waving me into the kitchen. “I washed it last night. That cake was delectable, by the way. When the Eagles win the cup this year, we’ll have you make the celebratory cake.” She winks.
I laugh. “Deal. I’d love to see them win.”
Mr. McBride’s mouth falls into a hard line. “The Quebec Wolverine’s don’t stand a chance.” He rolls his eyes. “But the Eagles do, for sure.”
I cross my arms. “Ahhhh, a Wolverines fan, huh?”
“Everyone born in Quebec is a Wolverines fan,” he says. “But Bruce’s team will always take precedence.” His chest puffs out with pride.
His expression is one that reminds me of my parents and how they feel about Remy’s teams. Being from Ohio, we were all raised as Cincinnati Cougars fans. My dad still watches all their games and fumes when they lose—he just doesn’t mention that to Remy.
I glance over my shoulder; the elevator shows no indication of Bruce’s arrival yet. “So, do you think Bruce will ever get rid of his pickup?”
His parents laugh heartily, giving each other knowing glances. “He’d keep that thing forever if he could. But I think it’ll die in the next year, for sure.”
My heart unexpectedly aches for him and his truck. “Does he have any other superstitions?”
His mother eyes his father, and they express something wordlessly. “Our Bruce watches romantic movies before each game.”
I laugh, thinking she’s joking, but she doesn’t crack a smile. “You’re kidding.”
Mr. McBride shakes his head. “Nope. He prefers the older romcoms, but if it has romance, he says it’s good luck.”
I look between the two of them, expecting them to let me in on the joke any moment. But they don’t. Instead, Bruce’s sister, Avery, appears at the bottom of the stairs. Her willowy figure is just like her mother’s, but her dark eyes are sleepy like she just woke up. “Are we talking about Bruce’s romcom obsession?”
His parents nod.
“That’s my fault, I’m afraid,” she admits as she walks further into the main living area. “I always had a romcom on, and he’d watch them with me. He somehow put together that every time he watched a romance on game day, his save percentage went up.” She huffs a laugh. “I think he’s full of it, and he just doesn’t want to admit how much he loves romantic movies.”
We all laugh at her comment just as the door of the private elevator opens, and Bruce and Jackson walk through.
“What’s so funny?” Bruce asks, eyeing us with a worried expression.
“We were just telling Farrah that you’re a romance queen,” his sister teases.
He blushes so slightly; I almost wonder if I’m imagining it. “Name a better movie than When Harry Met Sally , I dare you.”
I don’t argue, since that’s one of my favorite movies. Connor always hated watching it with me and would shut himself in our room to watch something on his laptop instead. I wonder what it would be like to curl up and watch a movie with Bruce. I bet he’s snuggly. A cuddly giant with rough hands…the warmth in my face heats tells me I’m blushing.
Bruce and Jackson’s arms are full of paper grocery bags, and they bring them into the kitchen. Mr. McBride high-fives Jackson. “Hey, Jackson, glad you’re joining us tonight. I hear you started playing chess?”
Jackson looks down at his feet. “Oh, yeah. I sort of did.”
“Well, Bruce has a chess board, so we’ll have to play.”
His head snaps up to look at Bruce. “You got a chess board?”
“Yeah, man,” Bruce says, his lips twitching. “I have to learn so I can kick your butt.”
Jackson scoffs. “Yeah, right. Stick with hockey, old man.”
Wow, if he thinks Bruce is old, he must think I’m ancient.
Bruce and his mother unload the groceries, then the guys and girls separate. The guys head into the living room to play with Bruce’s new chess board, and we girls stay in the kitchen. I enjoy watching Mrs. McBride’s nimble fingers as she slices tofu and then mixes miso paste into the soup. She patiently explains the recipe as she adds each ingredient. At some point, I stop thinking about how weird it is that I’m here, and relax, enjoying myself immensely.
It's familiar and easy the same way it is with my own family, in a way I always hoped I’d feel with Connor’s family. But I never felt accepted by them. Like how their son treated me, I suppose. It’s funny the things you block from your mind until after the fact…and then you can see it with absolute clarity.
One year at Christmas, Connor’s father got him a special knife with an engraved handle, and I received nothing. His father explained I’m not his child; therefore he didn’t need to buy me a gift.
Something tells me the McBride’s would treat their kids’ spouses and treat them like their own children—which reminds me that Avery is married. I turn to her. “Avery, what does your husband do?”
She smiles. “He’s a pediatric surgeon.”
Ahh, so her husband’s meeting was actually an important meeting. Suddenly, I feel bad for thinking the worst of him. Not all men are snakes, Farrah.
I glance into the living room where Bruce is sitting across from Jackson with a big grin on his handsome face. Jackson looks equally happy.
Some men are pretty wonderful, apparently.
So why does that make me feel so sad?