Addison
Dinner at my parents’ place was always a performance, and skipping Sunday had consequences. Apparently, one of those consequences was Tuesday night.
By the time I pulled my car into their street, I was already tired from what I’d generously been calling a dress rehearsal of a day. The morning had started early with three showings stacked back-to-back across the city, which meant coffee in a travel mug and breakfast at stoplights.
By noon I’d already toured two couples through properties they loved but couldn’t quite afford and talked a nervous first-time buyer out of offering fifteen thousand over asking. The afternoon had been paperwork and calls and a negotiation that stretched far longer than it should have.
Somewhere between the third coffee and the last email, I’d looked at the clock and realized I was late for nothing except my own evening.
Still, I’d gone home anyway, changed out of my work clothes, and put on something my mother would consider respectable. Jeans and a fitted sweater were the compromise between comfort and family expectation.
I arrived five minutes early, because being late invited subtle comments from my mother about how busy didn’t mean unavailable, and I didn’t have the energy to fake-smile through that.
The townhouse looked exactly the same as it always did. The front garden was trimmed within an inch of perfection, with the porch lights glowing warmly against the darkening sky. Through the door I could already smell garlic and rosemary drifting into the evening air.
I rang the bell.
My mother opened the door a moment later wearing a cream sweater set and pearls. Her makeup was perfect, her hair styled neatly at the nape of her neck, and her polite smile settled into place the moment she saw me.
“Darling, come in,” she said warmly.
“Hey, Mom,” I replied as I leaned in for a quick cheek kiss before slipping off my heels in the entryway.
Benji was already there. He lounged in one of the armchairs with a tumbler of something amber in his hand, legs stretched out like he’d been waiting a while. The second he saw me, he lifted his brows slightly in a look that read half warning, half save me.
I arched a brow right back at him.
My dad emerged from the study with the evening paper folded under his arm.
“Addison,” he said.
“Hi, Dad,” I replied.
Dinner was already set. A roast sat perfectly plated in the center of the table, surrounded by roasted carrots and crispy potatoes. Polished silverware caught the overhead light and linen napkins were folded into careful triangles beside each plate.
Of course.
We settled into our seats, and my mom poured the wine before asking the question she always asked first.
“How was work today?” she asked while passing the potatoes.
“Busy,” I said as I reached for the serving spoon. “I had a last-minute buyer call right as I was walking out the door, so I haven’t really sat down since ten.”
“Well, good for you,” she said as she sliced neatly into the roast. “It’s always better to be in demand.”
Benji rolled his eyes subtly across the table. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
The conversation stayed light for a while after that. My dad asked about the market, and I explained that inventory was still tight but interest rates were stabilizing. Benji filled us in on a project he’d been working on at the shop, describing a bike he was rebuilding from the frame up.
My mom nodded politely through most of it while occasionally asking questions about my office through me like Cassidy was a distant employee rather than someone I worked beside every day.
It was fine. Not warm. Not cold. Just practiced. Halfway through the meal, my mother set down her fork and glanced toward me.
“I was thinking the other day,” she began carefully. “Addison, have you considered bringing someone to Lilly’s wedding?”
My fork paused halfway to my mouth. “Excuse me?” I asked.
“Well, it’s a lovely event,” she said as she reached for her wineglass. “Black tie, dancing. You’ll be surrounded by couples. It might be nice not to go alone.”
“I’m not worried about going alone,” I said evenly.
“Well, I am,” she replied. “I don’t want you to feel left out or pitied or—”
“I’m not going to feel pitied, Mom,” I interrupted gently. “I’m a grown woman. I’ll survive a night without a date.”
Benji snorted quietly into his wineglass.
My mother ignored him entirely. “I ran into Madeline at the club yesterday,” she continued. “Her son is back from Los Angeles. You remember Brandon, don’t you?”
“Vaguely,” I said.
“He’s a lawyer now,” she added. “Family law. Very bright. Handsome. I told her you’d meet him for coffee.”
“You what?” I asked before I could stop the sharp edge in my voice.
My mother lifted one eyebrow. “You’re thirty-two, Addison,” she said calmly. “There’s nothing wrong with exploring your options.”
Benji leaned back in his chair with a quiet groan. “Here we go,” he muttered.
I set my fork down carefully and folded my hands together.
“I’m not broken,” I said slowly. “I’m not incomplete. And I’m not going to Lilly’s wedding to audition suitors like it’s The Bachelor.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“Well, don’t.”
Silence settled heavily over the table. My dad shook his head slightly and looked at my mother. “You really need to let them live their lives,” he said softly.
“Thanks, Dad,” Benji and I said at the same time.
I softened a little and glanced back at my mom. “I appreciate that you want me to be happy,” I said more gently. “But I’m fine. I promise.”
She pressed her lips together, nodded once, and reached for her wine.
The rest of the evening stayed safely neutral. Dessert came and went without any new topics introduced, and when I finally stepped outside into the cooler air, I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath all night.
Benji walked me to my car with his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets.
“She was a lot tonight,” he said.
“She’s always a lot,” I replied.
“You handled it better than I would have.”
“You handled worse,” I reminded him. “For years.”
He nodded once. “Yeah.”
He paused beside my car and glanced at me. “I know what it’s like,” he said. “Pretending. Becoming the version of yourself that’s easiest for her to digest.”
My throat tightened. I didn’t need to explain.
“Just take care of yourself,” he continued. “Do it your way, at your pace. But don’t twist yourself into something you’re not just to make her comfortable.”
“I’m trying,” I said quietly.
“I know.” He squeezed my shoulder once before stepping back.
“I’m here if you need backup,” he added.
“I know,” I said again.
This time I meant it. I sat in my car for a moment before pulling out my phone and finding one new message waiting on the screen.
Sawyer: Missed your face today. Hope dinner wasn’t too awful. Want me to distract you?
I smiled before starting the engine.
* * *
By the time I got home, the condo was dark and quiet in that hollow way that always greeted me after long days.
I dropped my bag by the door, kicked off my heels, and went straight to the bathroom. The familiar routine followed automatically. Dress discarded. Earrings beside the sink. Cleanser, toner, moisturizer lined up along the counter like a small army of glass bottles.
My hands moved through the steps without much thought while my mind stayed somewhere else entirely.
Dinner had been fine. Which meant exhausting.
By the time I finished my skincare routine, I didn’t want to think about any of it anymore. I wanted relief. I wanted distraction. I wanted my girlfriend.
I pulled on Sawyer’s shirt, the one I’d never returned, and a pair of cotton underwear. The fabric hung loose on my frame and still smelled faintly like cedar and something warmer beneath it.
Her.
I climbed into bed and grabbed my phone.
Me: Finally home. It wasn’t that bad…
Sawyer: Glad it wasn’t that bad. What are you doing?
I smiled as I typed back.
Me: In bed. Wearing your shirt. Underwear. Thinking about you.
I hesitated for half a second before snapping and sending a photo.
Sawyer: Damn. You look so good.
My breath caught a little.
Me: I can’t stop thinking about you.
Sawyer: Same.
We texted for a while after that, slipping easily into the comfortable rhythm we’d already started building.
Her messages made me laugh more than once, and when she called a few minutes later, the sound of her voice settled something in my chest that dinner had rattled loose.
By the time we said goodnight, the silence in my condo didn’t feel hollow anymore.
I curled deeper into the blankets with Sawyer’s shirt warm against my skin and her voice still echoing softly in my head.
* * *