Their house smelled delicious, and something about it reminded me of childhood. I messed around with my nephew Peter in the family room for a few minutes, then took Prescott from Justin and held him out from me. “Hey, buddy.” He made a gurgling noise and smiled at me.
“Good, he likes you.” Justin sank onto the couch. “How about you carry him around for a while? Every time I put him down, he screams.”
“I’ll take him.” I actually liked holding babies. They were so tiny yet chubby at the same time, and they fit right in the crook of my arm. And they never shit-talked.
I tucked Prescott against my side and ventured into the kitchen. Bree, stirring mushrooms on the stove, looked over at me. “I thought I heard your voice. Are you here for dinner?”
“If I’m invited.”
“Of course you’re invited. I’m making Mom’s stroganoff.”
“That’s what it is.” I inhaled deeply. “Mmm. I haven’t had stroganoff in years.”
She turned the heat off under the pan and scooped the sautéed mushrooms into a big blue pot. “I don’t make it too often, but I was in the mood for it. I’ve been thinking about Mom lately.”
Prescott started to fuss, so I put him over my shoulder and patted his back. “Did you see Dad again?”
She began filling another pot with water. “Yes. I saw him last Sunday. And I’ll see him next Saturday—a week from today.”
“How is he?”
Placing the pot on the stove, she shrugged. “Sick. The visits aren’t long. But I brought Justin and the boys last time.”
“He never mentioned it.”
“I asked him not to.” She turned on the gas under the water. “It upsets you.”
I took a breath. “I’m sorry about that. I lost my temper the last time I was here.”
“You did,” she agreed, “but I shouldn’t have provoked you that way. I know it’s a sensitive subject.”
“Which subject? Dad? Or Winnie?”
“Both.” She turned to face me, one hand on her hip. “Is she gone?”
Stroking Prescott’s back, I sniffed his head—he smelled like baby shampoo. “Yes.”
“Are you guys . . .” She struggled for a word. “Friends?”
“Not exactly. I apologized for what I said, but she asked for time.”
Bree nodded. “That’s understandable. She must have been really hurt.”
“She was.” My stomach hollowed out all over again. “But I told her what I said wasn’t the truth.”
“What is the truth?”
“The truth is probably closer to what you said.”
She was caught off guard. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Which part?”
I kissed the side of Prescott’s head. “All of it, I guess. That I felt more for Winnie than I wanted to admit. That I hated Mom for taking Dad back all the time. That I don’t like being vulnerable to other people.”
My sister looked stunned. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”
“Yeah, well . . . I’m stubborn.”
“So now what?”
“Now nothing. Now she’s gone.” I decided not to mention her upcoming visit just yet.
“She’s gone because you didn’t tell her how you felt. I bet she’d have reconsidered that job if she’d known.”
“She knows,” I said.
Bree’s eyebrows shot up. “You told her you loved her before she left?”
I hesitated. “Kind of. Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
Her eyes bugged. “You told her you loved her and she said nothing?”
“I didn’t exactly give her a chance to reply,” I confessed. “I walked out right after.”
Bree put the heels of her hands to her forehead. “Why?”
“Because there’s nothing to be done about it,” I said, carefully keeping my volume in check. Holding a baby definitely helped.
“But Dex, you love her. Don’t you want to be with her?”
“If she was here, maybe. But I couldn’t ask her not to go. After knowing each other for six weeks? That’s insane.”
Bree parked both hands on her hips. “On our second date, Justin—”
“Yes, I know. He told you he was going to marry you. That’s insane too.”
“But it was true. Look at us now.”
“Winnie and I are different. I don’t want to marry anyone. And I don’t want more kids.”