The only exception to my “working dinners” lifestyle was when I’d stay with my grandpa when I was younger.
We’d always have dinner together.
Most of the time, it was something he’d hunted himself. When his age started to affect his body more, we turned to easier things, like microwave dinners, but we always had them together.
We’d sit at his little folding table, playing cards and chatting while we ate.
I liked those dinners the best.
But regardless, my family dinners were never like Zach’s.
It’d been a night of nonstop laughter, with Micah and Zach bantering back and forth and Mrs. Bowen chiming in with the occasional warning or thump on the head. Mr. Bowen was mostly quiet, but his eyes were warm, and when it was his turn to talk, I learned quickly that he loved to exaggerate what actually happened — especially when it came to a fishing or golfing story.
At one point, I sat back and looked around at all of them smiling, seeing how strong their bond was and feeling somewhat like a distant witness. It was something I’d always wanted, something I’d envisioned having one day with Carlo and our kids.
My stomach had dipped at that, and I’d shaken him from my memory. Instead, I let myself focus on Zach.
He’d invited me home for dinner, something I knew had to be important to him. He’d already told me what his family meant to him, and the way they all hugged me when I got here tonight, the way his father kept looking at me across the table with a curious smile, I had a feeling I was the first woman to ever get the invitation.
I let myself mull over it all, the past few weeks running through my mind in little flashes as I stood on Zach’s back porch and watched the sun dip lazily over the horizon. The gold rays caught the grass and trees in a slant, casting beautiful, haunting shadows across the yard.
It was quieter out here, the way it had been at the house I shared with Carlo.
I missed it a little bit.
“We’re going to have pie,” Mrs. Bowen said, sliding up beside where I stood, my elbows resting on the white, metal railing. I’d been so lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t even heard her come outside. “If you’ve got any room in that tiny belly of yours.”
I smiled, patting said tummy. “Oh, if you only knew how many hot dogs I have hidden in here.”
Mrs. Bowen let out a sharp laugh. “Yes, my son told me you were a hot dog girl. Which, normally, I wouldn’t have a problem with. Except…”
“He told you I like ketchup on them.”
She grimaced, letting her head hang with a sigh. “I’d hoped it wasn’t true.”
I chuckled, and she offered me a small smile as she propped her elbows up on the railing next to mine. We both watched the sun sink a little lower, and I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d had all night. It wasn’t one of anxiety, or nervousness, or worry.
It was one of comfort.
Being there, in that house, with Zach and his family — it felt like I belonged. It felt like I could be there again, someday in the future, or maybe even next week. It felt like I always had a place there if I wanted it.
“You know, Zach told me something else about you,” Mrs. Bowen said, her eyes still cast across the yard. “He told me you were there for him last night. When he found out about Doc.”
My stomach twisted into a tight knot at the mention of last night.
Zach had called me, frantic, at almost two in the morning. He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, but he asked me to come over, and I got out of that bed faster than I ever had before. I rushed to him, worry laced in every bone of my body, and when he’d opened that door, he’d crushed me in a grip so tight I thought I’d suffocate.
But I didn’t. I just held him tight, too.
He’d needed me, and I let him take what I could give. It was an urgent passion, one without words or any trace of playfulness. And when we were done, he held me and told me that Doc was leaving, and that he had to make a choice of either keeping the bar or selling it.
“Did you know?” I asked her. “That Doc was leaving.”
She let out a long sigh and nodded. “Yes. He asked us not to tell Zach. He wanted to be the one to do it. I think…” She paused. “I think he felt a little like he was abandoning him, even though this move is something Doc has wanted for a long time. That man is just as much of a parent to Zach as Daniel and I are.”
I nodded. “Zach loves him. He’s worried about what to do, what the right decision is.”
“He’ll figure it out, though,” Mrs. Bowen said, and I couldn’t help but watch as the same smile that always found Zach’s face spread across hers in that moment. Zach definitely favored his father, but he had her in him, too.
“He will,” I agreed.
Her smile dropped a little, and she turned to face me, worrying her lip like she wasn’t sure about what she wanted to say next.
“He’s been through a lot,” she said softly. “More than anyone at his age should ever have to go through. I know he probably doesn’t talk about it much, because that’s not the type of man he is, but he’s sacrificed a lot. For Doc, for his brother, for this entire family.”
I frowned, shifting so I was facing her, too. “He’s told me how important family is to him.”
Mrs. Bowen nodded. “Sometimes, I think Zach forgets that he’s allowed to live life for himself, too. He’s always so quick to put others first. But… maybe this is his chance. Whether he keeps the bar or sells it to do something else, I hope he’ll make the choice that he wants to make.”
My stomach twisted in the same way it had when Micah had talked about Zach at the game. Both he and his mother knew more than I did, knew how soft Zach was when he wasn’t making jokes or taking care of business.
And now, after last night, I was starting to see that side of him, too.
“Hey, you two quit gossiping and get in here,” Zach said, peeking out of the sliding glass door.
Mrs. Bowen smiled, squeezing my arm before turning toward the door.
“It was nice talking to you, Mrs. Bowen,” I said, following behind her.
“Oh, please,” she said. “It’s Pamela. And it was a pleasure talking to you, too, my dear.” At that, she turned to her son, pinching his cheek with a grin before she turned back to me. “Take care of my boy for me, will ya?”
Zach smiled first at her, and then his eyes found mine, a hint of mischief in those dark irises.
I shrugged. “Eh, we’ll see.”
They both laughed at that, and Pamela patted Zach’s chest once before dipping inside. Zach pressed through the door and out onto the porch with me, sweeping me into his arms and pressing his lips to mine.
I felt the last of the sun sink away behind me as I melted into his arms, hearing the voices of his brother and mom loud in my head. Zach was already falling, and I knew there was no sense in denying that I was, too.
I wanted him.
But I was absolutely petrified to fall any further than I already had.
My heart rate ticked up with my realization, and as if he could sense it, Zach kissed me harder, pulling me into him with a reverent sigh. When he pulled back, he swept my hair from my face and shook his head, eyes searching mine.
“I love when you do that,” he whispered.
“Do what?”
“Exist.”
He smiled, shaking his head again before he pulled me in for another kiss. And this time, I felt that kiss in my bones, like the mark he’d been making was only skin deep, and now he was branding me for good.
And right then, in that moment, I decided I wasn’t going to let fear rule me anymore.
My anxiety stemmed from not being in control, and it was true — I couldn’t control what would happen next. I wanted an insurance policy, but that wasn’t the way life worked. Zach could wake up tomorrow and decide he didn’t want me anymore. Or, worse — he could decide two years from now that he wants someone else more than me.
But as he took my hand and led me inside
his home, as we sat there with his family, eating pie and playing cards and laughing as the evening turned to night, I had an overwhelming feeling that he wouldn’t.
It was something I hadn’t felt in so long, something that filled my body with dread and warning just as much as hope and relief.
It was trust.
I trusted Zach. I trusted him to care for me, to let me care for him, to let me in on the hard days and to be there for all of mine.
I wasn’t supposed to ever fall in love again. I wasn’t ever supposed to let someone inside my damaged, charred, cold and empty heart.
But he’d somehow found a way.
I’d made that list when Carlo passed to keep myself safe, but here I was, just shy of a year later, feeling that rule bend like putty in my hand. Maybe, I wanted to trust Zach because I knew I could. Maybe not every man was like Carlo. Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be stupid to let go, to let love in a little.
Maybe Zach was a man of his word.
Looking around at his family, at the people who mattered most to him, knowing he’d invited me to be a part of that world, I knew there was only one way to find out.
So, I took a breath, grabbed his hand in mine, and mentally trashed my old list.
I was going to trust Zach.
Even though it was scary as hell, even though I knew I could end up on the cold, hard floor again, I still chose to try again.
We continued laughing our way through the night with his family, and by the end of it, we were all hugging and making plans, including them asking me to join them for Thanksgiving dinner later that month. And when the evening had ended, as we climbed into Zach’s car to head back to the city, a loud clap of thunder sounded off in the distance.
I should have known then that a storm was coming.
But I didn’t.
Not until the very moment she showed up at my door.
Gemma
“You guys are so cute, it’s grossing me out,” Belle said around a mouthful of ice cream. She sucked her spoon dry and pointed it at where I was texting Zach back with a smitten grin. “Like that. Stop that. Stop that weird smiling right now.”
“I can’t help it,” I said, finishing my text and tucking my phone beside me on the couch. I let out a sigh. “We’ve seen each other every day since we had dinner with his parents Saturday. Tonight is the first night we haven’t hung out. He misses me.”
Belle’s face was flat. “You saw him this morning when he was leaving your place. And also, you see him again tomorrow night for Thursday night football.”
I chewed my lip with a shrug. “Okay, we’re maybe a little gross.”
Belle chuffed, dipping her spoon back in for a new scoop. We had the television on, but neither of us had been watching it, spending the evening catching up, instead. Work had been crazy, and I’d been spending so much time with Zach. We needed a girls night.
“So,” I said, changing the subject. “Did you ever hear back from Jordan after that game?”
Belle scoffed. “You mean, the guy you brought and then ditched so I politely offered him a place to hang out after the last quarter?” She batted her lashes, pressing a hand flat to her chest. “I was simply showing some hospitality.”
“I’m sure he was very thankful for that.”
“Oh, he might have even gotten down on his knees to thank me a time or two.”
Belle winked, and I threw my head back on a laugh. But before I could respond, there was a timid knock at the door.
I paused, Belle and I both looking at each other like we weren’t sure we actually heard anything. “Is someone at your door?”
“They would call me to let me know someone was here,” I said, trying to make sense of it.
The knock came again, and I hopped off the couch, making my way toward the door.
“Unless it’s someone on your guest list,” Belle pointed out.
“Yeah, but the only people I have on there are my family and…” I peeked through the peephole, heart stopping in my chest when I saw the small figure standing outside. “Shit.”
“Who is it?” Belle whisper-yelled from the couch.
I let out a long sigh, closing my eyes and holding the door handle as I tried to brace myself.
“Gemma, who is it?” Belle asked again, this time louder.
But I didn’t answer. I just opened the door, greeting my former mother-in-law with a soft smile. “Sofia… hi.”
Sofia was a small woman. So small, in fact, that I’d often wondered how she could have given birth to the giant baby who one day became my hulk of a husband. Her hair was short and dark, and it framed her sharp jaw bones, calling attention to her thin, sad lips. Though she was small, she was fierce — an Italian woman with grit and attitude. But today, she had neither.
Today, she only had a box, one she held in her hands like a bomb set to explode any moment.
“I’m sorry to just show up,” she said, her voice timid. “I’ve tried calling a few times… I know you must be busy.”
Guilt knotted my stomach, and I let out a sigh, running one hand through my hair as I searched for the right apology.
“It’s okay,” she said before I could answer. “It really is. I know things are still… well, I know we’re all just adjusting however we know how to.”
Sofia shook her head, as if she wanted to say more but realized there was no point.
“I brought this for you,” she said, holding the box toward me. “I know we went through all of Carlo’s stuff at your old house, and I realize you probably want to be done with it and moving on but… this was the last of his things from the hospital.”
“That’s the one they tried to give me at the hospital,” I said, staring at the all-white cardboard. “I told them to donate what they could and trash the rest.”
“I know, I know you did,” Sofia said, her eyes falling to the box in her hands. “But emotions were high then. And when you left the room, the nurse gave me the box, instead. I’ve held onto it, and I guess I didn’t want to face what was inside it because… well, because it’s the last of him.”
Her lip quivered, and she shook off the emotion, clearing her throat.
“But, I didn’t go through it. I just opened it and I saw some of what’s in there but… there’s a letter, Gemma. One with your name on it. And I didn’t read it or move anything or go past that I just… I thought maybe…”
Sofia was grappling, and she paused to take a long breath, like what she wanted to say didn’t really matter.
“Well, I think he wanted you to have that letter, and I think maybe it’s been enough time now.” Her eyes shot open. “I didn’t read anything. I’ve just had it sitting around, I was waiting for the right time and I just… I don’t know, I feel like now is right.”
She was still holding that box toward me, but now I was the one looking at it like it was a bomb.
I don’t want it. Please, just take it. Throw it away. I don’t want it.
“Thank you,” I said instead, taking the box from her hands. It was like a shoe box, but all white, no labels or indication of what might lie inside. All I knew now, thanks to Sofia, was that there was a letter inside.
A letter for me.
I didn’t want to read a letter from my late husband.
But, it didn’t matter. I could throw the whole box away without even looking inside it if I wanted to. Right now, I just needed to take what my ex-mother-in-law was offering, and give her whatever peace she needed in delivering it.
Sofia nodded, smiling a little now that the box had changed hands. “If there’s anything you want to talk about after you open it… just call me. Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay. I hope…” I swallowed, the words dying in my throat. I hadn’t been good at keeping up with her — with anyone related to Carlo. When he died, I wanted to erase him — all of him.
“It’s okay,” Sofia said, reaching out to squeeze my forearm. “We’re all okay. And you’re okay. It’s all good. We love you.”<
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Tears sprung in my eyes, but I swallowed, holding them at bay. “I love you, too.”
With that, Sofia squeezed my arm once more before turning and making her way toward the elevators. I closed the door, pressing my back to it and staring at the box in my hands.
“Holy shit,” Belle said, and in seconds, she was already on her feet, standing next to me and staring at the box, too. “What are you going to do?”
I swallowed. “Open it.”
Belle nodded, a strange silence falling between us, like Carlo himself was inside that box and now we had no idea what to say with him around. “Do you want me to stay?”
I shook my head. “No,” I whispered. “I think this is something I should do alone.”
I still stood there with my hands locked on that box as Belle hugged me as best she could, telling me she was just a call away and she could be right back down here. She told me she loved me, that I was strong, that whatever was in that box did not define me.
She said all the right words a best friend should say.
And then, she left, and I was alone with a ghost I thought I’d shaken.
Even with the television still on, my condo felt eerily quiet in that moment. I walked numbly to my kitchen island, sliding the box on top of the granite and staring at it for what felt like an entire hour. I didn’t open it at first. Instead, I poured a glass of wine and sipped on it while I stared at the white cardboard.
When the last drop of wine was gone from my glass, I sighed, and I said it out loud even though I was the only one in the room.
“Just get it over with, Gemma.”
With that final push, I popped the lid off the box, tossing it to the side as I stared at the newly unveiled contents.
The first thing I noticed was his wedding ring.
I picked it up out of the pile of things, pushing aside the watch and wallet that surrounded it. I held that gold band in my palm, rolling it over and touching the metal with my fingertips.
The Wrong Game Page 26