“That’s the second most disgusting thing I’ve heard today,” I groaned. “I don’t mind you being so quasi-American, but why the Yankees?”
“Because it rankles you.” Grinning, he added, “Get back to work.”
I mock stomped my way out of the room. When I got to the office, I found I was the first person back from lunch, something that happened often, since I didn’t have to leave the premises to eat. I grabbed my phone off my desk and pulled up my recent calls. I found Emma’s number and dialed her.
“Hello?”
“It’s Sophie.” I scrunched my hair to the side of my head and scratched my scalp, trying to erase the image of Tony’s bare chest from my mind. “I just wanted to let you know that my karmic debt to you has been repaid.”
* * * *
After his meeting with Stephen, Neil decided—with his therapist’s blessing—to begin work on a new charity project. He announced it to Emma, Michael, and my mom at family dinner one Sunday.
“It’s a crisis center for victims of sexual assault.”
“Like a women’s center?” Michael asked, glancing up from his plate.
Neil’s eyes darted to Mom, but she was busy cutting her chicken. He looked down at his own plate. “No. A rape crisis center, for anyone who needs it. Men, women, anyone.”
“Wow, Neil, what inspired this?” Mom asked, taking a bite from her fork.
“Personal experience.” Neil looked to Michael. “If I’d had some kind of support network or counseling when I was raped, perhaps I wouldn’t have the issues that I have now.”
Michael didn’t know. I’d assumed that Emma would have told him. Maybe Neil had asked her not to. Mom definitely hadn’t known.
Slowly setting his glass down, Michael blinked to disguise the wideness of his eyes. “I think this is a great idea.”
It dawned on me that what I was witnessing was an apology from Neil to Michael, about that day in London. Neil had found a way to express remorse and a willingness to make amends for past behavior and to explain what had led to it.
“I’m sorry that you went through something like that,” Mom said. Then, brightening, she added, “But you’re going to make lemonade out of these lemons. That has to feel good.”
“You know, it does.” Neil reached for my hand on the table and stroked his thumb over the back of my fingers. Pride and admiration warred for control of the smile I gave him. He returned the expression with a slow bend of his lips and picked my hand up to kiss it, winking at me.
“Break it up, lovebirds,” Mom said, only half-teasing.
“Mmm.” Emma swallowed and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Speaking of, where’s Tony this evening?”
“He took his ma to Atlantic City for her birthday,” Mom said, with a resigned roll of her eyes. She and Tony’s mother disagreed on whether or not Mom was good enough for him. “He’ll be here next week.”
Olivia squawked, and the playpen rustled.
“Madame fussy butt rises,” Michael laid his napkin beside his plate.
Neil was already on his feet. “No, no. Eat. It’s the only decent meal you’ll get all week.”
“I’m sitting right here,” Emma protested loudly. Neil leaned over the playpen and lifted Olivia out. She babbled happily, her little arms and legs waving with excitement. One struck her grandfather in the face, and his surprised “ow” made her squeal with delight.
While everyone was distracted with Olivia, I took advantage of the moment, studying everyone’s happy faces. Mom, enviously eyeing Neil with the baby, plotting to get a turn. Michael trying not to scarf down his dinner—Emma really was a horrible cook—and making the occasional, subtle exhale of grateful pleasure. Emma, laughing as her father struggled to remove his nose from Olivia’s grasp. Emma’s smile was her father’s.
And Neil, wearing his stupid sweatpants that Mom would definitely complain about later. I’d been so afraid that he would be different after he quit drinking, and he was, but not in the way I’d feared. He was himself, but an enhanced version. His enthusiasm and passion for life had increased tenfold. His enthusiasm and passion for me had gone off the charts. No, every day didn’t feel like falling in love for the first time, but a lot of them did. I was grateful for them all.
Maybe our life would never be “normal”. What the hell was normal, anyway? I sat at a table with my family, my stepdaughter and son-in-law who were the same age as me, and my mother who was younger than my husband. In a week, I would turn twenty-seven, and I ran one of the hippest digital fashion magazines on the internet. And I was a grandma. Talk about being advanced for one’s age.
There’s no such thing as a guaranteed happily ever after, and no indication of what should happen after you ride off into the sunset with your handsome prince. But sitting at the kitchen table with Neil and our family on a Sunday night… It sure felt like happily ever after to me.
Neil and Sophie will return in
THE BABY
2015
Also by Abigail Barnette
The Boss
The Girlfriend
The Bride
By Jenny Trout
Choosing You
Coming soon:
First Time
An all-new novel featuring characters from The Sophie Scaife series
Abigail Barnette is the alter-ego of USA Today bestselling author, blogger, and all-around funny person, Jenny Trout. When she’s not writing award-winning erotic romance, she’s either sleeping or otherwise incapacitated.
She is a proud Michigander, mother of two, and wife to the only person capable of spending extended periods of time with her without wanting to murder her.
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