Sophie let go of my hand and stepped into Mom’s arms for a hug.
Mom moved back and took Sophie’s hands. “Let me look at you. Sophie Abbott. You sure grew up to be a pretty thing, didn’t you?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cox.”
“Oh honey, call me Georgia for now. When you’re comfortable, you can call me Mom. Come on in.”
Call her Mom? I was starting to wonder if I should have kept this whole thing quiet.
She ushered us inside and led us to the kitchen. In addition to a red front door, Mom’s dream home list had included a big kitchen with lots of counter space and an island with stools so her guests could sit and chat with her while she cooked. So that was exactly what I’d given her.
“Your home is so beautiful,” Sophie said.
“Thank you,” Mom said. “It is a blessing.”
She’d already put out a plate of cheese and crackers and she poured us glasses of her famous sweet tea. Sophie took a seat at the island. Mom still wasn’t looking at me. I wondered how long she was going to hold onto this grudge.
And how long she was going to insist on calling Sophie her daughter-in-law.
Technically it was true. For now. But did she actually believe I was going to stay married?
Not that there was anything wrong with Sophie. She’d make the sweetest little wife in the world. But marriage wasn’t for me. I’d known that since I was a kid. And I wasn’t going to start questioning it now, just because I happened to be dating my wife. And enjoying it.
“I think the last time I saw you, you must have been twelve or thirteen?” Mom asked.
Sophie nodded. “I’m surprised you remember me.”
“Well, we both know my son wasn’t exactly his best self at that age. He was awfully mean to you, wasn’t he?”
“He really was.”
I leaned against the counter. “Thanks for bringing that up.”
“Don’t blame me. You’re the one who was a snotty little shit to the poor girl. I hope you’ve properly apologized.”
“Mom, I was a kid.”
“You certainly were. And a troubled one, at that.” She turned to Sophie. “How’s your daddy? I apologize, but I don’t recall his name.”
“Melvin Abbott, but his friends call him Mel,” Sophie said. “And that’s okay; it was a long time ago. He’s fine, all things considered. He has some mobility issues, but he does all right.”
“His housing situation is less than ideal,” I said. “But I’ll be taking care of that soon.”
“Will you, now?” Mom asked.
Sophie glanced at me. “It’s part of our agreement. You know, the whole oops we got married thing. You do know the whole story, right?”
“Oh sure,” Mom said. “Vegas. Too much whiskey. Next thing you know, you’ve got an Elvis impersonator declaring you man and wife.”
“I know it’s kind of an unusual situation,” Sophie said. “So I just want you to know I appreciate you welcoming me into your home like this.”
Mom smiled at her. “Of course, honey. We’re family.” Her eyes flicked to me, then back to Sophie. “Even if my son still thinks it’s just for now.”
I swallowed back a groan. She was laying it on thick.
Fortunately, Sophie seemed to be taking my mom’s lack of subtlety in stride. She laughed and helped herself to a piece of cheese and a cracker.
I reached to get one for myself, but Mom smacked my hand away.
“What was that for?”
“I’m not ready to forgive you yet.”
“For what?”
Her brow furrowed, like I’d just asked a stupid question. “For all of it. Drink your tea and be happy with what you get.”
I picked up my glass. There was no arguing with her when she dug in her heels. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mom turned her attention back to Sophie, asking her friendly questions about her life. It was a far cry from the grilling Mr. Abbott had given me. I was pretty sure my mom liked Sophie more than she liked me at the moment.
Luckily for me, Mom seemed to come closer to forgiving me the longer we stayed. Sophie and I helped her get lunch on the table, and she even let me eat. I mostly stayed in the background, letting the two of them talk. There was something about seeing Mom and Sophie enjoying themselves—smiling and laughing together—that made my chest feel tight.
Eventually, it was time to say our goodbyes. Mom walked us out and embraced Sophie in a big hug.
“Thank you for everything, Georgia,” Sophie said. “It was so good to meet you.”
“You too, sweetheart.” She turned to me and for the first time today, didn’t glare. Instead, she patted my chest. “Love you, son.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
“Y’all come back soon. And Sophie, whether or not you stay my daughter-in-law, you’re welcome anytime.”
“Thank you so much.” Sophie glanced at me and the look in her eyes was like a knife to my chest. I could almost hear her unspoken question.
Are we really going to get divorced?
Skyline was breaking ground soon. At this point, even if I did take some flack in the press for marrying Sophie, it wouldn’t be enough to hurt the project. And that was why we’d stayed married in the first place. We could file for divorce anytime.
But did I want to? Did she?
The fact that I was questioning this was such a mindfuck.
We said our last goodbyes and I led Sophie to my car. She was quiet on the drive home. Was she thinking the same thing as me? Was she wondering how the fuck this was going to work?
I couldn’t deny I had feelings for Sophie—feelings I’d never had for a woman before. She was making me question everything. The way I lived. My staunch commitment to bachelorhood. I’d never considered what I’d do if I found someone I wanted to marry. I’d always assumed that would never happen.
And then Sophie had dropped into my life. She’d changed everything. And a single question kept swirling through my head.
Was I going to lose her?
28
Sophie
Meeting Georgia had been so wonderful. She was funny and sweet and she’d been so nice to me. She hadn’t made me feel the least bit bad about how Cox and I had wound up married. I felt like I could have stayed for hours, just chatting with her.
But we’d left on a bit of a sad note, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it.
Cox drove us home in silence. He didn’t seem angry or upset. Just preoccupied. Was he thinking about us? Or had his mind already moved ahead to work? It was Sunday, after all. Maybe he was mentally reviewing all the things he had to do at the office the next day.
I fiddled with my dress, remaining just as quiet as he was. But I wasn’t thinking about work.
I was thinking about the big D word.
If we filed for divorce, did it mean we’d break up? Would I go back to my apartment and move on, like none of it had been real?
Because we had to, right? We couldn’t stay married.
When I’d agreed to wait to file for divorce, I hadn’t counted on falling for the man I’d married.
But I had. I’d fallen for him hard.