“No, don’t.” She draws her hand back, wincing. “I’m okay. Really.”
“You’re sure?”
She nods, though she doesn’t look certain at all. Her eyes lock with mine, and I’m certain she’s about to say something. Maybe, “Kiss me for real, Griff,” or even “Let’s have a sleepover when Soph goes to bed.”
But that’s not what I’m seeing on her face. There’s an odd mix of embarrassment and remorse and something else I can’t read. She drops her gaze like she’s afraid I’ll see too much in her eyes. “The bread. I’m so sorry.”
I glance down and see the foil is sealed up tight. No bulging bread slices or burst seams leaking steam.
“It’s fine.” I stoop down and pick it up, relieved to discover it’s still warm. “Five-second rule and all that.”
Her laugh sounds strained. “That was a lot longer than five seconds.”
“I suppose so.” But not long enough with Mari’s body pressed against mine. I meet her eyes again and see heat there. I swear that’s what’s happening, so maybe I’m not alone in wanting something more.
But she steps back, widening the gap between us. “Um, do you think we have five minutes before we sit down to dinner?”
We’re ready to eat right now, but I sense she needs a minute. Hell, maybe I should take a second to stick my head in the freezer. “Sure, we can stall. You need the restroom or something?”
Dumb. What a dumb thing to say to an attractive woman, but she doesn’t react. Just backs toward the front door, slipping her phone from her pocket.
“I need to make a quick call,” she says. “To my professional mentor. She’s on the east coast, and the time difference makes things tricky, so I need a minute to check in with her.”
I’m not following how an after-hours phone call makes sense if she’s on the east coast, but it’s none of my business. “Sure. Take as long as you need. We’ll keep things warm for you. You can call from the den if you want.”
“That’s okay.” She keeps backing toward the door, and I wonder if she’s making a run for it. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Turning away, she sprints for the exit. I watch her go, dark hair rippling behind her like waves as she hurls herself through the door.
As it slams shut, I clutch the loaf cooling in my arms, wishing my libido would do the same.
“Thank you for dinner.” Mari touches her napkin to her mouth. A mouth I definitely have not spent this dinner admiring. “That was delicious.”
“Glad you liked it.” And gladder things got back on track once we sat down at the dinner table. Our botched kiss may have rattled her, but beer cheese soup made it better. I make a mental note that food is the way to Mari’s heart.
Her heart is none of your business.
“Olivia’s mom does a really good soup with chicken and potatoes and this spicy tomato stuff.” Soph drains the last of her milk and sets down the glass. “She made it for us last week.”
Mari folds her hands on the table and studies my kid with a mix of kindness and clinical curiosity. “Olivia’s mother is pretty terrific,” she agrees. “Sounds like she’s taken you under her wing with food and hair braiding and things like that?”
I read between the lines of Mari’s questions, and I’m curious, too.
Are you okay without a mom in your life? Are your needs being met? Have I totally screwed you up by moving us 500 miles to an ex cult compound crawling with cameras?
Soph hears none of those questions, probably because she’s twelve. “Yeah, she’s cool. It’s weird sometimes with the other girls.”
Mari tilts her head. “You mean Olivia’s sister or the other girls at school?”
These questions make me wonder if I should spend more time quizzing my kid. Her grades are great since we got here, but I haven’t monitored her social life.
“Olivia’s other friends.” Soph glances down, picking at a crust of garlic bread. “There’s this one girl, Avery—she doesn’t live here, but she’s in our math class. And there’s this boy we all like—Ryan? He doesn’t live here, either, but we hang out after school sometimes.”
“That’s great you’ve got a friend group already,” Mari says. “I’m not surprised. You’re a likable kid.”
Soph looks a little less sure. “Yeah, so Ryan showed us this meme. A ‘your mom’ joke, you know?”
My daughter flicks a glance at me, and I’m forced to admit I know this crass brand of humor. “Like ‘your mama’s so ugly that her birth certificate is an apology letter.’ Or ‘your mama’s so fat, she strikes oil when she wears heels.’”
Both females stare at me, and I wonder if I should avoid repeating misogynistic crap at the dinner table. Or anywhere, really. “Definitely not okay to tell jokes like that,” I add feebly as Soph turns back to Mari.
“So, this guy, Ryan,” Soph continues. “He showed a meme with someone roasting hot dogs on a rake and it said, ‘this guy handles sixteen wieners at a time, just like your mom.’ And I didn’t really get it, but I laughed anyway, you know?”
Mari nods tightly, maybe stifling a smile. “Sometimes it’s tempting to act a certain way if you think it’ll help you fit in.” The tiniest furrow forms between her brows. I’d never have seen it if I weren’t staring at her face, and I wonder what it means.
“Right, so I laughed,” Soph continues. “And then Avery looks at me and says, ‘you know that’s not funny, right? It’s sexist and stupid and also my mom is dead.’”
“Oh, dear.” The furrow deepens in Mari’s forehead. “How did you feel when she said that?”
“Embarrassed.” Soph pokes the spoon in her empty bowl. “And sad. Like I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what. And later when we were both at Olivia’s, Avery kept ignoring me, and I felt even stupider.”
My heart aches for my girl. I want to snatch her up and hug her and also maybe deck the kid who’d make her feel bad about herself.
But Mari’s response is more constructive. “You know, it’s never too late to apologize. To say, ‘wow, Avery, I responded poorly, and I’m really sorry I hurt you. I’ll try to be a better friend, and I’m wondering if you could forgive me?’”
Soph scrunches up her nose. “You don’t think that sounds dumb?”
Mari smiles. “Admitting you messed up doesn’t make you dumb or weak. It makes you strong and kind and self-aware. Those are qualities any friend would want.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Soph looks at me. “Avery’s at Olivia’s house right now.”
I can tell where this is going. “And you’re proposing you invite yourself over?”
“Olivia asked me.” Her chin tilts up, emotion shimmering in her eyes. “She texted and said they’re watching Tangled and maybe I could come over. Can I, Dad? Please?”
Like I’m going to tell her no when she looks at me with puppy-dog eyes. I say a silent prayer Mari’s not judging my parenting skills too harshly. “After you finish the dishes,” I say. “And I’m texting Olivia’s mom to make sure it’s okay.”