Hudson appears nervous. “Not really. I, uh, just put all the clothes over there.” He points at my makeshift closet. “And the dirty dishes are in the kitchen sink.”
“Thank you.”
That’s when I notice the coffee table. It’s clear of my papers, laptop, and dirty dishes, replaced by the pizza box and the other treats he brought from the ballpark. There are two glasses of water on the table as well.
“You were out of ice, so it’s just tap water.”
“This is great.” I smile, and it almost hurts, like I’m using muscles I haven’t in a long time.
We eat in companionable silence. I’m hungry enough to consume half the pizza on my own, but I stick with two slices, chewing slowly. It hits me. Why did he come over now? After all this time. I’ve got my suspicions, but I’ll keep those to myself for now. I’m going to have to broach the subject. “So, why’d you decide to come over now?”
“Bonnie came to see me.”
That was what I suspected. Not allowing her to visit was her Waterloo, so to speak. Her last straw. “When?”
“Today. At the ballgame.”
He said that just as I took a bite of pizza, making me choke. “She went to the game? How in the heck did she find you?”
“She saw me in one of the luxury boxes and yelled up at me.”
I choke and laugh at the same time. Like the smile, it feels foreign. I haven’t laughed in a while. “She yelled at you?” I should’ve known Bonnie would find a way to intervene. I wouldn’t let her come over, so she went a different route. I should be angry, I suppose, but I don’t have it in me. I know her heart was in the right place.
“Her voice carries.” Hudson chuckles. “I’m glad she did.”
“So, she told you about my job?”
“She did.”
“And my mom, I assume.”
“And your mom.”
Setting my plate on the coffee table, I don’t look at him. “The mom thing hurt far worse than losing my job.”
“You never told me much about her. I believe you said she sold everything and moved, but I didn’t know your relationship was strained.”
“Strained?” I scoff. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“Were you close, you know, before?”
Before my dad died. “Yes. We were best friends. The three of us were like peas in a pod.” Oh no. I don’t want to cry. Not now. Getting control of myself, I continue, “We were all close. When Dad was killed, she just broke.”
“Everyone reacts differently. What do they call them, the stages of grief?”
“Except she didn’t go through any of them, as far as I know. There’s denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance. I can’t say she went straight to acceptance because she won’t even talk about him. If I ever mention him on the phone, she says ‘I’ve got to go.’”
“She remarried?”
Shit. Here they come. Those stupid, stupid tears. “Yeah.” I choke. “To a guy named Ben Martin.”
“You never met?”
“Met?” I scoff again for good measure. “I didn’t even know he existed. The first time I ever spoke to him was last weekend on the anniversary of my dad’s death. He answered the phone. He knew my name. He said he was sorry I wasn’t able to make the we-wedding.” Oh, crud. I’m going to cry again. You’d think there wouldn’t be any left, but they just keep coming. I go ahead and let the tears flow. “I didn’t tell Bonnie this part.” Can I even say it? “I called my aunt, my mom’s sister, to tell her about it.” I need to give myself a minute.
“She knew?”
I nod. “She went. She was invited to the wedding.” Not only that, my mom told her that I’d been invited but refused to attend. Why lie to my aunt about that? It makes no sense. Plus, it’s like she was twisting the knife.
