“It would probably make more of an impact if you called to complain about him too,” Lana muses. “And there are rumors floating around that Damon Camille is planning to sue Bea for false advertising.”
“Damon Camille? Which brother is that?”
“He’s Jake and Logan’s father. The ambulance chaser. Sues everyone for everything around here.”
Wonderful. “What is your point?”
“If you want to be her hero, you’re missing out on a lot of opportunities by sitting here feeling sorry for yourself instead of proving to her that you mean it when you say you’re sorry.”
The grand gestures.
I’ve written a script or two in my lifetime.
I’m familiar with the concept.
Clearly terrible with the execution though. Which every woman in my life should know by now.
“Perhaps this is my sorry montage,” I say dryly.
She ignores my comment. “Is it true that you didn’t remind Bea that she lied to you about the reason she wanted you to take her to the restaurant’s grand opening when you went to apologize the other day?”
I lift one eyelid just enough to verify that she’s watching me. “What of it?”
“Simon, do you understand how people fight?”
“Yes, I believe I had it demonstrated for me by my parents every day of my childhood. Thank you for the reminder that they called me, by the way.”
“Did you answer?”
“And let them have the joy of knowing I’m in such a state? Certainly not.”
She sighs.
“What?” I grumble.
“If I was dating someone and we both fucked up and then we had a fight about it, I’d absolutely throw it back in his face that he wasn’t innocent either.”
“And what should the point there be? To continue fighting? I don’t bloody care if she was wrong. She apologized for it long ago, and that date was one of the best dates of my life. Cheese-filled monstrosity of a menu and the broken doorknob and missing the conclusion of it for passing out drunk on her table and all. So no, she has nothing to apologize for. That lies solely on my shoulders. I’ve apologized. She doesn’t know what she wants. And so I’m forced to the sidelines to show her that I respect her wishes even if I hate them.”
“If you were still dating her right now, no questions, no hesitation on her part, what would you do for your next date?”
“I can’t bloody well force her to go on a date with me.”
I don’t need to open my eyes to know Lana’s glaring at me.
“You know I’m terrible at relationships,” I grumble.
“You know that’s a shitty excuse when you love someone.”
I wince.
She is not incorrect.
“Boys, anyone want chicken wings?” she calls. “I have a craving for something hot covered in ranch dressing.”
“Me! Me!” Eddie yells.
“Me too!” Charlie chimes in.
