He doesn’t ask from whom, but we both know it’s not me.
“You’re being paranoid,” he says after a moment. “There’s no way they’re mine. Unless sperm can survive inside someone for four months.”
“It cannot,” I reply.
“Exactly.”
The logic is clean. Clinical. Difficult to argue with. And yet.
I have seen men lie with perfect composure or convince themselves of narratives that serve them best. The best liars don’t even consciously know they’re doing it. They’ve told themselves their lie so often that it becomes their truth.
I’m not sure what kind of man my own son is.
Jason takes a long swallow of his drink. “Why does this even matter to you?”
That question is more complicated.
“It matters,” I say carefully, “because she’s connected to this family.”
“And?”
“And I don’t like surprises.”
He studies me now, suspicion creeping in. “Are you seeing her?”
“I’m speaking to her,” I reply.
His jaw tightens. “She’s my ex.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you aware that it’s weird?”
“Your fiancée’s sister is your ex. That’s also weird. Don’t throw stones from your glass house, Jason.”
He doesn’t respond to that.
The truth sits between us, uncomfortable and unspoken. Jason discards. I consider. We have two very different approaches to women.
“Look,” he says finally, softer now. “They’re not mine.”
“You’re certain.”
“Yes.”
“And if they were?”
“They’re not,” he repeats.
I let it go. For now. “How is work going?”
Jason relaxes once I change the subject. It’s subtle—the loosening of his shoulders, the way his posture shifts from defensive to conversational. He prefers safer terrain. He prattles on about his job—finance bores me, so I tune him out but listen just enough to know when to nod and when to smile. Offer mild commentary when required.
But my mind remains elsewhere. Perry. The twins. Nicholas Graham. Walker Finn. The names echo in my head with inconvenient clarity.
“Faith wants something intimate,” Jason is saying. “But Mom’s turning it into a donor gala.”
We have apparently shifted back to the topic of his wedding. I wonder when that happened. “Sounds like her.”
