“Just saying, doesn’t sound like it was part of the gig to kiss the guy,” she mutters, laughing under her breath while I mentally dig a hole to disappear into.
It wasn’t part of the gig. It was a lapse in judgment, a reckless detour I thought would vanish with time and I’d never have to see the guy again. I’d been greedy, and horny, and I mean, have you seen Gabriel? He’s huge and hot. Yet here I am, on the doorstep of his family’s house, about to play board games like some casual acquaintance and not the woman who confused his face with his cousins’ and then ruined his blind date with my presence.
Before Natasha opens the front door, she pauses, turning to me slowly. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say.”
I twist my hands together nervously. “Yeah?”
“Look, sometimes I think you are too hard on yourself for how much you dislike men. I see you trying to twist yourself and do the gymnastics to justify their actions simply because you don’t want to come across as too… much.”
She would be right about that.
She squeezes my shoulder affectionately. “Coming from a woman who has also been divorced, albeit many, many years ago…”Wait, Natasha was married before?“…I want you to hear this. The only men that you repel when you tell men how much they’ve hurt you, how little you distrust them, when you point out the statistics that they are actually the overly emotional ones, the ones who kill women, harm others and start wars, are the bad ones. The good men are going to be unphased by you sharing this. I’m not trying to convince you to give my cousin another chance, I’m simply pointing out that you don’t need to filter yourself around him, me, or any of our family or any other man you decide to date in the future. The good ones will hear you and understand. And love you anyway.”
Before I can reply to that, Natasha pushes the front door open and calls out, "Hey Rhiannon, it's us!" and then we're inside and it's warm and it smells like pizza and cookies, and a small girl in fuzzy socks comes careening around the corner and nearly takes out Natasha's knees.
"Piper!" A man's deep voice follows her from somewhere in the house.
"That's Cain," Natasha tells me, stepping over the child effortlessly like she's done it a hundred times. "Rhiannon's husband. You'll love him. He's one of the good ones I was talking about."
Rhiannon appears right behind her daughter, brown hair loose around her shoulders, green eyes bright and a belly that's further along than I would have guessed from how fast she's moving. I instantly feel an involuntary pang of jealousy deep in my gut.
She pulls Natasha into a hug, muttering "adults, thank god" into her shoulder, and then turns to me with a smile so open and immediate it almost catches me off guard.
“Hi! I’m Rhiannon, Natasha’s cousin!” she beams, pulling me into a hug without hesitation. Her warmth is disarming. “I’m so happy you’re joining us tonight. I love when we get newcomers. Thanks for coming!”
Jealousy isn’t the right word for what I’m feeling. It’s more like a silent ache deep within my womb, an echo of something I thought I’d buried deep and let go of years ago. No matter how far you run from it, you never quite shake the feeling of being left behind, of watching life happen for everyone else while you’re stuck in the waiting room, hoping for results on the tests that you’ve had run to see whether you’re infertile or not. To see whether you have any chance of ever conceiving and carryingthe child you long for.
Her excitement to see me gives me hope that Gabriel didn’t tell his sister about our little non-date on Friday.
“Thanks for having me,” I reply, realizing how long it’s been since someone invited me into their space like this. Marriage, infertility treatments, the slow erosion of friendships I couldn’t maintain in the city while drowning in my own grief—it all left me feeling isolated and empty. I’d cut ties with friends who were navigating parenthood, convinced they’d prefer my ex’s company over mine anyway, and I struggled to maintain friendships that were never more than surface level to begin. Maybe this is my chance to start over. Maybe Gabriel’s right, I could use some new friends here.
“Come on in. I barely slept last night thanks to pregnancy heartburn,” Rhiannon says, leading us inside her warm home, “so Cain ordered pizza for tonight, and I made margaritas. Though I can’t partake.” She holds up a glass that’s extra bright green. “Virgin.”
The house is a blend of warmth and eclectic charm—plush, oversized couches with vibrant throw blankets, mismatched picture frames filled with candid family photos, and string lights casting a soft glow over shelves cluttered with books and quirky knick-knacks.
A little girl who I quickly learn is Piper, Rhiannon and her husband’s Cains youngest, toddles around in fuzzy socks, her giggles punctuating the cozy hum of the house. It’s adorable and nothing like Natasha’s place. It’s also nothing like any home I’ve ever been inside where it feels alive with friends and family.
Rhiannon hands me a generously poured margarita. Not, a virgin one. “Here you go, Alessia.”
It’s exactly what I need.
“Thank you.”
She smiles and nods, her eyes tracking me with the kind of focus that makes me feel both seen and a little too exposed. I take a big gulp of the drink and—whoa, that’s strong. Like, knock-you-on-your-ass strong.
“So, Natasha said you work atBrookhaven Brewswith her?” Rhiannon asks, leaning casually against the counter, her warmth as effortless as her charm.
I nod. “Yeah, that and I just started teaching kindergarten in town back in January. Sort of new to Brookhaven but I used to teach this grade years ago in New York City.”
“What brought you to town?”
“Divorce.” The word slips out like it doesn’t carry the weight it used to. I swirl the drink in my glass, watching the ice cubes clink together and realize the more I talk about this, the easier it’s become to share without feeling pain. “Trying to pay off my lawyer and couldn’t afford to stay in the city. Plus, my grandma’s lived here her whole life. I thought she needed help but turns out she played me and then kicked me out when she got a new boyfriend.”
Rhiannon laughs lightly. “That’s cute. Sorry about the divorce and getting kicked out of your home.”
I shake my head. “I’m not.” At least not anymore. “He cheated on me during a really difficult period of my life and then knocked up his mistress.”
“Damn. What an asshole.”
