Dear Bridget, I Want You(84)

Simon came toward me with a towel. “I’ll handle it, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

Amidst the chaos, I looked up at his mother again from the ground and repeated, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she said, not really looking amused.

When I stood up, I could see Simon’s dad staring straight at my chest. In the process of my leaning over to clean the eggs up, my boob had popped out of the black dress I’d been wearing because of our canceled romantic night out.

“Wear something sexy,” he said.

Well, that was a big mistake.

Lifting the material over my breast to cover it, I had no choice but to ignore the obvious.

Trying to salvage this disaster of a first meeting, I smiled in an attempt to make light of the situation. “Clearly, I’m a little discombobulated. At least the eggs were only for breakfast and not dinner.”

“It’s alright. We’re the ones who surprised you,” his father said.

I turned to his mother. “I’m really sorry again, Mrs. Hogue.”

“No need to apologize again. Please, call me Eleanor. My husband is Theo.”

Simon looked up from the ground as he continued to clean up the eggs. “Bridget insisted on cooking us a nice meal. I’d suggested we just go out, but honestly she’s a wonderful cook.”

After several minutes of awkward small talk, Simon finally finished up and washed his hands. “Dad, can I get you a scotch?”

“If you have it.”

Simon and his father retreated to the liquor cabinet in the living room.

Shortly after, Brendan came out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around Simon’s mother’s legs. “Grandma!”

She jumped and nearly toppled over.

Brendan immediately realized his mistake. The poor little guy looked mortified. He’d approached her from the back, thinking she was Ben’s mother, Ann, who’d be here any minute to pick him up. Both women had short, blonde hair, so it was easy to see why Brendan got confused.

“Sorry. I thought you were my grandma. She’s supposed to come get me and take me to her house.”

She straightened her skirt. “That’s perfectly alright.”

Wrapping my arm around him, I said, “Brendan, this is Simon’s mother. His parents came to surprise us.”

“Oh.” He lifted his hand in a wave. “Hello.”

“Hello.” She smiled.

Simon reentered the kitchen with his father. “Hi, buddy. I see you’ve met my mum. This is my dad.”

Theo bent down, offering Brendan his hand. “Very nice to meet you, young man.”

Theo and Eleanor made small talk with Brendan while I started preparing the rosemary chicken I planned to make. Simon looked tense as he threw back his scotch.

Shortly after, Ben’s mother arrived to take Brendan back to her house. After a brief introduction, my son very adorably bid everyone adieu with “cheerios!” instead of “cheerio.” He had always thought it was cheerios, apparently.

Eleanor’s eyes had been glued to Simon the entire time he was hugging Brendan goodbye tightly. Simon had also whispered something in his ear, something about a change of plans. I wondered what that was all about.

Relief coursed through me when Simon and his parents headed to the living room, leaving me alone to finish prepping the meal. It felt like the first time I could breathe since arriving back from the market.

Once the food was ready, we all sat down in the dining room that I’d mainly used to do paperwork and bills. Simon had thankfully cleared all of my junk off of the table, which I’d totally forgotten to do.

Dinner was awkwardly quiet. Occasionally his parents would give Simon updates on things back home. But lots of silence ensued in between the clanking of silverware.

At one point, his mother turned to me. “Bridget, everything is delicious.”

“Thank you. It’s my mother’s recipe.”

Simon placed his hand on my knee under the table. When I looked at him, he leaned in and gave me a peck on the lips, which certainly didn’t go unnoticed by Eleanor.

I got up from the table. “I have to start preparing dessert. It will take a little bit.”

“Do you need help?” Simon asked, looking almost eager to join me.

“No. Enjoy your parents. I’ve got it.”

Unlike most dining rooms, mine was located on the opposite side of the house from the kitchen. I never understood the reasoning for that layout, but on this particular day, I was grateful that Simon’s mother thought I was out of earshot.

I’d forgotten my phone on the windowsill in the dining room, so when I went back to retrieve it, I heard them speaking argumentatively. I stopped and hid behind the wall to listen.