Sweet Nothing(53)

“Hello?” I hear the door open in the hall, and soon Waverly and Gwen are ditching their bags on the kitchen table.

“Ooh! Something smells kick-ass.” Gwen gives me an approving smile and reaches for the oven door handle.

“No. Way.” I swat her with my wine-soaked dishtowel. At least she’s back to normal Gwen, and doesn’t seem as pissed as she did this morning. “They’re enchiladas, and you can have them when they’re ready. For now, have some wine and the guacamole will be ready in a sec.”

“Deal.” Gwen pours two glasses and hands one to Waverly while I chop and mash and squeeze. “So without further ado, can you please tell us what you were doing at Luke’s last night?”

I tell them everything. Almost everything. I don’t mention the car crash that killed Luke’s parents, or the fact that his relationship with Ashley started with a one-night stand. I just tell them that he and Ashley met in college, and that she got pregnant unexpectedly. I speak quickly, almost desperately. I just want the story out there, and I want to know what they think. Or I don’t, depending on their verdicts.

“I’m sorry, but I just don’t see how this makes things that much better.” Waverly says when I’m finished. “I mean, okay, he doesn’t have a wife. Congratulations. But he lied to you. Are you sure you can get past that?”

My stomach churns. “He didn’t lie, exactly. He was worried what I would think. He wanted to find the right time to talk about it.” I finish the guacamole and we head outside to the patio. “It’s not like he owed me his entire life story in the first couple dates.”

“It’s a kid!” Waverly’s voice is shrill. I feel my body tensing in defense of Luke. “As in, a person! You don’t think he owed it to you to tell you that?” She lifts a matchbox from the table and strikes a match against the box so hard, it snaps in two. It takes her three tries to light the tropical-scented pillar candles in the center of the table.

“Eventually, of course! Obviously. But in the first couple dates? I don’t know.”

“Rationalizing,” Waverly diagnoses.

I bite my lip, hard.

“Okay. Okay.” Gwen takes the seat between us. “Everybody have some guacamole. Get drunk. Whatever.”

“What do you think, Gwen?” I cringe. “Do you think he’s an asshole?” I haven’t realized until now how much I care about what the girls think. It bothers me that Waverly doesn’t trust Luke.

“Hey. Not what I said,” Waverly huffs, stabbing the guacamole with a tortilla chip. “This guacamole is fucking awesome, by the way.”

“Thanks.” I rub my temples.

“I think everybody brings a life with them, you know?” Gwen says quietly. “Like, everybody has things they might do differently if they could.” She pinches the stem of her wine glass between her thumb and index finger and rolls it back and forth.

“You’re such a wise little yogi.” Waverly quips.

“My point is, we all have stuff in our life that we’re scared to show other people. That doesn’t make him a bad person. It just makes him human.”

I feel a lump forming in my throat. So I just nod.

“The important part is, what’re you gonna do with it?” Gwen tugs a few bobby pins from her hair and flicks them onto the table. Her topknot comes tumbling down. “Have you ever thought about dating somebody with a kid?”

I shake my head. “I’m not opposed to it, I guess. I just never thought about it before.”

“I can’t believe Luke Poulos is like, a dad.” Waverly draws her lips together in a tiny pout. I can’t tell if she’s disappointed or turned on.

I reach for the chips and scoop the biggest chunk of avocado from the bowl.

“It’s something you have to think about,” Gwen says.

“I know.” I can feel my chest getting tighter by the second. Of course it’s something I have to think about. I’ve been thinking about it nonstop since I found out.

“Disagree,” Waverly argues. “They just started dating. She doesn’t have to figure it out this very second.”

“But what if they fall in love, and then all the sudden she realizes she doesn’t want to be a stepmother, and then it sucks because they’re already in love and—”

“OHMYGOD!” I smack the table, making the dishes jump. “This is the most stressful dinner party I have ever thrown. EVER. Can we please not talk about this anymore? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was last night, and it won’t happen again. Okay? Okay. Please eat your fucking guacamole.” I can’t tell if I’m about to burst out laughing, or burst into tears.