Friday
“Impressive ring.”
Sophie looked over at me from the passenger seat of my Mercedes. I’d picked the least flashy of my cars, hoping that no one would ask questions, but I knew from experience it was inevitable. She was wearing a yellow summer dress, a little less fancy than I’d gone, but we complemented one another nonetheless. “Thanks,” she said, spinning it around on her finger. “It was only fifty bucks. My friend Lisa picked it out.”
Jamey’s tablet played the sounds of that damn pig show from the backseat, his mind entirely wrapped up in it. I didn’t need to worry whether or not he’d be confused when I spoke about the ring. “It’s definitely an authentic-looking engagement ring. I don’t think they’ll ask questions.”
Sophie grinned as she held out her hand in front of her, watching the way the setting sun glinted off the cubic zirconia. “You don’t think it’s too, I don’t know, gaudy?”
I laughed as I turned into the neighborhood where her parents lived, the houses far larger than I expected. Not quite as large as my own or my parents, but what would most likely be considered upper middle-class. I had to physically restrain myself from putting my hand on her knee and moving it farther up. I clutched the steering wheel to keep my boundaries in place. “No, I don’t think it’s gaudy. If I had to buy an engagement ring again, I’d probably go for something similar.”
She rolled her eyes, her chuckle coming quick and short. “You say that like it would be a massive chore.”
I shrugged, following the GPS instructions through the maze of houses until we arrived. In the driveway, two BMWs were parked; a sedan and a mid-sized SUV. Along the curb, there was a third car parked, a Lexus RX..
“That’s my brother’s car,” she said, a hint of confusion in her voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize they’d invited him too.”
“It’s fine,” I replied, flashing a half-hearted grin at her. “They have a kid, right?”
“Yeah, but she’s like, four months old.”
“That’s fine. Jamey loves babies.” I pushed open my door and hopped out, heading to Sophie’s side to help Jamey out of the car, but she was already on it. She smirked at me.
“So there are differences between you two.” Jamey’s feet hit the grass, one hand in Sophie’s and the other holding his tablet.
I scoffed at her. “I don’t dislike babies, Sophie. I had one. I actively work to make women pregnant.”
She motioned to her stomach, her brows furrowing as she looked up at me. “Really? Because I don’t see anything happening here.”
I shut the door behind them both, rolling my eyes at her joke. “Come in for your appointment on Monday and maybe you’ll get lucky.”
Blush spread across her cheeks as she stopped in her tracks.
“Jesus, Sophia, not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Yeah, Sophie, get your mind out of the gutter,” Jamey echoed, and I swear my eye twitched.
“Don’t say that” I muttered. “Those are adult words.”
Sophie’s dad opened the door for us as we approached, his eyes going wide as his gaze landed on my son and Sophie holding his hand. “Well, hello,” he said, looking between Sophie and Jamey. “Who’s this?”
She hadn’t told them. Why? Was it something she didn’t think they’d approve of or was she ashamed herself to ‘be with’ a single father? “Hi, Martin. Nice to see you again. This is my son, Jamey.”
Martin looked down at Jamey as he took his place behind Sophie’s legs, his tablet clutched to his chest. Sophie’s father seemed confused, surprised, but not angry.
Did she know they’d be okay with it and hadn’t said anything? Still, the idea that she was ashamed sat heavily on my shoulders, and I tried to bat it away.
“Well, hello, Jamey. I’m Martin,” he said, a little smile lifting his lips. “I suppose you can call me Pops.”
Jamey looked up at me, his lip between his teeth, and I already knew what was going to come out of his mouth.
“Why?”
Sophie answered him before I could. “Because this is my dad, and he likes being called Pops.”
“But I already know a Pop-pop,” Jamey said quietly, his little hand tightening in Sophie’s grip.
“Lots of people can be called the same thing,” I explained, following Sophie and Martin inside, ushering Jamey along. Already, the whole thing felt like a horrible idea, but we’d committed to it. Couldn’t turn back now.
“Sophie!”
Sophie’s mom, Leslie, appeared behind a corner, oven mitts on her hands and a flour-covered apron covering her clothes. She, too, stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Jamey, and my stomach twisted just a little bit more.
“Who’s this?”
“This is Jamey,” Martin answered. “Hudson’s son.”
“Oh,” Leslie said, studying the three of us as if we were aliens before her face leveled out. “Hi, Jamey. I’m Sophie’s mom.”
“Hi,” he whispered, his gaze traveling the room, taking in the surprisingly grand aesthetic of it. It wasn’t anything like ours but more like my parents, just scaled back. Decorated by people in their fifties who loved cats and chickens.
“It’s lovely to see you guys again,” Leslie smiled as she walked up to us, giving her daughter a peck on the cheek.
“Hi, Mom.”
Leslie removed an oven mitt and extended her hand to me. I took it, gave her a firm shake, and plastered my best smile on my face even though I felt a little like I was dying. This was a lot for me, and likely more so for Jamey, but I told myself it would be fine, that the evening would pass by quickly and we’d be able to sell them on the idea of our engagement. I needed things to go smoothly, for my sake and Sophie’s.
“Oh! The ring! Let me see, let me see,” Leslie babbled, grabbing for Sophie’s left hand with her mitt-less one. The worry on Sophie’s face complimented the blush spreading across it, and I crossed my fingers in the hopes that they didn’t realize it was fake. “Oh my goodness, this is gorgeous.”
Sophie laughed awkwardly as she glanced up at me. “Yeah, Hudson has good taste.”
I breathed out a sigh of relief. “It better be gorgeous. Spent a little too much on it if I’m honest.”
Martin chuckled as he slapped a hand against my shoulder. “Good man.”
“Nothing is too much for our Sophie,” Leslie grinned, leading Sophie into the living room by her hand, dragging along Jamey by default.
————
“So, Hudson, what do you do?” Aaron, Sophie’s brother, asked me around a mouthful of green bean casserole.
Clearing my throat, I wiped my mouth on my cloth napkin before returning it to my lap. “I’m a doctor,” I said. I lifted my glass of wine, holding it in front of me. “I work in a clinic near our side of town.”
“Like a general practitioner?” Leslie queried.
“Yeah, kind of,” I laughed. “I work in the family planning field.”
Sophie went rigid next to me, her fork halting its movement against her plate. She recovered fairly quickly, returning to eating before anyone could notice.
Leslie stared at me, her head tilting. “What’s your last name, Hudson?”
“Brady,” Sophie answered for me.
“Oh my goodness. Are you Betty’s son?”
How the fuck…? “Yeah,” I answered slowly, a little confused. “How do you know my mom?”
Leslie’s face lit up, her smile spreading so far it was almost comical. “I met your mother at the country club down in Brookline,” she said. “It was a few years ago, I think. She’s one of my closest friends. She talks about you all the time.”
Fuck. If she knew my mom… well shit, this was going to get bigger than either of us originally planned. “Oh, what a coincidence,” I said, desperately trying not to show how much it had rattled me. I wondered if Sophie was thinking the same thing I was, if she was coming to the same realization.
“Funny, your mom never mentioned you seeing anyone.”
“We haven’t told them yet,” Sophie answered far too quickly, but thankfully, no one seemed to bat an eye. “They’re next on the list.”
“Wow, keeping it a secret from everyone.” Aaron laughed. His wife, Michelle, chuckled along with him.
“We just wanted to make sure it was, you know, real. And then we realized how nice it was to keep everyone out of the loop, and it just sort of stayed that way,” I explained.
“How long have you two been together, then?” Martin asked.
“Just over a year—”
“Two years—”
Sophie and I stared at each other in horror as we realized we’d given different answers at the same time. Fuck, we should have thought of this. We should have planned for this. Play it off, play it off. “Has it really been two years already?” I asked, leaning a little closer to her and tucking a strand of her deep brown hair behind her ear.
She chuckled nervously as her cheeks turned rosy. “Yeah, it has.”
I closed the distance briefly, pressing a quick peck against her lips. Thank god Jamey was in the other room watching cartoons. “I’m sorry, angel. I didn’t even realize.”
————
“So, this one is from fifth grade. Sophie performed a Cher song for the talent show, she insisted on dressing up like her and everything. What song was it, honey?” Leslie asked Martin, the photo album spread out on the table in front of us.
“Oh my god, Mom, please don’t.”
“I think it was Dark Lady,” Martin laughed, crossing the room and taking a look at the photo Leslie pointed to. “She got in trouble for singing about killing people.”
I laughed as I looked at it, the sunglasses on her face and the sparkly dress so very Sophie. I turned the page, desperate to see more, and Sophie glared at her mother from the kitchen. “Mom, please.”
“What? You look adorable.”
The next page featured a younger version of Sophie with a reddened face and puffy eyes, tears halfway down her cheeks, as she clutched a baseball bat in her hands. Leslie cackled as she noticed me looking at it. “You’ll never believe the story behind that one. She had this great idea when she was at a friend’s party that they could play a game—what did you call it Sophie?”
Sophie’s face paled as she buried her head in her hands. “Catch Grandma With a Baseball Bat.”
Martin started laughing, clearly recalling more of the story. “That’s right. One of you decided to be the baseball bat wielder, and the rest were ‘grandmas,’ right?”
She nodded into her hands.
“And you went first,” Leslie continued for Martin, her laughter barely contained. “And you hit your best friend in the face with the bat.”
Sophie groaned. “Yeah.”
I pressed my lips together as I tried not to laugh, little Sophie’s crying face staring up at me from the page.
“She felt so bad about it. Broke Sandra’s nose, do you remember?” Martin asked her.
“Obviously.”
I chuckled as I looked at her, her bright blue eyes trained on me from between her fingers. “I’ll make a mental note to never let Jamey play that.”
————
The car ride home was quieter than I expected. Jamey had already fallen asleep in the backseat as I weaved through the Boston traffic, the excitement of meeting new people and playing with Aaron and Michelle’s baby, Brynn, too much for him. Sophie spent the majority of it on her phone or staring out the window, silently watching the world pass by.
Despite the initial awkwardness and having to think on my feet most of the evening, I’d had a good time. Martin and I had bonded over the fact that he teaches psychology at Harvard, we’d never crossed paths, but he loved that I was an alumnus. Sophie’s mom didn’t need to work. She came from old oil money, which explained their decently lavish home and cars, and likely how Sophie managed to purchase a condo at her age with a startup business.
I’d found myself actually enjoying being around her family. They were entertaining, to say the least, and seemed to buy everything we told them, even the hiccup about how long we’d been together. It had gone better than I expected, even with Sophie not telling them about Jamey.
I wanted to ask her about it. It had sat in my head like a stone all evening, but I wanted to wait until Jamey wasn’t in earshot, until he couldn’t potentially wake up and overhear us. I didn’t want to confuse him further, he had already begun asking questions before we’d left.
I carried Jamey up to his bedroom once we got home. Sophie had left some of her things at the house, so she’d insisted on coming in, even though I knew how horrible of an idea that was. By the time I’d made my way back downstairs, not bothering to change out of my slacks and button-up shirt, she was sitting where I’d found her before on the couch. In her hands, she held two glasses of red wine, and I seriously considered going back upstairs to change my shirt.
“Hey,” I said, slowly crossing the room that separated us. In the low light, she looked ethereal—her long brown hair hanging around her face, the yellow of her dress complimenting the freckles on her skin, the blue of her eyes. I already salivated for her, but I tried to tamp it down.
“Hi,” she breathed. “You didn’t change.”
“I was hoping we wouldn’t have another spilled wine scenario,” I chuckled, pressing my palms into the back of the sofa and leaning over the edge. “Oh.” She said with a weak smile.
She passed the glass over the couch and sipped on her own as I took it. I’d only had one drink earlier since I was driving, but she’d downed at least two with dinner and a third after the whole grandma-with-a-bat situation. I watched her, studying her. Why do you need another glass of wine, Sophie?
“Do you… uh, would you like me to go?” She asked, her voice quiet.
Every part of me screamed to say no, to tell her to stay, to drag her upstairs. “Only if you want to.”
She set her half-empty glass on the coffee table and stood, smoothing out her dress. Fuck, I’d said the wrong thing. Ask her to stay, ask her to stay, ask her to fucking stay.
Sophie rounded the couch, her dress swaying around her knees, and stopped in front of me. “I don’t want to go home yet.”
The relief that washed through me was far more than what I should have felt. Quickly, I downed the entirety of my wine in one gulp before tossing the empty glass on the couch. “Perfect,” I mumbled, grabbing her face in my hands as I took a step toward her, and then another, forcing her backward until her spine was flush with the wall, her wide eyes staring up at me.
I couldn’t hold back for another second. Every inch of me needed to touch her, to feel her, to finish what we’d started the other day. My questions could wait.
I pressed my lips against her mouth, separating hers with my tongue. I wrapped an arm around her waist, forcing her back to arch, and gripped at the fabric as I shoved one knee between her own. She was too much, too dangerous, too tempting for me to restrain myself. I could hardly think with her around, could hardly pay attention to anything besides the shape of her lips, the curves of her body, the way she fell apart in my hands.
Here I was again giving in to her temptation, and I didn’t think twice about it.
