“Because you’ve been too busy fucking?” Logan said.
I looked up to see them all watching to see what happened next, and I slouched farther into the table, chin in hands.
Logan exchanged a glance with Chad. “You okay?”
“Am I way off base here? I mean, it’s weird, right? That she acts like she’s—”
Three mouths spoke at once.
“Still in love?”
“Wants him back.”
“Would love to have that hot dog back inside her bun.”
“Wow,” I said. “I’m glad it’s not just me.”
“Totally not just you, sweetie,” Chad said, patting my hand. “Those two are like the poster children for how adults should behave after a divorce—”
“—if one of those adults is still totally in love,” Logan finished.
“You don’t have to say it like that,” Chad admonished him. “Natalie’s clearly upset here, and I think we need to make sure that—”
“Oh, make sure nothing. She’s a big girl, and she knows what’s going on. Didn’t you see that Dynasty moment just now? She annihilated Missy; it was—”
“Oh, you two stop,” Roxie said, turning to face me. “It doesn’t matter what we say about Oscar and Missy. What does Oscar say about him and Missy?”
“Not much. We haven’t really talked about it,” I admitted. “I guess we should, though, right? I mean, that’s what grown-ups do . . . I think.”
“Don’t ask me. I’m still not sure if I’m an official grown-up yet, although being listed as a second emergency contact at Polly’s school made me feel about ten feet tall—and scared to death. But also kind of . . . honored, that Leo entrusted her to me.”
I sat quietly for a moment. “You really are an official grown-up.”
She nodded. “God help us all.”
We threw away the hot dogs and went off to find Leo and Polly. I got a stern glance from Leo, a high five from Polly (who then got a stern glance from Roxie), and a big handful of nothing when I went to find Oscar.
He was nowhere to be found.
Grabbing a ride home with Roxie after we helped Leo clean up a bit, I tossed and turned on the guest room bed, clad in one of her T-shirts, since my weekend bag was in Oscar’s truck.
Where the hell was he? I’d texted him twice, but he didn’t answer. Never one to chase what doesn’t want to be caught, I gave him his space. But I still wondered where he was . . . and what he might be up to.
This, this right here, what I was feeling—confused, unsettled, unsure—was why I never got in this deep this fast. And I was in very deep. I had it bad for this guy, and I didn’t see that going away anytime soon.
Ugh. I flopped over onto my stomach. The biggest T-shirt Roxie had was snug across my hips, and most certainly my breasts.
I flopped back over onto my back. I sat up, punched my pillow repeatedly, lay back down, sat back up, then flipped once more onto my stomach and starfished. Just as I was finally getting settled, there was a knock at my door.
“Nat?” a quiet voice called.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a good-looking dairy farmer at the front door. Go see what he wants.” Then Roxie’s footsteps went back down the hallway toward her room.
It was after 2 a.m., for pity’s sake. Curious to know what he had to say, I threw off the covers, slipped into a robe, and padded down the dark back steps to the kitchen, then let myself out onto the porch. Shivering in the cold night air, I was grateful for the thick woolen socks I’d pulled on before going to bed.
Standing in a puddle of moonlight, rocking back and forth on his heels, Oscar was watching the front door. Nervous? Still disappointed? The moonlight wasn’t bright enough to tell, but something was clearly on his mind.
A board in the porch creaked, and he whirled in surprise.
“Hi,” I said.
He looked at me, taking in my robe and socks. And said nothing.
“You woke me up out of a sound sleep, Caveman. What’s going on?” I didn’t want to let on that I was losing sleep over what had happened.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he finally started, taking a step toward me on the porch.
“Talk to me about what?” I asked.
“About what happened tonight.” Step. “With Missy.” Another step.
“Oh. That.” I made myself sound like it hadn’t affected me in the slightest that he’d left me to go chase his ex-wife to wipe her oh-so-convenient tears. “Yeah, let’s talk about that.” So much for unaffected.
“What Missy said, about the way I like my hot dogs, was . . .”
Rude. Assuming. Territorial.
“. . . true.”
I blinked at him. “True?”
He nodded. “She’s right. I don’t like relish. And I don’t like onions.”
My hands were suddenly on my hips, and my right foot was tapping furiously. “Fine, Oscar. You don’t want my relish and my onions, then just say so.”
“I just did, actually,” he said, his eyes watching my foot tap.
“So Missy knows everything there is to know about you, and I know nothing.”
“She was my wife, Natalie,” he said softly, and something very small and almost foreign to me, way down deep inside, twisted over at hearing those words. “She knows I sometimes like chocolate chips in my pancakes. She knows I’m terrible at folding laundry but that I love to iron my sheets. She knows that when I’m sick, I like to have the ginger ale swished up to get rid of all the bubbles.”
“If you woke me up in the middle of the night just to list all the wonderful things Missy does, this really could have waited until the morning.”
“And she makes great muffins,” he continued as if I hadn’t said a word, looking at me with the faintest hint of amusement.
“Tell me again why you divorced her?” I asked sweetly. “She sounds like the one who got away.”
“What’s wrong with two people staying friends after they divorce?”
“It’s weird,” I answered promptly.
“It’s weird?”
“Yeah, it’s weird. You’re supposed to, I don’t know, hate each other, and be bitter and angry, and fight over things like coffee tables and salad spinners.”