pay for our daughter’s wedding just because I said we should be reasonable. I was so embarrassed in front of Marc. Not to mention, Emma had that look in her eye. You know, like she doubted we could do this . . . and that she trusted Tennyson could.”
“If Tennyson wants to pay for some of the wedding, let her. I’m not going to lie—I’m not really looking forward to the total waste associated with weddings. You know how I feel about them. We witnessed firsthand how they can tilt into disaster faster than a fart in a whirlwind.”
“Our wedding was fine until the end.” She approached the hostess stand. The older woman behind the stand arched a brow in the universal how many? inquiry. “Four, please.”
“Better make it six. Charlotte’s coming and bringing her friend Brendan.”
Melanie gritted her teeth and tried not to frown. “Sorry. Six.”
The hostess nodded, gathered the menus, and proceeded to the large metal table at the front of the eatery. All that without a single word.
“Juan will be your waiter,” she said, finally finding her voice.
“I’ll take a margarita,” Melanie said, throwing her diet out the window. She needed a drink if she had to dine with her mother and Charlotte. And Brendan. Whoever the hell he was. She could hope it was a boyfriend who would screw Charlotte seven ways to Sunday so she would stop looking at Kit like she’d like to dine upon him. Three cheers for Brendan being a stud in the sheets.
“Um, I’m the hostess,” the woman said without a smile, disappearing before Melanie could respond.
“Well, she was rude,” Melanie said, pulling out a chair next to Kit and sitting.
“But not a waiter,” Kit replied.
“Can you never take my side?”
He looked up. “I didn’t know there were sides.”
“Didn’t you?” Melanie said, lifting her gaze from the cheese- and sour cream–laden dishes pictured on her menu to her husband’s face. “You never agree with me. You always discount what I say. Like with Tennyson. Or the kids. Or even the stupid hostess. I’m just asking if you are ever on my side?”
“Mel, of course I am. I’m your husband.”
“Let’s hope Charlotte remembers that. And why is she coming to dinner, anyway? Who invited her?” Melanie sounded grumpy but didn’t care. Everyone was pleased in life but her. Everyone got the benefit of the doubt from Kit but her. With her, he constantly pointed out how crazy she sounded, placating her, reminding her how “blessed” they were, like she had to take everyone’s crap because she drove a Lexus and had two healthy children.
What-effing-ever.
“Char was there when you called to see if I wanted to meet you. She said something along the lines of loving Caliente and not having eaten here in a while. So I said she was welcome to join us, and she said maybe. I was being polite. I mean, that’s okay, right? Charlotte is merely a friend, and I think if you could become friends with her, you’d see that your fear that I would cheat with her is unfounded.”
“You admitted to wanting to sleep with her.”
“I did not. I admitted to being attracted to and flattered by her. Those are two different things. The therapist said as much. Remember, we have to trust each other and know we have the other’s best intentions at heart.”
Melanie blinked away the sudden tears. Yeah, therapy was fun. Because the therapist also made her female intuition about Charlotte sound like someone going off her rocker. Melanie wasn’t crazy. Even Tennyson had seen the way Charlotte overstepped when it came to Kit. But her husband hadn’t cheated, and he was right—everyone is flattered by the attention of an attractive person. “Fine.”
She looked up to Emma pushing into the restaurant with her mother on her heels.
“Mom!” Emma said, weaving around diners who’d paused mid-chimichanga to watch her progress. “I found it! I found the dress!”
Melanie set the menu down. “I thought you were just scouting to see which shops you wanted to visit. You said you weren’t trying anything on.” Her heart clenched at the thought of Emma committing to a dress without her even seeing it.
“I didn’t try it on. Because it’s not in Shreveport. It’s in Dallas. Tennyson found the one I liked online at Stanley Korshak. It’s so pretty and perfect.” Emma sank onto the booth seat with a swoony sigh.
Melanie looked up at her mother, who was slightly out of breath. “I thought . . . what’s going on?”