Page 86 of Just This Once

“Fine.”

Except she’s not fine. She slumps away from me to go back to the sink, where she studiously cleans a pot. Her eyes arebloodshot, and she keeps wiggling her mouth back and forth like she might cry.

“What happened?”

She shuts off the water, picking up a striped kitchen towel to dry the pot. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

I coast my attention around the small room, from theI Love Lucysalt and pepper shakers to the tiny succulent on the windowsill. There is a pile of Frankie’s stuff in the corner, bags of food and treats, his leash hanging from a hook, and dark-stained cabinets that I know if I opened would have a few boxes of cereal, a bunch of ramen, and grape jelly that’s four years old and unopened. I have plans for this kitchen. Beginning with updated cabinetry and ending with adding my favorite protein bars to the shelves.

When I spot the empty jar of marinara sauce on the counter, I try a different tactic. I take the dry pot from her to put it away. “You have spaghetti for dinner?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“With sauce from a jar?”

She sighs, finally meeting my eyes. “Yes.”

I grin, hoping to disperse the dark cloud over her head. “No good, duchess. One of these days, I’m gonna make you some real sauce. No more of this stuff from a jar.”

She ignores the suggestion, opening the dishwasher to load up the plates and utensils.

I try again. “I was actually thinking that you should come to Christmas Eve with me.”

She opens the cabinet underneath the sink for the detergent, and I’m about to tell her to wait so I can redo how she loaded everything. She could fit another few items in here if she stacked everything differently, but I don’t think now is the time to bring it up. Instead, I let her pour in the blue liquid and pressthe button to run it before she faces me with a scowl. “What are you talking about?”

“I want you to come to my parents’ house for Christmas Eve. We do Seven Fishes.”

“I…” She scrubs her hand over her face. “I don’t know what that means.”

I feel her tension rising because I am as attuned to her as I am to myself. “It’s an Italian thing. We eat seven fish, but I’ll make sure there’s food for you. Braciole or something.”

“Braciole?”

Taryn doesn’t like fish, and normally we wouldn’t have meat on Christmas Eve, but it’s not a big deal. Nobody even knows why we eat seven fish, so I don’t care about breaking a made-up rule in the first place. “Beef braciole. It’s, like, flattened?—”

“No, no, no,” she mutters, waving her hand. “No, I’m not going to go to your Christmas fish meal.”

“I told you, you don’t have to eat fish. It’s?—”

“I don’t care about the fish, Dante. I’m not going to your family’s house.”

That sets me back on my heels, but I expected a little bit of pushback. She’s tried to keep this as emotion-free as possible, but it’s too late. I am in love with her, and I’m pretty sure she loves me too. I am willing to wait and be patient for her to realize it, but I want her to get to know me better. Might speed the process up.

Especially after all the conversations we’ve had about my family. I would like her to be at my side for the next big family event. If only so she might lend me some of her strength.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” I tell her. “My whole extended family comes, so it’s not like anybody would care who you are. You’d just be another person for my mother to feed, which she loves so…”

Taryn shakes her head. “No.”

“Why not?” I ask, a spark of irritation at the complete shutdown. Not even considering it.

“Because I said so.”

Planting my feet and crossing my arms so she knows I’m not going anywhere, I take a deep breath and remind myself that her reaction isn’t about me. It’s about whatever happened today. “Okay, so we’ll talk about that later.”

She rolls her eyes with a grumble as she pivots away from me to stare out the window at the dark sky. Not a star in sight.

“What’s going on? You gonna tell me what happened?”

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