Page 89 of The Matchmaker
Unlike Gemma, who moves around her kitchen like she has a grudge against it, slamming cabinets and pulling open drawers so forcefully, I’m surprised they don’t fall out.
“Need some help?” I ask mildly.
“I’m fine. I’m just running behind. I told everyone to arrive after two and thought I’d have the place cleared by now. I still have to heat the sausage rolls and get the food out of the freezer.”
“What are we eating?”
“Noah wanted to order— I’m still using that,” she adds, as I go to clean up a bowl. I promptly leave it be. “Noah wanted to order pizza,” she continues. “But the prices are ridiculous. So, I got frozen ones. If we time that with the cake, they should be done by four. Sugar comedown by bedtime. Bed by nine.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say, but my enthusiasm does not seem to calm her down. For a moment, I think it’s just stress. A house that’s about to be filled with a bunch of pre-teen boys is not fun, but she’s managed before, and Noah seems happy, so there’s no reason for her to be glaring at a plate of cupcakes like they just insulted her mother.
“Gemma?”
“Pass me those M&Ms, would you?”
I hand her the packet, and then another when she motions for that too. “What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you look like you’re one spilled drink away from screaming into some poor child’s face.”
“It’s nothing,” she mutters, pouring the chocolates into a bowl.
“Gem—”
“It’s just Darren.”
I try to fight my scowl at the mention of her ex-husband. Try and fail.
“What did he do?”
“It’s what he didn’t do.” She sets the bowl onto the table, avoiding my eye. “He didn’t even send a card. His kid’s twelfth birthday and not even a card.”
“Did Noah notice?”
“Yep,” she bites out, and I wince. “He’s asked twice already today.”
“What did you say?”
“What else could I say? I told him it was on its way. That it takes a while for stuff to come these days. That no, his father didn’t forget his freaking birthday.”
Her voice breaks at the last word and she heads to the sink, filling it with running water as she starts dunking cutlery and mixing bowls into the basin. I frown as she stays like that, her hands moving mechanically before she raises her arm, using her wrist to do a quick wipe of her cheeks.
And that’s when it hits me.
She’s crying.
I’m immediately horrified. I’ve never seen Gemma cry. I’ve never even seen Gemma emotional unless you count being pissed off with everyone.
“Gem…”
She doesn’t respond, her body rounding in on itself as though she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. Like she’s trying to hide herself from the world.
The doorbell goes as I reach over and turn the water off before pulling her into my side. She’s not a hugger. Not really a toucher. And this is the most affection she’s ever allowed from me, so it’s a little awkward, me holding her like she’s some fragile bird, but she leans into my touch as the tears stream silently down her face, letting me be there for her, even though it must kill her to do so.
“Shit,” she mutters. “Shit.”
“It’s okay.”
