The Truth

“Hmph, take a few minutes if you like,” Colton says slyly, and Elle punches him in the shoulder.

In the kitchen, I pull Tiffany into my arms, cradling her tightly with her cheek lying flush to my chest. I kiss the top of her head, feeling her body press against mine. “Are you okay?”

She nods against me, but while I might not have been in a relationship in a long time, I know when a woman is lying to me. And Tiffany is not okay right now. She’s got something heavy on her mind.

Trying to reassure her, I run my hand over her soft hair and say, “Tiff, Elle’s taking everything beautifully. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

“I know. It’s just a lot, and weird.” She’s talking to my chest, not meeting my eyes, and I wonder what she thinks I’d see there that she wants to hide.

“Weird how?”

She shrugs and looks up at me. Now that I have her eyes, I can see the worry swirling there. “To do this in front of her. It’s different when it’s just talking over the Internet or a running thing between Elle and me like we had. We always sort of laughed about it, like it was this inside joke that was never going to happen. But it did.”

I stroke her cheek, cupping her chin to lift her up for a soft kiss. “It did,” I echo. “Maybe that’s the best kind of punchline a joke can have. To make it not a joke but an amazing reality.”

She smiles, and it looks steadier than before. But there’s still tension in her shoulders and a small line of worry between her brows. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put a damper on dinner.”

“You didn’t. It’s a lot for me too. I’m thrilled to see Elle, but she’s been on my ass to date for decades. Despite what she says, I don’t think her best friend was what she had in mind.”

“You having second thoughts?” she asks quietly, as though she’s not sure she wants the answer even though she asked the question.

“Hell no,” I say emphatically. “You?”

“Absolutely not,” she says, but a flash goes through her eyes, so quick I’m not sure I saw it and definitely too fast to decipher.

“Tiffany, is there something else?” I prompt gently. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”

She hesitates, chewing on her lip as her eyes fall to the space between us. There’s obviously something on her mind, and when I brush a lock of her dark hair back to look deeper into her eyes, they’re stormy.

“Tiffany?”

I watch as she shakes her head, her eyes clearing and the tension leaving her by force. She smiles at me easily, making me that much more concerned. It’s not Tiffany’s ‘us’ smile. This is Tiffany’s ‘work’ smile.

“I’m good,” she says brightly, but it feels artificial. “Let’s get the apple pie.”

Reluctantly, I let her go and slice the pie, one I bought on my way home today from the best bakery in the city. We pick up the pie, plates, and silverware, carrying them back to the dining room table. Colton and Elle are talking intimately, heads close together as they whisper. Neve is feeding herself spaghetti by the handful despite her earlier decent attempts with a fork.

Dessert is a delicious success, and really, as I think about it, other than the hiccup with Tiffany in the kitchen, overall, the dinner is a huge step forward. When Elle and Colton leave, a sleeping Neve nestled in her father’s arms, there’s a moment of awkwardness as Tiffany stands at my side. She’s not leaving with Elle this time. She’s staying where she belongs—with me.

Finally, I reach for my daughter. “Good night, honey.”

“G’night, Dad,” she says, giving me a long-missed hug. Turning to Tiffany, she hugs her too, a silent flurry of communication passing between them.

“’Bye, girl.” But then she pauses and with an evil grin asks, “Do I want to know what you two are going to do tonight?”

Tiffany gives her a smirk. “The truth? Probably watch a Friends rerun and fall asleep by ten.”

I snicker because the truth is, we do that sometimes. But tonight, we have a lot to talk about. And I suspect Tiffany is going to want some reassurances that everything is going to be okay between her and Elle even though Elle said repeatedly that she’s fine with us. Tiffany just cares that much and would never do something that would upset her best friend.

But at my laugh, Elle cuts sharp eyes to me and then holds up a staying hand.

“Never mind. I don’t want to know what you and Harry get up to.”

“Harry? Who’s Harry?” I demand sharply.

With a glint in her eye, Elle tells Tiffany, “I’ll let you explain that one. I dare you.”

Tiffany laughs at that, apparently feeling better with the affectionate teasing from Elle. And I actually sort of understand the dares thing and know it’s playful this time.