Bittersweet (The Calvettis of New York 4)

“It doesn’t matter.” Luke lets out a bitter laugh. “It’s all in the past now.”

“None of this is in the past,” she insists. “I’ve used this time to think about what is best for Auggie and for me. That’s you, Luke.”

Silence fills the air.

“We belong with you.” Her voice breaks. “Auggie misses you. I do too. We’re a family, Luke. We’ve always been a family.”

“Stop, Brook, just stop.” The raw emotion in Luke’s voice is palpable.

“Do you remember how we talked about having a baby?” Her voice lowers. “We wanted to give Auggie a brother or a sister. We can do that now. We can get married and have it all.”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes.

“Auggie needs you.” She takes a deep, audible breath. “He misses the bedtime stories you told him. He talks about you constantly. Please, Luke. Give our family just one more chance.”

“I miss him too,” Luke says on a sob. “Jesus, do I miss him.”

“You can adopt him.” Hope edges her voice. “He’ll be Auggie Jones. He’ll be your little boy in every conceivable way.”

I can’t listen to more without my heart shattering into a million pieces.

I walk out of the apartment, closing the door behind me with a soft click.

***

“How the hell did you get through the meeting with Marti?” Joel winds a strand of my hair around his index finger. “I don’t know how you pulled that off.”

I shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know how either.”

I made it down the stairs of Luke’s apartment building and onto the sidewalk. I took a few steps and stumbled into a diner. I sat on a stool facing the window with a lukewarm cup of coffee in front of me.

When Luke raced by on foot, my heart stalled, and the tears flowed. Then, I got up, went back up to his apartment, and grabbed my laptop. I was thankful that Brooklyn wasn’t there.

I managed to get my body back to Calvetti’s after that. I put the keys to Luke’s apartment back in his grandmother’s palm, and when she brought out our brunch, I sat down and ate my way through a torte and a salad before I swallowed an entire glass of red wine.

Then I showed her every test picture I took while she explained what she liked and didn’t like about each.

Those were the longest two hours of my life because all I wanted to do was rush home, crawl into bed, and cry.

Joel points at the cup of tea he made me. “That’s not going to cut it. I’m breaking into the good stuff.”

I manage a small smile. “Nelson is saving the good stuff for a rainy day.”

“I would need to start pouring this minute and continue until eighty years after my death in order for your brother to drink all the good stuff.”

“There is a lot of good stuff in the wine cellar?”

“You live in what should have been our wine cellar,” Joel points out. “He keeps it in a closet in the hallway. So posh, right?”

I burst out laughing. “You two are the best. You’re so lucky.”

“Don’t count yourself out yet.” He drops onto the couch next to me. “I know what you heard today sounded bad.”

“Bad?” I repeat. “It’s beyond bad.”

“You only heard a portion of it.” He points a finger at me. “It could have taken a hard left after you ran out of there. Maybe he told her to go to hell.”

“She told him he could adopt the little boy he loves.” I toss my head back and take a deep breath. “That’s a huge deal, Joel.”

“It is,” he agrees with a curt nod of his chin. “You don’t know if he’s all-in on that. You didn’t hear him propose, did you?”

Frustration burns a path up my spine. “I didn’t have to. I heard enough to know with certainty that Brooklyn is his future.”

“Nothing is certain until you have proof,” he counters. “He could have told her that his world has a new center, and she’s the angel that he’s waited an entire lifetime for, and regardless of what anyone says, they belong together because the fortune teller predicted it.”

“What?”

He shrugs. “It’s one of my lines in the TV drama. It fit here, so I went with it. I should have dropped the fortune teller bit, though.”

That should annoy me, but it only makes me giggle. That quickly morphs into a sob.

“Afton,” Joel says my name softly. “Don’t do this to yourself. You deserve an explanation from him.”

I slide a hand over my cheek to catch a fallen tear. “I can’t talk to him yet.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you skip the good wine to tell him to go to hell.”

I drop my head. “You’re not funny.”

“I am.” He rests his head against my shoulder. “Everything isn’t always as it seems. Give Luke an opportunity to tell you what’s going on.”