“Well, sure. Of course. But … ”

“You’ve always been taken care of by Daddy. Now you’re on your own, but not really. You’re somewhere in the middle. You say you want to be taken seriously, but you still live at home.”

“Only until I find my own place.”

“And you want your dad to treat you like a serious businesswoman, but you’re still worried about disappointing him. By being with his veep.”

“I’ve been with lots of guys my dad didn’t want me with.”

“Not like Brandon. He’d be ‘leveling up.’ He’d be a serious boyfriend. The kind you marry because he’s a real man, not a kid. But doing it doesn’t just challenge your relationship with your dad; it also represents — ”

“Please don’t tell me what my actions ‘represent.’”

“It also represents your first step to settle down.”

“Settle down!” I bark laughter and nod sarcastically. “I see. And you’re getting this because I had sex with him once.”

“Your womanly instincts are kicking in. You know he’s a good catch, and you want him. You want to marry him.” She says “marry” the way we used to say it in grade school, when mocking someone for being into someone we deemed ridiculous. Except that this time, she’s using the same tone to make the opposite point. I consider “life coaching” Phoebe by pointing this out, but she darts for my malt and I lose momentum defending it.

“You’re retarded,” I say. Not the kind of thing I’d say as a woman. It’s the kind of thing I’d say as a girl.

“Not retarded,” Phoebe retorts. “You know he’s good material. Which is why you’re so smitten.”

“I’m not smitten!”

“And the smittenness,” she says, drawing a line on the table with her finger that is probably supposed to represent a profound truth, “is why you’re sad right now.”

“I’m not sad.”

“You said you were sad.”

“I did not!”

“Husband material,” she says. “Fuck now. Marry later.”

I laugh again. I was wrong about Phoebe. She is making me feel better, but just because this is so stupidly funny.

“He’s a hothead,” I tell her. “He has issues.”

“Your lady parts know he could take care of you. Take care of the parts, for sure. But take care of you, too.”

“He’s barely scraping by. He’s all messed up, and even money won’t help. He can’t take care of anyone.” I think of what happened the night he ran off, how he didn’t even look at me or say goodbye, and I give Phoebe my capping argument. “He’s selfish. Only thinks of himself.”

“You’re wrong,” Phoebe says.

“I’m not.”

“You are. I thought you knew about his scar?”

I nod. “So he got in a bar fight. So what? That’s not anything worth celebrating. In fact, it’s exactly what my dad thought happened the other night, and I defended him. It doesn’t say he’s not selfish. It proves he’s a brute.”

Phoebe’s expression says that something isn’t adding up. Her eyes squint down.

“What did Bridget tell you about Brandon’s scar?”

“I told you. Got into a fight. Some guy had a knife.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

Phoebe sits back. She crosses her arms. “So she was too embarrassed to tell you.”

“What?” I say.

“He got that scar defending his sister from her boyfriend, Keith, who beat her nearly to death. He got it the last time Keith came around, after he’d put Bridget in the hospital. The time, Riley, that she needed him most.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Brandon

“YOU’RE SUCH AN IDIOT.”

I turn to Bridget. She’s looking back at me with a matter-of-fact expression, as if she’s just informed me that two and two make four. And worse, she’s gloating because I thought two and two made five, and now she’s about to be a bitch because she was right.

“I liked it better when you couldn’t talk.”

“I still sound like a frog.”

“I’ve never had a frog insult me.”

“Oh, come on,” Bridget says. “Odds are it’s happened. You’ve just never noticed.”

It’s been a week and a half since her surgery. I’m sure she’s still not supposed to talk beyond necessity, but giving Bridget medical reasons not to be judgmental isn’t a great strategy. She doesn’t trust doctors more than any other authority figures and thinks they’re out to get her.

“I’m not an idiot.”

“Really? That’s the argument you’re going to make?”

Bridget winces. She touches her hand to her throat, as if she can soothe the pain or discomfort or whatever she’s feeling from the outside. I push a glass of water toward her. It hits a crack in the table and almost spills down her front. If I’d pushed harder, it would have then we’d need to abandon this discussion to get paper towels. I should have pushed harder.

“Drink.”

She does. Then she looks back up at me. I suppose Bridget has bedroom eyes the same as she says men tell her she has a bedroom voice, but as the only guy her age who isn’t interested in Bridget’s bedroom, they’re just insulting.

“I was right to force you two together. You’re good for each other.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous!” she blurts, actually standing. She touches he throat and winces again.

“Shh,” I soothe. “Please. Shut your fucking mouth.”

Bridget punches me in the arm. “Why did you come here to talk to me?”

“So I could undo your surgery.” It’s worth saying for joke value, but only barely. Part of me is sure that I really am harming Bridget by encouraging her to speak, but that’s not how it works. I’ll just slow her recovery. Because apparently, I want more of this.

“A girl comes into your office then storms out when things get real. So you come here and want to tell me about it.”

“I wanted your opinion on how to handle her, seeing as her father controls my promotion.”

“Mmm-hmm. You wanted my opinion on what you should do to get her back.”

“There’s no ‘back.’ We were never together.”

“You were together,” Bridget says.

“Oh. I see. You mean the night we hooked up then couldn’t look each other in the eye? The night we had to have you come and give us a jump, right before I blew it with Mason?”

“But you didn’t blow it with Mason, did you? You’re back on track, right?”

“That’s not the point, Bridget.”

“And why are you back on track?” She affects surprise. “Because Riley went to bat for you? Told her father how great you are?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Sure it is. Tell me honestly that you haven’t been thinking about it. About how she told her father all about you.”

I meet Bridget’s eyes. I want to lie, but she’ll see through me like always. Of course I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve been thinking about it since I left work, and on the drive over to Bridget’s. But my thinking has nothing to do with Riley. It has everything to do with the promotion that, it turns out, is back on the table. I’m happy that Mason has come around, no matter the reason. And I’m happy that Riley is willing to move on and put that unfortunate night behind us. Yes, she seemed a little upset when she left, but she was probably just embarrassed. We’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. It’s all okay again.

Bridget nods. “I knew it.”

“You didn’t know anything.”

“Before dinner, you wouldn’t shut up about her. Now, you can’t stop thinking about her.”

“She’s cute. But that’s all.”

Bridget gives me something like an evil eye. The kind of look that stands on its own. She won’t bother to repeat that I’m an idiot because given this look, she might as well be holding up a sign.