Page 23 of The Marriage Rebound

“What bomb-ass pasta?”

“You haven’t had her pasta?”

“I didn’t know she had a pasta for me to have.”

“What the hell, Courtney? How’s that possible?”

That was a very good question. When we’d been looking for houses, Sasha had been very particular about the features she’d wanted in the kitchen. A gas stove with an actual vent hood and a pot filler—that was the hardest damn thing to find. We—well, she searched until she found what she wanted and in the time we’d been here I couldn’t recall her cooking a single damn meal. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if she could cook.

“Sash, what’s this pasta Mya’s talking about?”

She slowly closed the fridge and turned to look at me. “Whatdya mean?”

“I don’t know. Mya says you have some sort of bomb-ass pasta. You cooked or you picked it up from somewhere?”

“I made it.”

“So how come I haven’t had it?”

She tilted her head and crossed her arms. “Because you weren’t here.”

The attitude coloring her words grated on me. “When has Mya been here when I wasn’t? And since when do you cook?”

“Thanksgiving, last year,” Mya said, reminding me she was on the phone. “Remember I was supposed to go home . . .”

She let the statement trail off. I picked up on the change in tone as soon as she mentioned home. Our parents had done a whole song and dance, guilting her about not seeing her for a while, and when she’d finally caved and said she’d visit, they’d decided instead to go on a fucking cruise. “It was too good of a deal to pass up,” they’d said. “You understand, right?” “We’ll catch up another time.” Letting her down once again, as was their history. Their wants and needs always came first.

I remembered her tearful phone call, more upset with herself for believing them. I was in Italy and had opted to not fly back for the short break—which Sasha had been pissed about, but I told Mya I’d get her a ticket so she could go to Atlanta and spend the holiday with Sasha and her family. Mya had made a comment about wishing I was going to be around as well for the holiday, and while her statement hadn’t been as snarky as Sasha’s, it’d still felt like I was getting it from both sides.

Sasha and I had our issues, but she cared about Mya as much as I did and enjoyed having a sister since she’d been an only child. I was thankful that Mya had a place to go so she wouldn’t be alone. To me, Mya going to Atlanta for Thanksgiving seemed like a win-win for them. I wasn’t going to be there, but they would have each other. Problem of loneliness solved.

But Sasha’s snide comment about me not being here still stung. I cut my eyes over at my wife, who was leaning against the counter, arms still crossed and lips pressed tightly together. “I’m glad y’all had a good time together. I’m gonna go, My, I’m tired.”

“Oh. Okay. You sure you’re good and I don’t need to come down?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I eased off the couch after ending the call. “I’m gonna go lie down.”

“You still need to eat.”

I shook my head. “I’m not hungry.”

Sasha didn’t say anything else as I headed for the stairs. I worked as much as I did for her, hell, for both of them. Would I have rather been here to hang with my sister when she was upset? Yes, but I couldn’t, so I provided the next best thing, which was making sure she still had a safe and loving place to land. And Mya being here gave Sasha something to focus on instead of the fact that I wasn’t.

I was doing the best I could, and it still wasn’t enough.

Chapter 11

Sasha

I stood back and surveyed my handiwork: brioche French toast, scrambled eggs with cheese, hash browns, bacon, and sausage, plus grits. Everything looked and smelled divine. Vuitton nipped at my ankles, whimpering and begging.

“No, boy. No bacon for you. Last time you threw up in the middle of my bed and Courtney was pissed.”

He sat down, looking up at me with puppy eyes, and whined some more. “Fine,” I said, picking up a strip to break off a small piece for him. He gobbled it up quickly and then promptly whined for more. “No!” I said a bit more sternly. His ears went back, and I felt guilty almost instantly. “It’s not good for you,” I reasoned in a softer tone.