Page 34 of The Wrong Groom

And immediately, I’m embarrassed. I’m watching a father interact with his daughter and thinking only of myself, of the things that I’ve been deprived of. What the hell is wrong with me? The joy that Peyton brings Gabriel has nothing to do with me and my problems.

Maybe if I hadn’t just been talking to Gabriel about how useless I am to my family, maybe if I hadn’t opened up about my frustrations, I wouldn’t be feeling this way. Raw. Vulnerable.

The truth is, it’s hard not to compare my own experience to the pure joy radiating from Gabriel and Peyton. I’ve always craved that kind of connection, that kind of love.

For Gabriel, Peyton is worth more than her marriage prospects. She’s worth more than anything in the world. I think of the countless times my own worth has been measured by my family against a checklist of expectations. Peyton has no expectations to fulfill, no conditions to meet.

That’s the way it should be. The thought seems to come out of nowhere, and I look away before tears can spring to my eyes, dropping my gaze to the floor. My throat feels tight.

To my horror, Gabriel seems to notice. The smile slips from his face, and he tilts his head slightly, concern flickering in his steely gray eyes. “Alexis, are you okay?”

I cough to force my throat to open. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

I can tell I haven’t managed to convince him. There’s a look on his face, like he wants to press further, but he holds back. Instead, he studies me quietly, allowing the silence to stretch between us.

After a long moment, he says, “Well, I’m about to start dinner. Do you two want to help?” He gives Peyton a bounce, then looks at me expectantly.

“Yes!” Peyton crows with a six-year-old’s enthusiasm.

I manage a smile, feeling touched that he included me. “Yeah. Sure.”

Gabriel swings around to face Margaret, who has been standing in the living room doorway, her arms folded and a serene smile on her face. “Maggie, you can take off,” he says. “We’ve got it from here.”

“If you say so,” she says. She shoots me a look I can’t decipher. It’s warm, not unfriendly, but still somehow knowing. “You folks take care. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She waggles her fingers at Peyton, who giggles and kicks her feet.

As Margaret leaves, Gabriel helps Peyton out of her boots and raincoat and then carries her toward the kitchen, and I follow in their wake. He sets Peyton down on a stool at the counter, and she leans across the marble, eager to help.

“Okay, chef,” he says, ruffling Peyton’s hair affectionately. “You ready to make the best chili the world has ever seen?”

“Yes!” Peyton chirps. “Can I cut the vegetables?”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Gabriel says, shaking his head. “We’re not ready to deal with the knives yet. I’ve got a more important job for you, okay? When I chop up the onions, you’re going to put them in here.” He reaches into a cupboard and hands Peyton a plastic bowl, which she takes from him with an air of importance.

Gabriel sets about prepping the ingredients. He pulls out a cutting board and a knife, then starts dicing an onion, his movements deft and sure.

All of a sudden, a new anxiety descends upon me as I realize something devastating. Gabriel is a much better cook than I am.

Oh, fuck me… of course he is. I resist the urge to groan out loud. Yet another way in which I’m destined to fail him as a wife, I guess. I feel a residual rush of embarrassment about my kitchen disaster the other morning.

Still, though. His competence in the kitchen is… unexpected, to say the least. That, and undeniably attractive.

Peyton is thoroughly engrossed in her task, carefully placing the diced onion into her bowl with a proud little smile. When Gabriel is finished with the onion, he moves on to a bundle of bell peppers.

“Anything I can do to help?” I finally ask, my voice sounding a little wobbly even to my own ears.

Gabriel glances up, then gestures with a knife to the fridge. “There’s ground beef in there. If you want to get that started on a medium heat in a frying pan, that would be great.”

I head toward the fridge, pushing aside my doubts as I rummage for the package of ground beef. You’re not going to fuck this up, I tell myself fiercely. It’s cooking ground beef on the stove. A child could do this.

Maybe a child should be doing this. Peyton seems much more comfortable in this kitchen than I am.

“Do you want me to season it now?” I ask, glancing back at Gabriel.

He nods, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “Yeah, a little salt and pepper should do the trick. I’ll add some spices later once it’s browned.”

A rueful smile flashes across my face. “You sure you trust me with this? You’ve seen what a disaster I am in the kitchen.” I’m only half joking.

He looks surprised, but then he manages to surprise me in turn by grinning, his expression turning amused. “You know, that’s a good point. I’ve seen what happens when you try to use a frying pan.”