“What? I’m adjusting.”
Aaron laughed.
Even Patrick managed a smile.
Over the next half hour, Aaron dismantled nearly every assumption I’d made when I first saw him on the porch.
He helped carry plates without being asked. When Patrick talked about the shelves he’d built in the dining room, Aaron actually listened instead of pretending to care.
When I set down the salad, Aaron pointed toward the basil.
“Alice told me you grow your own herbs.”
I looked at her.
“You talk about my basil?”
“Apparently I talk about everything.”
Aaron smiled. “You do.”
Alice kicked him under the table.
I caught myself smiling too.
Patrick remained quieter than usual, but I assumed he was still trying to process the engagement.
Then Aaron tugged at his jacket collar.
“Mind if I take this off? It’s warm in here.”
“Of course.”
He stood and slipped off the jacket.
Patrick froze.
His fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
I followed his stare.
On Aaron’s upper arm was a detailed tattoo of a smiling woman’s face.
Patrick stared at it so long that I touched his hand.
“Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer.
Alice frowned.
“Dad?”
Patrick finally looked directly at Aaron.
“Who is that woman to you?”
Aaron glanced at the portrait and brushed his thumb across it.
“My mother.”
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Patrick swallowed.
“What’s her name?”
Aaron’s expression shifted.
“Lana.”
Patrick slowly set down his fork.
“How did you know her?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“It was a long time ago.”
“That doesn’t tell us anything.”
Alice glanced between us.
Patrick rubbed his thumb against his index finger beneath the table.
“We knew each other when we were young.”
“How well?”
He hesitated.
That was the moment I stopped worrying about Alice’s engagement.
“Patrick.”
“We dated.”
“For how long?”
“A couple of years.”
Two years wasn’t some forgotten summer romance.
“How serious?”
Patrick looked down.
I felt the answer before he said it.
“Patrick, were you engaged to her?”
His eyes met mine.
“Yes.”
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