Michaela
The second I spotted Mo waiting outside the shabby little diner, his arms folded over his chest, head turned in the direction opposite from where I was approaching, my heart swooped low in my chest. Which was silly. Sure, he was attractive, but I’d spent an entire tour with him and had barely given him a second glance. My reaction to him now had to be some biological imperative, my instincts telling me to keep the man who’d impregnated me as close as possible.
If he hadn’t turned his head, catching sight of me, I would have taken out my phone to read the nasty, unforgivable message he sent me two months ago. But simply thinking about it helped me coat myself in a thin layer of armor.
The smile he gave me nearly dismantled it. I tucked my hands in the pockets of my shorts, going for casual, even though Mo’s seeming genuine pleasure at seeing me pumped air into my feet, making me floaty when I needed to stay grounded.
“Hello, Moses.”
He dipped his head to kiss my cheek, lingering there. His ginger scent invaded my chest, my lungs, my head. Before I could stop myself, I leaned into the press of his lips. It was a moment of weakness I absolutely regretted, and I righted myself almost instantly.
“How are you?” he asked, his gaze raking over me.
“Good. Starving, though.”
He placed his hand low on my back, guiding me inside. “Then, let’s get you fed.”
We sat down in a booth made for two near the back of the diner. Mo ordered a pastrami sandwich, while I ordered a cheeseburger...for the protein. And the baby, obviously. Not because being around this man threw me so far off my game, he had me stress eating.
We wouldn’t even touch my addiction to gingersnaps.
Once the waitress left to put in our order, silence descended over our little table. We had a lot to talk about, but I found I didn’t know where to start.
Mo turned the saltshaker around and around, his eyes darting all over the restaurant. He was vibrating, and even though I couldn’t see under the table, he had to be bouncing his leg.
I reached across the table, stilling his hand. “Why are you so nervous? I mean, beyond the obvious.”
He looked down at his hands like he hadn’t realized what he’d been doing, then his eyes darted to mine. He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “What do you remember from that night?”
Surprised by his question, I let my hand fall from his arm. “I remember a lot, but not so much the wedding part, or why we decided it would be a good idea. I know we didn’t use condoms, which god, I can’t really regret at this point, but damn, that was stupid. I’m too old to behave like that. I really do know better.”
“You think I’m too young to know better?”
“I didn’t say that. I didn’t even think it. But maybe. I know I saw a lot when I was on tour with Unrequited. You’ve had no shortage of willing women. And I don’t blame you in the least for partaking. It’s different for women, but I had my wild days in my twenties. Learning from your dumbass behavior is a rite of passage. Clearly I’m still going through that particular passage.”
Mo fell back against his seat, covering his mouth with his hand. “That’s all we were to you? A dumbass mistake?”
The edge of anger in his question took me aback. I’d seen the same anger in him the last two times we were together, and I didn’t quite get it. On the one hand, he seemed genuinely pleased about the baby. On the other, sometimes he looked at me like I’d taken a dagger to his heart.
“Don’t you? Your message to me was pretty clear.”
He cocked his head. “Which message would that be, Michaela?”
“Your cruel, disgusting text, Moses.”
Pure confusion registered on his features. His mouth opened and closed, like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t quite figure out what. So I went on talking.
“I know it was awful of me to wait so long to text you. I should have checked in right away, like I’d promised, and I regret that. But if me not texting for two weeks makes you so angry you can call me pathetic and tell me I’m the cause of the worst period of your life, then perhaps whatever connection we shared that night was entirely created by alcohol and desert air.”
Mo’s dark slash of eyebrows pulled into an angry slant and his cheeks reddened. “Excuse me, Michaela, but what the fuck are you talking about?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Were you too high to even remember sending that to me? Because I spent a good hour on my knees in front of the tour bus toilet after I read it. I’ve heard of people feeling gutted before, but I didn’t know it could be literal.”
Our plates were set in front of us before either of us could say another word. My appetite should have disappeared, but it was still full-force. I crammed a couple french fries into my mouth as soon as the waitress took her hand away. The tension stabbing through the air had her rushing off without even asking if we needed anything else.
Mo pushed his plate aside and leveled me with a hard gaze. “I need you to explain this to me in simple words.”
“Are you serious?”