Page 122 of The Man I Hate

I’d also learned several things about my father, mother, and my brother.

And a lot about what I wanted my future to hold.

Anna

I stretched my left arm toward Braxton, who was seated at my side. “Would you pass the salad, please?”

He lifted the bowl and placed it between us. “There you go. It’s good, huh?”

It consisted of raw cauliflower, pickled red onions, bacon, and a creamy parmesan dressing. It was simple, but I couldn’t stop eating it.

“It is,” I said. “I like that recipe. I got it from Chrissy Teigen’s Twitter. She said she loved it.”

“Does she follow you?”

I forked a piece of cauliflower into my mouth. “I think so.”

“You don’t know?”

“She does.” I gave him an apologetic look. “I don’t think it’s good to brag about such things.”

“There’s a difference between walking into a bar, sitting down, and saying, ‘Oh, look, Chrissy Teigen sent me a personal message,’ to the bartender, and answering a question I asked you.”

“Okay. Chrissy Teigen follows me.”

“I think it’s good that you’ve established a faithful following,” he said. “It might come in handy someday.”

“Like when?”

He shrugged. “You never know.”

I picked at my salad, and then at the chicken. The home seemed quiet. Empty. Eerily lonely.

“It seems weird,” I said, gesturing to Hap’s seat. “Not having Hap here.”

“He’s not big on chicken, anyway, so it’s all for the better,” he said. “Wonder what they’re eating?”

Hap was having dinner at Marge’s. After two weeks of sharing afternoon tea, they spent a week talking in the evenings while taking short walks. Eventually, Marge invited him over for dinner. I thought it was cute, but I really wanted to be a part of it. It frustrated me that I didn’t get to see them together.

“Maybe we can include her in our Sunday dinners in the future,” I said. “What do you think? Maybe, like every other week or something?”

“Okay by me,” Braxton said.

“They’re supposed to be holding a press conference on Monday about lifting the stay at home order. Did you see that?”

He nodded. “Pratt told me.”

“If they do, what are you going to do?”

He continued to eat his chicken without skipping a beat. “About what?”

“About everything?”

He paused. “Like?”

“Work? Home? Me? You? Sunday Dinners? Hap?”

The shoveling of food commenced. With a mouth full of salad and a forkful of chicken, he shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Nothing, probably.”