Page 96 of The Plus One Pact

"He sneezed every time he helped me make the dish," Amara says. "And every time we ate it." Her voice takes on a wistful tone. "But I still remember the first time they had a babysitter, who made a box of Kraft. The kids called us at the restaurant. We thought they were in the hospital. But it was Daniel, panicking about dinner."

"He said, ‘Mama, the cheese the babysitter made is no good. It's yellow!’" Romeo laughs. "’Where are the black flakes?’"

"It was neon orange," Daniel says.

Romeo's laugh gets lower, deeper. "Do you remember that beautiful blonde you had a massive crush on—" He looks to Cynthia, to check how he's doing.

She nods along, unbothered by the image of childhood Daniel with a crush.

"The baby looked at the Tupperware Mom left with horror and Daniel proudly explained this is macaroni and cheese. Just look at the pasta! And the cheese! A simple recipe. Three ingredients." Romeo looks to Amara. "Cynthia knows how to make it. I'm not sure if Ivy does. I'm too used to fixing it for her."

What a nice fiction. My fake boyfriend cooking me a fancy version of a comfort food for dinner.

Or the two of us, in the kitchen, working together to make something fantastic.

I did that with my ex, once upon a time. We laughed over over-cooked noodles and oddly chopped pieces of peppers.

Then one day, we didn't.

How do things change that way? So quickly?

"Okay, Mr. Expert. Change of plans." Amara brushes her long, light sundress. "You teach the ladies how to make dinner while Daniel and I enjoy aperitifs."

"I'll even make the Aperol Spritz." Romeo stands and kisses his mom on the cheek. "You can pretend you aren't watching us." He moves into the kitchen, motioning for us to follow.

We move into the big, modern room. It's beautiful. A real chef's kitchen with stainless steel appliances, tile floors, and a stove big enough to cook dinner for ten. The fridge is similarly massive.

"Can you collect the ingredients while I make the drinks?" He nods to Cynthia.

She nods back and moves to the fridge. "This one is a breeze. Though Daniel is picky."

Romeo chuckles.

"He's a bit of a perfectionist. I'm surprised he okayed the idea to have the wedding here." Cynthia glances at the living room, which is partially in view, partially blocked by the half wall. It's far enough away we can't hear a thing, but close enough we can see Daniel and his mom chatting about… something.

"Was it your idea?" I ask.

She pulls a block of cheese from the fridge and sets it on the kitchen island. "I wanted to elope. I've always seen my wedding that way. Something small, intimate, modern."

"One where you wear a suit?" Suddenly, the image forms in my head. A City Hall wedding. A tall woman in a suit and white flats. A man in a matching white three-piece. A sex therapist and a sex worker.

A fake wedding maybe.

Or a real one.

I don't know anymore.

I don't want to marry Romeo. I barely know the man. But I can see the image of our wedding. An image of our wedding.

The first image of a wedding I've had since my divorce.

It's strange. I don't know if I ever want to marry again. I still can't shake the image of my last marriage.

And the vision of that possibility:

It's exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

Because it means I can love and trust again.