Page 45 of Father of the Bride
“Hereyougo.” He dragged a finger through the sand, feeling the grains swirl against his fingertips. “I miss her. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Not really,” she said. “I knew that. I wanna know if…you know…if being here is painful.”
“I’m here every few months, Mish. It gets easier every time.”
She nodded, turning her attention to the waves cresting against the shore. “I miss her, too.”
They sat in silence for a while. Mark thought about his late wife, how much she loved it out here, how empty it felt without her, and then he realized how much space he still held for love. He’d been convinced he’d never fall in love again, resigned to maybe a partnership or a companionship that met his physical needs. But this, what he saw when he looked at Cici…it was feeling a lot like love.
“How’s the practice?”
“A fucking mess.” He dragged his fingers through the sand again, this time sifting it, searching for a shell. “I’m suing Sterling’s ass right back.”
“Damn. He’s coming, right?”
“Yeah.”
Mishon blew out a breath. “Keep your cool.”
“Please. I ain’t lettin’ that fool get me off my square.”
She cut her eyes at her brother before something else caught her eye. Her gaze shifted to Sunny at the grill filling up her plate while her ex-husband stood a little too closely behind her.
“You really think nobody notices how you look at her?”
Mark frowned. “Who?”
Mishon tilted her head, twisting her lips. “Don’t do me, Markez. You know exactly who.”
He chuckled softly. “I’m a red-blooded man and she’s a beautiful woman. Alert the media. News at eleven.”
“It’s more than that,” she said. “Which, again, is obvious to anyone watching.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing everybody’s too distracted by the wedding to pay any attention to little old me.”
She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “I bet that don’t apply to her husband.”
“Ex.” He allowed himself a passing glance in the Dixons’ direction, his expression hardening. “I ain’t worried about that nigga.”
“See.” Mishon wagged a finger at him. “It’s starting already.”
He waved that off.
“You’re not the old Markez. I don’t think so, anyway. But I know he’s in there somewhere. Don’t bring him out this weekend.”
“Whatever, Mish.”
“I’m serious. You have too much to lose.”
“I can handle myself,” he insisted, staring into the fire.
But even as the words left his mouth, he felt unsure.
He thought he’d outgrown his temper and jealousy back in college. He’d spent close to thirty years in remission. But now?
The old Markez was making his presence felt.
Like now. Watching her. Watching him. The way he leaned in. The way his eyes followed her every move. The way she laughed at whatever dumb shit he whispered in her ear.
