Dinner for Six

Roy finished setting the table for six, adjusting the last fork even though it was already straight. The whole house smelled like rosemary, lemon, and butter, and beneath it all the warm promise of apple crisp waiting its turn. Had he not been impacted by his errant wish, Roy would have been at home alone, reheating leftovers of whatever he'd eaten the night before. Not a hint of that lonely lifestyle was present in the warm home of Elaine. It was lively, anticipatory, almost glowing.

From the kitchen, sounds of his girlfriend working away filled the air. Soft hums drifting out between the sounds of chopping, stirring, oven doors thunking gently shut. The domestic rhythm of someone who wasn't just preparing food, she was preparing a gathering, a reunion, a night she deeply wanted to go right.

Roy leaned in the doorway, watching her.

She'd dressed like company mattered, giving the signal that tonight wasn't just about seeing her children, but celebrating their family. Perhaps welcoming him into it. A fitted navy-blue dress patterned with tiny white blossoms, sleeveless and graceful. She'd paired it with soft beige heels and a single strand of pearls, the kind that suggested elegance without effort. Her dark hair was pinned up loosely, showing off her neck. Even her lipstick was a shade deeper than usual — a quiet celebration.

Elaine hadn't told him explicitly to dress up, but seeing her in that dress had laid out the expectations. He'd shaved, showered, and put on the nicest clothes from his bag: khakis and a polo that felt suddenly plain next to her beauty. He wished he had nicer clothes, but his lifestyle before the wish hadn't included dinner with women like Elaine. It was the best he could do.

But she beamed when she looked at him. And that mattered more than any outfit on earth.

All day she'd been affectionate; brushing his arm when she passed, kissing him in the hallway, squeezing his hand when a moment of silence left room for her feelings to spill over. It wasn't the marathon of sexual exploration of the day before. It was slow, comforting, and affectionate. And his own words had escaped him twice in a tone so **** and earnest it scared him afterward: I love you.

And, he came to realize, he meant it.

He'd known her one day. One single day. Except it felt like months, or years, or another life they somehow shared. Another life that he desperately wanted to remain in, to pretend that his regular life, the one that did not include loving relationships with incredibly beautiful women, did not exist. To pretend that he wasn't flitting between borrowed relationships, that he actually was the kind of man that Elaine could love.

But he knew what was coming. He could feel the anxiety of that knowledge building behind his ribs. The wish was coming due.

Elaine turned toward him, holding a spoon dripping with lemony roasting juices. She smiled, warm and unguarded.

"How's the table look?" she asked.

"All set," he said, forcing lightness into his voice.

"Good. Dinner's about forty-five minutes out." She wiped her hands on her apron, then stepped closer. "Why don't you relax before the kids get here?"

He didn't move. His chest felt tight. His throat too small. This moment, looking at her, being with her, was too fleeting. He wanted it to last a lifetime.

She misread it immediately.

"Hey," she murmured, touching his wrist, "today's not going to be like yesterday. Evan's not going to come at you sharp again. I promise. He'll be civil."

He managed a weak smile, because she believed that everything was normal, that her world wasn't about to be rewritten. To Elaine, the worst thing that could happen was that her son would get angry at Roy for swooping in and taking advantage of her in her grief. She had no idea. And he didn't want her to know.

She leaned in and pecked his cheek. "Go sit. I've got this."

He nodded, turned toward the living room...

And the doorbell rang.

Elaine whirled toward the sound, eyes widening. "They're early," then she laughed. "Of course they are. Could you get it? I can't leave the chicken now."

"Yeah," Roy said. "I... I got it."

He crossed the hallway, heart thudding, wishing he could say goodbye. There was no way, of course. She wouldn't understand it. She wouldn't believe it. How could she? To her, this was her reality. His skin prickled. A warning hum skittered along his nerves.

He opened the door.

Claire, and next to her a thin pale-skinned man about three inches taller than her, brown hair and glasses. He had his arm looped loosely around her waist.

And with them was Evan. Next to her, holding his hand, was a beautiful woman, shorter than Evan, brown curly hair, and tattoos on her arms. Her eyes were dark and studious, fully taking Roy in the instant he opened the door.

Four smiling faces. Four arrivals. A moment of relief washed over Roy as he stared at them. Nothing was happening! A smile grew on his face. Maybe this time he'd avoided it! Maybe he was going to have his 'happily ever after' with Elaine!

And then it hit.

The hairs on Roy's arms stood up.

Just for a second.

The world seemed to tilt, like a skipped frame in a film.

His breath stuttered.

Then the skipped frame landed.

Something had changed.

Roy blinked, and instinctively his gaze swept over the women, searching for the invisible signature, a signal, a clue, that meant one of them was his now.

Claire was tall and elegant even standing still, with that striking resemblance to her mother that made Roy’s brain twinge. Same deep-set eyes, same mouth that seemed perpetually ready to smile, even when she didn’t. Shoulder-length brown hair in a neat bob that framed her face like a deliberate choice. Thin, almost delicate physically, but her figure was unmistakable: full breasts that added a surprising curve to her otherwise narrow build. Tonight she wore a deep green dress, v-necked and soft, cinched at her waist. Gold hoops winked at her ears. She stared back at him with the exact same expression she'd had when he opened the door. No help there.

The other woman, Evan's girlfriend, had a different energy entirely. Dark curls, wilder than Claire's precise bob, with streaks of auburn threaded through like someone had painted warmth into her hair. Her dress was casual but bold; red with a floral pattern, flowy sleeves, hem hitting just above her knees. She wore boots instead of heels. The tattoos on her arm looked purposeful, not chaotic like Tabitha's. She had an air of confidence. She could easily be the one, but she looked at him with the expression of a woman just seeing him for the first time.

No lightning bolt.

No name lifting itself from their clothes.

No clue at all.

His stomach dropped.

He stepped back, letting them into a world he suddenly feared he no longer belonged to.

"Hey," he said stiffly. "Come on in."

They shuffled inside, chatting. Roy hovered on the edge of the tile, waiting for the universe to pull the rug out from under his feet completely.

And then...

Footsteps.

Pearls gleaming in the archway.

Elaine stepping into view, backlit by kitchen warmth.

"Hi, everyone!" she sang, beaming as she moved from child to child, hugging Claire tight, then Evan. She greeted the other two by name, giving Roy an insight as to who they were. Adam. Tessa. All warmth. All joy.

Roy waited for her to forget him.

For her eyes to slide past him.

For the string between them to snap.

Instead she turned, smiling at him like nothing had changed at all.

"Thanks for grabbing the door, babe," she said lightly.

She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, her palm lingering briefly on his shoulder as she pulled away.

Babe.

Roy froze, confusion lighting through his nerves.

He was still hers?

Somehow.

The impossible had happened. Or maybe the rules had changed.

Either way, he stood in Elaine's foyer surrounded by her family, her children. Two women one degree away from being Elaine's replacement within arms reach of her.

And Roy had absolutely no idea what came next.