I kind of felt that I was on thin ice after Brendan took the Instagram pictures down so I was on my very best behavior after the wedding. The next day, Jasmine and I FaceTimed before Brendan and I took off back to the city. She asked if I’d apologized to him and when I told her that I hadn’t, she said I should. I was like, oh so it must’ve been really bad because I didn’t even think Jasmine was paying attention and she never gives me relationship advice.

Brendan didn’t seem mad and had even spent the morning reviewing accomodations with me for yet another vacation we would be taking in a few months. But still, Jasmine was probably right so I went back to the bedroom where Brendan was laying shirtless on the bed, playing games on his phone.

I laid next to him and said, “I know last night was like, so much fun, but I feel like I should apologize for making you mad.”

“I’m not mad,” he said.

“Right, but you were.”

“Okay, yeah I was,” Brendan said. “That was really abrupt and your timing sucked. Thanks for the apology.”

I was thinking, “Okay, remind me to never do that again.” I didn’t ask for all that and maybe my timing was slightly off, but I wouldn’t say it “sucked.” But as much as I wanted to argue back, I knew better than to pick a fight that was already seemingly over.

And since I wasn’t trying to rock the boat, I decided not to immediately call Brendan after finding out about Brady and Caroline moving in together. I called my mom instead. I hadn’t had a significant conversation with that lady in months, but I knew she’d be on my side and talk shit with me.

“Hi hon!” she answered. “I’m getting ready for brunch with the girls. What’s up?”

Brunch? My mom really thinks she’s a millennial.

“Brady is moving in with his new girlfriend next weekend and he just now told me,” I said.

“Oh, is he? Is she pregnant?” My mom asked.

“I doubt it,” I said and just the thought of it made me burst into tears and I had to pull over. She hounded me with questions I had no way of knowing the answer to like: “Why is he just now telling you?” and “How long have they been planning to move in together?” and “What does his mother think about this?” and “Is Cara’s house nice?” And then finally she said what I’ve been telling her for years.

“Well, he is an asshole.”

It’s like, ya think? I’d been waiting for her obsession to wear off and for her to see how terrible he actually is. By the time we hung up I felt slightly better about the Brady situation — he is an asshole and he has been since I can remember and I’m baffled that we spent so long in a relationship. But I didn’t feel good about my mom going to brunch and likely overdoing it on mimosas (been there) and making an ass of herself.

The following week, I let Winnie know that she’d be staying in the city with me through the weekend and then I asked if her dad told her that they were moving. She nodded in that hesitant kind of way she does when she isn’t sure what the correct answer is. Usually Winnie has a lot to say, but she didn’t say anything.

“And did he tell you that Caroline will be living there with you?” I asked.

Winnie nodded again.

“Are you okay with that?”

She shrugged.

“Do you like Caroline?”

“No,” Winnie said simply. “She doesn’t share any of her things and sharing is caring.”

“You have your own stuff. And you know your daddy really likes her, don’t you?” I said.

“No, he doesn’t. He only likes me.”

I could not in good faith argue with that. That weekend we hopped in the car with Brendan to go to his parent’s house for a dinner party. On the way over there I said, “Winnie, did you tell Brendan that you’re moving?”

“No,” she said from her seat in the back.

“Where to?” Brendan asked before I could even finish my bit.

“To Caroline’s house with your dad?” I went on.

“Yeah!” Winnie said.

“Whoa! That’s really cool,” Brendan said. I couldn’t tell if he was just saying that for Winnie’s benefit or if he really thought it was “cool.” I wanted to gauge his reaction to see if he thought it was weird because hello? My goal is to move Winnie and myself into his home eventually as well.

So we got to the parent’s house for dinner where a few of Margo’s friends and their husbands/kids already were plus Brendan’s uncle and cousins and their kids. Winnie has met a few of the kids before and she’s particularly close with Brendan’s cousin, Daphne’s 6-year-old son, Levi. (What would your cousin’s kid be in relation to you? A second cousin? Please let me know — I don’t have any extended family). And when I say close, I mean Winnie bosses him around and he follows her around the house carrying all her toys she brought with her. Mama taught her well.

Dinner was catered and served buffet style, which would have been fine, but the older children who were able to served themselves first and they dug their hands in the pans and licked their fingers and I definitely saw a couple of them picking wedgies earlier in the night. So I was disgusted by the whole thing. I respect Margo and her choices so much, but who has a buffet dinner with children? Brendan made eye contact with me and smirked — because he knows my deep rooted trauma of finding a long, stringy hair in the bulk bin at Whole Foods pre-Covid. So I didn’t eat anything except a couple of grapes from Winnie’s plate. And drank a ton of wine.

Danielle showed up as the night was winding down. Brendan’s sister? She always pops up here and there and brings her dark energy with her. We’re friendly, but not friends and don’t go out of our way to talk to each other.

So I was a little surprised when she sidled up next to me with her glass of wine.

“So I wanted to tell you,” she said. “I started watching the Real Housewives the other day. I know you’re really into it.”

“Oh, fun! Cool. Which city?” I said back.

“New York.”

“The best. What did you think?”

I was thinking: “Wow, if she can get into Housewives and Bravo and we have that to talk about, we could perhaps become friends!”

Danielle said, “I only made it through like two episodes. Is it really just about a bunch of elitists fighting over stupid things? I don’t get it.”

“Yes,” I said. That’s literally the point. Mindless escapism with occasional wealth porn (Hi @ Dr. Nicole Martin).

“Seems really vapid,” she added.

“Yeah, it’s not for everyone,” I said.

So I guess we wouldn’t be bonding over our love of Housewives. Not exactly shocked that she isn’t a Bravo girl though. Those who get it, get it and those who don’t, don’t. Tell me, do any of y’all watch reality TV? I feel like I reference it a lot in my posts, are my references landing?

Brady offered to pick Winnie up in the city the following Saturday after his big move. This was after I requested his new address so I’d know where to take her. I’m like, “Uh, no. I’m bringing her to you as I’d like to see where my child will be living.” Of course he would try to gatekeep the address as if I wouldn’t have to have it eventually. So annoying.

Winnie and I jumped in the car and headed to the new address. Sure enough, it was just about 15 minutes deeper into the Connecticut ‘burbs. Not crazy out of the way, but we definitely needed to take another look at our visitation and drop off schedule.

And you know the worst part? The further I got from our old house and the closer I got to Caroline’s house, the more beautiful the houses and neighborhoods got. The old neighborhood we lived in was very much for commuters who couldn’t afford the space they needed in the city and it showed. It’s like these neighborhoods were for true CT people who were content living in the suburbs and their sprawling, manicured lawns and big Cape Cod style houses reflected that.

So when we pulled up to this gorgeous, white and brick house with shutters and a big red door, I was relieved that it wasn’t a shit hole, but mad that Caroline owned that big ass house. She’s fucking 28 with no children and a small dog, why did she need with all this house?

“Here,” I texted Brady and then Caroline came bounding out of the house.

“You found it! Come in!” she practically screamed.

You know what else is funny? It became immediately apparent that Winnie was familiar with the house and had been there before. Which is fine, I just felt out of the loop. Winnie usually always tells me everything, but hadn’t mentioned any field trips to Caroline’s home. So whatever.

Anyway, the house inside was nice I guess, in that Amazon influencer kind of way. Well, it was nice besides Caroline’s yapping ass dog who also greeted us at the door. Brady came out of the woodworks and greeted Winnie and pretended I didn’t exist.

“So yeah! This is it!” Caroline said.

“Cute. May I have a tour?” I asked.

She hesitated and looked at Brady and he said, “Sure.”

Uh, k. Why did she need his permission when it was her house allegedly? So the four of us walked through the living room and dining room (cute, but far too beige), the kitchen (cheap), and a couple of bathrooms circa 1998. Then we went upstairs to the bedrooms and I was horrified at the state of Winnie’s bedroom. The walls were painted an offensive Tiffany blue color that matched none of her furniture and decor (not that any of the decor had been installed). Every other room was painted eggshell white, why was Winnie’s room left this heinous hue? And the overhead lighting was super unforgiving and ugly and ruined the entire vibe.

“We’ll need to do some work in here,” I said sweetly.

“Yeah, we wanted to hang up all of her things, but haven’t gotten a chance,” Caroline said.

“And maybe a fresh coat of paint,” I suggested.

She frowned. “Aww, I thought it was pretty.”

“It looks like a sorority girl’s room from 2009.” But you’d know nothing about that since you’re basically still a child yourself.

We continued the tour and I counted four bedrooms total and an office which is about the same size as Brady’s (and my’s) old house. It was normal for him/us, but now all I could think about was them expanding their little family.

Brendan made reservations for dinner on the Upper East Side which was a treat since he’s typically a neighborhood, walk-right-in restaurant kinda guy. And at a place neither of us had been to so I was excited to try it. We ordered a bottle of wine and I sipped my glass while watching him order the half of the menu we decided on together. I was thinking: “That’s my fucking man and he’s so fucking cute and I love him so much, I’d die for him — I should probably stop pushing my limits.”

Once the server took our order and walked away, I said, “So I’m dying to tell you about Brady and Caroline and their house.”

Brendan listened while I painted the entire picture for him: the complete difference in vibes and acreage from the old house to the new, the 4+ bedroom house for a 28 year old, the lack of attention to Winnie’s room, Brady’s entire demeanor. And isn’t it so odd that Brady waited until he absolutely had to to tell me about them moving in together and honestly, the fact that they’re moving in together in the first place?

“I really don’t think it’s that weird,” Brendan said. “I mean, the fact that he didn’t tell you is. But like, would us moving in together be weird?”

“No,” I said dreamily.

He went into all this stuff about zip codes and municipalities and school districts and other information I did not ask for. And then he’s like, “Would you ever move back to Connecticut?”

I said, “Ew, no. I mean, the house was nice, but not that nice.”

“Okay, good because I don’t want to live there either,” Brendan said, smiling.

After dinner we went back to Brendan’s place because he wanted to go to his local workout class the next morning. So we got in bed, hooked up and then went to sleep.

Okay, I really shouldn’t be saying this or even thinking it, but just between us squirrel friends (another reality show reference):

I kind of miss having sex with Brady. I know. I can’t even look at him like that anymore and I’m grossed out even typing it. He was just really good at matching my energy and rhythm and making me orgasm. Like, he would go down on me for five minutes and I’d come. I guess he just really knew what he was doing. And Brendan, bless his heart, is enthusiastic, but is so gentle and sweet and touches me like he’s afraid to hurt me. It’s like, no actually I do want to hurt a little bit. Leave a bruise. And I’ve tried to guide him (I’ll literally grab his hand and show him how hard I like my ass slapped) but there’s only so much coaching a gal can do before it gets weird. So usually I let him do his cutesy thing for a while before I push him down and climb on top to get myself off.

Anywho. Talk to y’all later!