Husband Material

by Emily Belden

  will never say that I didn’t try.”

  I look at Brian, who at this point is wiping away tears. He

  doesn’t need a tissue, though. He needs my mercy.

  “All set, miss,” my tattoo artist says.

  I look down at the inside of wrist. Where there was once a

  dime-sized, script letter D, there’s now a quarter-sized blue rose.

  “I love it,” I say.

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  * * *

  “Does it hurt?” Brian asks from a patio table at Alfred’s.

  “Nah, but in a day or two it’ll be a bit itchy, if I remember

  the healing process correctly.”

  “I have an ointment for that in if you need it. So, is it my

  turn now?” he asks.

  “To get a tattoo?”

  “To ask some questions.”

  I knew that’s what he was getting at, but I was trying to

  pump the brakes a bit.

  “Sure.”

  “Everything’s out in the open now. All the numbers add

  up, you have your cash, you have the data, you have the ex-

  planation. You finally have it all. Even a solid reason to never talk to Debbie or me ever again. Isn’t that what you wanted?

  Doesn’t that make everything much simpler?”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Well for starters, you don’t owe Debbie anything anymore.

  You can do with the urn what you want.”

  “I’ve already given it to her. Permanently, actually. What

  else you got for me?”

  “What has been going on between us? You kissed me in

  my apartment. You’re not going to tell me that was a mis-

  take, are you?”

  There have only been a few times in my life that it felt like

  the air was being sucked out of the very space I was in and

  this is one of them.

  Like I said before, it’s been a while since someone consid-

  ered: what does Charlotte need? What is Charlotte missing?

  But it’s been even longer since the someone doing the consid-

  ering was me. And right now, I’m zeroed in on what I need—

  moreover, who I need—right now in my life.

  I thought my forced PTO would only be about finding a

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  spot for Decker after his death. Turns out, it was also about

  finding a spot for Brian in my life. As complicated and messy

  as that sounds, it’s no more of an impossible feat than rehom-

  ing the urn, which I managed to do in an instant based off of

  a gut feeling. And if I just take a minute to ask myself what I need and what I am missing, the answer is pretty clear: Brian

  Jackson.

  “No, it wasn’t a mistake,” I say. “I was just making sure I

  feel the way I do about you.”

  “And that is?”

  “I like you, Brian. I just… I like you.”

  He leans over and kisses me softly on the lips. It doesn’t

  last more than a second or two. But when his lips touch mine

  I can’t help but think how good it feels to let go and live in

  the moment.

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  Epilogue

  It’s been a few weeks since a) I deleted Tinder, and all other

  dating apps, off my phone and computer. And b) I returned to

  The Influencer Firm. Things were weird at first, obviously.

  Other than Monica and Zareen and our freelance Human

  Resources lady, no one on the staff really knew what had

  happened to me or where I was that whole time. I’m sure my

  unexplained absence provided the interns with plenty of fod-

  der for bathroom gossip, but so be it. I ended up really enjoy-

  ing my time off.

  We landed the Voyager account. Sure, the guys were im-

  pressed by the few slides I showed them, but that’s not what

  sealed the deal. Marigold came up with a really cool idea to a

  do a “mannequin challenge” video in our office of everyone

  wearing their shoes. It showed off our cool digs—and all the

  cute girls we employ—as well as our creativity. They signed

  the contract during my second week off.

  As such, things have been pretty busy getting their account

  set up. So much so that I was moved off the less demanding

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  WeHot account to focus on getting Voyager live by September

  1. Not only did that account shift free up my resources a bit,

  but it saved me an awkward conversation with Zareen. Plus,

  it removed future contact with Gemma over work servers. I

  can’t give HR another run for their money like that.

  We’re on good terms, though—Gemma and I. And, well,

  Debbie and I, too. After things cooled down and the urn was

  officially rehomed, Debbie coordinated us getting together

  at the next pool party. Aiden got to see his dad’s ashes and

  meet the woman he married—not to mention give her a hug.

  I don’t plan on making it a regular thing, seeing Aiden. But

  Debbie said they do something for his birthday each year, and

  this year’s a big one—thirteen—so I’ll be there. I’ll need to

  first do a little research on what teenagers think is cool these days, but I’ll definitely be there. Probably with Brian.

  With all that going on, you’d think jumping back in the

  work pool would have been hard. Especially considering all

  the custom coding Voyager is requesting for their reporting.

  But it’s been fine, despite my two-week break. If anything,

  it’s just been a little more time-consuming than usual because

  I’m training Marigold on the keystrokes while I’m at it.

  Yes, you heard that right: I am training Marigold, who is

  poised to help open the SoHo office in New York in the next

  couple months. And no, I’m not giving her faulty codes so

  she purposefully screws things up when she tries to repeat the

  same thing at her desk. This isn’t about sabotage, shockingly.

  It’s strategy. After convincing Zareen that account manage-

  ment and a junior coder are really the only faces who need

  to physically be in New York, she is letting me handle back-

  end Voyager stuff from my desk in LA. As such, I resolved it

  would behoove me to turn Marigold into my little rock star

  sidekick. Loading her up with training now means that some-

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  me? I’ll go home early to walk Leno and cook dinner with

  Brian. Yeah, we’re giving that whole dating thing a try now.

  I’ve been a widow longer than I’d been a wife. And Brian’s

  gotten the hang of Brian without Decker. He’s a different person now. He’s his own person now—not just Decker’s friend

  and frat brother. As time goes on, things change. And real life has an arc to it, remember?

  Alfred’s? Brian asks in a midday text.

  I grab my purse and slither out of the office without telling

  anyone. The post-urn me has put a
priority on people over

  numbers, and right now, Brian wants to share a pastry—and

  a kiss, if I’m lucky—and so I’m there. I’m totally in.

  In his signature scrubs, Brian sits in the same spot on the

  patio that we met at a month and a half ago, except his hair

  is a little longer now and I’ve seen him naked by this point.

  Both are a plus to me. He’s sipping from a cup and there’s an-

  other one set on the table, which I’m assuming is for me. He’s

  always thoughtful.

  “This seat taken?” I ask as I pull out the metal chair from

  under the table.

  “Careful, the chair is—”

  “Hot as hell!” I finish his sentence as I scorch my thighs,

  my favorite pastime.

  “Sorry. Tried to warn you,” he says with a smile flanked

  by two deep dimples.

  “How’s your day?” I ask, taking a sip of my crème brûlée

  latte. It’s cooled to the perfect drinkable temperature, just the way I like it.

  “Good, except I’m so damn giddy about us these days it’s

  hard to concentrate.”

  “Really?” I blush at the thought that I don’t need to verify

  the authenticity of the things he is saying. I just know them

  to be fact.

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  “I don’t think I realized how long I’ve been mesmerized

  by you. I just came to a place of acceptance that the most we

  would ever be was Whole Food hot bar acquaintances. Now,

  it’s like, I’ve won the lottery. Just this morning I was testing this kid’s knee-jerk reflexes. He kicks me square in the nose

  and I just start laughing. I didn’t even care my nose started

  gushing blood, I was just…happy. Anyway, can I take you to

  dinner tonight?” Brian asks.

  “Sure, what’s the occasion?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just that I want to date the hell out of you.”

  Brian leans across the table and kisses me on the lips for the

  second time since getting to Alfred’s. His kisses feel so good

  that I lean his way and claim one more before both of us need

  to get back to work.

  “Deal. And also… I really want to try Twisted Fork in Uni-

  versal City, so I hope Italian sounds good to you.”

  When I get back to the office, my phone rings with a num-

  ber from the San Francisco area. I answer.

  “Charlotte? It’s Warren Holmgren. Are you sitting down?

  I’ve got some great news for you.”

  I deleted Warren’s number when I knew Brian had his hand

  in setting up our meeting. Although it was annoying to find

  out my interaction with Warren wasn’t as organic as I would

  have hoped, I forgave Brian for puppeteering the thing. At the

  end of the day, it was a thoughtful and resourceful move on

  his part that showed he was actually paying attention to me

  when I was talking about my tech passion and hopes for the

  future. Regardless, I haven’t followed up with Warren since,

  so the fact he’s calling me out the blue and sounds as excited

  as he does right now is beyond me.

  “Get this. I pitched your idea to my dev-team up here, and

  they are all-in on it. They are the target demo themselves…

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  Emily Belden

  tech guys in their upper thirties who just want to zero in on

  finding a wife before their whole lives pass them, so they are

  willing to take it on as a passion project.”

  “Wow,” I say. “Are you serious? That’s…amazing!”

  He spouts off the terms of the deal which, to no surprise,

  makes him a part owner. But the next thing he says is what

  catches me off guard.

  “We need you here, Charlotte. We need you in Silicon

  Valley in the trenches with these guys if this thing is going

  to take off.”

  “You need me to move?”

  “Yes. LA is for show business. Up here is for tech. You know

  that. So do you think fifteen days is enough time? I figured

  you’d put your notice in today with your current job, give

  your boss two weeks, then take a day to move up the coast?”

  “I… I don’t even really know what to say.”

  “Well, HR would tell me you need to officially say yes

  before we zip over the relocation paperwork. So, do you say

  yes, Charlotte?”

  This is exactly what I’ve been working toward since day one

  on the job at The Influencer Firm. But as exciting as it is, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t conflicted. As of about, I don’t know, an hour ago, I think I became Brian Jackson’s girlfriend. And

  I don’t expect a guy like Warren to understand how big of a

  deal that is, but it is. I’m not so sure long distance with him is what I had in mind for us right now. Plus, I like my life here.

  And I think I’ll like it even more now that I stopped running

  every part of it through a computer script.

  “Hmm, can I think about it?” I ask Warren.

  “I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

  “Can I think it over and let you know sometime tomor-

  row if I accept the offer?”

  “With all due respect, Charlotte, you do realize that I’m

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  offering you an opportunity to become an entrepreneur with

  real Silicon Valley money and tech power backing your every

  move? What is there to possibly think about? We’ll cover a

  hundred percent of your moving costs if that’s what this is

  about.”

  I can tell he’s growing irritated that I’m not jumping all

  over the opportunity he’s presenting.

  “It’s not about moving expenses, it’s about moving in gen-

  eral. My gut is telling me to stay in Los Angeles,” I free flow.

  “That’s career suicide. You can’t do tech in Los Angeles,”

  Warren firmly states. “If you want this app to get off the

  ground, then we need you in San Fran. And we also need

  your answer. Now.”

  But what does Charlotte need?

  Charlotte needs to slow down.

  Charlotte needs to step away from the numbers.

  Charlotte needs to be close to her neighborhood Salt &

  Straw and her new favorite grief group.

  Charlotte needs to start seeing her same world through a

  new lens.

  Charlotte needs her own version of a do-over.

  “If you need an answer now, then the answer is no thanks.”

  Even I’m shocked about how calm I am about turning down

  his offer. Maybe this will be my only opportunity to bring

  my brainchild in the world. Maybe it won’t be. Maybe it’s not

  even what I want to do with my life anymore. Either way, I

  feel fine about it. Whatever the outcome.

  “Wow. This is a first. Good luck, Charlotte.” He hangs up

  the line before I can say, “You, too.”

  As I set my phone back down on my desk, I don’t feel the

  panic I should knowing I just walked away from the biggest

  opportunity of my professional life. But despite turning down

  the
fancy business card, swanky Silicon Valley corner office,

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  and whatever else was included in that bright and shiny re-

  location package, I feel lighter and brighter than I ever have

  staying right here.

  Giddy as hell ;) , reads the text from Brian that has just popped up on my Apple Watch. I smile, knowing that my gut was

  right about seeing where this goes. Because I can get used to

  giddy. I want to get used to giddy.

  “Okay. Where were we, Marigold?”

  * * * * *

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  Acknowledgments

  The idea for Husband Material came to me one day when

  I overheard a bizarre story on the news while washing the

  dishes. I never thought it would spawn a full-blown manu-

  script—but look what we have here! There are many people

  to thank for helping me bring this book into the world.

  I want to begin with the widows I interviewed to ensure

  my writing had authenticity and nuance to it. I am not like

  Charlotte, but I was able to locate a few brave women, from

  all walks of life, who are. These ladies were willing to talk to me, a virtual stranger, about the most painful parts of their

  pasts—often on a whim, often for hours at a time. Their sto-

  ries and strength inspired me; inspired Charlotte. My utmost,

  humble thanks to:

  • Caroline Brogan—Rest in Peace, Joe

  • Wanda DeJesus Engracia—Rest in Peace, Pablo.

  • Lindsey Kraft Lange—Rest in Peace, Ron.

  • and Robyn Woodman

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  Now on to a big round of applause for my editor at Graydon House, Melanie Fried. Her sharp, literary eye helped

  craft this unique idea into an edgy work of art. I am grateful

  for her spot-on creative direction which allowed me to in-

  vent some of the scenes that I love most in the book. She also

  wins the fastest reader/responder award. Bravo to the entire

  Graydon House team!

  Thank you to my agent Danielle Egan-Miller of Browne

  & Miller. She is the ultimate cheerleader and the definition of a fearless leader. I’m grateful for her representation, brutal honesty, and always on-it work ethic. Cheers to another great

  novel—and here’s to many, many, more.

  To my family, especially my mother/momager: thank you

  for your ongoing support. Kris Jenner has nothing on you.