Green Card

by Elizabeth Adams

  The next conversation went as expected. She wasn’t ready to move or get married, she didn’t want to drop out of grad school, and she really didn’t like how he’d made such a big decision without her and was afraid of what it boded for the future. He said she must not love him enough and it was best they found out now that they weren’t right for each other before it was too late. She could tell he was hurt, angry, and more than a little bitter, but she stood her ground. Two days after Valentine’s Day, her fairytale romance was over.

  Liz forcefully pushed the memories away before she could cry again and hugged her pillow tight. Jeremy was in her past. It was time to look to the future.

  16

  Gingerbread Men

  June 9

  Married 6 Weeks

  The next morning, Will stood at the counter in the kitchen watching the coffee pot gurgle. He was groggy and still half asleep, but he had annoyingly woken up at his usual time. He was too hungry to go back to sleep but too tired to make himself any breakfast, so he stared at the pot as the brown liquid trickled into it, drop by precious drop.

  Finally, he poured himself a cup and added a touch of cream and then sat at the counter to drink it. Halfway through, he was able to think enough to grab a yogurt out of the fridge and put a slice of bread in the shiny new toaster. He ate slowly, looking through to the dining room piled high with gifts that had been arriving steadily for the last week. Seeing the elegantly wrapped presents made him think of the reception which made him think of Liz, which of course led him to the uncomfortable encounter with Jeremy.

  He couldn’t believe the nerve of the guy to show up at his ex’s wedding reception. Who did that? At least he hadn’t made a scene. Will hated scenes.

  He hoped Liz was all right. She looked a bit shaken after her encounter with the lout. She had been visibly subdued the rest of the evening. To everyone else, she probably just looked tired. It was well after midnight, after all. It was nearly two by the time they got home. He’d thought about asking her if she wanted to talk, but they had never really had a personal conversation—at least one that didn’t pertain to business, anyway—and he didn’t really know what to say to her.

  About an hour after he’d fallen asleep, he woke up to answer nature’s call, then went to the kitchen for a glass of water. As he passed her door, he heard what sounded like muffled sobs, but he didn’t want to intrude. Before he went back to his own bed, he stood silently in the hall, feeling like a right idiot and hating his sense of helplessness. The only other girl he’d ever consoled was his college girlfriend after her twelve-year-old dog had died. Besides that, his experience with comforting women in distress was pretty limited. So he left her alone and decided not to say anything unless she did. If she wanted to talk, he would be open to listen. It was too early in the morning to come up with a more elaborate plan than that.

  He wasn’t surprised when Liz emerged an hour later looking bleary and a little red around the eyes. He offered her a piece of toast and she nodded acceptance while she turned on the kettle to make her usual cup of tea. She sat on the stool and ate in silence while Will read the paper two stools down. After about fifteen minutes, she put her plate in the dishwasher and said she was going for a run.

  An hour later, Will emerged from his room freshly showered and shaved and found Liz in the kitchen, still in her running clothes and half covered in flour, rolling out dough on the countertop, Alanis Morissette blaring angrily from the speaker beside the stove.

  “Cooking?” he asked carefully.

  “Baking.” She looked up when she heard his voice and saw the understanding in his eyes. She knew she didn’t have to pretend not to be bothered by last night’s run-in with Jeremy. “It’s cathartic.”

  Will nodded and looked around, his hands in his pockets. “Need any help?”

  She looked at him in surprise, then said, “Sure, if you’re up for it.”

  “I don’t know much, but I know how to follow directions.”

  She half-smiled. “A valuable quality in a kitchen assistant. Grab an apron over there,” she gestured to the hook on the wall, “and then get the oatmeal out of the pantry.”

  Will nodded and did as he was told, just a little pleased with himself that he’d been able to make her smile.

  He slipped the red apron over his head and tied the strings around his waist. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Well, these are sugar cookies,” she gestured to the rolled-out dough on the counter. “All that’s left to do here is cut them out and start baking. I also wanted to make oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. You can go ahead and start on those. You’ll need two mixing bowls. They’re in that cabinet over there.”

  As he reached for the bowls, he asked, “Why are you making two kinds of cookies?”

  “Because oatmeal chocolate chip are my favorite, and I like to decorate sugar cookies, but I don’t really like to eat them.”

  “Ah, another Lizzy-ism.”

  “A what?”

  He smiled self-consciously. “A Lizzy-ism. It’s what I call all the strange little details about you.”

  “You think I’m strange?”

  “No!” he said quickly. “Just that you have a few, I don’t know… quirks.”

  “So, I’m quirky?”

  “Is that a bad thing?” he asked carefully.

  She smiled. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

  He grinned slightly and rubbed the back of his neck, obviously still uncomfortable.

  “Don’t worry, Will, I’m not offended. I don’t mind that you think I’m quirky.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. Unless you mean it a bad way…” she qualified.

  “No, I don’t. Not at all. It’s… cute,” he said after searching for the word.

  She smiled and changed the subject. “Go ahead and put one and a half cups of flour in that bowl.”

  He began adding ingredients as she dictated them while she finished cutting out the first batch of sugar cookies, all shaped like stars, and put them in the oven. When he had thoroughly mixed all the dry ingredients, she turned to him with two metal cookie cutters in her hands.

  “Hearts or gingerbread men?” she asked.

  He looked at the cutters, then at her awkward expression as she glanced at the heart, clearly regretting offering that one.

  “Gingerbread men. Do we have to decorate them like Christmas, though? It’s June.”

  “Jenny and I like to decorate them like our friends.” He raised an eyebrow in question. “Like Laura wears black suits, so her cookie always looks very serious. Andrew wears brightly colored ties, so we could do one like him.”

  “I see. Jennifer likes light colored dresses…” he suggested.

  “I call hers pastel Barbie.”

  He laughed outright.

  “Why don’t you cut these out while I mix the wet ingredients over here?”

  Will nodded and set to work. In a few minutes, he had cut out six gingerbread men and put them on the pan. He then balled up the remaining dough as he had seen Liz do a few minutes before. He picked up the rolling pin and moved it from hand to hand, feeling the weight of it and trying to think of the best way to use this new contraption. Liz saw him out of the corner of her eye but didn’t say anything. When he barely caught the rolling pin before it fell to the floor, she bit her cheek to keep from laughing.

  After a few minutes, Will had managed to roll out the last of the dough and eek out two more gingerbread men. As he put the last one on the pan, he was ridiculously proud of himself.

  “These are ready to go.”

  “Great. Go ahead and slide them into the oven. It’s still hot.”

  He did as he was told, then watched as she dumped in a large cup of chocolate chips and stirred them into her bowl. Then she began scooping up the dough and putting it onto a large stone cookie pan.

  “Do you want to do some?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Try to make eac
h one the same size. They cook more evenly that way.”

  He nodded and continued scooping until the tray was full and Liz put it into the oven where the freshly removed sugar cookies had been.

  “These guys look great!” she exclaimed as she placed the tray on the marble top of the island. She looked up at Will with shining eyes, then almost burst out laughing.

  “What? What’s so funny?”

  “You have flour on your face.”

  “I do?”

  “Right there.” She pointed at his face, which of course told him nothing.

  He wiped over his cheeks, spreading the flour, and she laughed more.

  “Here, let me help you.” She walked toward him with a towel and reached up to swipe it across his nose. “There. All better.”

  He grabbed her wrist where it was hovering in between them. “You have flour on you, too.”

  He took the towel from her hand and gently wiped along her hairline.

  “I always get it there. My hair falls in my eyes and then I try to brush it away…” she stammered quietly, unnerved by his sudden closeness.

  “There. All better,” he said softly, his voice suddenly deeper and his eyes a little darker.

  “Thank you.” She swallowed. “We should put these on the cooling rack.”

  He looked at her without comprehending for a moment, then answered, “Right. How do we do that?”

  He really was so adorably clueless.

  “We use that spatula right there.” She pointed. “And just slide them onto this wire rack.” She stepped away from him and set the rack next to the hot pan. “Once they’re cool, we can decorate them. We should go ahead and make the frosting.”

  He carefully removed the cookies with the spatula and placed them on the rack, then turned to where Lizzy was using an electric mixer on fluffy white icing. She doled it out evenly into several smaller bowls. “Now we just add coloring to these bowls and everything will be ready.”

  Will was stirring a bowl of blue icing when Liz asked, “Do you like dough?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Cookie dough. Do you like it?”

  “Um, I guess. That’s how you get cookies.”

  “No, silly. I mean to eat by itself.” He looked at her strangely. “Here, try some.” She gave him a spoon filled with chocolate oatmeal dough. He took a tiny bite and chewed it slowly. “Good?”

  “Wow. That is good.” He finished off his spoonful and dipped it back into the bowl for more.

  “Just don’t eat too much or you’ll be sick,” Liz cautioned.

  The timer went off and she removed the first batch of chocolate chip cookies from the oven.

  “Those smell great!” Will said with hungry eyes as he looked over her shoulder.

  “Want to have hot cookies with milk?”

  “Love to. Care to eat them while opening a few gifts?” he asked with a nod to the dining room and its brightly wrapped contents.

  “Sounds good. You pour the milk and I’ll get the next batch going,” she suggested as she quickly scooped the cookies up and put them on a cooling rack. She began spooning out dough for the next batch while Will poured two frothy glasses of milk and carried them to the dining room. Just as Liz was sliding the tray into the oven, he plopped half a dozen warm cookies onto a small plate and led the way to the table.

  “What should we open first?” she asked as she took a bite. “Mmm. Nothing beats homemade cookies.”

  “Let’s open the biggest ones first. That’s what I always did when I was a kid.” He popped an entire cookie into his mouth at once and reached for a big box wrapped in shiny silver paper.

  They tore into the paper and Liz let out a squeal of delight.

  “What is it?” asked Will.

  “It’s a dehydrator. We can dry our own fruit!”

  Will wrinkled his nose in distaste and reached for the next box. An hour later, they’d made four batches of cookies, eaten ten between them, and opened nearly thirty gifts.

  “It looks like we haven’t even opened any,” Liz said as she stared at the piles around the room and the gift-covered table.

  “Want to have a little race?” Will asked as he tossed Liz’s egg timer from hand to hand.

  “What kind of race?” she asked suspiciously.

  “We set the timer and see who can open the most presents.”

  “What does the winner get?”

  “Loser has to clean the cookie dishes.”

  With a quick glance at the kitchen counters covered in flour and the sink filled with mixing bowls, she agreed. “We have to clean the whole kitchen, though. Not just the dishes.”

  “Deal.”

  Will set the timer and said “go,” and they were off. Wrapping paper was flying and bows sailed through the air. Liz cursed over a paper cut and Harper mumbled about not being able to find the seam in the paper. After the timer went off, the dining room was in shambles and they were each sitting next to a pile of opened gifts.

  “How many did you get?” Will asked as he counted his presents.

  “Twelve. You?”

  “Damn. Eleven.”

  Liz laughed softly as Will trudged dramatically to the kitchen and turned on the sink, sighing loudly. He gave her a small grin as he began soaping up a bowl. She decided to clean up the dining room and got up to grab a trash bag. She picked up all the wrapping paper and stuffed it in, then looked around to make sure she hadn’t missed any. Will’s pile of gifts looked interesting and she began looking through them to see what they had gotten.

  “This looks like more than eleven,” she mumbled to herself. She counted and gasped. “Fifteen!”

  She looked into the kitchen where Will was wiping flour into a trash can and humming a song she didn’t know.

  “He let me win,” she whispered. A small smile worked its way onto her lips and she felt the urge to cry just a tiny bit. That was so sweet. He knew I was sad and he let me win.

  She walked behind Will and put her arms around his waist, burying her face in his back and hugging him tightly.

  He put a hand over hers on his belly. “Hey, you okay?” he asked gently.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for cheering me up, Will.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He turned around and she smiled at him. She reached up on her tiptoes and gave him a peck on his cheek. “I’m going to go take a shower.” And she walked out of the room with a new lightness in her step.

  Will smiled broadly, though he didn’t realize it, and finished cleaning up.

  17

  Feel the Burn

  Early July

  2 Months Married

  Harper opened the door to the apartment and set his bag on the floor. He loosened his tie and headed to the kitchen to grab a beer. On his way, he heard music coming out of the living room. This wasn't unusual in and of itself. However, what was unusual was the grunting he also heard. He stopped for a moment, then his eyebrows shot up to his hairline when he heard, in what was clearly Liz's voice, a loud groan that morphed into a sort of yelling whine.

  A dark look on his face, he quickly stalked toward the living room. If there was another man in his house, he'd throw him out on his backside. Then he'd have a thing or two to say to Liz about contracts and abiding by an agreement.

  In one loud move, he threw the door open and stormed into the room.

  “Oh, hey, Will. You're home early. Would you do me a favor and turn on the fan?”

  He just stood there, looking at Liz where she was on the floor on all fours, one leg extended behind her that she was moving in a semi-circle. Over to her right, touch the ground, back up as high as it could go and all the way to her left, touch the ground, then back up to center and to her right again. He watched her dumbly as her leg arced gracefully, her back sweaty and her thighs trembling slightly from her exertion. She was wearing a black pair of calf-length leggings and a pink sports bra, and that was it. He couldn't keep his eyes away from her bum, which was flexin
g tightly with the movement. Had it always been that round?

  “Will?”

  “Yeah?”

  “The fan?”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  He flipped the switch and she called out a quiet thank you. Several more minutes passed with him just standing there as she watched the movement of the people on the television screen, the TV muted while her iPod blared from the speaker on the console.

  “Are you enjoying the show?”

  Will started. “Huh? What did you say?”

  Liz laughed. “It's okay, you can make fun if you want to.”

  “Make fun?”

  “Of my video. It's the Brazil Butt Lift. I know it's weird, but it really works.”

  “Why are you doing a butt video?”

  “Because someone has been taking me out for high-calorie, fattening dinners! All those carbs go straight to my butt. My jeans were feeling a little tight so I borrowed this from Laura.” She walked over to stand in front of him. “See,” she turned her back to him and looked over her shoulder, “it's already working and it's only been two weeks! This part right here,” she ran her hand along the top of her bum, “is already higher and when you touch it, it's much firmer. It's not scary hard or anything, but you can feel the muscle under there. Feel.” She grabbed his hand and placed it at the top of the swell of her bottom.

  After a moment's hesitation, he pressed his hand a little more firmly into her flesh, then moved it lightly side to side.

  “You're right. It's firm, but still soft. Very nice.” He nodded and removed his hand. “Why do you have the volume off?”

  “I don't really like the music and the guy kind of gets on my nerves after a while. I've got the moves almost memorized by now. I just use the video as a guide.”

  “Why haven't I seen you doing this before?”

  “I usually do it when you're gone. You're home early today.”

  He walked over to the TV and turned the volume up, mostly to distract himself from her glistening skin and tight leggings.

  “Is this guy for real?” Harper gestured to the man leading the exercises on the screen. “Why does he talk like that?”