Fixer-Upper

by Linda Seed

  “I don’t think that’s why she did it.” Will examined his hot dog studiously. The thing was too big to consume in normal bites, and he seemed to be contemplating a strategy.

  “Well, that was part of it.” Chris took a bite of his dog, chewed, and swallowed. He wiped a dribble of spicy mustard from his lips. “Then there was the baby thing.” In fact, the baby thing had been the factor that had pushed things off the cliff, but he presented it as though it were a barely significant side issue.

  “The baby thing,” Will repeated.

  “Yes. Well ... I might have indicated I wasn’t eager to have children. And I might have done it while she was holding her newborn nephew.” God, he really was an asshole. He was beginning to see that—though there was no reason Will should have to understand it just as clearly.

  “I see.” Will attempted a bite of his dog. He did this in a way that was much more civilized than most people attempted such a task—more civilized, in fact, than the way Chris himself had done it. That left Will relatively mustard-free as he ate. Interesting.

  “It’s possible the baby thing was a bigger deal than the money thing,” Chris admitted. “With the money thing plus the baby thing ...” He left that thought out there.

  “A cumulative effect,” said Will, sounding like the professor he was.

  “Yes.”

  “So, did you try to buy her?” Will asked, getting right to the point.

  “Of course not. No!” Chris considered it. “Although ...”

  “Although?”

  “Although, I might have imagined she would be more interested in a serious relationship with me if I ... you know. If I greased the wheels a little on the thing with the property.”

  “So, yes, you were trying to buy her,” Will concluded. “But there’s another thing that interests me about what you just said.”

  Chris waited, trying not to let his irritation show.

  “You said it might make her more interested in a serious relationship.”

  “So?” Chris asked.

  “So, you just said you want a serious relationship. Serious. You don’t just want to sleep with her or date her. You want it to be something long-term. Something real.”

  He really had said that, hadn’t he? His first impulse was to deny that was what he’d meant, but when he dropped his defensiveness and really thought about it ... yes. He’d said it, and he’d meant it.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I’d like that.”

  “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. She was upset you don’t want kids, so she’s obviously on the same page about wanting something serious.”

  Now that Will was saying it that way, Chris felt unaccountably pleased. Which was odd, since he and Martina were no longer together.

  “Okay.” He waited for Will to continue.

  “So,” Will said, “the issue isn’t what you want, it’s what you did to try to get it.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Also.” Will held up one finger as though he were lecturing a class and was about to introduce a particularly salient point. “There’s the issue of how intractable you are on the child issue. You don’t want children now, but do you think that might change? Is it an issue of timing, or are you dead set against reproducing?”

  He’d never thought about it, really. He’d simply had an instantaneous, gut reaction to Martina’s question about kids, and now he was experiencing the consequences.

  “I haven’t really considered it.”

  “Well,” Will said in a way that suggested he was too polite to voice his opinion that Chris was acting like an idiot, “I think you should start considering it.”

  33

  Martina’s offer on the Hall property was accepted. She hoped Chris had kept his promise and had let his attorney handle things. He’d said he wouldn’t know the identity of the person buying the property until the deal was being finalized, and she hoped that was true.

  In any case, she was paying fair market value. She wasn’t getting any kind of special treatment, so even if he did know she was the buyer, her conscience would be clear. This was going to be her property, her project. And eventually, she hoped, her home.

  On the day she got the news, she brought a bottle of champagne home from the grocery store, determined to celebrate even though she didn’t feel particularly festive.

  She poured the wine for everyone at dinner that night—herself, Benny, Sofia, and Patrick. She’d invited Bianca and her family, but they were too busy with the baby.

  “What’s this for?” Benny asked.

  “We’re celebrating.” Martina had made a nice dinner that night—vegetarian manicotti with a salad of organic vegetables she’d bought at the farmer’s market.

  “You and Chris got back together? Oh, thank God,” Sofia said.

  “No, we didn’t.” Martina’s mood suddenly dampened at the sound of his name.

  “Do you see him here?” Benny asked dryly. “I assume if we were celebrating their reconciliation, he’d be here for the party.”

  Patrick valiantly tried to get the conversation back on its original track. “What are we celebrating, Martina?”

  “My offer on the Hall property was accepted. I’m going to buy a house.”

  They all raised their glasses and clinked them delicately before drinking.

  “That’s great, Martina,” Patrick said. “I’m really happy for you.”

  “So am I,” Sofia said. “But ... you’re buying it from Chris, right? Isn’t that going to be weird?”

  “Hell, yes, it’s weird,” Benny said. “You know how many papers you’re going to have to sign? And his name is going to be on every one of them, right under yours. Christopher X. Mills.”

  “His middle name doesn’t start with X,” Martina said, frowning. “Where did the X come from?”

  “I thought it sounded ominous.” Benny wiggled her fingers in a way that was supposed to indicate monsters, maybe, or crawling insects.

  “Well. No, it’s not weird,” Martina lied. “We had a deal. He was going to put the property on the market, and his lawyer was going to decide which offer to accept without knowing anything about me. And that’s what happened. I’m paying a fair price. I did not screw my way into this property. I am not a prostitute.” Martina hadn’t known that last part was going to come out, but now that it had, the others were staring at her in awkward silence.

  “Okay, then,” Patrick said.

  “Martina. Did he say something to make you feel that way? Because, I’ve got to tell you, I’ve been itching to punch somebody in the face lately, just on general principles. I’d be happy to go over there. Two birds, one stone,” Benny said.

  “God. No! He did not say anything to make me feel that way.” Martina, frustrated, put down her glass. “Except, he kind of did. Because the whole way he tried to buy the place for me ...”

  “I buy Sofia things all the time,” Patrick said, not unreasonably. “I’ve never associated that with her ... ah ... providing services for payment.”

  “I know.” Martina slugged down the rest of her champagne, no longer feeling festive but instead just wanting to stop feeling the way she was feeling. “I know it. But I’m not talking about rational facts. I’m taking about my feelings. I’m talking about emotions. I’m talking about how he took something good, something exciting—me wanting to buy my own place—and turned it into ... into …” She grasped for words.

  “Into whoring for land,” Benny supplied.

  “Well ... yes,” Martina admitted. “And all of that might be something we could work through, but if he never wants children—if he thinks having kids with me would be worse than a stretch in a maximum-security prison—then I’m not sure it’s worth trying to work it out.”

  Patrick cleared his throat. “Um ... May I say something?”

  “Sure,” Martina said.

  “It’s just ... I have a hard time thinking it’s not worth fixing if you love him. If you love somebody, then it’s worth an
y amount of effort. It’s worth—”

  “Nearly drowning?” Sofia suggested. Patrick had, in fact, nearly drowned in his first foolhardy attempt to woo Sofia. Fortunately, Sofia had rescued him. Which had, certainly, turned out to be worth her time and exertions.

  “It’s worth it if she loves him,” Benny put in. “So, do you?”

  “I don’t know,” Martina said.

  She’d dated men, and she’d liked many of them. But she’d never been in love. What did it feel like? This gnawing, aching feeling she had when he wasn’t around—was that love? The sense of being at peace when she was in his arms—was that love? That feeling that she wanted to know where he was and what he was doing all of the time, even when she wasn’t anywhere nearby. Was that what love felt like? If so, then yes, she loved him. But didn’t love also mean being with him would enhance her life rather than upending it?

  That last thought seemed profound to her, so she put it out there.

  “Isn’t love supposed to be easy? Isn’t it supposed to feel good? If I’m in love, then why do I feel so awful?”

  Benny guffawed. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Martina was offended. “What? Why?”

  “Love is brutal. Love sucks. Love will make you wish you were dead. Haven’t you ever listened to a country-western song?”

  “Then what’s the point?” Martina threw her hands into the air in despair. “Why even try, then?”

  “Because.” Sofia took Patrick’s hand. “If you can get through the wishing you were dead part, it’s pretty great.”

  When Chris got the news his attorney had accepted an offer on his behalf for the Hall property, he hoped like hell the offer had been Martina’s. How much would it suck if he’d gone through all of this just for someone else to get the land?

  He supposed he’d know for sure when it was time to sign the papers. Until then, it wasn’t his concern anymore. He’d bought the property for her, but she didn’t want it from him. So be it. Either she’d get it on her own terms, or she wouldn’t.

  It seemed the property on Lodge Hill was one of many things he wanted to give her that she didn’t want to accept.

  He was thinking about all of that as he stood in his garage looking at the parts of his car door, which were laid out on the floor on a drop cloth.

  All of this time, all of this work, and he still hadn’t managed to put the damned door back together. Why couldn’t he do this? How hard could it be?

  He could buy his way out of it, of course—he could hire someone to come over and do it for him. But he didn’t want that. He wanted to do it himself. He wanted to put his own loving care into the car so when it was done, he would feel that sense of pride and satisfaction, that feeling that the car was really his.

  Oh, shit.

  That was exactly what Martina wanted from the Hall property, wasn’t it?

  She wanted precisely that—to do this on her own so she could feel satisfaction and ownership, so she could feel the pride of having created something of value.

  He really hadn’t seen that before. Why hadn’t he? Why had he been so dense?

  Seeing it now—having this revelation—made him so pleased with himself that he couldn’t wait to tell Karen.

  When Chris saw Karen the following week, she was impressed with his new insight into Martina’s feelings, just as he’d expected her to be. But she was less impressed with him for failing to take action on it.

  “Why are you telling me this and not Martina?” she asked.

  He’d sat there staring at her like a five-year-old being told about molecular biology: no comprehension.

  “But—”

  “You’ve just unlocked one of the things keeping you apart, and that’s great.” Karen had carefully folded her hands in her lap, looking at him indulgently. “But it won’t do you any good if Martina doesn’t know about it.”

  Okay, so he was a fool who had shockingly little in the way of natural instincts when it came to women—and interpersonal relationships in general. One could argue he shouldn’t have to be told why the woman he loved—and, let’s face it, he did love her—felt the way she did or why it was important. But shouldn’t didn’t have much to do with things.

  He did need to be told. He did need to ruminate on things for a while before he understood why he’d said or done something offensive.

  He also needed to ruminate a while before he knew what to do about it.

  Now that Karen had kicked his ass on the subject of communication with Martina, he was finally on track to clear up one of the things that had been coming between them.

  There was nothing he could do about the baby thing—at least, not yet, not until he figured out where he really stood on that—but at least he could clear up the issue of the Hall property.

  He asked her to have coffee with him one morning at Jitters. At first she said no, she had too much work to do, and anyway, what would be the point? But he managed to persuade her, telling her he had something important to say to her.

  Now, as he got ready for the coffee date, showering and shaving and applying a subtle amount of cologne, he was nervous about how it was going to go. He was showing up prepared to admit he’d been wrong, which was certainly a point in his favor. But it was only one piece of the puzzle. If she said, That’s great, Chris, but what about the babies, he knew he’d be screwed. Because he didn’t have an answer for her on that one yet.

  He wasn’t sure he ever would.

  34

  He showed up at Jitters early and staked out a table at the back of the room. He picked it carefully—something quiet, not too close to the bathrooms, away from the hiss of the milk steamer but close enough to the buzz of activity that Martina wouldn’t feel like he was hiding her away.

  He mentally rehearsed what he wanted to say, and when he saw her come in the front door of the coffee house, looking around the room for him, her coat slung over her arm, he felt buoyed.

  Surely he could still rescue this thing between them.

  “Chris.” She came to him, a polite smile on her face.

  “Can I order something for you?” He pulled out a chair for her and took her coat, lying it carefully over a spare chair.

  She told him she wanted chamomile tea, so he went to the counter to order it. Getting her drink for her was not only the polite thing to do, it also gave him a little extra time to settle himself and prepare.

  When he had the drink in his hand, he went back to the table, placed it in front of her, and sat down.

  Of course, it didn’t make sense to just launch into it without softening her up a little, so he started with small talk.

  “How’s Sofia’s wedding coming along?”

  “It’s good.” Martina nodded. “Everything’s pretty much in place. Sofia was nervous before the bridal shower, but now she seems to have calmed down a bit.”

  “It’s getting close,” he said.

  The nod again. “Less than two weeks.”

  There was a time when he’d assumed he would be Martina’s date for the wedding, but now he supposed he would just hear about it after the fact. Too bad. He liked weddings. He liked cake. He would have liked to escort Martina, to dance with her and watch her sway to the music in her bridesmaid dress.

  “If you need a place to hold it at the last minute because of a broken pipe, I’m your man,” he joked.

  He tried not to think too much about that last clause in the sentence, that I’m your man. Because he was, whether she wanted it to be true or not. He simply was.

  “I’m really hoping that won’t be necessary,” she said. “But thank you. And thank you for what you did for us with the shower. If I didn’t say it before—”

  “You did.”

  “Well ... good. It really meant a lot. You saved us.”

  He liked the thought of having saved her, liked the image of himself as one of the action figures in the glass cases in his study. That’s all he was trying to do when he’d bought the p
roperty, after all. He’d been trying to save the day. But now he could see Martina hadn’t needed a hero. She’d needed someone to support her while she became the heroine of her own life. And that was an entirely different thing.

  Martina sipped her tea. “So. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  He picked up his coffee cup, fidgeted with it a little, then put it carefully back down on the table. “I was working on my car the other day. The Mustang.”

  “How’s that coming?” she asked.

  “Fine. Well, actually, not fine at all. That’s the point. I was in my garage looking at all of these parts lying on a tarp on the floor, and I was thinking about how I was never going to get them all put back where they belong. And I thought—and, Martina, this is the important part—I thought I could hire someone to do it for me. But I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to do it myself so when it’s done, I can have that satisfaction of knowing I put in the effort and created something on my own.”

  She listened silently as he went on.

  “And I realized, that’s what you wanted to do with the Hall property, and that’s what I took away from you when I bought it and tried to give it to you. I see that now, and I’m sorry.”

  She averted her gaze, looking down at the tabletop instead of at him. Despite that, he could see he’d reached her. He could see that what he’d said meant something.

  “Yes.” She spoke softly. “That’s exactly right.”

  He felt a surge of triumph, knowing he’d gotten it—he’d understood.

  “Please tell me your offer was the one we accepted.”

  “It was.” She did look at him now, smiling. “You mean you really didn’t know?”

  “I really didn’t know. You asked me to stay out of it, and I did. I didn’t even tell my attorney your name.”