by Linda Seed
Her color changed—a hint of pink rising in her cheeks—and that fascinated him. He loved the way he could see her emotions on her face as easily as if he were reading a sign.
“So, congratulations,” he went on. “I can’t wait to see what you do with it.” He just hoped she would let him in enough for him to be part of it.
“You really didn’t get it before,” she said, almost as though she were talking to herself, as though she were sorting it all out. “You really didn’t see why I was upset about it.”
“No, but I do now.” Sometimes he was a little slow that way, but he got to the right place in the end. At least, he had this time.
Martina’s coffee with Chris was eye-opening. Until now, she’d thought he understood why she’d been upset about what he’d done—he just didn’t agree or care. But now she could see he really hadn’t gotten it. He’d genuinely thought he’d done something nice for her, and he’d been baffled when she’d been not only ungrateful but angry.
She still didn’t think she’d been wrong in the way she’d reacted. But she began to soften toward him, knowing he’d been clueless rather than controlling.
The thing was, he was actively working to see her point of view. How often did people do that? In her experience, rarely. It made her optimistic about him and his potential.
She stayed at Jitters with him for a while, talking about her plans for the property, how the wedding was coming along, how her sisters were, and how her business was doing. Then they talked about him and his efforts to put back the parts of his car door.
“I didn’t think it would be this hard when I started it.” He shook his head mournfully.
“The hard things are always the best once you get them right.”
She believed that in her soul, and she allowed herself to think that maybe—just possibly—that philosophy might have some relevance to their relationship.
“I don’t know,” she told Sofia later that day when they were making place cards for the reception. “I’m kind of thinking I might give it another chance. With Chris, I mean.”
Sofia put down the caligraphy pen she was holding and looked at her sister. “Really? Why? I mean ... that’s great. But what changed your mind?”
Martina shrugged, looking at the card she was working on instead of at Sofia. “He gets it now. At least, he’s trying to. He really understands about why I didn’t want the property from him. The thing is, he had to really work hard to get it, but he put in the effort.”
“Well, that’s something.” Sofia picked up her pen again and crafted a few perfect letters on the card. “Most of the time when guys don’t understand us, they think it’s our problem—we’re irrational or emotional, or whatever. And so, obviously, whatever we’re feeling is wrong. That’s one thing about Patrick. Whenever we disagree, he at least allows for the possibility he might be the one who’s screwing up. And if he is, he’ll admit it.”
“Patrick’s really great,” Martina said fondly.
“He is. I love him so much, Martina,” Sofia said, the card forgotten again.
Martina wanted to be happy for Sofia—she really did—and she was happy. But another part of her felt a gnawing ache at hearing about her sister’s romantic bliss. Because Martina wanted that, too. She wanted all of it—the romance, the love, the unlimited future full of possibility and promise.
The more she thought about that, the more she thought she wanted all of those things with Chris.
“Do you think it’s a mistake?” she asked. “Getting back together with Chris? Because I miss him, Sofia. I really miss him.”
“I don’t know.” Sofia looked thoughtful. “I’m predisposed in his favor because of what he did the day of my shower. He was awesome. But you have to think about your goals and what you want for your future. If he doesn’t change his mind about kids, and you guys stay together long term, is that going to be okay? Or will it eat away at you? Because you don’t want to go into it setting yourself up for anger, resentment, and disappointment. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to him, either.” It was more of a speech than Sofia usually made, but Martina thought her points were solid.
“Maybe,” Martina said after a while.
“Maybe to which part?”
“Maybe it would be okay if he doesn’t change his mind about kids.” Just saying that made Martina feel sick inside, made her feel heat behind her eyes, as though she might burst into tears. But the fact that she’d said it at all meant something significant. At least part of her was thinking that being with Chris would be worth giving up children for. And that was a major shift in her world.
“Seriously?” Sofia’s eyes widened. “Do you mean that?”
“Maybe,” Martina said again.
“You’re more serious about him than I thought, then.”
Martina was more serious about him than she’d thought, too.
She didn’t want to give up anything. She didn’t want to let go of the idea of one day being a mother. But she also didn’t want this pain anymore, this ache of wanting him but not being able to have him.
She didn’t know if she could keep living with the ache—not if she didn’t have to.
First, when she and Chris had been seeing each other, Martina had planned to take him to the wedding as her date. Then, when they’d broken up, she’d told Sofia that he wouldn’t be coming. Now, she’d changed her mind again.
“Um ... Sofia? About the guest list.” It was just one week until the wedding, and the place cards were done. The RSVPs had come in. The caterers had been given the final head count.
“Oh, God. What? Which relative changed their mind at the last minute? Who wants to bring their second cousin’s friend’s babysitter? Because, I swear to God—”
“It’s not that.”
Of course it made sense Sofia had assumed such a scenario, because they’d been dealing with those kinds of requests for weeks.
“Then what?” Sofia asked.
“It’s just ... I wondered if maybe ...”
“Spit it out, woman. The sooner you tell me who RSVP’d at the last freaking minute, the sooner I can tell you to kiss my—”
“It’s Chris. I want to bring Chris.”
Sofia stopped in midrant. “Oh. Really.” She elongated that last word, giving it an inflection that suggested she was interested not for the sake of the head count, but for the pure, delicious interest of the thing.
“Well, I haven’t asked him yet, but ... I want to. If you say it’s okay, I’m going to.” Martina was bolstering her own resolve even as she said it. “But if it’s really a problem ...”
“No. No, no. Ask him.” Sofia grinned.
“Are you sure? Because—”
“Ask him.”
“But the caterers—”
“There’s no problem with the caterers,” Sofia said. “I already included him in the head count. I made a place card. I knew you’d change your mind and want him to come.”
35
Martina asked Chris to be her wedding date, and of course, he said yes. She’d been nervous about asking him, but in retrospect, she wasn’t sure why. He’d accepted her invitation as naturally as if he’d always known he was meant to do just that. Which he probably had.
The final week leading up to the wedding was a blur of last-minute arrangements, inquiries from out-of-town guests, efforts to soothe Sofia’s nerves, and, for Martina, real estate paperwork. She also had a job to do, so she managed everything in between meetings with clients, work on the various designs she had in progress, and checking in with Noah and his crew.
By the evening of Sofia’s bachelorette party, the night before the wedding, Martina couldn’t wait to get her sister married so she could move on with her life.
Also, she couldn’t wait for the wedding so she could see Chris again.
The bachelorette party was held at Ted’s, a bar well away from Main Street where the locals went to drink and get away from the steady flow of tourists. The place
was a dive, but a comfortable, friendly dive, with a jukebox, a couple of pool tables, a dart board, and lighting so dim you could barely see the stains on the ancient, tamped-down carpet.
They’d discussed going somewhere more upscale for the party—one of the Paso Robles wineries, maybe—but that hadn’t been in their mother’s wedding plan. Carmela had insisted the bachelorette party should be somewhere close to home to make it easy for everyone to get back where they belonged after a night of carousing.
The plan also called, sensibly, for a designated driver. Bianca had volunteered to do it because she couldn’t drink much while nursing the baby, but that wouldn’t work, because she also couldn’t stay out late while the baby was at home waiting to be fed. So, Martina stepped in. She’d never enjoyed drinking as much as other people did, so she was the logical choice.
They all met at nine p.m.: ten women, including the four sisters; a nurse and a physician’s assistant from Bianca’s medical office, where Sofia worked; a couple of Sofia’s friends from various places, including the gym where she worked out; Patrick’s sister, Fiona; and Lucy Alba, the wife of Patrick’s best friend, Ramon.
The bar wasn’t really set up for a large group, so they pulled two round tables as close together as they could and put five chairs around each one. They ordered pitchers of beer and shots of tequila—and an iced tea for Martina. Ted, the bar’s owner, scowled at the women as he brought their drinks.
“Bachelorette party,” the man muttered, as though the very words hurt his face. “You’d better not have any strippers coming in here.”
“No strippers,” Martina reassured him.
“Really?” Sofia’s face fell. “I thought there would be strippers.”
The two women from Bianca’s medical office went to the pool tables, and Lucy and one of Sofia’s gym friends followed them, hoping to get in on the next game. Martina challenged Sofia to a game of darts, and Bianca and Benny went along to heckle.
“Ten dollars?” Martina asked as they gathered the darts.
“Ten? I don’t have ten dollars. I’ve just paid for a wedding.”
“Five, then,” Martina said.
“Hello, wedding bills! Those little Jordan almonds aren’t free,” Sofia protested.
Martina put a hand on her hip. “Okay. How about if I lose, I pay you ten dollars, and if you lose, you have to do the Chicken Dance at the reception.”
Sofia considered the proposal. “That’s fair. You want to go first?”
The dart board was so riddled with holes from previous players that it seemed like there was little to hold it together. Still, Martina took her place behind the line of masking tape on the floor and lined up her shot. She threw the first dart, and it missed the board entirely, sticking into the wall next to it.
“Ha! No Chicken Dance for me,” Sofia said, hooting in glee.
“I’m just getting warmed up.” Martina took another shot and did better this time. The dart was still way off center, but it landed on the board for three points.
Martina finished her turn—her score was dismal—and Sofia took hers. While they played, the conversation went to Chris. It wasn’t random, Martina decided. Her sisters had been angling to bring it up.
“So, I put you and Chris at the table closest to the cake,” Bianca said mildly, grinning as though the near-the-cake placement were a big favor. “You’ll get first dibs, after the bride and groom.”
“It’s going to be really good cake,” Benny offered. “Of course, all cake is good cake.”
“Except the one you made last year for Bianca’s birthday,” Sofia reminded her.
Benny looked thoughtful. “True. I don’t think lemon cake is supposed to be that color.”
“It was still thoughtful, though,” Bianca said.
“So, anyway.” Sofia brought the topic back to where it had started. “You’ll get the cake first. Whether it’s the right color or not.”
“I’m sure it will be,” Martina said.
They finished the first game, and Sofia won. Martina fished a ten out of her purse and gave it to her sister, who held it over her head and waved it around, doing a little victory dance.
Benny and Bianca were up, and Martina and Sofia moved to the side to watch.
“So, Chris,” Bianca said, her laserlike attention to the topic unaffected by alcohol, since she’d only had half a beer. “What did he say when you invited him?”
“He said yes.” Martina kept her tone neutral. “I mentioned that. That’s why he’s sitting with me near the cake.”
“Yes, but how did he say it? Was he excited?” Bianca took a shot, and her dart came dangerously close to the bull’s eye.
“Jeez. I didn’t know you were good at darts,” Martina said.
“Back on topic.” Bianca paused before her second throw. “Where do things stand between you two?”
Martina sighed, knowing she wouldn’t be able to avoid answering the question.
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, he seemed excited. Or at least happy. Very happy. He seemed like he was really glad I asked him. But as for where we stand? Who knows? I want to be with him. I really do. And the kids thing ... oh, man.” She was starting to get teary-eyed, so she stopped talking long enough to dab at her eyes with a bar napkin.
Benny put a hand on Martina’s arm as she got herself together.
“The kids thing,” Martina tried again, “is hard. But people give up things for the people they love all the time. It’s what we do.”
“The ‘people we love’,” Bianca said softly. “So, you love him.”
“Yeah.” Martina let in a shaky breath. “I do.”
Sofia said, “Loving somebody, though ... You have to be careful that what you give up is something you can live with. Loving him isn’t enough if, ten years from now, when you’re in perimenopause and your eggs are drying up, you can’t stop resenting him because you don’t have children, and you won’t have grandchildren, and there’ll be nobody to take care of you in your old age.”
It wasn’t as though Martina hadn’t thought of that herself. But hearing Sofia lay it out like that made it seem like a stark and frightening possibility.
“I can be seething with resentment in ten years, or I can be miserable right now,” Martina said. “And I am miserable without him. I am. So, if it’s a question of pain now or pain later ...”
“Maybe there shouldn’t be any pain at all,” Benny said. “Or, at least, maybe there shouldn’t be such a strong possibility of it.”
Martina let in a shaky breath. “Ah, jeez. That’s enough of this. Can we just play darts?”
The day of the wedding, unlike the day of the bridal shower, dawned bright and crisp. They had all stayed at the bar until after one a.m., and Sofia and Benny were moaning with their hangovers as they moved around the kitchen to get their morning fix of caffeine.
Martina wasn’t hungover, having had nothing but glass after glass of either iced tea or water. But she’d been up late driving people to their homes or hotels, so she felt groggy from lack of sleep. Usually, she was a tea person in the morning, but today, she opted for strong coffee. It had been a long night, and it was promising to be an even longer day.
“Yikes.” Benny looked at Sofia over their steaming mugs of coffee. “You should see the circles under your eyes. You look like a raccoon that lost a boxing match.”
“Thank you.” Sofia glared at her sister. “That’s exactly what I need to hear on the morning of my wedding, when it’s critically important I look more beautiful than I ever have.”
“Don’t worry,” Martina said soothingly. “The makeup artist will be able to cover that right up. You’ll look poreless and perfect.”
In truth, Sofia always looked poreless and perfect to Martina. She did look a bit tired and hungover this morning, but she was still lovely. Martina had spent most of her teen years resenting that Sofia was prettier than she was—the prettiest, in fact, of all of the Russo sisters—and she no doubt would have outshon
e all of them today even if she hadn’t had the benefit of being the bride.
“Have you called Patrick yet?” Martina asked, trying to get off the subject of Sofia’s looks.
“Yeah.” Sofia grinned. “He’s nervous, but he said a lot of really sweet things about our life together that made me want to do fun, naked things to him.”
Patrick was staying at Bianca and TJ’s house because Sofia didn’t want him to see her today until the big reveal at the church. With luck, he wouldn’t even be aware of her dark circles.
“He’s one of the good ones,” Martina said.
“I know. I can’t wait to marry him. Oh! And we’re going to start trying to have kids right away. Tonight, probably.” Sofia saw the look on Martina’s face and gasped in alarm. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, Martina. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. I didn’t—”
“Sofia.” Martina took her sister’s hand. “You’re allowed to be happy. And whatever may or may not be going on between me and Chris shouldn’t change that. I’m fine. It’s wonderful you’re going to start trying. I mean that.” She leaned over and hugged Sofia tightly.
“Yeah, yeah,” Benny said. She looked more tired than Sofia did, though it seemed unkind to point that out. “I’d rather not think about her and Patrick ‘trying,’ if you don’t mind. I’m already nauseous.”
36
Chris was looking forward to the wedding. For one thing, he liked Sofia, and he liked Patrick, too. He genuinely wished them well, and it was going to be good to see someone get the romantic happy ending they deserved.
Second, it was going to give him a chance to dress up, which he rarely did these days. He had a couple of excellent suits in his closet, and it would be nice to get one out and put it to use.
And third, it would be nice to see Martina.
Oh, hell. Who was he kidding? Seeing Martina wasn’t third. It was first, second, and last. It was everything. It was all that mattered.