by Vi Keeland
What an asshole. That corner was a big blind spot. Alexa could have been crossing the street with the stroller, and that idiot wouldn’t have seen them until it was too late. I shook my head and watched the car from the window as it rolled to a stop a few buildings over. It sat idling loudly for a few minutes. Then I watched as the passenger-side door opened, and a killer pair of legs peeked out.
I was married, not dead. Looking was okay.
Then the woman exited the car, and I realized looking was definitely okay.
Because the woman getting out of a street racecar a few buildings away from where we lived was my wife.
Emerie
I arrived at the office before Drew. When he walked in at almost ten, I greeted him with sarcasm. “Wake up late? Perhaps I can recommend something that might help you sleep.”
I’d expected a comeback worthy of blushing. But I wasn’t even sure he’d heard me.
“Morning.” He disappeared into his office and immediately got on the phone and into what sounded like a heated argument. After I heard him hang up, I gave him a few minutes to settle and then took the morning’s messages to his office.
Drew was standing behind his desk looking out the window and sipping a tall coffee. He looked a million miles away. I was just about to ask if everything was okay when he turned, and I got my answer. He hadn’t shaved, his normally crisp shirt looked like he’d slept in it, and he had dark circles under his usually bright eyes.
“You look terrible.”
He forced a half smile. “Thanks.”
“Is everything okay?”
He rubbed the back of his neck for a minute and then nodded. “Just some personal shit. I’ll be fine.”
“Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”
“Talking is the last thing I need. Spent two hours on the phone last night. I’m done talking.”
“Alright. Well…what else can I do? What do you need?”
Even though he looked like he’d been through hell, a glimpse of Drew shone through. He arched a brow in response.
“Somehow I doubt you need me for that.”
He grinned. “Definitely would have helped me fall asleep last night.”
We talked for a few minutes, and then I pointed to my office. “I have a video conference in a few minutes, so I won’t be able to answer the phones for an hour. After that, I’m good until a late-afternoon conference here in the office.”
“No problem. I got the phones.”
“Thanks.” I went to turn away, then remembered what I’d wanted to ask him this morning before he arrived. “Would you mind if I hang a small whiteboard on my office door? I have those glue sticky things to put it up with, so it won’t ruin the door.”
“Help yourself.”
After putting yet another call through to Drew, I managed to hang the whiteboard level on my door before my video call. My plan was to write a thought-provoking statement on it each day, as I’d always done on my website when my counseling was strictly video conferences and telephone calls. Now that people visited, I wanted to continue the practice.
Since my appointment hadn’t rung on my computer yet, I grabbed my reading glasses, went to the journal where I kept relationship thoughts and quotes, and thumbed through until I found one I liked. I printed it neatly on the whiteboard.
Blowing out someone else’s candle doesn’t make yours shine brighter.
Today I will make my spouse shine by ___________________.
I stepped back and smiled, rereading my quote. God, I love helping people.
“Rifle though her mail. I don’t give a shit how you find out. I need to know if she’s shacking up with the guy before tomorrow at two.”
I hadn’t seen Drew since this morning, although I heard him loud and clear as I rinsed out my coffee mug in the small kitchen next to his office.
“Roman, I’ll give you five grand if you get an intimate photo of them together. Drop off a picnic basket at the front door if you have to—just get them out in public looking cozy.” Drew’s voice boomed through the hall, followed by a hearty laugh. And then, “Yeah, right. Blow me, big guy…Later.”
While I was drying my coffee mug, Drew came into the kitchen.
“I couldn’t help but overhear part of your conversation.”
“Oh yeah? Which part?”
I smiled. “Most of it. I take it you and your private investigator are close?”
Drew grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator and twisted the cap off. “Roman’s been my best friend since I stole his girlfriend in sixth grade.”
“You stole his girlfriend and that made you friends?”
“Yep. He’d given her the chicken pox, which she then passed to me. Roman and I both got bad cases and were out of school for two weeks. We wound up playing video games at his place for ten days straight.”
“What happened to your girlfriend? She didn’t come between you?”
“Roman and I made a pact. We’d never go for the same girl again. I dumped her the day we got back, and Roman and I have been buddies ever since.”
“Oddly, that’s kind of sweet.”
Drew laughed. “That’s us. Roman’s the guy who goes through a woman’s garbage at the curb in the middle of the night to find used condoms, and I’m the guy who slips what he’s found to opposing counsel in the middle of a divorce trial. We’re both sweet.”
I scrunched my nose. “Is that a true story? It’s disgusting. Physically and morally.”
“How can you say that without knowing what my client was put through? Revenge can be very sweet.”
“What part of revenge is sweet? Where you both feel horrible after the revenge is complete instead of just one of you?”
Drew took a long draw on his water and leaned one hip against the counter. “I forgot you’re the eternal relationship optimist. Speaking of which, how was your date last night?”
“Date?”
“With Mr. Bowtie.”
“Oh. Dinner was nice. But I wouldn’t exactly call it a date.”
“No action at the end of the night, huh?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. Nothing happened between us physically. We had a nice dinner and talked a lot about work. Baldwin’s been trying to get me an adjunct position at NYU where he teaches. I don’t think I would ever want to be full academia, but I’d love to teach part time and see patients part time. Anyway, after dinner we said goodbye at my door.”
“What’s the deal with that guy? Is he in or is he out?”
“I don’t know. He sends me mixed signals. Like last night. He was supposed to be going out with Rachel—a woman he’s been seeing—and then he shows up here unannounced, changes his mind, and takes me out to dinner last minute.”
“Did you ever talk to him about how you feel?”
“It’s never been the right time.”
Drew pulled his head back. “The right time? What was wrong with last night?”
“He’s seeing someone.”
“So?”
“I don’t want to interfere in his relationship.”
“I didn’t say to fuck the guy. Tell him how you feel.”
“Is that what you would do?”
Drew snickered. “Actually, normally I fuck my dates and don’t discuss my feelings. But that’s not your style.”
I sighed. “I wish that was my style.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “I can help with that, if you want to give something new a try.”
“How generous of you.”
“Oh, I’d be plenty generous. Trust me.”
My heart fluttered a little at the sight of Drew’s wicked grin. I shook my head. “Is this what my life’s come to? I’m a couples counselor, and I’m getting my own relationship advice from a divorce lawyer.”
“You’re an idealist. I’m a realist.”
I straightened my shoulders. “And what exactly is your relationship status, if you’re such an expert?”
; “I have lots of relationships.”
“You mean sexual relationships?”
“Yes. I like sex. In fact, I fucking love sex. It’s the other shit I don’t like.”
“You mean the relationship part?”
“I mean the part where two people get together and start to rely on each other, share a life even, and then one of them fucks the other one over.”
“Not every relationship turns out that way.”
“In every relationship, one person ends up screwing the other at some point. Unless you keep it to just screwing. Then there are no false expectations.”
“I think your divorce and line of work have tainted your outlook.”
He shrugged. “Tainted works for me.”
Sarah and Ben Aster were a prime example of the reason I loved couples counseling. I’d started seeing Sarah after their son was born and realized quickly that their relationship problems were much more than the added stress of having a new baby. The couple had only been together for four months when Sarah became pregnant, which led to a quickie wedding and having the normal honeymoon-marriage period cut short by the arrival of a baby.
After such a whirlwind, the couple had finally begun settling into their lives, only to discover that their hopes and dreams were very different. Ben wanted a houseful of children, a home in the suburbs with a big backyard, and Sarah to stay at home. His wife, on the other hand, wanted to stay in their tiny apartment on the Upper East Side, go back to work, and hire a nanny.
The funny thing is, they both insisted they’d told the other how they saw their future—and I believe they did. The problem lay in their communication. So even though over the last few months they’d found a way to compromise on their living arrangements by looking for a house in Brooklyn with a small yard and short commute to Manhattan, they still needed to work on communication. Which led me to this week’s exercise.
I’d asked both Sarah and Ben to bring a list of five things they wanted to accomplish over the next year. Today we’d spent most of our hour going through Sarah’s list. She would read Ben one of her planned accomplishments, and he would have to explain back to her what that plan meant. It was amazing how a couple that had been married for eighteen months could still misinterpret things.
“I want to take a trip down to South Carolina to see my best friend, Beth,” Sarah said.
I looked to Ben. “Okay. Tell me what Sarah just said.”
“Well, she wants to go to South Carolina to visit her single friend, Beth.”
“Yes. Well, Sarah hadn’t mentioned that Beth was single, but it sounds like you heard something important to you. Why is the fact that Beth is single significant?”
“She wants to get away. I get that, and she deserves a break. But she wants to go down and spend time with Beth to recapture what she had before we were together—the single, carefree life. Then she’ll come back and resent us.”
Sarah then told him the things she missed about not having her best friend near her anymore and how she would like to spend her time while visiting. It was clear that what she wanted and what he’d interpreted her trip to mean were very different. But after fifteen minutes of talking it out, she’d put his mind at ease. Communication and trust were getting better each week with these two, and at the end of our session, I suggested that we begin every-other-week sessions rather than weekly.
“You know what I just realized?” Sarah said as Ben helped her put on her coat.
“What’s that?”
“After our video conference sessions end, there’s always a cute little quote on your home page that I read—something that reminds me to do something nice for Ben. We’re not going to have those anymore.”
I smiled. “Actually, we are. The quotes are still updated on my website, but I’ll also be writing them on my door. It was open when you came in, so you probably didn’t notice it. But you should read today’s on your way out.”
Sarah stopped Ben, and together they read the whiteboard after they opened the door. Sarah looked back at me with an odd expression, while Ben smiled from ear to ear.
After they were gone, I grabbed my reading glasses and went to the door, wondering if perhaps I’d spelled something wrong.
I hadn’t, but apparently Drew thought it would be funny to adjust my quote. While I’d written:
Blowing out someone else’s candle doesn’t make you shine brighter.
Today I will make my spouse shine by ___________________.
The board on my door now read:
Blowing someone else makes his day shine brighter.
Today I will make my spouse shine by blowing him.
I’m going to kill Drew.
Drew
“You are such an asshole!”
“Steve, let me call you back. I think there’s an argument that needs refereeing in the conference room next to me.” I hung up the phone just as Emerie marched into my office to continue her rant. “That type of stuff might be funny with your all-male clients who hire people to dig in their wives’ garbage, but it’s not to mine!”
“What the hell is up your ass?” She looked seriously pissed. But…she also had those glasses on while she was yelling at me. Something about those damn glasses. And I hadn’t noticed it this morning, but that skirt was a bit on the tight side. Red looked good on her.
She tilted her head. “What are you doing?”
“What? What am I doing?”
“You’re checking me out. I just watched you do it. I came in here to yell at you for being an asshole, and you’re checking me out.” She threw her hands up in the air.
“I was admiring your outfit. That’s different than checking you out.”
“Oh, really?” Her hands went to her hips. “How is it different?”
“How is it different?”
“Don’t repeat the question so you can stall for time to make up an answer. How are admiring my outfit and checking me out different?”
There was only one way out of this. “I like you in your glasses.”
“My glasses?”
“Yeah. Your glasses. Are they just for reading?”
She was quiet while she assessed my level of bullshit. Eventually she shook her head. “You think you can diffuse what you’ve done with a compliment, don’t you?”
I’m hoping. “I think you’re a little crazy.”
“I’m crazy?” Her voice rose.
I sat back in my chair, amused. She was fun to play with. Took my mind off other things. “I didn’t think redheads could pull off wearing red.”
She looked down at her skirt and back to me, momentarily perplexed, but then she squinted. “Stop that.”
“What?”
“Trying to soften me by saying nice things.”
“You don’t like compliments?”
“When they’re real, yes. I like them. But when they’re bullshit to distract me? No, I don’t like them at all.”
“I don’t give out bullshit compliments.”
She gave me a face that said she wasn’t buying it. “So you really like my reading glasses?”
“Gives you that sexy librarian look.”
She shook her head. “And my red skirt?”
“To be honest, I don’t give a shit about the color. But it’s tight. And hugs all the right places.”
Emerie’s cheeks started to pink. It made me wonder how her creamy skin would look after I sucked on it a bit.
“Don’t play with my whiteboard! My clients read it. I’m lucky they’re in a good place, or they would be doubting my professionalism after your little stunt.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I lifted two fingers to my forehead in a mock salute.
“Thank you.”
She turned to walk out. I couldn’t resist. “Bet the guy gets a blowjob tonight.”
“That would make one of you then.”
For a change, I was leaving the office at six o’clock. “Want to join me and Roman for a beer over at Fat Cat’s?”
Emerie sat at her desk looking in a small mirror as she lined her lips in a bright red that matched her skirt. Following her hand as it curved into the bow of her top lip, it dawned on me that against the backdrop of the stark white office walls, she looked liked a splat of colorful living art on a canvas.
What the fuck, Jagger? Living art?
“Thanks, but I have plans tonight.”
“Hot date?”
“Baldwin is taking me to a French restaurant.”
Tension mixed with a healthy dose of unexpected jealousy rumbled in my stomach. “French food, huh? Not much of a fan.”
“Me either. But Baldwin loves escargot.”
“Snails,” I scoffed, then mumbled “Figures.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.” What I really wanted to say was that snails reminded me of slugs. And eating that shit would be cannibalism for Mr. Bowtie. The guy was a slug. But instead, I went with, “You have a good night.”
Drew
“What’s your favorite position?”
Emily climbed onto my lap, straddling me. “I like this one.”
I’d have to send Roman a bottle of Gran Patrón Platinum for his brilliant idea tonight. We’d met for drinks at our usual bar, but then he insisted we go next door to Maya to try their empanadas—the guy had an obsession with Mexican food. Emily DeLuca and her friend Allison were already there, enjoying margaritas at the bar. Emily was an attorney at a firm across town where I often referred estate planning work. We’d flirted a few times, and there was a spark, but for me, spark never trumped sparkle on a certain finger on the left hand. And the huge rock she wore was pretty hard to miss.
It was also hard to notice it was missing tonight, especially since she’d wiggled the fingers on her left hand at me right before asking if she could buy me a drink. Even with that obvious gesture, I still confirmed her breakup before we left together. No matter how hot or ready a woman was, I didn’t touch cheaters.