“Sorry.” Mia put her arm around me and squeezed. “I just hate seeing you this way. And I think talking will help. No more hiding things—I still can’t believe you managed to keep your marriage and divorce secret to yourself.”
I’d confessed the full truth to Erin and caught both of them up to speed before taking the test. “I know. I should have told you, but I made up my mind in Paris to forget he even existed.” I plucked a tissue from the box and blew my nose. “Worked out really well for me, don’t you think?”
“It did, until he came prancing back into your life. He should have just left you alone,” Mia said loyally. “You deserve so much better.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t like that. I sought him out, remember? He probably would have left me alone.”
“I don’t know,” Erin hedged. “If he thought you were the love of his life, I don’t see how he could have stayed away forever. I mean, why even come back to Detroit in the first place? He could have gone anywhere after winning Lick My Plate. Where was he before?”
“New York,” I said. “He left for the Culinary Institute right after I left for Paris.”
“He should have stayed there.” Mia was grumpy about it. “I can’t believe Lucas likes him.”
“Everybody likes him.” I threw up my hands. “I like him, for fuck’s sake. I adore him! We have fun together and the sex, oh my God…” I flopped to my back and moaned in agony.
“That good, huh?” Erin asked.
“I can’t talk about it. I’ll cry again.”
“So why not give him another chance? He said he was sorry, and it sounds like you guys are great together. Seven years is a long time.”
I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at her. “Is that really you saying that, Miss This Is A Very Bad Idea? You’re supposed to be my voice of reason here.”
Erin laughed. “Where’s the reason in holding a grudge for so long, especially against someone who makes you happy?”
“It’s not that easy.” I sat all the way up. “I don’t know why, but I can’t get over what he did.”
“You don’t have to.” Mia patted my leg.
“But wouldn’t you feel better if you did?” Erin persisted. “Who wants to lug around all that bitterness? All that resentment?”
“I don’t want to,” I snapped. “But I don’t know how to get rid of it. I was hoping this pregnancy would force me to do it.”
“What?” Both of them stared at me, dumbfounded.
Realizing how crazy it sounded out loud, I lowered my voice. “I was sort of hoping I was pregnant, so that I’d be forced to forgive him and get back together. That way I wouldn’t have to make the decision.”
The looks on their faces told me what they thought of that plan. “Coco,” Mia said, “I love you, but that’s ridiculous. If you want him back in your life, then let him in, but I think we can all agree it’s a good thing you’re not pregnant.”
“No, it’s not!” I jumped up from the bed, whirling around to face them, arms flying. “It’s not. You don’t understand, I needed a sign, OK? I needed the universe to tell me what to do because I’m too messed up over him to think straight! This baby was supposed to be the sign, goddammit! The Fetal Forgive My Asshole Daddy And Get On With It sign! And now there is no sign and I’m back where I started and—stop laughing!”
Mia and Erin were trying hard not to smile but Mia’s lips were smashed together tight and Erin’s shoulders were shaking. “I’m sorry,” Mia said, putting a hand over her mouth. “It’s not funny.”
I gave up the fight, my shoulders slumping. “You might as well laugh. Beats crying.”
“Oh, honey, come on. You don’t need a sign from the universe to tell you how you feel.” Mia shook her head. “You are an emotionally intuitive person. Yes, you tend to act on impulse, but clearly in this case, you’re not doing that. And we’re proud of you. Now what does your heart say?”
Sighing, I dropped back onto the bed between them. “My heart is confused. And scared.”
She nodded. “Love is terrifying. But remember when I called you from Paris because I was scared about how I was falling for Lucas?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember what you said?”
“’I’m jealous?’”
She laughed, nudging me with her leg. “No.
Well, you might have. But you said everything happens for a reason, and that I just had to be willing to take a chance. I was never one to trust fate, but you helped me give myself permission to fall for him, not knowing what the end result would be.”
“But Lucas hadn’t hurt you in the past. Lucas was perfect,” I grumbled unreasonably.
“No one is perfect, Coco. Lucas has his faults just like anyone, and he’s nothing—nothing—like the man I thought I’d marry, but now look at me.” She smiled, her face lighting up. “You helped me see that things don’t always go according to plan, and that’s OK. Life’s full of surprises, right? Now I’m not saying Nick is the perfect one for you, and God knows I don’t like what he did, but if you still love each other after all this time, well…” She shrugged. “That’s a pretty powerful sign, in my eyes.”
“Right.” I took a deep breath. “Maybe I just need a little more time to get used to it…but I do love him, the cocky bastard.” Mia’s wedding dress caught my eye. It was wrapped in plastic, the hanger hooked over her closet door. “God, Mia. I can’t believe you’re getting married next weekend.”
She grinned. “Me neither.” Then she grabbed my leg. “Hey, maybe you’ll meet the man of your dreams in France!”
Erin cleared her throat. “Excuse me, no. I insist that any dreamy man left in France go to me. You two have had your share.”
#
I owed Nick a phone call, but I didn’t want to do it with Mia and Erin around. I’d call him on my way home. Since I wasn’t preggo, we opened a bottle of wine and watched Mia pack her wedding suitcase, oohing and ahhing over her gown—so much simpler than the puffy confection she’d been planning to wear for her first wedding. She’d sold that one on ebay and managed to get enough for it to buy this one plus our beautiful lavender bridesmaids dresses and plane tickets to France, her gifts to us. Erin and I, her only two attendants, had gone in together on a pair of gorgeous strappy, sparkly Jimmy Choo heels for Mia, and we’d had I DO put on the bottom of one shoe in tiny blue rhinestones, and her wedding date on the other. We’d also done a little research and had arranged for a day at a spa for the three of us in Provence once Erin and I arrived.
Watching Mia dance around her room, happier than I’d ever seen her, I felt this lovely warm hum beneath my skin. She was going to spend the rest of her life with the man she adored, and she couldn’t wait to get started.
Suddenly I thought of the story from Nick’s family history, about the way his great-grandmother, the little one called Tiny with the red lips, had shown up at his great-grandfather’s house to announce she loved him in the middle of Sunday dinner because she couldn’t wait. I thought about the note we’d found with today’s date on it—really, what were the odds of that? Probably a million to one.
So what was I waiting for? If you loved someone, you should say it, right?
The hum began to build into something more expectant as I realized I no longer wanted to wait either. Even though I wasn’t pregnant, if Nick still wanted me, I wanted him too. I stood up, gripping my empty wine glass by the stem.
“Where are you going?” Erin asked.
“To see Nick,” I said breathlessly. “I have to give him another chance.”
Mia burst out laughing. “You decided that in the last twenty-five minutes? Now that’s the Coco I know.”
Grinning, I hugged her hard and then Erin too. “Thanks, girls. You’re the best. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Have fun!” Mia yelled as I rushed out of her bedroom.
“But be safe!” called Erin.
“I will!” I took the steps down two at a time and headed for the back door. “Hi, L
ucas. Bye, Lucas.” I raced through the kitchen past Mia’s handsome fiancée, who’d come home while we were upstairs and was preparing dinner.
“Hi, Coco. Where’s the fire?”
“Grand Circus Park,” I yelled without stopping to look back. I jumped into my car and drove downtown, frowning only once when I realized I was in sweatpants and a Detroit City Distillery t-shirt. My face was sort of puffy and tear-stained too, and I had no makeup on. Oh, well. If he loves me, he loves me like this.
I pulled into the parking garage next to his building, took the first empty spot I could find, and rushed up to Nick’s apartment. By the time I got to his door, I was panting, elated at the way I was recreating a story from his family’s past. I took a second to compose myself before banging on the door.
Nothing.
I knocked again.
Nothing. My heart rate slowed, and my shoulders fell slightly. He wasn’t home? This wasn’t supposed to happen. The guy has to be home when the girl shows up. Had Nick mentioned he was going out? Maybe he was at the restaurant? I knew how anxious he was about the test, so it didn’t seem likely that he’d just take off somewhere without calling…wait, had I even checked my phone?
I dug in my bag and pulled it out. Sure enough I had two missed calls, a text, and a voicemail message from him. The text said Hey, please call when you can. The voicemail message was longer, and more disappointing.
“Coco, it’s me. Listen, I just got a call that my event schedule changed and my agent booked me on a flight to L.A. tonight. I’ll be back Wednesday, but I’ll call you as soon as I can. And listen, I can’t stop thinking about the other thing, so can you please let me know as soon as you can? See you soon.”
Turning around to slouch against the door, I hit delete with more force than necessary, trying not to be too angry over this. After all, Nick was a “celebrity” now and he’d have “events” to do and flights to catch and people in his life that had to come before me. But how annoying that this one had to happen just when I was coming over here to give him a second chance.
The date was today’s date, not Wednesday’s
I was so aggravated I almost didn’t listen to the voicemail from Angelina. But I figured nothing could put me in a worse mood than this, so I hit play and put the phone to my ear.
What she said had me sliding down the door until my butt hit the floor.
“Coco it’s Angelina. Listen, the party’s off. The whole fucking wedding is off. Lorenzo’s a big asshole.”
I listened to it three times, just to make sure I heard right. Then I called her. Maybe she was just being dramatic.
“Hello?”
“Angelina, it’s Coco.”
“Hi. The wedding’s still off.” She sounded stuffed up, like she’d been crying.
I bit my lip. “I heard your message. Are you OK?”
“No. I found out that he’s been cheating on me with my slut cousin Christa. For months he’s been fucking her!”
Damn you, Lorenzo. “So you broke up?”
“Hell yes, we did. And I’m not taking him back, neither. He can go fuck Christa if he wants to. Actually he can go fuck himself.”
In the anise, I thought. “OK, well…are you sure?
I mean, I don’t think I’ll be able to get deposits back from those vendors. It’s less than a week away.”
“I don’t care. No party. I can’t face anyone, I’m too humiliated.”
Closing my eyes, I nodded slowly. Goodbye, house. “I’m sorry, Angelina. If you need any events planned in the future, I’d love to work with you again.” Not true, but what else could I say?
“All right. Thanks. Sorry about this.” She sniffed.
“It’s OK. You’ll find someone better.”
“Damn right, I will. Hey, is Nick Lupo available?”
“No.” Rolling my eyes, I ended the call and put my head in my hands. What the hell else could go wrong?
Back in my car, I called Nick, but it went straight to voicemail. I didn’t want to leave the test results in a message, so I hung up and figured I’d try again later. At home, I brushed my teeth and curled up in bed, my phone next to me in case he called back. It was crazy how much I missed him sleeping beside me, when he’d only been there for the last two nights. I reached for my phone and texted him. I miss you. Call me.
But I fell asleep still waiting for the phone to ring.
#
The next morning I got ready for work, looking at my phone way more than usual. Normally I’m not someone who’s glued to it, but my job makes it necessary to be available to clients and vendors even when I’m not at the office. By noon, I still had no call from Nick, and I figured with the late flight and time change, maybe he was sleeping.
Hey sleepyhead. Wake up. Let’s talk.
After lunch, I tried calling again, and this time I left a message. “Hey, it’s Coco. Just trying to reach you, so give me a call. The party this weekend is off, so don’t worry about that. Thanks for saying you’d help out, though. And I’m glad we got to spend time together. Hope you arrived safely and that you’re having a good time. Bye.” That last part was kind of a lie—I didn’t really want him to have a good time there. I wanted him to miss me the way I missed him.
By three in the afternoon, I was a little annoyed.
By five, I was angry
By six, I saw the pictures.
I was still at the office, and even though I’d managed to slay the dragon urge to Google him before, today was a different story. The dragon won.
I typed his name, hit enter, and sucked my lips between my teeth. In the news, it said at the top, and underneath the words was a photo of Nick with his arm around a pretty brunette, his lips pressed to her cheek. Gasping, I clicked on it. According to the gossip site that posted the photo, it had been taken two hours ago. And there were more.
Trying to remain calm, I clicked through a bunch of photos from the event, some kind of fundraiser with celebrity chefs cooking the food. I was hoping to see him with a bevy of different beauties, but it was always the same one. Apparently she was a chef too, a contestant on the current season of Lick My Plate.
And his ex-girlfriend.
My breaths came harder and faster, making my dress feel too tight in the chest. The photo captions did nothing to set my mind at ease.
Season One winner Nick Lupo cozies up to former flame and Season Two fan favorite Alex Rigler.
Sexy exes Nick Lupo and Alex Rigler turn up the heat in the kitchen.
Nick Lupo and Alex Rigler still sizzle. “She can lick my plate any time,” he said.
My stomach twisted and churned—I felt the familiar old sickness I used to experience when Nick would flirt with other girls at parties and later I’d look through his texts to see if they were contacting him.
Horrible, juvenile behavior that I never wanted to repeat. I knew gossip sites exaggerated things. But why hadn’t he called?
Disgusted with him and myself, I closed the window and packed up to go home. On the way, I called Mia and told her I’d been an idiot to think Nick was serious about me. After hearing everything that had happened since I left her house the night before, she said not to panic until I talked to him. And though she didn’t say how glad she was that Angelina’s party had been canceled, I could hear it in her voice.
By dinner that night, he still hadn’t called, and I found myself stabbing my chicken breast with a fork instead of eating it.
“Something wrong?” Sitty asked, one eyebrow arched.
“No.” I cut a bite and ate it, staring at my plate like a sullen teenager. Sitty said nothing further.
On Tuesday, Mia left for France, and Erin and I went out for a drink. Nick still hadn’t called. She listened to me gripe about trusting him and being disappointed all over again, but told me not to jump to conclusions or overreact, which pissed me off. I wasn’t overreacting! I was being fucking smart. Protective.
That night, I got my period.
When Wednesda
y came and went without a call, I deleted his number from my phone. I also emailed my real estate agent that I couldn’t afford the house on Iroquois but I wanted to keep looking at things in my price range. Then I got out my Grass Widow Bourbon and took a shot before pressing Send.
Well, that’s that. Goodbye, house. Goodbye, Nick. Goodbye crazy, stupid dreams.
Of course, on Thursday, he called.
I didn’t answer.
I deleted his voicemails without listening.
I deleted his texts without reading.
More sickening familiarity.
On Friday, I didn’t go to work, scared that he might try to find me there. He wouldn’t dare show up at my parents’ house, I figured, not after everything in our past. But I spent the weekend at Erin’s apartment just in case.
Good thing.
When I got home on Sunday night, Sitty told me that not only had he come by on Saturday, but he’d stayed to have a little whiskey and water with her, and he’d told her a few things she thought I should know.
“He lost that phone, those things you’re all attached to so much. He say it fell out on the plane to California and he never found it. He has a new one with a new number. I wrote it for you.” She held out a yellow post-it with a phone number written on it.
“Not. Interested.” I tried to bypass her and head up the stairs but she blocked my way.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s not good for me, Sitty.” The lost phone might explain why he hadn’t called me from that number, but he could have found a way to reach me. And I’d made up my mind. Seeing those pictures and waiting around for him to call left me with a bad feeling. As far as I was concerned, I’d dodged a bullet.
“He loves you,” Sitty declared.
“He said that?”
“What boy sits with someone’s grandmother for two hours if he doesn’t love her?”
True. Trying to think of an argument, I opened my mouth, closed it, and opened it again.
“You look like baby bird,” she said. “And why do you dress like a painter?” She gestured to my sweats. “Last weekend you go with Erin with fancy underwear but this weekend it’s rags.”
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