“It was a Cheat Day treat. Nothing counts on Cheat Day.”
I shook my head and turned away from him, gripping the edge of the counter. If it were a table I would probably have flipped it over. If I weren’t so exhausted and totally dehydrated. He was trying to piss me off. He was giving me an out, so I wouldn’t blame myself, and I knew it. And it did piss me off. He may as well have kissed me on the forehead again.
“Hey,” he said, his voice suddenly placating. “I don’t want you to feel weird about this.”
I was holding my breath. I couldn’t look at him. All this time, secretly being in love with him, willing myself to fall out of love with him, psyching myself up to start dating someone else, just so I could get drunk and fondle his abs before puking. It was hopeless.
I flinched when he touched my shoulder.
“Whoa.”
I exhaled. “Sorry. I’m tense.”
“Come on.” His eyes were twinkling and his tone of voice was lighthearted and teasing, as if he were encouraging me to jump into a lake. “This is me. We’re friends. Just a couple of dorks who’ve lived together for years, right? It’s Sunday morning. We’re having breakfast. We can do this.”
I smiled. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. He always made me smile. Even when I was dying inside. I could feel my body relaxing. My grip on the edge of the counter relaxed. I jumped into the lake.
“There ya go,” he said.
I put a piece of turkey bacon in my mouth and savored it. Yes. I could do this.
“And for the record. I’m glad you climbed up on me and kissed me. I liked it. I liked all of it. It was hot.” He took a bite of toast and chewed, all the while, reading the Wall Street Journal on his Kindle.
Asshole.
I pursed my lips. We’re just friends. It’s Sunday morning. We’re having breakfast. I don’t have to run away screaming.
“What kind of butter is this?” he asked, his eyes still didn’t leave his Kindle.
“Goat butter.”
“It’s fucking delicious.”
“I know.”
His eyes flicked up and caught me staring at him, as he licked his lips.
Bastard.
He immediately looked back down again. “Wanna go for a hike with me?”
“I would rather die.”
“A jog?”
“Death would still be preferable.”
“Power walk? Stroll in the park?”
“I thought you just went for a run.”
“I did. But we consumed a lot of carbs last night.”
“I think I barfed out most of mine.”
“You still need to detox. Move your body.”
“I have plans, actually.”
“Plans? Sounds serious.”
“It’s not, I just…I have to get ready to go, actually.”
“Go where?”
“Out.”
I wiped my mouth, took a few gulps of coffee before casually mentioning that I was meeting Ben at his place and then going with him to Ikea. He wanted me to help decorate his apartment. We had made the plans before the party, and hadn’t canceled them, despite Theo’s best efforts.
He stared at me for, I don’t know, five torturous seconds. “Ikea, huh? That is serious. That’s a serious couple thing.”
I made no comment. He was well aware that I had accompanied numerous friends to Ikea and helped them decorate, but I wasn’t going to remind him of this now.
“You’re planning on driving to his place?”
“Yes.”
“You’re really hungover. Hangover driving is almost as bad as drunk driving.”
“I’ll have another cup of coffee first.”
“No way. I’ll drive you.”
“No.”
“Why not? Where’s he live?”
“Not that far.”
“Echo Park?
“Silver Lake.”
“I’m driving you.”
“No.”
His palms were flat against the countertop. He watched me finish my coffee for a minute and ran his hands along the smooth marble edge. I struggled to make my brain stop imagining those hands on my bare skin instead.
“Okay,” he finally continued. “But there’s something I want to talk to you about first.” He turned to face me, and calmly stated: “We haven’t discussed this in a while. Since before we got married, I guess. But I think that we should just maintain the status quo here, once I’ve got my citizenship.”
I clutched my coffee mug, tapping my fingers against it. “What do you mean by status quo?”
“I mean you don’t need to move out. We don’t need to file for divorce.” From the way he said it, I could tell that he was expecting me to jump up and down and hug him. If I weren’t so hungover. But I was. And I didn’t.
“Why?”
“I don’t want you to move out.”
“Why not?”
“Because I like living with you. You’re the one who made this house a home. You can keep saving money, paying down your student loan.”
“And you can keep protecting me from all the sub-par guys out there who try to get to know me.”
“It’s not my fault they’re so unworthy of you.”
“Why do we have to stay married for me to live here?”
“We can keep the joint accounts. We can keep filing joint tax returns. There are way more benefits to being married, you know that.”
“Fake married.”
“Legally married.”
I stared at him, my mind racing, my heart racing even faster. I could feel heat rising to my cheeks. Of all the emotions that were coming up for me in this moment, I chose to go with my new best friends—irrational anger and unjustified resentment. “I’m not going to ask you for half of your money, Theo.” As soon as I said it, I regretted it. The look on his face was killing me. His whole body was deflating.
“Jesus. I don’t care about that.”
“Well neither do I.”
We didn’t do a prenup when we got married. Neither of us had all that much money then. Well, I certainly didn’t, and he wasn’t loaded at that point. I’m sure that once he hired a business manager that guy tried to pressure him into doing a postnuptial agreement, but Theo never brought it up. Still, I didn’t want his money. And I didn’t want him to stay married to me just so either of us could benefit financially.
“You honestly think that’s why I’d want to stay married to you? The money?”
“I don’t know…No. But it had to be said.”
He blinked and considered this, then nodded once. “I suppose.” He is nothing if not rational, which is why we had never had an actual two-way fight. It was a little frustrating.
“Anyway. It takes two to un-tango. I don’t want to get a divorce. Just so you know.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you being serious right now?”
“Dead serious.”
“If I decided to file for divorce next month, say, after your naturalization ceremony, you’re saying that you wouldn’t sign the papers?”
“At this point, I can honestly say that I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
If he had just said, right then, “I don’t want to divorce you because we kissed last night and I want to keep kissing you, as your husband,” I would have melted and said “okay.” But he didn’t.
He said: “Are you planning on filing for divorce next month?”
He was trying not to look nervous, but I could tell he really didn’t want to divorce me. I should have been happy about that, I suppose. I certainly didn’t want to stress him out. “No, I wasn’t planning on doing it next month, necessarily, I just assumed…”
“That’s why I brought it up.”
I sighed and poured myself another cup of coffee. This conversation was getting ridiculous. “You want to keep doing what we’re doing? Keeping our legal marital status a secret while you continue to bone other women?”
He nea
rly spat out his coffee. “Well, Gem, if you have any suggestions as to how we should make some adjustments to the current situation I would love to hear them.”
“You’re just trying to make me late for Ben.”
“Maybe Ben’s trying to keep you away from me.”
“He’s not. But what if he were? He has every right to.”
“I disagree, and don’t change the subject.”
“You’re the one who changed the subject.”
“This is kind of an important issue. I think we need to talk about this.”
“Agreed…We need to live separately, get a divorce, and go back to being just friends again.” I saw him wince, but I continued. “I need to start dating again.”
“You mean Ben?”
“Maybe. I need to be single. I don’t like lying.”
“About what?” His arched eyebrow challenged me.
About my feelings for you, idiot.
“I wouldn’t feel right living with you and dating someone else. I mean, someone new. I know it’s fine for you, but it isn’t for me, so I don’t want to do that.”
“Then don’t.”
“Don’t live with you?”
“Don’t date someone else.”
“I have to.”
“Are you horny, baby?” He did his Austin Powers imitation. It was dead-on, except for the fact that the weird phony accent actually made him sexier.
I cracked up. Not because it was funny to me, because I couldn’t take this conversation seriously. How could I? We didn’t talk about these things. Not with each other, anyway. Not sober.
“I can take care of that.” He said that very seriously. So seriously, and with such a sexy voice that my mouth immediately went dry and I started to feel that pressure between the legs.
I scoffed, and pretended to search for something in my handbag. Maybe I’ll find the exact right thing to say in here. “Shut up, Walker.” Nope. Didn’t find it.
“I’m not kidding.”
I looked up at him, with his messy hair and his tanned skin and veiny forearms and brown eyes that were…looking at me in a way that he had never ever looked at me before…and now he was laughing.
“You asshat.”
“Oh my God you should have seen your face. Like having sex with me is literally the worst thing you could think of.”
I would cut off my own foot just to kiss you on the mouth again you idiot how can you not see that.
How could he be like this? Like last night never happened? Like it was no big deal to him at all. I wanted to run to my room and add to my Just Friends journal—the one that I had completely filled over the last year, except I had already written it—but I would write this again on the inside cover in bold red Sharpie: He will never care about having sex with me the way I would care about it because he’s had so much more sex than I have.
I wanted to put on that camisole that I was going to wear the night before, so Ben could see me in it today. So Theo could see that I was wearing it just for Ben. So Theo could see me in it, and…and what? Be overprotective of me again? As a friend?
This was exactly why I needed to move out and be legally single.
A clean slate.
After less than twenty-four hours with Theo back in town, things felt so messy.
I did miss him.
I did miss us.
I missed how things were between us when I had no reason to wonder if we were meant to be more than best friends.
But I was also so tired of it all.
“Well, this has been truly delightful, but I have to go. I’m late for Ben.” I picked up my keys and immediately dropped them, bent down to pick them up and hit my forehead on the countertop. “Ow.”
“Buddy.”
“I’m fine.” And I don’t want a husband who calls me buddy.
“I’m driving you. If you get into an accident I will never forgive myself.” He looked so concerned and earnest.
“If you’re just messing with my head to try to cockblock me and Ben, then that’s just mean, because I need this. I’ve been working so hard to get myself to a place where I’m not…”
“Where you’re not what?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what? Finish that sentence.”
“Can’t. Gotta go. If you want to drive me, put on a shirt and some pants that don’t show the outline of your junk and hurry up.”
He smirked, and I immediately wished I hadn’t mentioned his junk.
“It’s too warm for ski pants. You’ll just have to force yourself to not look at the outline of my junk.”
We didn’t talk while he drove me to Ben’s place. Thank God. I almost fell asleep in the passenger seat. I was glad that he drove me. Things were hazy.
At one point, the car ahead of us stopped suddenly for a kid who was chasing a soccer ball across the street. When Theo hit the brakes, his right arm shot out to keep me from jerking forward and hitting my head on the dashboard.
“Did you just mom-arm me?”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, but in the most masculine way possible.”
His Waze app told him that our destination was on the right. He pulled over. Ben lived in a small apartment building in Silver Lake.
“Nice place,” he said. “You want me to wait until you go up. In case he forgot about your date and went out?”
“It’s not a date. And he texted me this morning. He’s home.”
“Okay then. Say ‘hi’ to my pal Ben for me.”
I glared at him.
“Call me when you need me to pick you up.”
“I’m sure Ben can drop me off.”
“Well, text me to let me know either way. Have fun, kiddo.”
When he reached out to muss up my hair, it was so annoying, part of me wondered if he was actually trying to piss me off again. Part of me didn’t care. I needed to be pissed off at him. And I refused to feel grateful to him for giving me exactly what I needed, as always.
“Wait,” he said, as I opened the door. He grabbed my hand and held onto my fingertips.
“What?”
“What makes you think it’ll be so easy to go back to the way it was before we got married if we get divorced?”
It took exactly two seconds for my eyes to get watery, and a lump to form in my throat.
“Because…It’s us.”
I sniffled and played with his fingers, unable to look at him when I finally got my voice back, I asked: “What makes you think it’ll be so easy for us to stay married?”
He covered my hand with his.
“Because it’s us.”
8
Gemma
Damn you, Theodore Walker.
I just couldn’t stop staring at Ben’s teeth. When I wasn’t busy pointing out affordable well-designed Swedish lighting fixtures and armchairs that would look good in his living room, I was riveted by his incisors and canines.
Were they indeed disproportionately small for his mouth?
Yes.
Did it make him less attractive?
No.
Did it make me think of Theo instead of him?
Fuck you, Theo.
“Is there something in my teeth?” Ben had smiling eyes as he parted his lips, the tip of his tongue barely protruding.
“Oh—no—I wasn’t looking at your teeth!”
“Oh,” he said quietly, biting his lower lip.
So now he thought I was staring at his lips and that I wanted to kiss him.
Did I want to kiss him?
I didn’t not want to kiss him.
Did I want to kiss Theo more, though?
Fuck you, Theo.
I managed to get my very slow head back in the game. The game of the day was decorating Ben’s apartment—not kissing him. He got me an Ikea hot dog and soft serve ice cream to eat in the car on the way back. I helped him set things up in his living room. He was even more flirtatious, now that he had seen how possessive Theo was of me, it seemed.
Why
are guys so weird?
I did like that Theo was acting a bit jealous about Ben, though. A little. No, a lot. It felt really good. But it didn’t mean anything. It was just Theo being a best guy friend and roommate. Making out with him didn’t really mean anything either, it was just the margaritas being margaritas. Things got confusing sometimes, but by that Sunday afternoon, I did understand this.
I also understood that Ben wasn’t even remotely jealous when a couple of guys asked me my opinion about a rug while staring at my boobs, that he didn’t care at all that I was hungover, and that when he slammed on the brakes when we were on the 134 freeway, he was too busy swearing at the car in front of us to stick his arm out in front of me. All this was perfectly fine for a potential starter boyfriend.
So why couldn’t I stop comparing his biceps to Theo’s while helping him put together a Billy bookcase? Why couldn’t I stop talking about Theo to Ben? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about how amazing it felt to have Theo’s hands on my hips when I should have been engrossed in arranging little potted plants and pillar candles on top of his neatly-stacked script piles?
When Ben dropped me off at home, we said we’d see each other tomorrow at work, and he leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. He looked at me like he was about to go in for more, but his phone rang, and he had to answer it because it was one of the producers of our film. He thanked me again for the day, said he owed me dinner, then turned his attention to the work call before I was out of the car. It was a relief. I did not want to have to compare kisses. Yet.
Theo was in his bedroom, in the office nook, listening to Mozart’s 40th symphony and typing like a maniac on his laptop.
I realized that I had forgotten to text him that Ben would drive me home, but he was so absorbed in his work that it probably didn’t matter.
“I’m back,” I said, from the hallway.
“Oh hey,” he said, while typing.
I knew better than to try to further the conversation while he was in work-mode. When he listened to Mozart, he meant business.
As I turned away from his door, he asked: “You eat dinner?” He still didn’t look up at me.
“No, did you?”
“Yeah. I ordered extra takeout from Winsome.”
Green: a friends to lovers romantic comedy Page 9