by Tawna Fenske
To Meg’s right, Ufnar screamed and clutched his shoulder. “My arm! I’ve lost my arm! Do something!”
Meg and Trinity rushed toward him, then dropped to their knees in the dirt as Ufnar fell to the ground. “Can you reattach limbs, Empress Cattywampus?”
Meg nodded, trying to remember what she’d learned watching the TV special about LARPing. Trinity pulled a ribbon from a small silk pouch around her neck and handed it to Meg. “Take mine.”
“Thank you.” Meg laid the ribbon on Ufnar’s shoulder, hoping this was more or less how things were supposed to go. “By the power granted to me by The Great Spatula and Lord Kumquat, I command thee to heal thine limb and be made whole again.”
Ufnar blinked, then looked from Meg to Trinity and back to Meg again. “My lady, you have saved me. I owe you my very life.”
“’Tis nothing,” Meg assured him. “You would do the same for me.”
“That’s it, run away!” Sir Reginald shouted, and Meg looked up to see the last of their attackers fleeing the way they’d come.
Behind her, a shrill chime echoed through the trees. At first, Meg thought it was somehow connected to the game, but she turned to see Kyle pulling his phone from a pocket. He scowled at the screen and muttered something under his breath.
Ufnar sat up and frowned. “Sir Tonsillectomy Xanthan Gum—you have broken the cardinal rule of technology.”
Kyle turned away, putting a hand over his left ear as he raised the phone to his right and said, “Hi, Mom.”
Ufnar began to protest, but Meg shushed him. “His brother just died,” Meg whispered as Kyle walked into the trees murmuring into the phone. “It probably has to do with funeral arrangements or a memorial service or—”
“You’re reviewing the will now?” Kyle growled, and Meg looked up to see him scowling with the phone to his ear.
“Or a will,” Trinity whispered.
“Or that,” Meg whispered back.
“Mom, I don’t really think now’s the best time to get into—right. I know. I get it.” Kyle fell silent again, his scowl deepening as he listened to whatever his mother was shouting. Meg could hear Sylvia’s voice from fifteen feet away, though she couldn’t make out the words.
Kyle shook his head, then looked up from the tree branch he’d been stripping of its needles. His gaze locked with Meg’s, and she started to look away, but something stopped her. Something in the intensity of his expression, or maybe the fact that she was almost sure she heard the word Meg from the other end of the line.
“I’m with her right now, actually,” Kyle said, his eyes never leaving Meg’s. “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
CHAPTER THREE
Meg twisted a damp tissue in her hands and thought about prison interrogation and Chinese water torture. Anything, really, would be more pleasurable than this conversation with Matt and Kyle’s mother.
“So what do you have to say for yourself, young lady?”
Sylvia peered at her over the top of her glasses, a look that had not failed to discombobulate Meg since the first moment she met Sylvia after her fourth date with Matt. Back then, Sylvia had called Meg “cute” for ordering a margarita with dinner, and Meg had promptly knocked the beverage into her own lap. The fumble made her look incontinent as well as classless, and things hadn’t changed much in ten years.
Meg forced herself to meet Sylvia’s gaze across the spotless Midland family living room. She ordered herself not to cry, not to slouch, not do any of the things her body desperately wanted to do.
Like flee.
Meg cleared her throat. “I’m aware of the debt,” she said. “Matt took the photographs for my cookbook a few months after we got engaged. He offered it as a favor at the time.”
“At the time, you were planning to actually marry my son instead of leaving him brokenhearted at the altar.”
“Right.” Meg bit her lip, resisting the urge to fire back that the marriage might have happened if Matt hadn’t felt the need to play hide-the-salami with his acupuncturist. This wasn’t the time to start dragging skeletons out of the closet and throwing their bones around, especially not with Kyle sitting five feet away with his arms folded over his chest. He hadn’t said much of anything, and Meg wondered why he was here at all. She didn’t dare let her gaze stray to his corner of the room as Sylvia continued her lecture.
“So it seems perfectly reasonable that my son—a sought-after commercial photographer—would bill you for those photos after you failed to uphold your end of the wedding plans,” Sylvia said. “Can you explain to me why you haven’t paid your debt?”
Meg swallowed and clenched the tissue tighter. “Because he decided to charge me ten thousand dollars. And between that and paying off all the debt from the wedding, I didn’t find that many nickels between the cushions of my sofa.”
The words came out snarkier than she meant them to, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Kyle shift in his chair. She desperately wanted to look over at him—for strength or reassurance or just the sight of those ash-flecked green eyes.
But she couldn’t get distracted right now. She couldn’t afford to let Sylvia see a chink in her armor. A trickle of sweat slid between her shoulder blades, and Meg wished she’d thought to smear her whole body with antiperspirant before setting foot in Matt’s childhood home again.
“I see.” Her former-future-mother-in-law looked back at the paperwork. “Well, you haven’t made very good progress paying off your debt.”
“I have, though. It’s completely paid off. The wedding planner was paid in full last July, and I made my final payment for the reception hall back in—”
“Not for the wedding,” Sylvia interrupted. “For my son’s photographs. For his time, talent, and hard work on your little cookbook project. According to these records, you still owe more than three thousand dollars.”
Meg wiped her palms on the legs of her jeans. “With all due respect, I think you’re mistaken. I’m pretty sure it’s less than half that. Maybe fifteen hundred dollars? I can have my bank pull up the canceled checks if you want proof.”
“Please do. In the meantime, the fact remains that regardless of the amount, you still owe money to Matt’s estate.”
Meg gritted her teeth, biting back the urge to argue. It wasn’t worth it, not now, not when she’d already paid off most of the ten thousand dollars she probably shouldn’t have agreed to pay in the first place.
“I’m working on it,” she said. “If I get this new catering contract with—”
“I don’t care how you get the money, Meg. We need this debt paid in full by the end of the month so we can settle up Matt’s affairs.”
Matt’s affairs are what started all this, Meg thought, but bit her tongue. Speaking ill of the dead wouldn’t do anyone any good right now, and besides, it wasn’t fair to lay the blame at his feet. If she hadn’t cut and run, maybe he wouldn’t have lashed out by billing her for photos he’d taken as a favor to help her achieve her dream of publishing that damn cookbook.
For all the good that did.
Meg cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, not entirely sure how she meant it. “I’m sorry for everything, Sylvia. For your loss and for the way I handled things two years ago, but most of all for—”
“We’re done here,” Sylvia said, looking away as her eyes turned dark and glittery. “You can mail the check to our attorney. His name is on the card I gave you.”
Meg nodded and stood up, grateful her legs seemed capable of carrying her all the way across the room and to the door. Feeling eyes on her back, she turned to see Kyle watching her. His expression was unreadable, but he didn’t look away.
“Meg?”
She tore her gaze from Kyle’s and looked back at Sylvia. “Yes?”
“Thank you.” Her voice was tight and she kept her gaze fixed on a far corner of the room, but Meg could see the tears she’d been holding back had started to spill down her cheeks. “For making him happy during the early years.”
&nbs
p; Meg swallowed hard, fighting the urge to read it as an insult. As an implication she’d failed to keep making him happy for all ten years of the union.
Is that why he cheated?
“You’re welcome,” Meg said softly, pushing the words up past the lump in her throat. “I was lucky to be with him for such a long time.”
She turned and walked out of the room, determined not to look back at Kyle.
Kyle stood on Meg’s doorstep the next evening with a clay pot of daisies in one hand and the unsettling feeling he was picking her up for a date instead of showing up to apologize for his mom or his silliness in the park or his gruffness at the hospital or—
Hell. He had a lot to be sorry for.
Before he could figure out where to start, the door flew open and Meg stood there barefoot and wide-eyed. “Kyle! What are you doing here?” Her gaze shifted to the daisies. “You brought me flowers?”
He shrugged and shifted the pot from one hand to another. “People have been sending flowers nonstop for the last few days. My mom suggested I bring you some.”
“Daisies.” She reached out to touch one of the feathery white petals. He pushed the pot toward her, and she seemed to hesitate before wrapping her hands around it. She stared down at the sunny yellow centers like they were foreign and befuddling instead of something that grew in half the yards on her quiet suburban street on the outskirts of Portland.
She raised her gaze to his, and Kyle felt his guts do a somersault. “These were supposed to be our wedding flowers,” she said. “Matt brought me daisies on our first date. He used to buy them for me every year for my birthday, sometimes in these wild colors like fuchsia or neon orange.”
Kyle swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded. “Maybe Mom remembered that. It’s as close as she’ll get to an apology.”
Meg pulled the flowers to her chest and shook her head. “She doesn’t need to apologize. She lost her son, for heaven’s sake. She’s hurting.”
“She still could have handled things a little better. It’s not like they need the money. She’s just really focused on getting Matt’s estate in order because it gives her something to do. Something to help her feel useful. Otherwise, I’m not sure she’d even get out of bed right now.”
He thought about the look on his mom’s face when he’d found her going through a box of old photos at Matt and Chloe’s place that morning. “I just can’t believe he’ll never sit across from you at another Christmas dinner,” she’d said, holding up a faded snapshot of her two sons wearing hideous matching reindeer sweaters the year they were both in middle school.
Kyle had put his hand on his mother’s shoulder, wishing like hell there was something he could say to make her feel better. To make Matt come bursting through the door again with his trademark grin and a story about a client who hired him to photograph a collection of famous sports legends’ old jockstraps.
No one was better than Matt at cheering people up.
Now, Kyle looked at Meg and saw some of his mom’s sadness in her eyes. Her fingers were clenched tight around the flowerpot and a familiar bracket of lines carved the space between her eyebrows. “Your mother’s grieving,” she said softly. “Grief makes people do odd things.”
“Like running around a forest throwing marshmallows and pretending to be a medieval warrior?”
One corner of her mouth tugged up. It wasn’t quite a smile, but Kyle felt something shift warm and soft between them. “Something like that,” she murmured.
She let go of the flowerpot with one hand and wiped her brow, leaving a smudge of flour on her forehead. He wondered what she’d been baking, and felt a sudden ache to invite himself into her kitchen and pull out a barstool the way he used to. Back then he’d drop by sometimes on Wednesday nights, making some excuse to talk with Matt about football or art or trends in men’s tube socks. Anything, really, for a chance to spend a few hours helping Meg roll dough or fold napkins while he sipped beer at their familiar granite island.
But this wasn’t the same house she’d shared with Matt. Everything had changed, and not just her address.
“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” Meg’s voice jarred him from his thoughts, and Kyle blinked as she stepped aside and gestured behind her. “Would you like to come in?”
He hesitated, not sure what the right answer was. The truthful one was yes, but he wasn’t sure it felt appropriate to be alone with his dead brother’s ex-fiancée in her living room so soon after Matt’s death. Where the hell was the etiquette manual on all this?
He cleared his throat. “You don’t look like you’re dressed for company.”
Meg laughed, and it occurred to Kyle that most women would have taken offense. But Meg just pushed the door open wider and stepped aside, her Marvin the Martian T-shirt slipping off one shoulder as she moved. Her bare feet made a shuffling sound on the blonde-wood floor, and Kyle breathed in the scent of cinnamon and flowers.
“Please,” she said, tucking a red-gold curl behind one ear. “You’ve seen me in my pajamas on Christmas morning with no makeup. You held my hair back when I threw up at the family picnic after eating Aunt Judy’s potato salad. I’m pretty sure we’re past the point of dressing up for each other.”
Kyle nodded, still reeling a little from the idiocy of his own remarks and the onslaught of all those memories. Meg and Matt had been together ten years, long enough for their names to become a single word. Meganmatt. She was practically a member of his family.
But there was nothing family-like about the way Kyle felt his blood heat up as he stepped past her into the entryway. He shoved his hands into his pockets, wondering what kind of asshole he was for trying to figure out if she was wearing a bra under that T-shirt. Her shoulder was bare where the fabric slipped over it, and he saw no trace of straps as she tugged the collar back where it belonged.
“So this is your place,” he said, surveying the high-beamed ceilings and the overstuffed beige sofa lined with silky-looking pillows in bright floral patterns. It was simple, but very Meg. He spotted a vintage kidney-shaped coffee table he remembered from the house she shared with Matt, and he wondered how they’d decided who got what furniture when they split.
Something moved in the center of a paisley armchair, and Kyle looked over to see a massive orange tabby curled in a tight half-circle. The cat twitched its tail and opened one eye.
“Hi, kitty,” Kyle said. “What’s your name?”
The cat opened both eyes and stared at him. Its fur was thick and long, and Kyle thought about walking over there and scratching it under the chin. Apparently the cat was imagining it, too, and wasn’t keen on the idea. The beast stood up, arched his back, and gave a ferocious hiss. It jumped off the chair and headed toward the back of the house.
“That’s Floyd,” Meg said. “He doesn’t like men. Or women. Or—well, anyone.”
“Friendly guy.”
“He has his moments. I got him two years ago. Figured the law says single women must have at least one cat, so—” she shrugged, trailing off. “Anyway, this is my place.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thank you.”
A long, tense silence followed, and Kyle watched Meg turn to set the flowerpot on a little entry table. She fussed with the leaves for a bit, then adjusted the knickknacks beside it, fiddling with a purple stone frog and a small copper tree Kyle remembered making for her twenty-fifth birthday. It was one of his first forays into metalwork, and he remembered Matt giving him a nod of genuine approval.
“Great work, bro,” he’d said. “It could almost work as one of those earring holder thingies. She can use it to show off the diamond hoops I got her.”
Meg finished fiddling with her decor and turned to face him. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then tugged her left earlobe.
“You’ve always done that.”
The words left Kyle’s lips before he had a chance to consider them, and he wished at once he could grab them out of the air and stu
ff them back down his throat.
But Meg cocked her head to the side and gave him a curious look. “Done what?”
Kyle swallowed. “Tugged your earlobe when you think of something you’re not sure you want to say aloud.”
She quirked one eyebrow at him. “How do you know that, if I don’t actually say it out loud?” she asked. “Are you psychic?”
“Nope. I noticed it years ago when you and Matt started dating. You’d tug at your ear and then blurt out something risqué or funny or maybe a little embarrassing. After a while, it seemed like you started censoring yourself.”
“But I still tugged my ear,” she said, her expression utterly bewildered.
“Yep.”
She stared at him a moment, and Kyle wondered if he’d gone too far. He remembered watching his gregarious brother tease Meg about some goofy thought she’d voiced over dinner, calling her “Mouthy Meg” and ruffling her hair every time she blurted something unexpected.
Eventually, Meg stopped.
It hadn’t occurred to Kyle until just now that maybe she’d never noticed.
“Tell you what,” he said, feeling like he owed her something for peeling back a blanket she might have preferred to keep tucked tight around her. “If I catch you tugging your ear, I’ll confess three embarrassing things about myself.”
She cocked her head to the side, studying him. “What for?”
“Just showing you the world won’t end if I say something that’s a little uncomfortable. That sharing an embarrassing thought isn’t so bad. If I can do it three times, you can manage once. Deal?”
She eyed him warily, and Kyle held his breath, hoping he hadn’t crossed some line. Hoping he wasn’t being too presumptuous by implying they’d have any contact beyond this, especially after two years of radio silence. She kept her gaze locked on his for a few seconds, then nodded once. “Give me an example.”
“Okay,” Kyle said, fumbling around in his memory to find something appropriately mortifying. It wasn’t tough. “Embarrassing item number one: I spent two hours in my gallery last week helping customers before I noticed my fly was undone.”