by Tawna Fenske
“I used to hate you.”
Meg looked at Kathy-with-a-K, alarmed to realize the woman was speaking to her. Maybe she hadn’t heard right. “I’m sorry?”
“I hated you. For years, actually.”
“But we’ve never met.”
Kathy shrugged and took a sip of her drink. “I hated that you moved in together so soon, when it took him three years to move in with me. And then when you two got engaged—”
“After almost nine years,” Chloe pointed out, folding her arms over her chest. “He proposed to me after only three months.”
Meg opened her mouth to reply, but stopped herself. What did she even say to that? And why did Chloe’s words sting so much? She’d known all along that Matt had been a bit of a player in the years before they met. He’d even confessed once that he hadn’t always been faithful to others, but he insisted to the end he’d been true to her. He swore it, even when he’d come clean about his dalliance with Annabelle.
“It was just the one time, Meg, I swear to you—”
But it hadn’t mattered. One time or a hundred times; it was all the same to Meg.
“So what do you do, Meg?”
Cathy-with-a-C was looking at her, and Meg cleared her throat and wondered where the hell Jess had gone. She might want that drink after all. “I’m—”
“She’s a chef, like all of us,” interrupted Kathy-with-a-K. “Or a caterer or a baker or something like that. Matt only dates women who work with food.”
“Or beverages,” Chloe said. “Matt was very supportive of my dream of starting my own kombucha company. He even arranged it so I could quit my job at the bakery to spend all my time developing the business plan and brewing new flavors and—”
“Wait, you’re not Meg Delaney, are you?” Cathy-with-a-C stared at her. “You are! You’re the one who wrote that cookbook! The aphrodisiac cookbook everyone’s been talking about?”
Kathy-with-a-K sniffed. “Can’t say I ever needed any help in that department.”
Marti rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I heard.”
Meg took a step back, then another, wondering if she’d walked into some sort of alternate universe populated by women who looked vaguely similar and had loved Matt or maybe still loved Matt. She had to get out of here. She had to escape the press of bodies and the echo of memories and the clamor of voices—
“I’m sorry, would you excuse me?” Meg stepped back again. “I need to find the restroom.”
Chloe pressed her lips together, clearly disappointed in Meg’s bladder. “Down the stairs, take a left, it’s at the end of that hall,” Chloe said. “Hurry back, though. You should definitely meet Sarah.”
“Is that Sarah with an h or with no h?” asked Kathy or Cathy or Marti—hell, Meg couldn’t be sure.
She was practically running now, making a beeline for the door as she dodged two women she recognized as photography colleagues Matt worked with five years ago. Were they exes, too?
Meg shook her head and skirted a cluster of uncles. It doesn’t matter now, she told herself. What difference does it make if you held a special place in his life or if you were just one of many?
She was moving so fast when she hit the stairs that she had to catch herself on the railing. The stupid high heels wobbled as she took the steps two at a time and wished she’d picked a dress that wasn’t so snug around her thighs.
Panting by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, Meg glanced left. Three or four women were lined up outside the restroom, each of them representing some conversation Meg didn’t want to have. She looked the opposite direction where the hallway veered sharply down a dimly lit corridor. She hesitated, then turned that way, marching like she had a purpose to forestall any questions about where she was headed.
Her lungs filled with air as the voices faded behind her and her footsteps slowed with her pulse. She just needed a few minutes alone, someplace quiet to collect her thoughts. She spotted a door up ahead and reached for the knob, praying it led to a quiet conference room or an unoccupied office.
She pushed it open and breathed in the scent of Pine-Sol and bleach. The space was dim and spacious, and she could see rows of paper towels and tissue lining a shelf overhead.
“Cleaning closet,” she murmured. “Close enough.”
Meg stepped inside, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness as she pulled the door closed behind her before anyone could notice the crazy redhead ducking into a supply closet. As soon as the door was closed, her breathing slowed to normal, and she unclenched the fists she hadn’t realized she’d been gripping.
Blinking a few times to clear her vision, she squinted around the little room. Something that looked like a mop lurked in one corner, the wheeled yellow bucket beside it glowing oddly in the light seeping around the edges of the door. The high heels were killing her, so she toed them off and said a silent prayer the floor wasn’t too filthy. The concrete felt cool and soothing under her bare feet, so it seemed worth the risk for that small slice of comfort.
She thought about fumbling for a light switch, but decided against it. It would be just her luck to have one of Matt’s relatives amble past and decide to switch the light off, and then how would she explain the fact that she was standing barefoot in the broom closet at her ex’s funeral reception?
She should probably text Jess to say she’d gone to the bathroom, but she just needed a minute to herself. With a sigh, she took a step deeper into the closet. It was bigger than it looked from outside, and the shelves seemed tidy and well-stocked. She did a slow turn, then closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall.
At least, that’s what she tried to do. The wall moved. It was warm and bumpy and had hands that reached up to cup her elbows.
She gave a startled cry and started to struggle, but the hands were gentle and the voice in her ear was as familiar as the cedar scent now tickling her nose.
“Hello, Meg.”
Kyle felt pretty sure groping his brother’s ex-fiancée in a closet at Matt’s funeral reception was a new low even for him.
But hell, it’s not like he tried to grope her. And it’s not like he stalked her here, either. He’d just wanted a few quiet moments alone to collect his thoughts and escape the throng of relatives eager to tell him what a great guy Matt was and how Kyle looked just like him and did he think Matt would have liked the service?
Of course Matt would have liked the service. It was all about Matt.
But that was a shitty thing to think, so he’d come down here to give himself a time-out, maybe take a stab at being less of a jerk.
Only now he was here holding Meg from behind, her body pressed lush and round against him, and he remembered the upside of being a jerk.
Kyle cleared his throat. “It’s just me, Meg,” he whispered against her ear.
She turned to face him, and he dropped his hands from her elbows, breathing in the lilac scent of her in the dim little closet. Her hair brushed his arm, and Kyle had to fight the urge to reach for her again.
“Kyle? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know—taking inventory of the toilet paper, making sure the fire extinguisher is up to code, checking to see if the mop needs to be replaced.”
“So, escaping?”
“Pretty much. You?”
“Same thing.”
They both went quiet, and Kyle used the opportunity to study her face in the dim interior of the closet. He’d been in here ten minutes, so his eyes had adjusted to the darkness and the ghost beams of light seeping around the door gave him enough to see the glint of silver in her eyes, the subtle curve of her cheek. Her expression was uncertain, but she hadn’t made a move to leave yet.
“So this is awkward,” she said.
“Being at your ex-fiancé’s funeral, or being in the closet with his brother at said funeral?”
“Both.” She seemed to hesitate. “Wait, I thought it was a memorial service.”
“It was. Funeral’s just shorter
to say.”
“Right.” Meg bit her lip. “I take back what I said earlier. This is actually the least awkward moment of the last hour for me.”
“That’s depressing.”
“It’s a memorial service. Isn’t it supposed to be depressing?”
“Not if you ask Aunt Judy. She insists it’s supposed to be a celebration of life. If she had her way, we’d all be wearing jingle bells and dancing on the bar.”
“I can think of worse ideas,” Meg said, her eyes meeting his in the dim half-light of the closet. “So how are you holding up?”
“Okay.” He hesitated, not sure how much information to volunteer. But hell, she’d asked, and there was something about being in the closet that gave this whole thing the air of a Catholic confessional. At least, he imagined this might be what the confessional was like, minus the push broom and the jumbo pack of Hefty bags.
“I guess—” he swallowed. “I guess I thought the service would give me some closure.”
“Did it?”
“No. I just keep replaying conversations in my head. Arguments I used to have with Matt about my career choices or my eating habits or whose turn it was to take mom out to lunch.”
“I’ve been doing the same thing. Rehashing old arguments, I mean. I’ll catch myself doing it and I’ll realize I’m even making the facial expression that goes with the point I’m trying to make.”
Kyle nodded, though she probably couldn’t see him in the darkness. “I know what you mean. I caught myself grinning like an idiot in Costco yesterday after I made a particularly valid argument during my replay of a fight we had in high school.”
“I take it things didn’t unfold that way in real life?”
“In real life Matt gave me a wedgie and threw my car keys in the toilet, so I’d say no. Of course, I retaliated by putting Doritos in his bed. I’d like to think our methods for solving disagreements improved once we reached adulthood.”
“I saw Matt pour a beer on your head once, so probably not.”
“How about you?” he asked. “Do your imaginary arguments go differently this time around?”
“Yes,” Meg murmured. “It’s stupid. I’ve been sticking up for myself a lot more, making these clever, well-thought out arguments in my own defense, and then I just feel like a dumbass for fighting with a dead guy.”
“A dead guy you hadn’t seen for two years.”
“Exactly. Who does that?”
“Both of us, apparently. It must be another one of those stages of grieving.”
“I suppose.” She didn’t say anything thing for a moment. When he felt her fingers brush his, he gave a little jump.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t. I just wasn’t expecting you to touch me.”
“I wasn’t trying to touch you. Not like that, I mean. Just checking to see if the door locks.”
“It doesn’t. I already checked.”
She went quiet again, and Kyle thought it might be time to leave. Their closet conversation had run its course, and he’d probably be wise to get out of here before someone found them like this.
But then he heard her voice again, soft and hesitant. “Tell me about Cara.”
The words caught him by surprise, but he kept his expression flat even though she probably couldn’t see it. “What do you want to know?”
“You were together a long time. Why did you split up?”
He laughed. “We’re at my brother’s funeral and you want to talk about why my girlfriend dumped me?”
“Sorry. We don’t have to—”
“It’s okay,” Kyle said, not really minding the question. “Like I told you the other night, I wasn’t that broken up about it. Not sad enough to even muster a few tears.”
“What happened?”
“The short version? She wanted to get married and have babies.”
“What’s the long version?”
“She wanted to get married and have babies and I didn’t.”
“Thanks for elaborating.”
Kyle shrugged, wondering why she was asking. “It was nice while it lasted, but ultimately we just wanted different things.”
It was the truth, though maybe not the whole story. Guilt twisted his gut as he remembered Cara’s tears, the hurled accusations. You’ll never look at me the way I’ve seen you look at—
“Did you know Matt didn’t want to marry me?”
“What?” He blinked in the darkness, trying to read Meg’s expression instead of just her tone, which was soft and cautious.
“Matt. He never wanted to get married. Not to me, anyway.”
“That’s not true,” he insisted, even as a tiny voice in the back of his brain asked, Isn’t it?
Meg sighed and leaned against the door. “It’s okay, I knew. I mean, we dated for more than eight years without him ever once bringing up the subject of marriage.”
“You didn’t talk about it at all?”
“I said he didn’t bring it up. Once a year, I’d broach the subject. I tried to play it cool, to act like I didn’t care that much, but all I had to do was say the word marriage and he’d act like I just shoved his testicles in a vise and started cranking.
“Ouch,” Kyle said, trying not to picture it. “He obviously changed his mind at some point. I never thought he had it in him to make such a romantic gesture with a proposal.”
“He didn’t.”
“What?”
“He didn’t make a romantic gesture with the proposal. That whole story we told the family was completely made up.”
Kyle stared at her, remembering the glow in her cheeks, the beautiful wildness in her eyes that autumn when Matt had stood up at the dinner table and said they had an announcement. Meg had sat there beaming, regaling them all with the story of Matt getting down on one knee at a candlelit restaurant with a solitaire in a champagne flute and a cello quartet playing their favorite song—
“I don’t understand,” Kyle said.
“We made it up,” she said. “Well, I made it up. I was embarrassed about how it really happened, so I just sort of blurted out this imaginary version of events. When Matt saw how everyone ate up that version of the story, he just sort of went with it.”
“What really happened?”
Meg sighed. “Like I said, I made a big effort to only bring up marriage once a year. We were watching a football game on TV and one of the players started talking about his wife in an interview—about how she was always there for him and was his rock through all the ups and downs. Anyway, I made a comment about how sweet that was. How the word wife sounded so much steadier than girlfriend or partner.
“What did Matt say?”
“I believe his exact words were ‘Jesus Christ, Meg—enough with the nagging already.’”
“God.” Kyle felt his hands clenching at his sides, and he cursed the part of himself that wanted to go back in time and punch his brother. Admittedly he hadn’t been on the same page as Cara when it came to marriage, but he liked to think he hadn’t been a dick about it.
“Normally, I would have just let it drop,” Meg continued. “I never wanted to be a nag, you know? But I guess I was thinking it had been eight years and I wasn’t getting any younger and—well, anyway, I asked why he was so opposed to marriage.”
“Why was he?”
“I don’t know. He never said. He picked up a bowl of potato chips and walked into the guest room to watch the rest of the game. We didn’t say another word about it until two nights later when he came home from work and slammed this little velvet box on the counter while I was in the kitchen making crab cakes.”
“The ring?” he guessed, hating this story the more he heard.
“The ring,” she confirmed. “I looked up and he said, ‘Here. We might as well do it.’”
“‘We might as well do it,’” Kyle repeated. “It has a certain romantic flair to it.”
“Matt never claimed to be a romantic,” she s
aid, sounding a little defensive. “I knew that from the beginning, and I was fine with it.”
The prickly note in her voice made Kyle bite back the criticism flaring up at the back of his brain. “Okay.”
“Anyway, he tried to put the ring on my finger, but my hands were covered in crab meat and egg, so I tried to rinse them off really fast, but the ring slipped off and went into the garbage disposal, and I spent the next twenty minutes trying to fish it out.”
“I guess that’s more unique than fishing it out of a champagne flute.”
“I don’t really like champagne anyway.”
“So you said yes?”
She hesitated, and he watched her brow furrow a little in the muted half-light. “You know, he never actually asked. And come to think of it, I never said yes. I just started wearing the ring and planning the wedding and trying really hard to believe he’d love being married once it actually happened.”
“I guess you never got to find out.”
“No,” she said, her voice soft in the darkness. “I guess not.”
Kyle hesitated, knowing he was treading on thin ice. No way in hell would his brother want her to know about those dark, somber months after the split. But Kyle could throw her a bone, couldn’t he?
“Even if you’re right that he didn’t want to get married, I know he loved his life with you,” he said softly. “He didn’t want that to end.”
“Neither did I,” she said. “Not then, anyway.”
She paused, and he wondered if she was thinking of a way to leave or a way to stay here for a little while longer.
“I met Chloe,” she said at last. “She seems nice.”
“She does? You’re sure you met Chloe?”
Meg snorted. “I was being polite.”
“Why? Chloe usually isn’t.”
“She’s probably just grieving,” Meg said, but didn’t sound convinced. “I didn’t even know Matt had a fiancée.”
“I think we were all sort of hoping she’d take a cue from you and call it quits before the wedding, but it wasn’t looking likely.”
“Sounds like they got engaged pretty quickly?”
Her tone was even, but there was something else in her voice. Something beyond casual curiosity. Kyle waited a few beats, wondering if she’d take back the question. Tell him she’d rather not know.