by Carla Ryan
What?!?
She laughs at your bewilderment. "It'll never be perfect with that awful song in the background."
"We'll have to do something about that then." You lift your chin and get on your tiptoes, raising your arms. "Annette!" you call, though not very loudly. "Annette!"
Marigold laughs again, shushing you and pulling your arms back down. Nearby dancers glance your way, but you pay them no mind.
"I appreciate the gesture," Marigold says, planting your hand on her hip, "but I don't think our rich anniversary couple would."
"I guess you're right," you say as you start dancing again.
You're not sure if Annette is doing it on purpose or if this really is how the song goes, but you've definitely been dancing for way longer than the standard three minutes. Maybe time's just moving slower because you're with Marigold, although usually the hours slip by in minutes when you're with her. Either way, you're sure that, no matter what song is playing, this is what perfection feels like.
"What are you doing after this?" she asks, her breath hot on your ear.
Hold that thought.
"I don't know," you say, certain she can feel your heart suddenly thumping in your chest. "I don't have any plans."
"Do you... want to go back to my place?"
You were wrong. You were wrong! This is perfection!
"I'd love to."
She pulls back just enough to smile at you, but as she leans in to kiss you, something behind you catches her eye. She makes a sound of disgust.
"Do not look," she says, tucking her head back above your shoulder, "but there's a guy here who used to come to the hotel bar all the time. He was such an asshole. He hit on me and the other female bartenders constantly."
Your perfect moment comes crashing down all around you.
No. There are loads of creeps out there. It can't be him.
"The worst part was," she says, "he always wore this awful green suit. He said it was lucky."
NO!!!
You force yourself not to turn and look. If he recognizes Marigold, that'll be annoying but not necessarily the end of the world. But he knows the real reason you came here looking for Marigold. And considering the last time you saw him, you told the woman he wanted to sleep with that he had herpes, he has no reason to keep your secret.
Chapter Twenty
"He's here?" you ask, your voice now the opposite of calm.
Now, at the worst of all times, the song ends. The safety of the crowd is lost as the couples disperse.
"Yeah," says Marigold, "and I accidentally made eye contact with him. Maybe if I get back to my piano he won't --" She cuts herself off with a groan. "He's coming over here."
"I'm going to go to the bathroom," you say, keeping your back to him.
"No!" she hisses. "Don't leave me alone with him!"
"But I --"
"Do I know you?" Greer asks, coming up beside you. For once he's not in his lucky suit, opting instead for a standard black tie that actually fits. You probably wouldn't have recognized him if Marigold hadn't pointed him out.
"You look terribly familiar," he adds, his eyes on Marigold.
"Nope," she says, her icy tone reminding you of how she first responded to your advances. "Good night."
"Wait a minute." He reaches out and squeezes her arm to hold her there. "I remember now."
Like he ever forgot.
"You used to work at the T.J." He stands back, drinking her in from top to bottom, and even though drawing attention to yourself is the last thing you want to do right now, your fist is twitching to punch his smug face. "I see you took my advice and made yourself up. A woman who looks good, feels good."
You cringe, looking up at the clear night sky. Where's a bolt of lightning when you need one?
"Who's your friend?" he asks, lifting your hand to his lips.
On auto-pilot you rip your hand free before it can come into contact with anymore of him. He's taken aback by your reaction, and then his eyes narrow, recognition dawning in his face.
"Come on," you say to Marigold, but when you try to walk away, he moves in front of you.
“I know you,” he snaps. “You’re the one who cock-blocked me."
"You know him?” Marigold asks.
"I've never seen him before," you say to her, stepping around him.
"Oh!" he says, his face lighting up. He points back and forth between you two.
No! This cannot happen! Would anyone care if you threw this human porta-potty off the roof?
"Mary!" Willa calls from across the terrace. She waves Marigold over.
"The band needs you," you say, all but shoving her forward, but Marigold sees the panic in your eyes, and she stays where she is.
"How do you know him?"
Her question slices through you, and at that moment you'd gladly be the one to take a lightning bolt if that meant she would never know the answer.
"I don't. Now can we please --"
"You found her!" Greer says, ruining everything good in the world. "And from the way you were playing tonsil tackle during the song back there, it --"
"Shut up!" you snap.
But he knows exactly what he's doing. He may be a stain on humanity but he's not stupid, and he is having way too much fun wrecking your life to stop talking.
"-- looks like you got what you came for," he finishes.
Annette starts playing another tune, although her and Willa's attention is mostly on the three of you.
"What is he talking about?" Marigold asks you.
"I'll tell you later. Come on, they're playing without you." You try to lead her away from him, but again she stays put.
"Tell me now."
"It's not a big deal. I ran into him at the hotel bar when I was looking for you. He was unhelpful and repugnant. That's all."
"So how was she?" Greer asks, elbowing you in the ribs and wiggling his eyebrows. "Was it worth the trip?"
"Go away!" you cry.
"Is everything okay over here?" asks Willa, coming over. Rolling up the sleeves of her black button-down shirt, she glares at Greer.
"It's fine," you say. "He's --"
"What are you talking about?" Marigold asks Greer sharply.
"Don't --" you begin, but she cuts you off.
"I want to hear what he has to say." Looking back at him, she asks, "What do you mean, 'Was it worth the trip?' Was what worth it?"
"Oh," he says slowly, casting innocent eyes on you and Marigold. "Does she not know that you came here just to stick it to her?"
"I came here to find her," you say. "And I did. End of story."
"Yeah," he scoffs, "find her and shove a banana up her --"
"That's enough of that," Willa growls.
Greer shrugs. "Hey, I don't know what you ladies do. Maybe if you do it again I can watch; then I'll have a better --"
You can't stand it any longer. Your body reacts outside of your control, arms raising, hands shooting out. With all your strength, you shove him backwards, knocking him onto the hard concrete.
He cries out, drawing all eyes towards him, and you.
"What are you doing?" Marigold demands, although she doesn't offer him any comfort.
"He was being such a dick," you whisper, surprised at how angry she is. "I couldn't let him talk about you that way."
"From the sound of it," she says, not bothering to keep her voice down, "you were the one talking about me that way."
"No," you say. "I went to the bar looking for you. He twisted it into something gross."
"She said you didn't sleep with her," Greer says, wincing as he sits up, "and that she was going to make you say yes this time." He rubs the back of his head, glaring at you. "That's the Bible's honest truth."
A woman rushes over with two drinks in her hands. "Gigi!" she cries, dropping beside him. "Are you hurt?"
She helps him to his feet, and he throws you one last evil smile before letting him take her inside.
"Maybe you two can conti
nue this later?" Willa asks. "We've got a gig to finish, Mary."
"Is what he said true?" Marigold asks you, ignoring Willa.
"No!" you cry. The fear and pain in her eyes is like a hot poker in your gut. You can't lose her. Not now. Not ever.
"Mary?" asks a new voice. Tristao is walking over, his face full of concern.
Of course. How did everything go from perfect to hellacious so fast?
"I thought I heard your playing," he says, putting an arm around her, "but I've been stuck inside all night. Evening, Willa."
"Evening, Mr. C," she says, giving him a forced smile.
Huh? How does Tristao know Willa? And why is he being so familiar with Marigold? She doesn't look very happy to see him, but it could just be that she's not very happy at all right now.
"I saw you in the thick of some commotion out here," he says to her, "and thought I'd check in. Is everything alright?"
Tears are welling up in Marigold's eyes, but she hides them from him by looking towards Annette. "I'm fine, Dad," she says, her voice surprisingly steady. "I have to get back."
Dad???
"Poor Annie does look rather lonely over there," he says with a chuckle. He kisses the top of Marigold's head and lets her go. "Don't leave without saying goodbye."
Marigold goes back to the bandstand without another word, and without even a glance in your direction. Willa gives you a frown of uncertainty and quickly follows after her.
"What perfect weather for a party!" Tristao says, taking a deep breath of the night air. "You never mentioned you knew Marigold. When did you two meet?"
Still reeling from Greer's douchebag-of-the-year-award speech, your brain refuses to process this new information about Marigold's connection to Tristao.
"I'm sorry," you say, trying to fit a Marigold-shaped peg into a Tristao-shaped hole. "I didn't know... so you're... her father?"
His grin droops, and for the first time that you can recall, you see a touch of gloom pass through his face. "Yes, she can be rather stingy with that detail."
"But you have different names."
As if that makes it impossible.
"I married her mother when Mary was nine. She chose to keep her last name."
Her mother. "Marigold told me her mom died five years ago. I'm so sorry."
"Thank you," he says. "But you still haven't told me how you know Mary."
Apparently you don't.
How could you have been so stupid? You thought Marigold was honest with you, that she was who she said she is. How could she have been hiding something like this from you? What other secrets is she hiding?
"I'm sorry," you say, finding it harder and harder to breathe. "I have to go. I'm not feeling well."
"Oh." He holds out an arm for you, but you brush past it. "Should I call your mother?"
Your mother! You'd nearly forgotten about that. This really is the worst night of your life.
"No, thank you. I'm okay. I just have to go."
You dart inside, nearly knocking over a waiter in your hurry to escape. The giant inflatable figures that appeared so playful when you first arrived now seem to be watching you, chasing you, about to pounce. You're practically running by the time you get outside and hand the valet your ticket. Leaning against the brick wall, still warm from the day's sunshine, you close your eyes, feeling faint.
This is why. This is why relationships are bound to fail. Everyone has secrets, skeletons that, no matter how far back in the closet you bury them, always find their way out. You lied to her, she lied to you, and now you're both miserable. You were an idiot for thinking this would be different -- that she was different.
Relationships are the worst.
Chapter Twenty-One
Not a word passes between you and Marigold for the next two weeks. You keep busy with work, coordinating with Daly City, fielding calls from other interested districts, and doing an overall decent job of not thinking about her, but an hour before the next committee meeting, the upcoming encounter looms before you, darkening your mood.
"Wade!"
The phone on your desk rings with his desk number. "Yes?" he says over the intercom.
"Why haven't you sent me the slides yet? I told you I need those for this afternoon and I'm leaving in twenty minutes."
"I did send them," he says calmly.
"I'm staring at my inbox," you say, scrolling up and down in irritation. "They're not here."
The line goes dead and he comes in. Leaning over your shoulder, he scrolls slowly down, past the numerous unanswered emails, and finds his.
"Click," he says as he opens it.
"I guess I missed that," you grumble. "Thanks."
He goes back around your desk. "A bunch of the others are getting drinks tonight," he says, thumbing back towards the outer office. With just the two of you out here there's no need to rent an entire office. You could both work remotely, but you hate working from home, so every day he books a room in this shared workspace outside of the city with several other startups and small businesses. You generally keep to yourself, but he's already befriended most of the regulars. "Wanna go and show them how we do it East Coast style?"
"No thanks," you say, scanning his slides. "I'm gonna keep working on the board meeting presentation."
"Come on, boss," he says, sitting on the arm of one of the chairs. "You've been working non-stop for weeks -- getting into the office before I do, leaving after me. I'm sure your presentation's fine. Take a break. You need it."
"I know what I need," you snap, "and drinks with a bunch of Berkeley nerds and career P.A.'s isn't it."
Guilt twinges inside of you as soon as you say it, but you keep your eyes on the screen. You're the fracking CEO, you're supposed to work hard. The company wouldn't have been this successful if you had stuck to forty-hour work weeks and gone drinking with strangers at the drop of a hat.
Wade gets up. Out of the corner of your eye you can tell he wants to say something, but all that comes out is a short, "Okay," before he returns to his desk. When you leave for the meeting, he doesn't look up when you say goodbye.
You're a few minutes early, but Marigold and Ophelia are already in their usual seats, chatting quietly and chuckling like old friends. Ophelia gives you a polite greeting when you walk in, but it's not as warm as she usually is. Clearly Marigold has told her you two are over, and Ophelia's picked her side.
Marigold hardly glances at you, but seeing her breaks open the dam you've been building for the past two weeks. The emotions that you've been ignoring come hurtling into your consciousness, forcing you to acknowledge the truth: you miss her.
You're still upset that she never told you who her father is, but that pales in comparison to how much you miss her eyes and her smile, how she plays everything around her like a piano, and how half of her sentences start with, "I played a gig once..." Mostly though, you miss the way you feel when you're with her, that feeling of being welcomed, and seen. But there's no hope for any of that now, not after Greermageddon.
As you set up your laptop and the other committee members arrive, you catch snippets of Marigold and Ophelia's conversation.
"...can't wait to see... so glad we're going together..."
"...supposed to be beautiful this time of year... pack anything special?..."
Marigold and Ophelia are going somewhere? Together? Where? Why? When did Ophelia and Willa break up?
You try to let it go, telling yourself it doesn't matter who Marigold screws -- even if it is a woman you introduced her to. But at one point during the meeting, you see Marigold hand her a pen when Ophelia's stops working, and when their fingers touch, you swear there's a spark of heat between them that hits you like a shockwave.
"I think that's good for today," you say, abruptly closing your computer.
"I have a few questions," says the custodial rep.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not feeling well. Can you email them to me?"
The group disbands, Ophelia and Marigold the first on
es through the door. Off to do more vacation planning, no doubt.
When everyone's gone, you sit at the front table and lay your head on your arms, the long hours and sleepless nights of the past few weeks catching up with you. But without anything to distract you, your brain kicks in, filling the vacuum with thoughts of Marigold, questions you still can't answer, and memories you wish you could forget.
"Are you okay?"
The sound of Marigold's voice strikes your heart like a gong, releasing a sharp, painful tremor that resonates throughout your whole body. Slowly you lift your head.
"I forgot my purse," she says, walking over to pick up her purse off the floor. She gives you a worried look. "Are you okay to drive?"
Nope. You better drive me home. Better yet, drive me to your home and let me sleep in your bed. Next to you. Forever.
Not helpful. Besides, that side of Marigold's bed is apparently already claimed by Ophelia.
"I'm just tired," you say, getting up.
She gives a small, guarded nod, then starts for the door.
"I could probably use a vacation," you say, stopping her about halfway. "Any recommendations?"
"No," she says flatly.
Seriously? She's going to pretend like they weren't planning a trip right under your nose? She was probably doing it just to rub it in, to show you that she's already over you.
"What about wherever you and Ophelia are going?" you ask, shouldering your bag and walking over. "I hear it's beautiful this time of year."
At first she feigns confusion, but then she closes her eyes and lets out a small breath.
Busted.
"Ophelia and Willa," she says, "are taking Gus to visit family up in Rainbow Heights."
Oh.
"I guess I misunderstood," you mumble, feeling about as stupid and small as a sand flea.
She frowns at you, searching your face. "It was true, wasn't it?" she asks. "You didn't want me, you just wanted to sleep with me."
You could say no. You could say that it started that way, but then it turned into something new, something you didn't expect, and for a while you thought you'd found something even better than sex.