Nearlyweds

by Beth Kendrick

  “Ice water, stat,” Casey repeated, as if she were the MD instead of Erin. “Maybe you better get some chocolate ice cream, too.”

  “No ice cream.” Erin crossed her arms. “No dillydallying. I’m going to go buy a leopard-print thong. Maybe a matching garter belt, too.”

  Casey looked at her for a moment. “Erin. You realize that putting on exotic underwear isn’t going to magically transport you back to Boston.”

  Erin didn’t say anything.

  “And you realize that it’s not going to get your mother-in-law out of your house? Or make you twenty-one again?”

  “I don’t need water,” Erin insisted. “I need air. I’m suffocating.”

  I darted over to the fast-food counter with the shortest line and ordered the largest ice water they had, which turned out to be a plastic cup roughly the size of a wading pool. When I fought my way back to the table, Erin and Casey were deep in conversation.

  Erin was gesturing helplessly, her eyes bleak. “…I thought I was going into this with my eyes wide open. We were mature, we finished school, we had our finances in order, we talked about goals…”

  Casey nodded. “I know! Nick and I went to all these couples retreats—well, one; I signed us up for three, but he refused to go back after the first one—and I read all these books on what to expect before, during, and after the wedding.”

  I tried to join in, but the two of them were on a roll.

  “It wasn’t just about the white dress and the diamond ring,” Erin continued. “I was serious about it. I still am.”

  “Yeah, but no one ever tells you what happens after the honeymoon,” Casey finished. “How could they? You can’t understand what it’s like until you’re knee-deep in it.”

  “And if you’re on the outside, you have no idea what it’s like on the inside,” Erin said. “And then you end up at the mall on the day after Thanksgiving, having a nervous breakdown at the Clinique counter and trying to fill the gaping holes in your life with leopard-print thongs. Pathetic.”

  I cleared my throat. “I’m back. Here’s your ice water.”

  “Thanks, Stella.” Erin smiled absently up at me, like she was the major-league player and I was the bat boy. Then she went right back to Casey. “And they say it gets worse when you have children—the in-law drama, I mean.”

  “You can’t think like that,” Casey said firmly. “You have to take it one day at a time or you’ll go nuts.”

  I fidgeted, unable to contribute. It was too late for me to take anything one day at a time. Everyone who warned me not to rush into marriage had been right. I was a failure, and for the rest of my life, I would have to live with the reality that my choice of a husband—legal or not—had been a mistake.

  “I think I’m going to get some ice cream,” I announced, keeping my head down as I turned away from the table. “You guys want anything?”

  They waved me away, and as soon as I got in line at Ben & Jerry’s, a young mother queued up behind me, pushing a double stroller containing what I assumed were twins—a boy and a girl, both with defiant cowlicks in their soft brown hair. The boy was humming to himself and kicking the stroller in time with his tune. The little girl was drifting off to sleep, her thumb in her mouth as she stroked her cheek with her plump little fingers.

  A quick look at the mom’s ring finger confirmed that she was married. Probably to a guy her own age, who’d come into the marriage without any ex-wives or hateful daughters or secret vasectomies.

  I stepped out of the line and into the crowd, trying to put as much distance between myself and those twins as I could. But the mall’s corridors were packed with shoppers, and after two minutes of mincing along at a glacial pace, I lost patience and ducked into the nearest store, a froufrou bath boutique full of scented shower gels and organic soaps.

  Inhaling deeply, I willed my tense shoulders and clenched fists to relax. Aromatherapy—that’s what I needed. As long as I was in here, I should pick up some lavender bath oil and a seaweed face mask. Then I could go home, fill up the Jacuzzi…

  But wait. I couldn’t go home and fill up the Jacuzzi because I didn’t live there anymore. I’d have to go back to Casey’s, rinse out the bathtub, turn on the faucet with a wrench, and hope the hot water didn’t run out, which Casey had warned me it often did.

  I leaned forward to sniff a red-striped block of peppermint soap when I heard Taylor’s voice. Right behind me.

  “You should have seen her, Mom. Crying over the slimy remains of the turkey. The whole thing was hilarious.”

  “Well, your father never was one to help out in the kitchen,” replied an amused, cultured voice with a hint of a Boston accent. “Remember the time I put him in charge of the appetizers and the fire department had to come out?”

  Taylor giggled. “I think the whole neighborhood remembers. But honestly, she’s worse than he is! Thank God their disgusting dog ate the whole dinner.”

  “Don’t be catty, sweetpea.” But the tone was indulgent.

  I froze, my face inches away from the scented soap, afraid that if I turned my head even an inch to the side, I’d be recognized.

  “Well, anyway, that’s the last Thanksgiving I’ll have to spend with her.” Taylor sounded overjoyed. “They had a huge fight right in front of me and Marissa—about the dog, of all things—and she packed a bag and left. What a hag.”

  “Lots of people have fights over the holidays—I’m sure they’ll work it out.”

  “Daddy doesn’t think so,” Taylor announced triumphantly. “He says she’s gone for good and he knew it was coming all along.”

  “Really.” Her mother sounded skeptical. “He said that?”

  “Yep. He was as mad as she was, maybe madder. I swear, if he’d had a bottle of champagne in the house, he would’ve opened it.”

  My eyes started to water from the overpowering smell of peppermint.

  “Good-bye and good riddance. That’s what he said. And she deserves it! Like he didn’t give her everything she ever asked for. That gigantic diamond ring, for starters. I can’t even believe how much he spent on that thing. He said he was going to buy me a new car last summer, but as soon as she came along…And they didn’t even last six months.”

  “Hmm.” The other voice was still skeptical. “Well, she’s young, you know. Very young.”

  “Not that young,” Taylor shot back. “She’s the same age as me, and I know enough not to have tantrums just because some stupid turkey didn’t turn out perfect.”

  “Well, it’s your father’s marriage, not ours. So really, it’s none of our business.”

  “Ha! My family, my business. She’s a nanny, Mom. It’s so clichéd. And she’s not even that pretty.”

  Taylor extended her forearm to spritz a sample of body splash on her wrist. A blast of vanilla-scented chemicals assaulted my nostrils.

  I started sneezing and couldn’t stop. My eyes squeezed shut as I braced myself against the counter with one hand and tried to cover my mouth with the other.

  “Ugh,” Taylor said loudly. “It’s so inconsiderate to go out in public if you’re sick. Stay home and keep your germs to yourself.” Then she looked up from her vial of vanilla long enough to meet my eyes. “Holy shit.”

  “My sentiments exactly.” I crossed my arms, rocked back on my heels, and took a good, long look at the woman who’d been married to my husband before me.

  Brenda Porter had the long, reddish hair, porcelain complexion, and regal composure of a titled English lady. Her face looked like one of the old oil portraits hanging in the Clark Art Institute in Williamstown. In her well-cut black trench coat and knotted silk scarf, she looked like the kind of woman who’d never made a fool of herself or raised her voice—not even when giving birth to her demon spawn. Mark told me she’d been standoffish and hated to try new things, but as I looked at her, I was consumed with envy. She’d been with the man I loved, and look how much better she’d handled herself. She’d held on to him for fifteen years. She’d alw
ays kept her home warm and inviting, with no anarchist dogs. She’d convinced Mark to have babies (even if they had turned out to be demon spawn).

  Basically, she was everything I wanted to be when I grew up, and I really had to fight the urge to cram the entire bar of peppermint soap down her throat.

  “Well, speak of the devil.” Taylor turned to her mother with a smug little smirk. “Mom, this is Stella, Dad’s new—and soon-to-be ex-wife.”

  “How do you do.” Brenda extended her right hand.

  Taylor looked pointedly at my left hand. “I notice you’re still wearing the diamond.”

  “Oh my God.” My voice was sharp. “Why are you so obsessed with this little piece of rock?”

  “There’s nothing little about it.” Taylor fluffed her hair. Brenda didn’t encourage her daughter, but she didn’t make any move to intervene, either. “You could put someone’s eye out with that thing.”

  “Don’t give me any ideas.”

  Taylor lifted her chin. “See, Mom? I told you she was immature.”

  “I’m immature?” I squeaked with outrage. “I’m not the one who ruined Thanksgiving!”

  “You’re the one who burned the entire meal, then let the dog eat it all, then started screaming and left your husband. So actually, I’d say you are the one who ruined Thanksgiving. Plus, you robbed me of my rightful convertible.”

  “Here.” I grabbed my engagement ring and yanked it off. “Here! If a car means that much to you, then here! Take the damn thing and go cash it in!”

  I slapped the diamond into her hand, hoping the ring’s prongs might nick a vein or two.

  Taylor tried to shove it into her coat pocket, but Brenda stopped her. “Taylor, you can’t take this.”

  “Oh yes, she can,” I said.

  “She can’t.” Brenda handed the ring back to me. “Taylor, you go on ahead. I’ll meet you at Crate and Barrel.”

  Taylor shot me a venomous death glare, then stomped off toward the door. My cheeks burned with shame as I visualized her and Brenda sitting around the breakfast table with Marissa tomorrow, cackling about my public meltdown.

  “Stella.” Brenda patted my arm and gazed into my eyes with what almost looked like compassion. “Like it or not, we have something in common: we both married Mark. I lived with him for fifteen years.”

  “So what are you saying?” I crossed my arms defensively. “You know him better than I do?”

  “No.” But she was obviously lying. “I’m merely saying I have some insight into how he handles relationship problems.”

  “And?”

  “And you might want to hold on to that ring. The first year of marriage is hard, particularly when you’re married to Mark, but he adores you, Stella.”

  I shook my head. “But Taylor just said…”

  Brenda laughed softly. “Champagne and ‘good riddance’? Taylor has a flair for the dramatic, but she’s not always a stickler for factual accuracy. Here.” She pressed the ring into my palm. “Mark and I have kept in touch since the divorce, and he’s dated a lot of women. But you’re special to him. He loves you very much.”

  I paused. “Shouldn’t he be telling me this?”

  “Confrontation has never been his forte. I know I shouldn’t meddle, and I’m sure you don’t appreciate it.” She adjusted the strap of her purse. “Children have a way of complicating things between a husband and wife.”

  No kidding. I nodded and opened my mouth, but nothing came out. What was the appropriate way to thank your husband’s ex-wife for marriage advice?

  Before I could string a sentence together, Brenda pivoted on the heel of her immaculate black boot and followed Taylor into the crowd.

  Still reeling with shock, I squeezed my engagement ring, then slipped it back on my finger. He adored me. He missed me.

  He refused to have children with me.

  I wandered up and down the aisles, breathing in the heady blend of spice and florals, and picked out a bottle of lavender bath oil. Just in case.

  As the clerk rang up my purchase and handed me my receipt, my cell phone started to ring. Mark.

  17

  CASEY

  So did you call Mark back yet?” I asked Stella, who was fondling her cell phone while pretending to be engrossed in a cable broadcast of White Christmas.

  “No.” Stella stared at the phone as if she could force it to ring again via psychic powers. “I want to, but—”

  “But what?” I prompted.

  “But nothing’s really changed between us.” She snuggled back into the throw I’d knitted from soft Irish wool and tucked her feet up underneath her. Stella had been camped out in my apartment for the last two days, cocooned in flannel pants, Mark’s old sweater, and multiple blankets, leaving the sofa only for bathroom breaks. And she still looked like Jennifer Connelly, damn her.

  “Well, you need to get up and find something to do,” I advised. “This whole sitting-around-doing-nothing routine? Erin says it’s a one-way ticket to Prozac Junction.”

  “I went shopping with you guys,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah, on Friday. And ever since we got back from the mall, you’ve been sprawled out on that couch like a beached whale.”

  Stella scowled. “Are you calling me fat?”

  “Only if a size four is fat.”

  “Okay, then.” She helped herself to another double chocolate chip cookie and stroked Maisy the cat, who had curled up next to her. “I miss Cash. He’s the worst dog ever, but he’s sort of growing on me. I hope Erin’s taking good care of him.”

  “Why don’t you go visit him? Man problems plus a vegetable state of inactivity equals serious depression,” I warned again. “Take it from someone who’s been there.”

  She dragged her glassy gaze away from Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney for a second. “Is that why you’ve been so busy this weekend?”

  “I just like a clean home.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s clean and then there’s totally obsessive. You, my friend, have crossed the line.”

  “What? I’ve just been trying to get the place presentable for company.”

  “You reorganized the silverware drawer.” She started on another cookie. “You took a toothbrush to the grout on the bathroom floor.”

  “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

  “Have a seat.” Stella patted the couch cushion next to hers. “Join me on my journey to Prozac Junction.”

  I shook my head. “I have to get up early tomorrow to open the store. Inventory. And before I go to bed I should wash the towels, scrub the sinks, put together the grocery list—”

  “Casey.” She covered her ears. “Stop. You’re making my head spin. Sit your butt down and travel to a magic, black-and-white wonderland of Christmas carols and cute guys in uniform.”

  I walked over to the sofa and tried to sit down, but as soon as the backs of my legs touched the cushion, I bounced right up again. “I can’t. I can’t sit still. I have to stay busy.”

  Stella gave me a look. “This is about Nick, right? Has he called yet?”

  “No.”

  “Have you packed up all his stuff?”

  I glanced down the hall toward the hamper, where Nick’s dirty socks and boxers still mingled with my whites. “No.”

  She clapped her hands. “Then let’s go, girl, he’ll be home any minute, right?”

  “It’s not that easy. Nick and I…it’s complicated. I know that sounds like a cop-out, but I’m not ready to give up on him yet. This isn’t like you and Mark; it’s not an all-or-nothing issue.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And we’re never going to solve our problems if I change the locks and make him sleep out in the snow.”

  “Didn’t you say his parents live like five miles away?”

  “That’s not the point.” I bristled. “He’s my husband—well, sort of, anyway—and I can handle him. People change, you know. It happens.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The phone rang, saving m
e from the rest of this conversation. “See? That’s probably him right now!” I snatched up the cordless phone on the kitchen counter. “Hello?”

  “Casey?”

  It took me a full five seconds to recognize the voice. “Tanya?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Listen, I know we haven’t really talked for awhile—”

  “What happened to your voice?” I asked, hurrying into the bedroom and closing the door behind me. “You sound hoarse.”

  “I’ve had a long day. Brett left me.”

  “Again?” My sister’s two-year relationship with her live-in boyfriend could best be summed up in two words: train wreck.

  “Yeah. We had a huge fight last night. He’d been drinking a little too much and I’d been working overtime a little too long, and you know how that goes. I yelled at him for not being supportive of me and the boys, and he said I’m never happy and he can do better than me.”

  I sank down onto the bed. “Tanya. You don’t have to take this crap from him.”

  “But I love him.” Her voice cracked. “And I keep thinking, if I can’t make it work with him, then who can I make it work with?”

  Someone who’s not a selfish, lying jackass? “Stop beating yourself up. You can do so much better.”

  “No, I can’t.” Her voice went flat as she pulled herself together. “I can’t. And I know you told me not to come crying to you with the same old problems—”

  “It’s okay,” I soothed. “I just wish you wouldn’t let him do this to you over and over again. Brett’s a lost cause. He’s never going to change.”

  I remembered what I’d just told Stella: “People change. It happens.” As much as I disparaged my sister for clinging to a man who took advantage of her blind devotion, wasn’t I guilty of the exact same thing?

  Tanya sounded empty and defeated. “I just keep thinking, maybe if I’d tried a little harder, if I hadn’t nagged him so much…”

  “It’s not you,” I said crisply. “It’s him. Forget about him and move on. You’ll be better off.”