Nearlyweds

by Beth Kendrick

  We stared at the willowy young brunette chatting with Renée.

  “Who’s the chick in the green dress?” Nick asked. “Is that her daughter?”

  “David’s an only child.” I strained to get a better look at Renée’s companion. “At least, I thought he was.”

  “They look exactly alike,” Nick said. “Even their dresses look the same. What’s up with that?”

  The younger woman did bear a striking resemblance to David’s mother. Same haircut, same ramrod posture, even the same shade of red lipstick.

  “Maybe she figured out a way to go back in time and clone herself?” I suggested.

  We got our answer two minutes later when David showed up, straightening his tie and stammering apologies about getting held up at the hospital. I couldn’t see his face, but from the way Old Renée was cooing and shoving him toward Young Renée, it was clear she had orchestrated a date.

  “I can’t believe this,” I fumed. “Erin hasn’t even been gone two hours!”

  “Bad form,” Nick agreed, watching David shake Young Renée’s limp, perfectly manicured hand.

  “What a ho!”

  Nick looked a little afraid of me. “Hey, maybe she doesn’t know about Erin—”

  “Not her—him!”

  “Oh.” He took a sip of his Jack and Coke. “Then yeah, pretty much.”

  “Who the hell does he think he is, going out and having a good time while Erin cries herself to sleep every night? And with someone who looks just like his mother, talk about sick—”

  “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe that’s his cousin.”

  I sat back in my chair and fumed. “Ugh. Disgusting, the whole thing.”

  “Okay, just calm down—”

  “I will not calm down! He lets Erin walk out of his life so his mom can be his pimp?”

  Nick started to stroke my back soothingly. “It sucks, but it’s really not our business. Let’s just calm down and have a nice dinner.”

  “I’m going over there.”

  Nick clutched at the back of my blouse. “Do not go over there.”

  But it was too late. I weaved and dodged through the crowd like an offensive lineman on heels.

  I was three steps away from David when he started yelling.

  “For the last time, Mother, I do not want to date anyone! I’m married!”

  I froze, along with everyone else in the front half of the restaurant.

  Renée toyed with her pearl pendant. “Now, David, stop being ridiculous. Kaitlyn is a lovely girl, and I know you two will get along famously once you get to know her.”

  “I don’t want to get to know her!” He turned to the shell-shocked brunette and murmured, “Sorry, nothing personal.”

  “Lower your voice,” Renée admonished. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  “I’m embarrassing you? The woman who springs a blind date on me with no warning?”

  Kaitlyn tugged up the collar of her shirtdress and started edging toward the door, but Renée blocked her exit. “I’m not asking you to fall in love and propose tonight—although you could do a lot worse. Kaitlyn here is my protégée at the gardening club. She has a BA in horticulture, she’s an excellent cook, and she likes to golf, isn’t that right, dear?”

  Kaitlyn smiled up at Renée with what looked like hero worship. “I’ve heard so much about you, David. You’re very lucky to have a mother like Renée.”

  “Really?” David loosened his collar. “Did she tell you I’m married?”

  “David, stop it this instant,” Renée commanded. “You’re not married. That woman left you high and dry, and I don’t want to hear another word about her.”

  “Good night, Mom.” David spun on his heel and headed for the coat check.

  Renée dug her fingers into his arm.

  “Let go of me,” he bit out.

  Her eyes widened at the steel in his tone, but she didn’t back down. “Don’t you talk to me that way. You’re going to sit down and have a lovely dinner with us, and I don’t want any more arguments.”

  I felt a pang of sympathy for Kaitlyn, who clearly would rather be facing down an amphitheater full of bloodthirsty lions.

  “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” Kaitlyn—she really did look like Renée, the resemblance was eerie—cleared her throat. “I thought we were…I’m just gonna go.” And this time, she managed to slip away to the hostess stand.

  “Are you happy now?” Renée snapped at her son. “You’ve ruined what could have been a delightful evening.”

  “I didn’t ruin anything,” David said. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? You always have to cross the line.”

  “I’m trying to make you happy. It’s time you moved on. Erin was never right for you. She was uppity, opinionated, contrary—”

  “Has it ever occurred to you that I like uppity, opinionated, contrary women?”

  “You’d be much happier with someone like Kaitlyn.”

  “With someone like you, you mean. Whether you like it or not, Erin is my wife.”

  “Well, she’s gone.” Renée’s smile was savage. “She gave up on you and went back to Boston. She didn’t want to fight for you.”

  “She shouldn’t have to fight for me.” David’s frustration was almost palpable. “I should have fought for her.”

  “She moved on,” Renée crowed. “It’s too late.”

  “Actually,” I volunteered, “you only missed her by an hour.”

  David finally noticed me. “Where?…”

  “She just left for Boston,” I supplied. “She’s staying at her friend’s apartment. Simone, I think she said.”

  “Thanks.” He bolted for the door.

  Renée stumbled as she attempted to chase him down. “David, wait! You can’t do this!”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “I want my wife back. I want my whole life back. And I want you out of our house.”

  “You don’t mean that! Where will I go?”

  “You’ll figure something out; you’re very resourceful.”

  “But David, please, I’m your mother—”

  He didn’t give her a chance to finish, didn’t even pick up his coat on the way out to the parking lot.

  “I’ve got to call Erin!” I told Nick, whipping out my cell phone.

  Nick sighed, all put-upon. “You’re distracted.”

  “Uh, yeah. Biggest scandal of the season just went down ten feet away from us.”

  “But I wanted to talk about something important at dinner.”

  “We will; don’t worry.” I turned my back on him as Erin’s voice mail clicked on. “Hey, it’s me. Heads up; you’ll never guess what just happened. Think Mothra versus Godzilla. Call me back!”

  Ten minutes later, I was ready to resume my date but Nick, still waiting for a table, was doing a slow burn.

  “This was supposed to be our night. I made all these big plans, and everything’s gone to hell.”

  “Nothing’s gone to hell.” I glanced at the digital clock on my cell phone screen. “Do you think David is on the turnpike yet?”

  “I don’t want to talk about David.” He raked his hands through his hair, his eyes wild. “We’re supposed to be talking about us. You. Me. Who cares about Erin and David?”

  “I’m sorry, honey. But Erin’s my friend.”

  “I know. It’s just…I had everything arranged, and we were supposed to be eating our entrées by now!”

  “Who cares?” I exhorted. “It’s just dinner.”

  He remained glum.

  “Cheer up.” I leaned over to kiss his cheek. “We’re together, we’re having fun—or we could be, if you’d stop acting so prickly. Tell you what, put on a happy face and we’ll get an extra dessert after dinner. To go.”

  He perked right up. “Really? You want to do the dessert thing?”

  I winked. “Sure.”

  “Hmm.” He studied the specials menu, leering. “I’m thinking the cranberry tart. On the smal
l of your back.”

  “Will you be deep-frying it first?” I whispered seductively.

  “Just for that, I’m using a fork. A really pointy one.”

  I licked my lips. “Oh, baby. That’s hot.”

  Just as we were launching into a really steamy PDA, a bow-tie-wearing server appeared at the bar. “Follow me, please. Your table is ready.”

  “Let’s just get dessert to go,” I urged Nick. “Who needs dinner?”

  “You do,” he said, capturing my hand in his. “You need the whole nine yards: dinner and dessert and everything after. Now stop asking questions. You’ll ruin the surprise.”

  29

  ERIN

  By the time I let myself into Simone’s tidy, white-walled condo, my temples were throbbing with a tension headache. The drive to Boston had given me too much time to think, and the van’s staticky radio and jouncy suspension had left me achy and depressed. I needed half a bottle of ibuprofen, a bubble bath, and twelve hours of sleep, in that order. Unfortunately, Boston’s real estate prices had rendered bathtubs an extravagant luxury, so I’d have to make do with a hot shower.

  I turned on the faucet, twisted my hair up, and left my turtleneck, sweater and jeans in a heap on the green tile floor. After a few minutes of inhaling warm steam, I sank down to the shower’s tile floor and curled up under the steady pulse of the water, hugging my knees to my chest.

  There was no doubt in my mind that I belonged back here, but from the moment I’d first sighted the city lights, I’d felt empty and alone. David and I had started in Boston. We’d thrived here, gathered strength from each other as we’d triumphed over what had seemed like impossible challenges: my board exams, his thesis defense. How could one petite senior citizen in a reindeer sweater destroy everything we’d had?

  When I finally turned off the water, my cell phone was beeping—I had a message. The missed call log listed Casey’s number, followed by David’s. My tension headache made a roaring comeback.

  Casey’s message was garbled–all I could make out were the words “Mothra versus Godzilla”—and she didn’t pick up when I called her back. David’s voice mail said simply, “Call me on my cell the second you get this.” Before I could even dial, my phone rang again. David. When I let it ring, he texted me: Code Blue. Our private equivalent of SOS. David had made many questionable decisions over the course of our relationship, but he had never once abused Code Blue. Something monumental must have gone down. I wrapped myself up in a bathrobe and dialed his number.

  “Thank God you called me back,” was how he greeted me when he picked up the phone.

  “This better be important,” was how I greeted him.

  “It is. Meet me at our bar in half an hour.”

  I frowned. “What?”

  “You know. The Cat and Canary. Corner of Boylston and—”

  “I know where our bar is, David. But why are you in Boston?”

  “Meet me in thirty minutes and I’ll explain everything. And wear the black lace thong.”

  “I’m hanging up now,” I warned.

  “Okay, don’t wear the black lace thong. Just be there.”

  He clicked off the line.

  No way was I getting dressed and going back out into the subzero wind. No way.

  Except…seriously. Why had he followed me to Boston? The curiosity was killing me.

  Fine. I’d go to the bar, but I wouldn’t get dressed up. No lipstick, no camouflage skirt, definitely no racy undies. If only I had a garish reindeer sweater. That would serve him right.

  David had staked out a secluded booth in the back of the dark, noisy pub, which tonight was packed to the rafters with buzzed college kids and illicit cigarette smoke. The bartop where I’d gyrated with such abandon on the night we’d met was obscured by a wall of thirsty patrons. I made my way through the crowd at the pool table and slid into the seat across from David.

  “I’m here,” I announced, giving him what I hoped was a flinty stare. “What’s up?”

  “First, I’m sorry about the, you know, thing at the Blue Hills Tavern. I already called Jonathan to apologize.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “My friend Jonathan?”

  “That’s the one. Also, I want to show you something.” He pulled a folded slip of paper out of his pocket and shoved it across the sticky, beer-stained table.

  I unfolded the thin, bluish rectangle of carbon paper, which turned out to be a receipt he’d torn out of his checkbook. He’d written a check to Renée in the amount of…“Oh my God.”

  He sat up a little straighter. “Are you impressed?”

  “That you gave your last remaining cent to your mother? No.”

  He shook his head, impatient. “I didn’t give her anything. I’m paying her back. For the down payment. This is all I have in the bank, but it’ll have to tide her over until we sell the house.”

  “David.” I stared at the sum scrawled on the receipt. “This is your entire emergency fund.”

  “Yeah, well. This is an emergency.”

  I looked up at him. “What happened?”

  “Everything sucks since you left,” he said. “That’s what happened. I can’t believe I let you go.”

  “You didn’t let me do anything,” I countered. “Trust me, I was getting out come hell or high water.”

  “Because I let things get out of hand. Moving to Alden, letting my mom move in, accepting that money from her, leaving the dog in the basement…I felt like we owed her something. But us, our marriage—that’s worth a hell of a lot more than twenty thousand dollars.”

  I blinked. “And you’re just realizing all this now?”

  “No, I knew. But I…well, I let her play me.” He lifted his chin. “She always said she wanted me to be happy. And I believed her.”

  “She does want you to be happy. The problem is, she thinks she knows what makes you happy better than you do. And I can’t deal with it anymore. She always has to win, and that means I always have to lose.”

  “That’s why we’re selling the house. She’s my mother, and I love her, but I won’t give you up for her.”

  “You already did,” I pointed out.

  “Something happened tonight.” He looked grim. “Something bad.”

  “Is that what Casey called about?”

  “She tried to set me up with another woman. And I didn’t like it. I really didn’t like it.”

  We regarded each other for a long, silent moment. Finally, I asked, “What happened?”

  “She ambushed me at the White Birch. She claimed she wanted to use that gift certificate and asked me to meet her for dinner. So I show up, and she’s lying in wait with her latest disciple from her garden club.”

  “Shut up.” I sat back. “She wouldn’t. Even Renée wouldn’t—”

  “She did.”

  “That is—”

  “I know. Things got kind of, uh, heated.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “And when you say heated…”

  “I told her she had twenty-four hours to get out of our house. And it’s going on the market on Monday. I left a message with our Realtor on the way out here.”

  “But we’ll lose money,” I protested. “After you factor in closing costs and commissions—”

  “I don’t care. I want my wife back.”

  I leaned forward. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but where’s your mom supposed to go?”

  “Already covered that. I called Henry Reynolds on the drive out here. He said he’d be delighted to offer up his guest room until she can move back into her house.”

  “But she can’t stand Henry.”

  “If she doesn’t like my solution, she can find one of her own. But I’m betting she’ll have a miraculous change of heart about Henry.”

  I watched David carefully, searching for any sign of the conflicted, agonized guilt that had wrenched our relationship apart over the past few months. He looked tired, but utterly determined.

  “I’m moving back to Boston,” he info
rmed me.

  I had to laugh. “Oh, are you? And what if I decide that I don’t want to go down this road with you again?”

  “I’ll wait you out. I’m very patient.”

  There he was—the forthright, take-charge man of action who’d managed to stop me in my tracks and charm the hell out of me, even though I’d broken his fingers. When we’d fallen in love, I’d never felt surer of anything in my life. And right now, despite my best efforts to remain bitter and detached, that certainty was settling back into my soul.

  My husband had returned.

  I shredded the edge of the check receipt with my thumbnail. “Christmas is coming up, you know.”

  “And?”

  “I volunteered to be on call at the hospital this year. But soon enough, there’ll be Easter and Fourth of July, and birthdays, and maybe someday we’ll want to have kids…”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Well, I’m glad you stood up to Renée. I am. But, for better or for worse, she’s still your mother. What’s the plan with that? Are we never going to see her again?”

  He considered this for a moment. “It’s your call. After what she did to you—”

  “We can’t hold a grudge forever. I don’t want to cut her off like that.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get me wrong; we definitely need to set limits, but she does love you. A lot. Albeit in an all-consuming, desperate, scary kind of way.”

  “Erin.” He shook his head. “The woman tried to kill you. Repeatedly.”

  “So we’ll start small. Brief phone conversations. Very brief.”

  “You’re forgiving her?” he asked, shocked. “Just like that?”

  “I’m forgiving you,” I said. “But that’s the tricky thing about marriage: it’s a package deal. Family comes with.”

  “If you say so.”

  “And we should send her something for Christmas.” I grinned as I remembered the gift I’d picked out for her. “Something really special.”

  “Oh. That reminds me. She wanted me to give you this.”

  “I thought you said you yelled at her and kicked her out of the house?”

  “I did. But while I was throwing stuff into my suitcase, she begged me to take this along.” He lifted a red-and-green-wrapped box out of the brown paper bag beside him. “She said to tell you she’s sorry and this is her peace offering.”