by Linda Seed
“It’s … I don’t even know how to handle this,” he said.
“Will. Handle what?”
“Melinda made a pass at me. Today. In the wine cellar. She kissed me and said Chris doesn’t have to know.” He shook his head, avoiding her eyes. “He’s my boss, and my friend. At least, he used to be my friend. This is pretty messed up.”
Rose felt a surge of hot anger in her core. It was pushing out and threatening to erupt. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought it was jealousy. Which was crazy, because she didn’t have feelings for Will.
“So what did you do?” She kept her voice even, the voice of a neutral observer and not of somebody who wanted to commit murder with her bare hands.
He shrugged. “I pushed her away and left. What else could I do? And she’s leaving tomorrow, which is great, but then she and Chris are coming to Ryan and Gen’s wedding, which is going to be awkward, to put it mildly.”
She put down her sandwich. “They’re coming to the wedding?”
“Yeah.”
“But what the hell for?”
“That’s what I wanted to know. Apparently, Gen and Ryan had a good date at Cooper House.”
“Ah.” Rose nodded knowingly. “Skinny dipping and library sex.”
Will closed his eyes and put up his hands, palms out. “That, I didn’t need to know.”
He picked up a taco, took a bite, chewed carefully, then wiped his mouth with his napkin. “She trash-talked you some more, said I couldn’t possibly be serious about you after I’d broken up with her.” He shook his head mournfully. “Help me out here, Rose. What does all of this mean? Because I’m a guy, and I don’t speak woman.”
Rose put aside her feelings about Melinda kissing Will, and about Melinda insulting her. She already thought Melinda was rude, superior, and snotty. What Will was telling her didn’t change that. Sure, Rose wanted to walk out of the restaurant, drive to Cooper House, and slap the woman’s skanky-ass face. But right now, Will was coming to her, as a friend, for her insight. She tried to focus on that.
“Well, it could mean a few things,” Rose offered. “It could mean she still has real feelings for you. Or it could mean she’s competitive; seeing you with me made her feel like she had to one-up me, just to prove she’s the better woman. Which she’s not, by the way. Or it could mean she’s got some sort of score to settle with Chris, and kissing you was a way to get back at him. Or, it could mean that she’s so pissed at you for dumping her that she wants to get you in trouble with Chris, maybe get you fired.”
“Wow.” Will raised his eyebrows in wonder. “I didn’t even know there were that many scenarios.”
“Oh, there are. And probably a few more I haven’t thought about.” She chewed a bite of sandwich thoughtfully. “What’s your gut feeling? You know her a hell of a lot better than I do.”
He shrugged. “It’s hard to say. I’d be surprised if she still had feelings for me. I mean, the reason we broke up was that she didn’t seem to like me that much anyway. She was always criticizing me about one thing or another. Usually my career path. She doesn’t think biology professors make enough money, apparently.”
“Huh.” Rose thought about that. “Well, if money’s what she’s after, she should be happy now, with Chris.”
“Right.” Will nodded. “You’d think so. She’s got what she wanted. So what’s to be unhappy about? And why risk that by messing around with me?”
Now that the initial shock of Will’s revelation had worn off, Rose found that she was ravenously hungry. She dove into her sandwich, which was sublime. The flavors of salty pastrami and spicy mustard mingled on her tongue. “God, this is fabulous,” she told him. She figured that a messy pastrami sandwich was probably a poor choice of food to eat on a date. But this wasn’t a date, so that was okay.
“Anyway. Melinda.” He tried to get her to refocus on the problem.
“Right. Sorry. Do you think it’s the competition angle? She sees you with another woman after you dumped her, and she’s got to prove she could get you back if she wanted to?”
“Maybe.” He looked thoughtful. “I could see that. I think I wounded her ego when I broke up with her.”
“Of course you did. It’s impossible not to get a wounded ego when you get dumped. But that doesn’t mean you were wrong to do it, and it doesn’t mean she gets to mess with you afterward just to prove a point.” She pointed one finger at him, the nail lacquered in deep blue.
“Right, I get that.”
“In the end,” Rose pointed out, “it doesn’t matter why she did it. What matters is what you’re going to do about it.”
“Do?” He looked surprised. “I’m not going to do anything. I’m not going to sleep with her, if that’s what she’s after, and I’m certainly not going to tell Chris about the kiss.”
“Okay.” Rose nodded, the big, messy sandwich held together in her hands. “But be alert. If it’s the competition/ego thing, you hurt her ego even more when you pushed her away. And she’s going to want payback.”
“Payback?”
“If it’s the ego scenario, yeah. Because now you’ve rejected her not once, but twice.”
“Ah, God.” Will looked miserable. “You women are so complicated.”
“Hey, don’t blame me,” Rose told him. “I’m not the one who kissed you in a wine cellar.”
“No. You kissed me at Table Twelve of Neptune.” He grinned.
And that thought distracted her from Melinda entirely. All she could think of, now that he’d brought it up, was the kiss, and the second kiss outside her house, and the nagging question of whether there might be another kiss, at another location, sometime soon. But that was a stupid thing to contemplate, since she was not interested in Will Bachman or his kisses.
Much.
“What are you going to do about the wedding?” she asked.
“What about it?”
“Well.” She cleared her throat and felt a little tremble of nervous energy under her breastbone. But why should she be nervous? It wasn’t as though what she was about to say meant anything. “You know. She thinks we’re a couple, and Chris thinks we’re a couple. And they’re going to be at the wedding, and we’re going to be at the wedding. So …”
“Ah. Right. You think we should keep up the charade?”
“What? Oh.” She pretended to be surprised by the question, as though that hadn’t been what she was getting at all along. “I guess if you think we should …”
“It’s just easier, don’t you think?” he said. “I mean, otherwise, we’ll have to pretend we broke up, and then we’ll have to act like two people who just broke up.”
“Complicated,” Rose said.
“Yeah.”
She sighed. “Maybe it’s best—easiest, I mean—if we have another fake date for the wedding. If you want to. Just, you know, to save yourself any trouble with Chris.” She felt a shimmer of excitement up her spine, but she ignored it. This would be a fake date, not a real one. And if it involved another fake kiss, so much the better.
Chapter Ten
After lunch, Will headed out to the snowy plover nesting area to do more field research. The thing was, he didn’t really need to do any more field research. He finally had everything he needed to persuasively show that a combination of global warming and the California drought had resulted in a change not only of the snowy plover’s markings, but also its bill length. Furthermore, the changes were occurring at a faster rate than anyone would have predicted.
He knew his data was adequate—more than adequate. He needed to get off the beach, get into his cottage, and start writing the data analysis section of his dissertation so he could just get his doctorate already.
But somehow, he was blocked. He couldn’t seem to make himself sit down in front of his laptop and do the work. He knew he was being self-defeating. He knew the only thing standing in his way was his own reluctance to finish the project. What he didn’t know was why.
Or, maybe
he did.
Will’s career path had been set for some time now. Get the PhD, then secure a teaching job in the department of evolutionary biology at a reputable university. It was a good career path. It would lead to job security, prestige, good benefits, a pension. What could be wrong with a solid pension?
Deep down, under the surface layer of ambition and practicality, Will was scared. What if he got the doctorate, and no one wanted to hire him? What if they did hire him, and he didn’t like teaching? What if wasn’t good at it, and didn’t get tenure? It all seemed so fraught with potential failure.
It seemed easier somehow to continue collecting data on the snowy plover, because it meant he could hang out on the beach and live on the grounds at Cooper House, which wasn’t at all a bad deal, when you thought about it. The longer he delayed, the longer he could stay in Cambria, which increasingly seemed like the place he wanted to be.
He hadn’t discussed any of this with anyone. Not with his friends, not with his family, and not with his dissertation adviser, who checked in every now and then wanting to know when Will was planning to finish. How could he talk about the problem, when he’d only just figured it out himself?
The fact that he was out here in the foggy morning amid the dunes and the birds, but didn’t need any more data, allowed him to let his mind wander.
He’d liked talking to Rose over lunch. He’d liked sharing his concerns about Melinda, confiding in Rose, just sitting there sharing a meal and being with her. He’d intended to ask her to go to Gen and Ryan’s wedding as his date, and he’d been prepared to pretend it wasn’t a real date. Pretending that he was pretending; there was a lot a therapist could say about that.
But he hadn’t had to ask her, because she’d suggested it herself. That had been a nice bonus. He wished he could just ask her out on a real date—no pretending—but he didn’t think she was ready for that. He was pretty sure she’d say no out of a knee-jerk pain avoidance reaction due to the injury she’d suffered at the hands of her ex.
If Will made his move now, Rose would run like a rabbit fleeing a hawk. She seemed tough on the surface, but inside, she was vulnerable. Sort of like the Goliath birdeater, the biggest spider in the world, with a body as long as a dollar bill. The Goliath birdeater had very little venom, defending itself only with its fearsome exterior. Rose was like that. Her appearance was intimidating, but it was a ruse to avoid becoming prey.
If he wanted to approach her, he had to be careful. He had to move slowly.
The wedding was in the middle of June. If he played it right, if he approached her with care and with a gentle spirit, maybe they could go together as a real couple by then.
He thought about her career goals, and his. She wanted to go to college, he wanted to work at one. Rose was so self-confident in most areas (if not in regard to relationships) that she would succeed in whatever she decided to do. He wished he could say as much for himself.
He needed Rose not just as a romantic partner—though the thought of that kept him awake nights, spinning happy, wishful scenarios—but also as an inspiration, as a reminder of what was possible when one was fearless, the way she’d been fearless when she’d left home.
And she needed him, whether she knew it or not, to inspire her to be fearless in matters of love.
They’d be a perfect match, he thought. Now he just had to make her realize it.
With the wedding quickly approaching, Rose found herself occupied with bridesmaid-related activities. The bridal shower had to be organized. Dress fittings had to be done. The invitations had been sent out three months ahead of the big day, because so many people would have to travel to Cambria for the event. Responses were beginning to come in, and someone had to sort through them to determine a likely guest count.
Shoes had to be bought. Consultations had to be made with the caterers, the photographer, and the guys who’d be setting up the dance floor in the old barn near Gen and Ryan’s new house, along with enough tables and chairs to seat two hundred. None of this was primarily Rose’s responsibility, of course, but she’d agreed to help out however she could.
Of course, with the Delaney wealth, Gen could have hired a wedding planner to deal with all of the details. But the Delaneys were do-it-yourself kinds of people, so such a thing had never seriously been considered.
Which was fine, because helping with the wedding was actually kind of fun.
This evening, the women had gathered after work to sit around Gen’s kitchen table in the new house, drinking wine and assembling place markers for the reception. In keeping with the theme of Gen’s career as an art dealer, they were splattering pastel paint on little three-inch-square canvases to create abstract paintings that complemented Gen’s color scheme. When the tiny paintings were dry, they would be placed on equally tiny easels, and then each would bear a banner-like ribbon with the guest’s name.
According to the messy nature of the task, they were dressed in jeans or sweats and T-shirts, all efforts to be fashionable abandoned. Gen’s wild red curls were gathered into a messy bun on top of her head, and Kate’s short, spiky hair was all askew. Lacy managed to look effortlessly elegant, as usual, as though a stylist had picked out her white cotton tee and had supervised the tearing of her jeans at the knees.
Gen and Rose were dripping and splashing paint on the canvases, Lacy was assembling the easels, and Kate was carefully writing on the ribbons with fabric pens.
The idea of making two hundred of these might have been overwhelming, but the wine and the conversation were making it seem more like a party than a task. It reminded Rose of one of those paint-and-sip places where everybody drank during an art lesson. That combination probably didn’t result in very good art, now that she thought about it.
“Hey, Kate,” Rose said. “When you get to my mom’s name, could you maybe misspell it or something? There’s a lot you can do with Pamela. Maybe Hamela. Or, wait. It’s a wedding, she might be drunk. Try Pamelush.”
“Huh.” Kate appeared to be considering it. “Pam rhymes with damn. And SPAM.”
Gen laughed. “As interesting an idea as that is, I don’t think it’s the best way to nurture your relationship with your mother.”
“I’m not sure I want to nurture it,” Rose said. “I think I’ve given up. I mean, she’s not a bad person, not really. She just wanted a different kind of daughter. Someone I don’t know how to be.” Suddenly her throat felt thick, and she silently cursed at herself; she hadn’t wanted to bring her family drama into what was supposed to be a fun evening. But now that she’d started talking about it, she found it difficult to stop. Plus, she needed their take on something.
“Oh, honey.” Kate put a hand over Rose’s on the table. “We don’t have to talk about your mother if you don’t want to.”
“No, I do need to talk about her. Because I have to decide whether to ask her to pay for me to go to college.”
Gen, Kate, and Lacy all stopped what they were doing to look at Rose.
“College?” Kate said.
“Wow! I didn’t know that was something you wanted,” Lacy said.
Rose shrugged and went back to dripping blush-pink and pale gray paint on a little white square. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about. There’s a viticulture program at Cal Poly. But it’s more than ten thousand dollars a year, and the pay at De-Vine isn’t exactly lavish. My mom is loaded. She probably spends more than that on her hair stylist.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Gen’s look of concern was punctuated by the drop of pink paint on the tip of her nose. “From what you’ve told me about your mom, she’s likely to use it as an opportunity to control you.”
“I know that,” Rose said irritably. “Don’t you think I know that? But what are my other options? Student loans? I can do that, sure, but … I’ve never had debt. As broke as I’ve been sometimes, I’ve always managed not to have debt.”
“Ryan and I could lend you the money.” Gen looked at Rose earnestly.
“No, no. I can’t—”
“You could pay us back when you’re ready. I know Ryan would say yes.”
Rose knew he would, too. Ryan was one of the kindest people she knew. It made her both jealous of Gen and over-the-moon happy for her.
“Thank you. Really,” Rose said. “But I can’t. Friends and loans don’t mix. Or, they do, but they create a chemical reaction that explodes and levels entire cities.”
“That’s true,” Lacy admitted.
Rose dripped some pink paint onto a canvas in a loose S formation. “Borrowing it from my mother … Our relationship is so damaged already that it hardly seems to matter.”
“What does Will think about the whole college idea?” Lacy asked.
The mention of his name in this context seemed incongruous, like she’d been putting together a jigsaw puzzle and had found a piece from a different box.
“How did Will get into this conversation?” Rose wanted to know.
Lacy shrugged. “It’s just … you’ve been spending time with him lately. I thought it might have come up.”
“It did,” Rose admitted grudgingly.
“So how did that go?” Kate prompted her.
Rose shrugged. “Talking about wanting to go to college led me to talking about why I haven’t gone yet. And that led to me telling him my running-away-from-Yale story. Which is really quite a story, you have to admit.”
“It is,” Lacy agreed.
“So what did he say?” Kate paused with a tiny ribbon in her hand.
“He said I was brave.” Even as she said the words, they seemed to shimmer inside her, and she felt herself getting choked up. “He said … he said anyone brave enough to do what I did then is brave enough—strong enough—to do this now.”
“Oh,” Gen sighed.
“Wow.” Kate looked a little choked up herself. “That’s … wow.”
“He’s right, you know,” Lacy said.
Rose wanted to think so. She really did.