Marci lowered her voice. “Don’t tell him I told you, but Jake’s feet are smelly, too. Yuck! Okay, Timothy…”
“Got into a fight at a bar on our third date.”
“Matthew?”
“Mommy issues. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah. Who was that guy who didn’t wash his hands after pooping?”
“Reggie.” Suzanne made a face. The two of them shuddered and giggled. The timer dinged, and Marci got the brownies out of the oven before going back to the list.
“Okay, what about Frank?”
“Public relations guy. Dated three weeks. Too…polished. He seemed like the kind of guy who would make you iron his underwear.”
“Manuel?”
“He’s a chef. Owns the Mexican restaurant down the street. We weren’t dating so much as hooking up after closing some nights. He’d give me free margaritas and we’d talk business for a while, and then…you know. It just never turned into more than that. I’m not really sure why.”
“Down the street? So he might be able to follow you?”
“I guess,” Suzanne said slowly, thinking. “But I don’t know why he would. I’m pretty sure he’s dating someone now. I think he would’ve told me if he were mad at me—stalking doesn’t seem like his style.”
“Hmm…You put a star by this one. Who is William? Oh, wait…that William?”
“Seriously, Marci. I know you lived in Austin back then and everything, but pay attention.”
“It was San Francisco, actually, before I moved to Austin,” Marci corrected. “Speaking of paying attention. And of course I remember now. The New Year’s Eve party.” She shook her head sadly.
“Yeah, I thought he should go on the list even though it was so long ago. I dated him the longest, actually. Almost a year. Aren’t you proud?” She said this with a bleak smile.
“So, why, again, did you say no?” Marci asked.
Here was a question everyone Suzanne knew had asked her over and over at the time, and her mother still brought up about twice a year. She had never come up with a satisfactory answer. “I just…wasn’t ready.”
William Fitzgerald was the boy Suzanne had dated the longest, and tried very hard to fall in love with. He was also the boy who had asked her to marry him in front of their parents and nearly everyone their parents knew at the country club’s New Year’s Eve party. And in front of more than three hundred people, all half-blitzed and ready to celebrate good news of any sort, Suzanne had been forced to say no.
“Where is he now?”
“I have no idea.”
The brownies had cooled enough by now not to burn the roofs of their mouths, so they set the notes aside and cut into them with a spatula, eating them warm, straight from the pan. For a few minutes there was no conversation, all of it lost in the smacking sounds of gooey chocolate.
“You know what’s weird?” Marci said. “There are so many guys on this list I’ve never met.”
“Well, you lived out of state for a lot of this time,” Suzanne said, reaching for another brownie. Marci had moved away shortly after college and only returned three or four years ago. Suzanne had always hoped she would come back; things weren’t the same without her. In the end, it had been their college friend Jake who’d brought her best friend back to Atlanta, with a love none of them had fully realized existed until then. Suzanne would always be grateful to Jake for that.
“Yes, but even in the last few years, when I was here, there are guys you dated that I never met. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fine. It’s just…weird. I feel like you know everything there is to know about me, and yet there are all these people who were important in your life that I never even met.”
Suzanne waved away the idea with a flick of her manicured hand. Even with the cast she had managed to get to the nail salon. It was the kind of ritual that kept her from going crazy. “It’s not that I didn’t want to share with you, it’s just that…well, I don’t want you guys to get attached to someone until I know I have something worth attaching to.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t you think Jake and I could handle it?”
Suzanne hesitated. “Well, to be honest…”
“What?”
“Well, you met Damian twice, months ago, and you’re still asking about him.”
“Teasing. We’re teasing. Jake thought it was neat that you were dating an athlete, because he works in sports, that’s all.”
“But it’s not just him. There were a couple of others, like Tanner. And Brad Number One, who you got all upset about when things didn’t work out.”
“I didn’t get all upset. I just think sometimes you’re a little capricious about letting guys go.”
“Capricious?” Suzanne repeated, slightly offended.
“Well, yes,” Marci said. She gestured to the legal pad. “We have four pages of guys there, four pages of nice guys, for the most part, and your reasons for breaking up with some of them are downright silly.”
“So I should stay with someone who’s not right for me? Someone I don’t want to be with?” She felt defensive and angry. Now that she was happily settled, Marci had apparently forgotten how hard single life could be.
“Of course not. That’s not what I meant—”
“It’s exactly what you meant. You’ve always been this way about the guys I’ve dated, but ever since you and Jake got together, it’s been so much worse.”
“Suzanne, what the hell are you talking about?”
Suzanne knew she should stop talking. She should apologize, hug her best friend and eat another brownie. But the events of the past couple of weeks boiled inside her, out of control. “You think just because you got your fairy tale ending means everyone else has to have the same thing. You are always pressuring me to be with someone, anyone. Like our friendship would be better if I were part of a couple instead of just me.”
“That’s not true. I—”
“I’m happy for you, Marce, I really am. I’m happy you and Jake finally figured things out and you’re married now, and I’m happy for you about the baby, too. But I’m not there yet. Maybe…maybe I will never be there.”
“That’s ridiculous. Of course you will. You just have to stop looking for perfection. You dump these guys for idiotic reasons, and then you complain about being alone.”
“When have I ever complained about being alone?”
“Well, maybe you don’t complain out loud, but—”
“Oh, so now I complain in silence? Or is it just that you can read my mind? Now that your life is so perfectly worked out you’re clairvoyant, too, I suppose.” Suzanne could hear her ugly tone and it made her wince. But she was so angry. This had been building for a long time.
“It’s not that,” Marci said. Angry tears were streaming down her face, too. “It’s just that you are always moping around, especially when Jake and I are together. We’re sort of afraid to be happy around you sometimes, like it’s an insult to you.”
“‘We,’ huh? So you guys are sitting around talking about me and how pathetic I am. How I’m in your way. Well, you shouldn’t bother.”
“No, that’s not true—”
“Maybe I don’t want the cookie-cutter house in Alpharetta and a minivan and soccer games. Maybe I’m looking for something extraordinary. Just because I haven’t settled like you did, maybe I am still looking for someone who is perfect for me…”
Marci’s anger turned to a rage Suzanne hadn’t seen since middle school. Her face was nearly purple. “I. Beg. Your. Pardon. Settled? You’re saying that I settled for Jake?”
“No, that wasn’t what I meant. I meant ‘settled’ like ‘settled down,’ not—”
“For your information, that man in there asleep on the couch is ten times any man you’ve ever been out with. He’s a good person. No, he’s a great person. He loves me and I love him. And maybe his feet are smelly and our house is boring and our relationship looks humdrum to you. But he would die for me, and I for him. Can you honestly say that about
any of the men on this list? Have you ever cared about anyone more than you care about yourself?”
Struck dumb by her friend’s rage, Suzanne could find nothing to say.
“Of course not,” Marci said. Her voice was softer now, but Suzanne knew it was just the deceptive blue core of the flame. “You think we’re judging you, Jake and me? When we say something nice about a guy you obviously like, or at least liked enough to sleep with? Or we show an interest in you and your life, you think that’s selfish somehow?”
Suzanne shook her head. It was all going wrong. None of this was making sense.
“Meanwhile, have you asked once how I’m feeling? Have you wanted to see sonogram pictures? Have you offered to throw me a shower?”
“Shower? I thought that would be…later? Of course I’ll—”
“Do you even care that we’re having a girl?” Marci was sobbing now.
“A girl,” Suzanne said softly, almost to herself. Of course it was a girl. She didn’t even know they knew. Her tears flowed freely again. She reached for Marci, who shrugged her off.
“We found out last week,” Marci said, reading Suzanne’s thoughts. “But with everything you’ve had going on I didn’t think it was the right time to tell you. At this rate, though, she’ll be in college before your life is together enough to care about my boring existence.”
“That’s not fair,” Suzanne said. “Sit down. Come on.”
“I’m sorry,” Marci said. “But I just can’t do this right now. I need to be away from you for a while. Jake will be around if you need anything or if you’re…in trouble.”
With that, Marci whirled around and stormed out, dragging a half-sleeping and very confused Jake behind her. “What’s going on, babe?” Suzanne heard Jake ask on his way out the door, but she could not make out Marci’s mumbled answer before the sound of the door slamming reverberated off the walls around her.
She sank to the kitchen floor, despondent tears wetting her face. She couldn’t remember the exact time, but she knew it had been years since she and Marci had fought this way. As close as they were, they could both be horribly stubborn, which meant a real fight could last a while. Still, somewhere in her mind a seed was planted. It boded Easter hats and sundresses and pink frills, in all of which Suzanne would delight, and which Marci would need convincing was necessary. Princess clothes. Dress up parties. Barbie dolls. A girl.
Chapter 11
There hardly seemed any point in going to the office the next day, as Suzanne had only one client and wasn’t meeting with Kate Burke for a couple of weeks. In fact, she called Yvette and asked her to send the materials to her condo on Monday instead of the office. Brave as she tried to be about it, the fact that someone had been in her office and tampered with the ladder was too creepy for her tastes. She’d relocate here for a few days. Decision made, she put on her most comfortable pajamas and curled up on the couch to watch bad TV. She picked up the phone, but couldn’t bring herself to call Marci. No surprise that Marci didn’t call her, either.
Friday evening, she turned down an invitation to play tennis with Rebecca the next day and ignored a call from her mother. Saturday, she cleaned the entire condo from top to bottom, including scrubbing the baseboards and dusting the ceiling fan blades. Sunday she reorganized her closets and makeup drawers, and even with her vast quantities of personal care items, this only carried her partway into the afternoon. She called her mother back and pretended to be on her way out the door so they wouldn’t have to talk about her prospects.
After surfing through various reality TV programs for the next couple of hours, Suzanne finally turned off her phone and went to bed early. There her frustration mounted as she tried to sleep but couldn’t. Her mind raced, and her body went from hot to cold, to hot again. By two a.m. her pink satin sheets were a twisted mess and she could barely keep her eyes closed for more than a minute or two. She gave up trying to sleep and went back to the living room.
Listless, she picked up the pad where Marci had written all the notes about her previous relationships. She smiled at the stars and arrows Marci had used to indicate who she thought were key suspects. As she flipped through the pages, she glanced more than once at the door to make sure it was dead-bolted.
This is ridiculous. Hamiltons do not live in fear. Tonight it was her father’s voice in her head; she could hear him as though he were standing right there with her, helping her with her homework. It’s a problem to be solved, sugar, that’s all it is. You just got to figure out which tools you need to solve it. Follow your strengths.
She stared at the yellow pad. Her strengths had always been an eye for beauty, calm in a crisis, and a strong sense of organization. Beauty didn’t seem to be serving her well just now, and while she certainly had enough crisis to go around, it seemed calm had failed her, too. That left organization.
Suzanne went to her closet and dug out the posterboard, markers, and rulers she kept on hand for emergency event signage. She poured herself a glass of wine and spread out in the middle of the living room floor. She was not even sure which problem she was trying to solve: the stalker, Marci, or maybe her whole damn life. She knew only that it called for straight lines and color coding. In two hours, she had taped several sheets of poster board to her dining room wall; neat gridlines and symbols brought order to the chaos. She went to bed and slept soundly until the sun was high in the sky.
#
Suzanne got up just after noon, showered, and made fresh coffee. She had spent the wee hours of the morning putting all the guys she’d dated since high school into a well-organized, color-coded grid—thirty-four of them, she was a bit embarrassed to discover. She had painstakingly listed each one in chronological order, documenting next to each guy his occupation, length of time dated, and the reason they had parted ways. She was hoping that if it didn’t lead her to the identity of her stalker, it might at least help her figure out why she couldn’t seem to find the right guy.
Marci was right, Suzanne thought, though she was not ready to admit it out loud. For one thing, when you looked at it in black and white, Rick seemed the likeliest candidate to be the stalker. This in itself was a little calming. At least being able to picture Rick with his pudgy white belly in the hotel room made him seem less threatening. Suzanne thought she could call him, confront him, and maybe get him to back off, or at least threaten him with a protective order.
Marci was also right that some of Suzanne’s reasons for ditching the men she had dated were frivolous at best. This didn’t mean that she should have stayed with those men, but maybe that she never should have dated them in the first place. Suzanne had wanted so desperately to feel the soul-crushing love other people seemed to have, she looked for it everywhere. Even in the places her instincts told her she’d be unlikely to find it.
The answer was William, she thought, sipping her coffee. Or at least, William was the question that would lead to the answer. If Suzanne could figure out what went wrong with William, she might be able to figure out what had derailed her entire love life, which in turn had led her to meaningless sex, fighting with her best friend, and a crazy stalker.
Suzanne could have pictured herself with five guys—maybe—on this whole list. And one, just one, who she could honestly say she’d loved. William Fitzgerald. If she could find him, if she could figure out what went wrong, maybe there was hope for her after all.
The doorbell interrupted her reverie and reminded Suzanne that someone was coming to drop off Kate’s wedding stuff today. She glanced down and realized she was still in her silk camisole and pajama bottoms, even though it was nearly noon. Without time to get dressed, she pulled her faded cotton robe over her shoulders and went to the door. Oh, well, I guess whichever messenger drew the short straw gets to see me at my best.
She was relieved to see the UPS man standing there, rather than a member of Dylan’s staff. With amusement, she thought that only Yvette would consider the entire UPS system part of her “staff.” She opened the door an
d signed for the package with a brief nod to the driver, who politely looked up at the ceiling rather than at her state of undress.
The package was long and narrow—oddly shaped for what she had been assuming would be a couple of binders full of wedding information. She opened it to find a similarly shaped box inside with a florist’s logo on it. Flowers? Suzanne opened the interior box curiously and found it filled with gorgeous white calla lilies, her favorite. She could see a card shaped like a smiley face attached. Maybe this was an apology from Marci? It wasn’t Marci’s style, really, but so few people knew her favorite flower.
Ouch! Shit! She jerked back her hand from the box and blood began to drip from her finger onto the box and the chair where she had dropped it. She stuck her finger in her mouth and looked more closely at the flowers, seeing shards of glass intermingled among the calla lily stems.
Her finger was bleeding profusely. The cut did not appear very wide, but it was deep enough to create searing pain and quite a bit of blood. Suzanne ran to the sink to wrap it in a damp paper towel while she looked for a bandage—a process complicated significantly by the cast on her other arm. The doorbell rang again, and she began to wonder whether she might still be asleep, having a very strange nightmare. When she looked through the peephole to see Dylan Burke standing there, she was sure.
“It seems like every time I see you, you’re in some kind of trouble,” he said, once she had opened the door and he saw her wounded finger. He put the binders—exactly as she’d pictured them—on her kitchen table and followed her to the sink. “You really are Scarlett O’Hara.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m fine. Just a little cut. Please excuse my…my appearance.”
It was too late to do anything about it now, but her robe had fallen to one side as she rushed about, and one shoulder was exposed, along with a good bit of unharnessed cleavage. Why hadn’t she at least slept in a t-shirt or something?
“It’s quite all right,” Dylan said, not bothering to hide either a lecherous stare at her breasts beneath the lacy pajama top or a sideways grin at her predicament. She tried to cover herself, but the casted arm wouldn’t cooperate. Dylan reached out and helped her get the robe back up. She could feel herself going blotchy with embarrassment, a rare state for her. At least, it had been rare until these last few weeks. Lately it seemed she had spent half her life in a state of humiliation.
Regrets Only (Sequel to The Marriage Pact) Page 9