by Ruby Lang
But that sounded like such an inadequate thing to tell her—saying that she shouldn’t blame herself was almost a way of saying that she should—and it sure as hell wasn’t satisfying to him to not unload more of his feelings on her.
Besides, with the specter of Ilse’s phone call hanging over him, he needed some time to sort out his head.
“My ex-wife called,” Jake told Sarah later. “She ended up leaving a message. To invite me to her wedding.”
They were back at his house, sitting on the couch, staring at Mulder while she slept.
Sarah absorbed this news. “Are you actually thinking of going?”
“No.”
“Why do you think she invited you?”
That was a good question.
Ilse hadn’t been hesitant to dump out all her feelings and questions in the voicemail she’d left. When had he gotten a dog? Was Sarah his girlfriend? He wanted to ask her if she’d thought his life would come to a standstill after their divorce. But of course, the message ended before he could snarl at it.
“Maybe she wants to apologize to me—again. She’s very into forgiveness.”
“Do you forgive her?”
“Mostly. But inviting me to her wedding is a shitty way of saying sorry—I don’t care how good the dancing or food is afterward or if it’s open bar. Not that I think there will be any of that.”
Sarah frowned.
“I was trying to make a joke,” he added. “It’s not that I forgive or don’t forgive. I just don’t want to be there, and I especially don’t want to be there for some sort of magnanimous show.”
Come to think of it, he did sound bitter—but he wasn’t angry about the dissolution of his marriage anymore. He was more annoyed that Ilse was making him deal with her business when he was more than ready to let go. Wasn’t that resolution—not letting it get to you anymore? What was forgiveness, anyway? It was pretty annoying if he—the wronged but no longer angry—didn’t get to pick the terms under which he did it.
The more he thought about it, the more forgiveness sounded like total and complete bullshit. The reverend would be horrified.
“When is it?” Sarah asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“A couple of weeks. The weekend of the fifteenth.”
“That’s when Petra and Ian are getting married.” She paused a beat. “You probably wouldn’t want to go to a wedding that weekend, then.”
“Why not? Because you think I should stay home and chew on a philodendron while my current girlfriend and my ex-wife dance the night away?”
He knew the words were a mistake when they came out of his mouth.
“Don’t say that.”
“I’ll go with you. It’ll be good.”
She frowned.
“I’m not going to replace your friends in my mind with Ilse and try to stop the ceremony in a fit of delusion, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“You’re cranky. And maybe even a little mean. You’re never mean.”
But she was trying to change the subject. And maybe he was going to let her.
“I’ve earned it today. I was up all night dealing with some freaked out kids and parents. My dog tried to poison herself. And I’ve been asked to buy a soup tureen and fill it with the warm broth of forgiveness for my ex-wife as a wedding gift.”
Sarah nodded. But she didn’t laugh like he’d expected—like he’d hoped—she would. “I don’t think you have to buy her a present, according to the etiquette books.”
“I know. It was a joke. A bad one, apparently.”
“Maybe I should go. Mulder’s okay.”
“Stay.”
“I don’t know, Jake. I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know how you feel.”
“Isn’t it good that I can surprise you? Isn’t this what you wanted—for me to be a little selfish? A little different from who I am?”
He asked it lightly. But again, she avoided his eyes.
“No, that’s not quite it.”
She got up and touched Mulder gently, almost tentatively. Then crossed over to the hallway and put on her shoes. That was when he knew that she really wasn’t going to stay.
She turned to him and said, “I don’t want you to change for the sake of changing.”
Then she kissed him, and left.
Chapter Fourteen
Sarah started following up with phone calls over the next couple of days. She cleared up a coding problem with a billing company and reorganized the files on her phone. Of course, she wasn’t quite up to seeing obstetric patients yet, so she hadn’t given Joanie the clearance to book them. But for the first time in months, she felt like she was getting things done. She’d even called the yoga studio to book Petra’s non-shower/non-bachelorette non-party.
But although she felt energized in her work this week, and although she had spent some time with Jake this week, she felt herself withdrawing.
She told herself it was because she was taking it slow, but this was the way with her, wasn’t it? She was interested in someone. It was exciting and new. Then she’d throw herself into her work again. And pretty soon, they were through.
Except she didn’t want to be through with Jake. It was new, yes, and yet it was also deeply comforting in a way she didn’t quite understand. She knew him—she’d known him since childhood. But she also kept revising her opinion of him, revealing facets. He kept having new feelings she didn’t think he had; he kept kissing her in ways she’d never been kissed, showing her new depths. And now her old memories of him were overlaid with new feelings—and that, in turn, subtly shaded and altered some memories of herself.
That was almost a gift.
A gift that she was afraid of—which was why she was in the office stacking books on her tidy desk.
“Still here?” Petra asked, rapping on the door.
“Don’t you have fits to throw about escort cards and what color schemes you’re going to use?”
Petra leaned in the doorway. “No, Ian’s the one who’s having fits. If you could call them fits. He’s getting nitpicky and overly focused as the date nears. And he’s keeping part of it a surprise for me, so he’ll hum instead of complaining. I’m starting to hate that humming.”
She peered at Sarah’s desk. “Is that a pile of books on transcendental meditation?”
“I need to return them to the library.”
“Are they any good?”
“I don’t know. I forgot how small the print is in paper books. I had such a hard time reading them that let’s just say my mood got decidedly unmeditative. Maybe Ian could use them.”
“I wish he would.”
“You’d think he’d be used to this kind of pressure, running two restaurants.”
“When he worries, he works.”
“I know that feeling. Except I don’t worry. I just work.”
“Right. Is that why you’re still here then?”
“Nosy Petra.” Sarah paused. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she confessed. “For a long time, my life seemed laid out well in front of me. I did all the good, right things, and I still got sick. And now Jake wants more; I can tell. And I want more with him—but not while I’m like this and in this strange place.”
“You don’t have to have it all figured out in order to move forward.”
“But I do. I—”
A phone call interrupted them. It was her mother. She told Petra, and her friend looked even more curious. Fai Soon never contacted her daughter at work. “Twice in the space of one month,” Sarah muttered as she picked up.
Mrs. Soon didn’t waste any time. “We’ve decided to come for a visit. In a week and a half.”
Sarah couldn’t say anything for a minute. Seeing the look on her face, Petra waved frantically in alarm.
“San-san, are you there?” her mother prompted.
“You can’t come. Not in a week and a half.” Not ever. “My friend is getting married and I’m involved with the wedding and I won’t be able to do anythi
ng with you.”
“You aren’t part of the wedding party, are you?”
“Well, no. But—”
“You don’t want us to go there?”
She didn’t want them anywhere near her. But they never took vacation—they only took Sundays off for church—because they believed in work. And they’d certainly never gone to Portland, because they never stopped being disappointed in her. They worked hard at that, too. It took a lot of discipline to be Ma and Pa Soon. She’d gotten her own from them.
“You’re right. I don’t want you to visit.”
It seemed a terrible thing to admit to her mother, to say it right out loud: if she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have had trouble saying it. But she did. Despite all the distance, all the neglect from both sides, she still cared what her parents thought.
But her bluntness didn’t seem to faze her mother. It was that unflappability that got things done. “You have always been contrary. But we’ve already arranged the schedule, so we’re coming. Marian will be in charge of the store, and our neighbor Jenny will come in and water the plants.”
“Water the plants! How long are you planning on staying?”
“At least a week. We’ll bring supplies.”
Sarah could not help it. She squeaked. “You’re staying with me?”
“Of course we are.”
“But—”
“I’ll call you when we arrive.”
“I—”
Her mother had hung up.
“You know, I’ve never seen you panic before,” Petra said after another minute had passed.
“My parents have never visited me, and now they’re staying for a week and she won’t take no for an answer.”
“She sounds a lot like you,” Petra murmured.
“She is a lot like me. This is a disaster.”
“If the two of you are in one place, what happens? A black hole?
“We lived together for the first seventeen and a half years of my life. The universe stayed intact.”
“But you hadn’t become you.”
“I have always been this way.”
“People like you don’t spring fully formed from the J. Crew catalog.”
“My parents are here to save Jake from my evil influence. And I don’t even know if I want him in my clawed devil fingers. It’s more like he’s choosing to roll around in my palm.”
“Dirty.”
“Will you shut up? I have to think. I have to organize. I have to clean.”
“Your house is immaculate.”
“Not. Immaculate. Enough.”
“Do you really think this is about Jake and you?
“Of course it is. They haven’t taken a trip in . . . as long as I can remember. They worked in that hardware store six days a week from 7:00 a.m. till 8:00 p.m. for thirty-five years straight. Both of them—and both of us kids spent hours there, too. And now suddenly they decide to take a whole week of vacation? Just when I start dating the reverend’s son?”
“Do you think they’re for or against it?”
“I don’t know. Both options are terrible. If they’re for it, they’ll jump straight from dating to marriage and retirement plans and grandchildren. If they’re against it, then I worry for Jake. I’m used to dealing with them, but they know him well enough to go directly at him.”
“And you think he’ll give up like that?”
“Not easily. He’s not a pushover, and nothing to do with my parents is ever restful. It’s too much conflict.”
She was the one who didn’t want a fight for a change. She pressed her lips together. Since when had she become such a coward?
“So are they really staying with you?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t hear you offer.”
“I didn’t. It’s understood.”
“Well, I don’t understand. Why can’t they go to a hotel? Surely you’ll all be less miserable.”
“It’s hard to explain. “
“You don’t usually have a hard time telling people your opinions.”
“Parents are a difficult blind spot, though. And then there’s the fact that sometimes they don’t care about your opinions. And mine don’t give a shit about my boundaries. Which is maybe the real reason why I’m not close to them. It’s so ingrained—and I see it and it frustrates me. But I can’t stop it. So you’re right. I didn’t spring fully formed from the J. Crew catalog. I had a lot of upbringing. It’s like the way I sort of have kept in contact with them, even though we’re mostly estranged. I can’t take that final step and sever relations with my parents. And so I go along with their rare and occasional demands.”
“Are you going to bring your mom to the office?”
“I’d rather not. She’ll probably make an appearance anyway.”
Petra nodded. “I kinda want to meet her. Should I invite them to the wedding?”
“God, no. You sound a little too much like you’re enjoying this. Aren’t you the teensiest bit supportive? Or sorry for me?”
“I’m a complicated woman. I’m a little of all of those things.”
“Thanks, Pete. You’re a pal.”
“I am. And this isn’t the worst thing you’ve been through—not by a long shot.”
That was true enough.
“Anyway,” Petra continued, “did you ever consider the possibility that your parents might have changed?”
“Changed. What does that even mean?”
Petra started out the door. “Go home. Start cleaning. I know that’s what you want to do.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jake had been warned, but he hadn’t expected to see Mr. Soon bent over the stones in Sarah’s yard, scrubbing them with a strong brush.
“Outdoors is filthy,” Mr. Soon grunted when he straightened and saw Jake.
“It does tend to get that way. Uh, how was your trip?” Jake asked.
“Long.”
Sarah’s tables and chairs were crammed onto the porch, along with a lamp and a rug.
Mr. Soon went back to scrubbing.
Jake was glad he hadn’t brought Mulder along. She’d probably be in a bucket full of suds before her paws landed on the ground. He walked through the open door. The living room furniture was covered in tarps. In the kitchen, Mrs. Soon was on a ladder, cleaning the top of the fridge.
“Do you know why she has so many filing cabinets?” Mrs. Soon asked him by way of greeting.
Sarah did have a lot of filing cabinets.
Jake weighed his words. “She likes to be organized?”
Mrs. Soon grunted.
“I can help you with uh, that thing you’re doing, if you want,” Jake offered.
She waved him off.
He peered out the door and saw Sarah standing in the backyard staring at the fence.
“Hey,” he said.
She turned and gave him a weary smile.
“How are you doing?”
“I feel like peeing in the corners of my house to mark my territory.”
“It has nothing to do with you; you know that right? Your parents just have to . . . clean to feel comfortable. And after they’re done, then maybe they’ll be ready to talk.”
“Talk. Ugh. Maybe that’s worse than the cleaning. You’re not helping.”
Jake thought for a minute. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s knock some more off of your to-do list.”
He held out his hand. Sarah hesitated, then took it.
They walked back through the kitchen. Mrs. Soon stopped scrubbing and watched them. She even pointed her chin at their clasped hands—subtle wasn’t her style—but didn’t say anything. “We’re just going out for a little while,” Jake said, cheerily.
He pulled Sarah along, but perhaps not surprisingly, Mrs. Soon followed. “Are you coming back for dinner?”
Jake answered. “Yes, we’ll be back. Thanks.”
Mrs. Soon pursed her lips.
“I think by pulling me away from the sanitizing you just made a formal pro
clamation that you aren’t going to be a nice quiet boy who sits and waits and does anything they want,” Sarah told him when she got in the car.
“I was mostly signaling that I was too lazy to help clean.”
“She probably thinks we’re sneaking off to have sex, Jake.”
“She thinks—she suspects—but she’s not sure, because it’s me. Kind Jake who would never do wicked things with her wicked daughter.”
“You find all of this hilarious! I can’t believe it: you’re devious.”
“You love it.”
“But she hates it, and she’s going to give you an earful. I hope you’re ready for that.”
“Oh, I’m ready, sweetheart. I was born ready.”
He gunned the engine, and she burst into laughter. “I didn’t know you could make a Honda Civic sound that ferocious.”
He pulled out of the driveway. “If you think that’s hot, wait till you see what I can do with my juicer.”
• • •
“That wasn’t on the original list,” Sarah murmured a little later.
Jake had good intentions. He had a plan—not a great one—to drive out to the beach, but Sarah couldn’t keep her hands to herself once she got in the car. And because he was such a responsible citizen, they pulled into Jake’s drive. She unzipped him even before the garage door closed.
Parking. Again. They were really feeling like teenagers.
By the time they stumbled into the house, Sarah’s dress was shoved up and her underwear pulled down. He stumbled through the hall as he watched her lithe waist and her little round butt flex and tense as he followed her in.
They made it to his foyer before she turned and tugged on his t-shirt. He still had his keys in his hand, so he put them down carefully on the table and pushed her back until her ass bumped against it. She reached down into his jeans. He grabbed her wandering hand out before she could get him in more trouble, but she rolled her hips, bumping against the edge of the table. A breath hissed between his teeth.
He needed to get a grip on himself—on something. He put his arms down on either side of her, and she bumped him again, that single provocative contact of her hips making him tighten to the point of pain. He clenched the edge of the table, his knuckles white—one hand, and then the other.