Better Than Your Dreams

by Dee Ernst

  David threw open his arms in frustration. “How can you say that? I mean, what about all your spreadsheets? You’ve listed everything down to the last penny!”

  “Based on what you told me. But that’s the thing—you told me. We never talked about where the money was going. You never asked me what I wanted.”

  David ran his fingers through his hair. “Are you kidding? What did you know about any of this anyway? God, I had to explain what freaking ductwork was.”

  Ben gave up all pretense of looking at e-mails. He was watching them closely, his eyes narrowed. My throat felt dry. I wanted to get up and run upstairs. The scene was too raw for me. I did not want to see my daughter like this, lashing out at the man she loved. I could tell this was new for her—her face was a mixture of pain and confusion. I guessed that they had never fought like this before, and she was hurting as well as angry.

  Her mouth shut in a thin line, and tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m just as smart as you are,” she said at last. “It’s not my fault I don’t know anything about houses.”

  David’s shoulders slumped. “I never meant…” He took a step forward, but she backed away from him, turned, and ran upstairs.

  I stared down at my hands, feeling my own tears start. I swallowed hard and started to get up, but Ben’s hand shot out to grab my wrist. He shook his head at me, then looked over at David.

  “Son,” he called, “it’s time to take a step back and think about what she said. Don’t think about your arguments, just hers. Is she right?”

  David came over and sat across from Ben. “Dad, you know we don’t have that much money.”

  “That,” Ben said, “is not the point. Is what she said true? About you making the decisions?”

  David ran his hands through his hair again. “She doesn’t understand anything about what’s important to get done. There have to be priorities.”

  Ben sat back and crossed one leg over the other. “Yes, you’re right. Did she have any input into those priorities?”

  “She wouldn’t understand—”

  “Sure she would,” Ben said. “Think about what she said to you. Was she right?”

  David dropped his eyes and stared at the floor.

  I was watching Ben. Brian and I had gotten into similar fights over the course of our marriage. And always, Brian would end up apologizing. But unlike Ben, he had never been able to distinguish between what started the fight and what the real issue was. Brian just wanted to end the argument.

  Ben, on the other hand, was more interested in fixing the problem.

  David took a deep breath, stood up, and shook his head. “I’m a jerk,” he muttered.

  “Most men are,” I told him with mock sincerity. “Remember, recognizing the problem is the first step toward recovery.”

  Ben threw his head back and laughed. David smiled and went upstairs.

  “I really need a hot bath,” I said sadly. “Every bone and muscle in my body hurts.”

  “So go take a bath,” Ben said.

  I sighed. “They need a few minutes up there alone.”

  Ben nodded. “True.”

  We cleaned the kitchen together, Ben turned on the television, and I crept upstairs for a bath. I soaked in the hottest water I could stand, trying to take some of the ache out of my bones. I put on clean sweats and had every intention of going back downstairs to spend a bit of quiet time with Ben, but paused for a moment to just rest my eyes on the futon, and that was all I remembered until I awoke with a start. It was daylight, and Ben was lying beside me, rolled over on his side, head propped up, watching me.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  I blinked. My eyelids did not ache. I considered that a good sign. “I think I’m fine.”

  “Bend your legs.”

  I did. It was not pretty. “I’m not fine,” I said, trying not to sound feeble.

  “Mona, seriously. Why are you here? This is not your usual, ah, venue.”

  I adjusted myself so that the stabbing pain in my back didn’t go all the way down to my ankles. “When Miranda showed me pictures of the house, I was kind of freaked out. I mean, I see the potential, and I know this is going to be amazing, but I didn’t want my daughter to be living in a hovel.”

  “I get that part. But your normal response would have been a big check and a carefully researched list of contractors. Why are you here?”

  “It’s a gesture. A grand gesture.”

  He looked understandably confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “I wanted to show you that even though I’m philosophically opposed to Miranda and David getting married, I support their love and commitment to each other.”

  “Is that romance-writer speak for something? Because normal people don’t think that way.”

  “Well, Anthony thinks that way. I’m not doing this for them. Well, I am, I mean, of course, but…I wanted to show you that even though we disagreed, I love you. And I was willing to do something big to show you. You were supposed to know that I wasn’t willing to tear up crappy carpet for Miranda. I was willing to do it for you.” My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. I felt like I’d confessed to some heinous crime and was now awaiting judgment.

  He was very quiet. He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” He opened his eyes. “I know you love me, Mona. And I’ve been trying to figure out what you’re doing up here ever since I arrived. But I never in a million years thought that this was all for me. Why in God’s name would you let Anthony, of all people, talk you into this?”

  I took a deep breath. At least my rib cage wasn’t sore. “I was worried about you and Carmella. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  Ben lay back and started laughing. And he didn’t stop for a very long time, which I found a bit annoying. Was it really that funny? Finally he sat up. “Mona, you are the most fascinating woman I know. You were jealous of Carmella, so you decided to renovate your daughter’s house. That only makes sense in Mona World, but that’s okay, because you like it there. Wow. Grand gesture.” He was still chuckling as he got out of bed. “I’ll bring up some coffee and…what are you taking like candy?”

  “Advil,” I mumbled.

  “Grand gesture,” he said, pulling his jeans on over his boxers. “Wait till I tell the kids.”

  I thanked God he laughed.

  And then I wondered why he didn’t tell me not to worry about Carmella.

  I closed my eyes. This grand-gesture thing was a lot more complicated than I originally thought.

  Painting, it turned out, used a whole different set of muscles, and I had apparently never used any of those muscles before. In my entire life. Paint also smelled bad, and it got in your hair and under your fingernails. I spent way too long in the shower trying to rid my body of Bradford Street Beige, but finally gave up. Luckily I had a brown sweater, so I was at least color coordinated.

  David treated us to a great steak dinner; then we went back to the house. The newly painted first floor looked clean and pretty. We sat and stuffed envelopes with wedding invitations. Miranda did not consult with me about her selection, but they were nonetheless simple and elegant. The four of us chatted and licked stamps until nine thirteen, at which point I was falling asleep on the floor, so I went upstairs and fell into bed fully clothed.

  I don’t know what time Ben came to bed, but I was instantly awake as soon as I felt his body hit the mattress. I was exhausted and everything ached, but all I wanted to do was reach over and sneak my hand around his waist to feel the hard muscle beneath smooth skin.

  “Mona?” he whispered.

  “I’m awake.”

  He was lying flat on his back. I could see his profile by the faint glow of the streetlight outside the window.

  “You did really well today,” he said softly.

  I smiled in the darkness. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? I’m kinda impressed with myself.”

  “I hav
e to say, I misjudged you. I apologize.”

  “Accepted.” I had to make a fist to keep my hand from inching over. Did Ben feel it? The very air in the room was charged with…what—lust?

  “The kids seem to have gotten over their argument,” Ben said.

  “I was waiting for it. Miranda is a very…let’s say headstrong girl. I knew that eventually something like this would happen.”

  “But now they know how to do it,” Ben said. “They know that even if they disagree, there’s a way around it.”

  I was afraid to move. I felt like if I did and the weight on the futon shifted, we would accidentally touch. If that happened, I would probably end up making a total fool of myself. But…didn’t Ben feel this too? Was he made of stone?

  “Is there always a way around it?” I asked.

  “I used to think so,” he said. Then he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. “I need a shower.”

  I sat up and watched him walk toward the door. “But you showered earlier,” I called after him.

  “I know,” he said shortly.

  I lay back in bed. He must have been in there for a quite a while, because the second time he got into bed, I was so deeply asleep I didn’t feel a thing.

  Sunday I slept late. I woke up only because I could hear them struggling to carry David and Miranda’s bed down the staircase. I made myself get up, had lots of coffee, ate my bagel very slowly, and watched Ben and David carry furniture from upstairs and try to cram it all into the small living space downstairs. I wandered out to the back. Miranda was out there with her former college roommates—all lovely and energetic girls who laughed and joked while they dragged junk out of the yard and tossed it into the overflowing Dumpster. There wasn’t much left to clear out, and I was happy to see there was a cement patio pretty much intact under all the junk. When it got too cold to just sit and watch, I went back inside. Ben and David were sitting on the steps, finished. David offered to carry my suitcase to the car, but Ben vetoed him and walked me the few blocks over.

  “The house looks good,” I said.

  He nodded. “Yes, it does. It’ll take a bit more work, but they can do it. They’re a good team.”

  I nodded. I remembered when he had said the same about the two of us—that we were a good team. I glanced at him. Did he remember?

  We got to the car, and he put my suitcase in the trunk. We stood in the cold. For the very first time since I’d known him, I felt awkward. I didn’t know how to say good-bye to him. A kiss on the cheek? A hug? We had tried to avoid touching each other all weekend and had been mostly successful. Now what?

  “Drive safe,” he said.

  I nodded. “I’m sure the kitchen will look great,” I said.

  He pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’ll talk to you when I get back.”

  “Of course.” I reached up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, got into my car, and drove home.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WHEN I CAME HOME SUNDAY evening, the black Town Car was in the driveway. It was empty—where was Tony? Scouring the neighborhood for possible danger? Sitting on the roof with a high-powered rifle, waiting for the inevitable attack? Writing his master’s thesis on The Idiot by Dostoyevsky?

  Aunt Lily and Vinnie were sitting at the table in the kitchen, finishing what looked to be an intimate dinner of lobster and champagne. Good for Lily. She swept to her feet as I came in, gave me a hug, then kissed me on both cheeks.

  “How was it? Are you exhausted? I’m sure you are. Painting? Walls? I can’t imagine what you were thinking. Would you like a lobster claw?”

  “No, thank you. Hello, Vinnie. Hello, Fred.” Fred had come shuffling in, tail wagging. I leaned down to pet him and glanced into the den. No Tony.

  “So, tell me about the apartment,” Lily said.

  “It’s actually a house. A row house. Kind of small, but when they’re finished with it, it’s going to be beautiful,” I said, sitting down gingerly. Sometime late this morning it became official—my entire body hurt. “Ben was there.”

  Lily smiled dreamily. “Was he wearing his tool belt?”

  “No. But he did some demo and painted. He’s installing their new kitchen tomorrow. Luckily they only have twelve feet of wall space to work with, so it shouldn’t take him more than a day.”

  “He seems to be a pretty good guy,” Vinnie said. “Carmella had a great time with him.”

  What? What?

  “Oh? When they went out to Chester?” I asked, perfectly calm, like I didn’t care at all.

  Vinnie nodded. “Yeah, Chester. A whole lot of trees out that way. Carmella said it was very nice. Friendly people. Lots of antiques.”

  I nodded. “Yes. Trees. Well, you two, I’m exhausted, and I need a long hot bath and three days of sleep. Good night.” I rose slowly and went upstairs. As I passed the living room, there was Tony. Reading.

  I tried not to think about Ben and Carmella and their little trip to Chester. After all, Ben was a grown man, and he could do as he liked, even if that meant spending the day with an attractive widow who was genetically predisposed to lots of touching, hugging, and arm holding. That she was also obviously on the make caused a throbbing to start right behind my eyes. Ben, I knew, was smart enough to see what she was up to. And I’m sure that if I had asked him about it, he would have told me everything. I had not asked, however. And he did not offer the information. And why should he? I mean, obviously it was just an extended business meeting, right? Why would he need to talk about it at all?

  Except…we had always talked about everything.

  But that was before. Things were changing. Ben was changing. He was slowly moving away from me.

  It was less than three weeks until Christmas. Had I done any shopping? No. Had I planned any meals? No. Had I baked a single cookie? No.

  I was a bit behind my usual holiday schedule.

  Sure, I was thrown off because of the whole Ben situation, but even without that, there was just too much going on.

  There was my career. Anthony had gotten copies of the backlist titles from Sylvia. That meant I had to reread books I’d written years ago and make whatever changes I thought necessary. Luckily for me, historical romances did not need much updating—it wasn’t like Sir Roderick Lambert of Castle Muir had to upgrade from a BlackBerry to an iPhone—but still, there was some tweaking.

  Lily, involved in her own wedding plans, which were becoming more complicated by the hour, was not her usual domestic self, happily puttering around the kitchen, making shortbread and peanut butter fudge. Usually I found her with papers, magazines, and pamphlets spread all over the kitchen table. I’d taken to having breakfast on the stairs.

  My three daughters, who in the past had hauled down Christmas decorations the weekend after Thanksgiving, were not around, leaving me to stare at my unadorned mantel in solitary guilt, while I pondered the age-old question—did I really need a full-size Christmas tree this year?

  Oh, and by the way—did I mention that my oldest daughter was getting married?

  The usual scenario for this—at least, the scenario I had run through in my head several times over the years—involved an engagement party, a bridal shower with family and old friends, and at least one additional bridal shower with all the bride’s young friends—you know, one of those go-all-night things involving lingerie and sex toys. I also envisioned long intimate lunches where my daughter and I would discuss flowers, centerpieces, and the meaning of life.

  I had barely two months between engagement and wedding. Something had to go.

  Oddly, it was Dominique who stepped up.

  “I think I can put together a shower the Friday night between Christmas and New Year’s,” she told me.

  I tightened my grip on the phone. “Really?”

  “Yes. A surprise shower is pretty much out of the question, don’t you think? Because I already asked Miranda to send me a list. I’m calling Ben next. How many do you figure for you?”

&n
bsp; I did a quick count. When I hit thirty-seven, I gave myself a virtual smack in the head. “I’ll narrow the list down to under twenty. Where?”

  “The house, of course,” Dominique said. “It’s beautifully decorated. This year I had Ramon do everything in lavender and gray. It’s stunning.”

  That sounded interesting. “Who’s Ramon?”

  “He’s my interior designer. He’s also a close personal friend. He does Christmas for us every year.”

  Imagine that.

  “Thank you, Dominique. And give me any out-of-town guests you want at the rehearsal dinner.”

  “And where is that?” she asked. I could sense the snark in her tone—she was waiting to see what kind of D-list place I got on such short notice.

  “The Highlawn Pavilion.” Definitely A-list.

  She was quiet.

  “Dominique?”

  “Well. How lucky for you. That place book weeks in advance. Do you know anyone there?”

  “No,” I said, not mentioning the fact that Patricia ate there at least once a week and was on a first-name basis with the entire staff.

  “Hmmm. What color is your dress?”

  “Purple. The girls’ are both metallic—Lauren picked out something bronze, and Jess is in gunmetal gray.” Of course.

  “Sounds lovely. Tyler has a tiny black suit. Gray vest?”

  “Your call. How is he?”

  “Well, we’re still trying to talk him into walking down the aisle without his Batman cape.”

  “Good luck.” Wait—were we becoming friends? “Thank you, Dominique.”

  “No problem, Mona,” she said, and hung up.

  I wasn’t even sure who would be at my house for the holiday, or when. Ben had texted me that he had finished the kitchen, and had even sent pictures, but had made no mention of Christmas day or eve. Miranda, excited and still in love, called to say that she and David would see me Christmas eve. Did that mean Ben and Ethan would be here as well? I wanted to ask, of course, but what would have been a natural question a few months ago now felt intrusive. When were the girls seeing Brian and their brother? I got different answers from each of them—no surprise there. Although our divorce decree had very carefully spelled out who got the girls for what holidays, they were adults now and could go wherever they wanted. Brian had become even less Jewish with Dominique, and had embraced Christmas without so much as a wink toward Hanukkah. I knew that Phyllis would be spending most of her time with Brian. My ex-mother-in-law was not terribly observant either, but I knew her, and I could imagine the Dominique battles now. Oh, to be a fly on that wall…