Time was ephemeral, but so were relationships. She and Ben were just starting out right now, but one day their hair, hers brown with auburn-tinged streaks, his honey blond, would be streaked with white and their lives, verdictless right now, would be judged in a rearview mirror.
She wanted to live life with him. Really live it, not fade into a TV fog at the end of an interminable string of workdays. Wasn't that why they'd made the list? Why she was still doing the blog?
Oh, Ben. Why aren't you here? She lifted her left hand and studied her ring, an antique white gold band with a halo setting that surrounded a simple round stone. Ben had found it in an Addison antiques shop. After several long seconds, she shook her head.
I'm turning this into something it's not. Overreacting. Wasn't that what Ben was always telling her? She glanced around the table again, giving a little start when she realized Leo had moved away from Avery, the assistant, and had his handheld camera trained directly on her. Suddenly feeling her lack of participation, she picked up her wine and took a sip, straining to catch the trails of conversation.
"…was crazy, that's what it was. I told her she never shoulda gotten into that car." That was Marcella, talking to one of the two young moms.
"…planning to finish my master's in May, and then I might go on to get my doctorate." That was the single guy. Hmm. He cooks, and he'll have a Ph.D.? I wonder who I could set him up with? Erin smiled and picked up her spoon to try the chocolate soufflé.
She snuck a glance at Leo and saw that he'd moved away, the camera down by his side. Breathing a small sigh of relief, she took a bite, savoring the swirl of creamy chocolate on her tongue.
Lighten up, Erin. Yeesh.
Would she be having these thoughts about Ben's missing presence if she wasn't doing the show? Was she worried about the way she and Ben seemed to be taking different paths…or the way it would look on camera?
She shook her head, forcing herself to think happy thoughts. This was meant to be fun. It was fun. And she'd cooked a whole meal, for Pete's sake!
"Hey," she called to Crystal, the instructor, who was wearing a crisp white chef's smock with the school logo emblazoned on a pocket. "Is there any way I can get a doggie bag to take home to my husband?"
Beside her, Arturo smiled.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Guilty
June 3, twelve months, one week to thirty-five
Erin paused on her way through the DFW terminal and pulled her phone out of her bag to see if Ben had answered her text. For three days she'd been in L.A. for production meetings. Season four would film for another six weeks, and then her real work would get under way. When that happened, she'd camp out in Santa Monica a for a string of days, maybe weeks, at a time.
The new realities of her life and career still felt surreal at times. She recalled her first trip to California almost six years earlier, when she wasn't yet dating Ben. That trip—to wine country with Sherri—had marked the waning days of 30 First Dates and her first bucket list.
Since then, her life and Sherri's had changed dramatically. Sherri was married to Alex, a guitarist in an indie rock band with three albums, two world tours, four Americana Awards, and two Grammy nominations under its belt. Because of Alex's travel schedule they didn't have kids, but Sherri had big-time baby fever, and Erin figured it wouldn't be too much longer before she became "Aunt Erin." Since she was an only child, Sherri promised she could be honorary auntie to her kids whenever they came.
As for Erin, she wasn't the wide-eyed bumpkin she'd been back in the 30 First Dates days when she'd scarcely left the state of Texas. Now, while she traveled home from one coast, Ben was packing for a flight to the opposite one. He was leaving in the morning for a presentation in Baltimore. She'd landed at 6:30, and he was flying out twelve hours later.
Ships in the night. At least she planned to make it a good night. A very good night. And that's what her text was about. She checked her phone yet again—she'd checked it every thirty-five seconds for the last fifteen minutes.
This time, words appeared, and a tingle of anticipation shimmied up Erin's spine. She stepped off the moving walkway and dipped out of the crowd of fast-moving business travelers, propping her laptop bag on her carry-on and leaning against the wall.
She opened the text and read Still in the lab. Still need to pack. Any chance you can stop on way home?
Erin's shoulders slumped, causing her heavy purse to slip off her shoulder. She hiked it up absently, seeing that his second text was even worse. Eating here. Not sure I'll be up for plans tonight. Remember, flight 6:25. Love u!
Yes, I remember that your flight's at 6:25. I remember lots of important details of your life. Erin pressed her lips together, her stomach lodged somewhere around her Chuck Taylors. God, could he be more obtuse?
She scrolled up to reread the text she'd sent him. I have big plans for us tonight, babe. Pls pick up following, and meet me at house at 7:30 sharp: strawberries, prosecco, n whipped cream.
Ben wasn't a big dessert eater, and for most of their relationship Erin had used the kitchen for little more than making coffee and pouring bowls of cereal. What did he think she wanted the whipped cream for? To whip up strawberry shortcakes?
Her cheeks burned with rejection as she contemplated how to answer him. She deleted a couple of snarky replies:
Too busy to lick whipped cream off my body?
In case u couldn't tell, scientist guy, that was me attempting to sext u.
Finally she settled on The strawberries n cream aren't exactly for dinner.
She slipped the phone into her bag and moved back into the crowd. As she charged toward the parking garage exit—moving fast out of frustration, not because she had any reason now to rush—Erin stewed. And worried.
What is happening to us? We're newlyweds. If we're too busy for sex now, what's it going to be like in five years? Ten? Just thinking the words "sex" and "Ben" in the same sentence made her want him so much she could barely keep herself together. Didn't he feel the same way? Didn't he realize they had one night together in the middle of a two-week separation? That they'd be separated even more once production started on the show?
With every step, her thoughts grew more acidic. The show could be bringing them closer together if Ben were taking part in it. But he'd barely even made it into the wedding scene.
She was steaming and refused to check her phone for a reply as she stepped through the automatic doors into the busy garage. She was still stewing as she crammed her suitcase into the trunk, and stewing as she started the car and put it in reverse. It was while she was backing out of her space that she couldn't take it anymore. She slammed the brake pedal, pulled the car forward, and jerked it into park, eliciting an annoyed tire squeal from a car that must have been waiting on the space.
Ignoring the sound, Erin reached across the passenger seat for her phone. She closed her eyes for one long moment, and when she clicked the button to wake up the screen she did it fast, like jerking a rip cord, expecting more excuses.
His text was two words long.
Leaving now.
She blew out a huge breath and squeezed her eyes shut, a thank-you prayer on her lips and a fuzzy warmth spreading through her body. Good answer, Ben. Very, very good answer.
Now with reason to hurry, she backed out of the space again, thinking all the way home of little other than that can of whipped cream and the things she and Ben could do with it.
* * *
As she crawled back into bed beside Ben later that night—the best night of their marriage so far—Erin finally felt brave enough to broach the subject of the triathlon.
He was still awake, his lamp still on, and he was setting his phone alarm to wake him up for his flight. Erin felt a twinge of guilt that thanks to her, he'd get less than five hours of sleep before his race to the airport.
Not too much guilt, though…
"Hon?" Her voice was tentative as she slid a hand under his elbow and across his bare torso. H
e was facing away from her, still tapping at the screen.
"Hmm?"
He finally set the phone on the nightstand, reaching up to turn off the lamp on his side of the bed. He flipped over to face her, kissing the tip of her nose in the darkness. Erin's stomach gave a small quiver in response.
"What, you haven't had enough yet?" He kissed her on the lips, a peck that clearly aimed to pacify, not indulge. "Four-thirty's going to come awfully early."
The words helped Erin, who was momentarily distracted, remember her original question. "Oh, I know," she said. "I just…" She faltered, feeling truly guilty this time, not wanting to start an argument when she knew he needed to sleep.
She smiled weakly in the darkness. "I'll just miss you this week," she said after a long moment.
Ben pulled her closer so their bodies were touching, their faces close together. He kissed her again. "I'll miss you, too," he said.
Within seconds, he was asleep, his arm snug across Erin's torso. She stayed still, not wanting to break the bond—Ben didn't usually cuddle when he slept—and listened to her husband's slow, even breathing.
She stayed awake for a long time, only rolling onto her back when Ben turned in his sleep and released her body from his grip.
She had to ask him, and soon, if he still planned to do the triathlon with her or if he was completely out when it came to filming YOLO. They were both registered for the race, but with the way things were going she knew better than to assume he'd be there.
The race was in four and a half weeks. She had to get serious soon if she even wanted to cross the finish line, let alone be competitive. Ben had stopped training when the clinical trial came up, and Erin's training had dwindled to almost nothing as their wedding date approached. She especially had to get serious again with the swimming part since that was the hardest part for her. Four and a half weeks was nothing as far as training went.
Erin had a feeling they'd be lonely weeks—it was so much harder to get motivated when you trained alone. She rolled over to face Ben, watching his chest rise and fall under the dim slits of moonlight that peeked through the slats in the blinds. As she watched, the muscles in his shoulder twitched, making her wonder what he was dreaming about.
She chewed her lower lip, mulling her dilemma.
Did he realize how much he was leaving her in the lurch? Probably not. If he did, she was sure he'd do more to be there for her. Which was why she needed to talk to him about it.
But, this wasn't just about her. She had to be sensitive to his needs, too, and his career was very demanding. Could she really expect him to come home from the lab and go out with her on a ten-mile run? Or leave the office to swim laps with her at the Y? He'd done all of that and more—running with her multiple times a week, training with her in the Olympic swimming lanes at the gym, going out with her on their bikes on weekends—before the Lester trial had come up.
So what if she had to train and race on her own? She was a grown-up, and this was her job and ultimately her list. And surely, surely Ben would at least sign up for ballroom dancing lessons with her once the clinical trial was over. He had to realize she couldn't do that alone, and they had almost two months to fit it in before filming ended and she had to be in L.A.
Her breathing slowed as she worked out the problem in her mind.
So she'd do the triathlon by herself. Big deal. She'd run dozens of races through the years with and without Ben. What was one more?
* * *
Erin leaned against the wall outside the entrance to Le Cordon Bleu, fishing through her bag for her phone. The bland, beige building was just off the service road, and as Erin dug around, the roar of trucks on the interstate muffled the nearer sounds of car doors opening and closing and two women chatting as they passed through the exit and headed for their cars.
She'd graduated from the techniques classes, and tonight's class had been a workshop on Italian pastas. She was stuffed to the gills after the sit-down dinner.
The only student she'd recognized from her previous sessions was Arturo, who she considered a friend at this point—she hoped to keep in touch with him after she stopped taking classes. He'd saved the cooking station next to his and told her stories about raising his three boys on a twelve-acre chicken farm outside Waco before moving to the city when the oldest boy was in high school. He'd talked a lot about Adeline, his late wife, including a rambling story that involved chasing a chicken with their youngest son, Manny. Manny had named the chicken Banjo and begged his mom to let him keep her in his room as a pet. She'd said no, of course, and he'd finally attempted to kidnap her from the coop.
Erin could tell he didn't get to talk much about Adeline, and she'd also gotten the sense he didn't hear much from the boys. She'd mostly kept quiet, listening and laughing. Arturo had seemed to know that his stories helped her in her husband's absence—after she'd told him Ben was supposed to be taking the classes with her, he hadn't asked any more questions about him.
Now, Arturo was gone. In fact, all the students had left, and Erin was the last to go. She'd stuck around while Leo and his crew filmed a brief interview with the instructor and shot stills at her cooking station. Tonight was their last stint of filming item No. 17 on Erin's list. He'd be back in a few weeks to film her completing item No. 18, the triathlon.
Her fingers had just made contact with the phone when she caught movement in her peripheral vision. She turned to see Leo dragging a black and yellow canvas bag filled with photography equipment through the first set of glass doors in the lobby. The other crew members had exited a few minutes earlier and were already gone. As Leo made it into the vestibule, Erin rushed to open the second set of doors, dropping the phone back into her purse.
Out on the sidewalk he slung a second, smaller bag off his shoulder and placed it gingerly on the sidewalk beside the larger duffel.
"What are you still doing here?"
Erin looked up at him. "Waiting for you. I wanted to make sure you're good, that we've got everything we need."
Leo shrugged. "Should have plenty."
He stuck both thumbs into the corners of his jeans pockets and stared down at her, cocking his head to one side. He looked like he was toying with whether or not to say something.
"You couldn't get Ben here, huh?" His eyes burned with unnerving perception as they locked on hers, causing Erin to shift uncomfortably on her feet. "He just not into the idea of cooking, or is he out for the whole thing?"
Erin bristled and fought the urge to snap that it was none of his business. Because, of course, it was his business. She knew as well as Leo did that Ben was supposed to have been part of this shoot, just like he was supposed to have been part of the climbing shoot in Tahoe the day before the wedding.
She shuddered, remembering.
"It's neither," she said, looking down at Leo's bags on the white concrete sidewalk and away from his accusing stare. "He's really busy with work. Actually, right now he's not even in town. He's been in Baltimore all week. He's coming home tomorrow morning."
"Ah." Leo paused, and Erin could feel that he was still watching her. She shifted her weight from right to left and studied the bright, empty vestibule. "Well, you're the producer," he said slowly, his voice wry. "You can just write him out of it, right?"
"That's the plan, I guess." She forced brightness into her tone. "At least for this episode. But I can't go ballroom dancing by myself, right?"
"It would be difficult to tango alone." Leo chuckled darkly. "I should know."
Erin gave him an odd look then changed the subject. "Where are you off to next?"
He dropped his hands from his pockets and laced his fingers together, stretching both arms out in front of his chest. "Flying to Tucson in the morning. Shooting that karate instructor—you know, Carsyn Caro?—jumping out of a plane." His face visibly brightened, and Erin smiled to herself. Damn daredevil.
"Aren't you tired of jumping out of planes yet?"
"It never gets old." Leo shot her a
cocky grin. "Too bad it's not on your list."
Erin's chin jutted an inch higher. "You mean too bad I did it before you got a chance to film it," she said.
"You've been skydiving?"
Erin gave him a puzzled look. "You knew this," she said. "Didn't you?"
Leo shook his head and raised his brows. "I knew you hated heights. The two things don't go hand in hand…" He gave her a questioning look.
"I did it for 30 First Dates. Do you mean to tell me you haven't read my blog?" She winked.
He ignored the question. "Now, that's what I wish I'd been around for," he said. "I'd have given you a damn good story for your blog if you'd gone out with me."
"I didn't take a cameraman on any of my dates. You're probably right that it would've spiced things up. You could've gotten great shots for the blog—the skiing, maybe, or the skydive, like you said." She was starting to babble, which she tended to do when she was uncomfortable. And Leo was starting to make her uncomfortable.
She backed up a step. "Maybe a little too much spice. Things were out of hand enough as it was." She thought back to the love quadrangle her blog had created and shook her head. "Anyway," she said, taking another step back. "Have fun skydiving." She shuddered.
"Have fun waiting on Ben to get home."
"Ouch." Erin stopped and glared at him.
One corner of Leo's mouth turned up. "I didn't mean it like that. Get that clown in front of my camera next time, OK?"
Erin's lips had formed a tight line. "I'll do my best," she said between gritted teeth. She turned to walk away and tripped over the larger bag, catching herself before she went sprawling to the sidewalk.
Leo held out a hand to steady her, but dropped it when she flinched. "Sorry about that."
She wasn't sure if he meant the bags or the rude comment. Probably the bags because he bent to pick them up. She was at the edge of the sidewalk now, itching to leave, but indignation rooted her to the spot.
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