The Commitment Test (The Marin Test Series Book 2)

by Aksel, Amanda

  We made love two more times that night, and I cherished every second of it. James may have been more in love with me after the last eight weeks, but I was definitely more in love than I’d ever been in my life. We spent the rest of the weekend by the pool or at the beach, late mornings, late naps, and delicious meals. Sunday afternoon would be our last at the resort, and Brina had arranged for us to go fishing.

  James stood with his fishing rod over the boat, while I watched from the interior shade. The few days in the sun had given him a nice tan, and I stared at his shoulders, glimmering with sweat. Damn, my man was hot.

  “You comin’ out here?” he called.

  “I’m okay here,” I said.

  “No,” he whined. “Come sit next to me.” I was sitting four feet away from him, but apparently that was too far. So I leaned over the rail next to him, he pulled me in and kissed my face before giving me a little pat on the butt.

  “You’re so sexy,” he said and I blushed, but this time I believed him.

  Later that night when we were packing for our trip home, James put on some mood music. He usually had a little music going in the background, but when he was in a good mood, he’d sing and even dance a bit. I recognized the classic love song before he reentered the room. One of my favorites. He sang the lyrics of the sultry Al Green song and did a little sway to the rhythm. He picked up my hairbrush from the dresser and used it as a microphone to serenade me. Surprisingly, he knew all the lyrics and even sang in key. He snapped his fingers and did a little twirl, like he was the King of Pop. I laughed. How cute was he?

  “Dance with me,” he said.

  I began to move, singing with him. There in our Cabo suite, the two of us shook our hips around the bed. James was really into it, but I couldn’t help but giggle every now and then. He took my hand and spun me around before pulling me in for a slow dance. In that moment, I wasn’t thinking about the McQueen Method, my ovaries shriveling up, or anything else. It was just James and I and Mr. Green crooning through the speakers. Nothing else mattered. When the song ended, I tried to catch my breath, but kept laughing.

  “You’re . . .” I started, giving him that look. He gave it right back. I couldn’t find the words.

  “I know,” he said. “I feel the same way about you.” Then I really couldn’t catch my breath, because he’d taken it away. “I have something for you.” He pulled out a small gift bag from his suitcase. That’s when I realized it had worked. This was it. This was definitely it. Rachel was right. He’d been jewelry shopping for me. My heart raced, and I wanted to cry. Finally, after all this time, he was ready to be with me, be my husband, and make me his wife. He took the box from the bag and handed it to me. My hands trembled as I tried to hold the box steady.

  “Is this a watch?” I asked, because it wasn’t a ring box.

  “No,” he said with a little laugh.

  I lifted the top and there was a yellow gold . . . cuff bracelet? And a strange one at that. It had small pinholes throughout the entire cuff, almost looked like . . .

  “It’s a band-aid,” he said.

  Huh?

  “You planned this thoughtful trip, and I wanted to do something thoughtful for you.”

  I stared at him, trying not to be upset, because in his mind, everything was perfect.

  “It’s engraved,” he said. I flipped the cuff over.

  If you should ever fall, I’ll be there with a band-aid.

  “It’s lovely,” I said, smiling but trying to hold a tear back.

  “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure, but when I saw this, I had to get it.” He took the cuff and slipped it on my wrist. The cuff was a perfect fit and a perfect gift in his eyes, but to me it felt like a major failure. The McQueen Method seemed to be working perfectly. But the fact that James had gone to a jewelry store and had come back with a bracelet instead of a ring told me everything I needed to know. He was not going to put a ring on it.

  I returned to my apartment alone the next day and retrieved my mail before heading inside. Bills, bills, credit card ad, furniture ads, Psychology Today, and a cream colored envelope with gold lettering. I dropped everything else and opened it.

  Mr. and Mrs. Kyu Cho request the honor of your presence

  at the marriage of their daughter Ginger Kwan to Jonathan Joseph Cash

  Saturday, the fifteenth of May at four o’clock in the afternoon

  At The Westin St. Francis

  San Francisco, Ca

  Reception to follow

  Just when I thought I couldn’t feel any worse.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Office Space

  “Hey, did you get my wedding invitation yet?” Ginger asked on the other line.

  “Yep, I’m sending in my RSVP today.”

  “Awesome. Oh, I saw your pics on Facebook this weekend. You two are the cutest! Do you have any news?”

  “Well, I heard he was jewelry shopping and there was this one moment when I thought the proposal was coming, but he didn’t buy a ring.”

  “Did he get you something?”

  “A cuff,” I said, disappointed to replay it.

  “What?” she asked as if she didn’t hear me.

  “A cuff bracelet,” I said into the phone.

  “I heard you the first time. I’m just confused. Is it a nice bracelet?”

  “Yeah, it’s gold and designed like a bandage. Kind of an inside joke between us. It’s engraved too.”

  “Aw, that’s cute.”

  “It was really sweet, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but things have been going so well. I really thought . . .”

  “I know, but you have to trust the system. It sounds like you’ve been getting great results, but you have to follow through on EVERY step.” She was referring to Step Six: Break Up to Make Up, and I was no keener on it now than I had been when I read it the first time.

  “Well, I am going away this week for a conference. I’m hoping the time away will help.”

  “That’s great and all, but if you want a commitment you have to commit. You can’t half ass any of the steps. Out of town for a conference is not the same as a break.”

  “Yeah, but I was thinking that I wouldn’t talk to him as much, leave him wondering.”

  Ginger remained firm. “If you don’t make a break, that’s only going to piss him off. You can’t be a shitty girlfriend.”

  “If I was going to do it, which I’m not, I wouldn’t know what reason to give him anyway.”

  “You tell him that you want something more than you think he can give you, which is true isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just think about it and call me after your trip.”

  I did think about it, but the thought of a break up with James, even if I knew we were getting back together broke my heart. I’d have to take my chances without it.

  The afternoon before my San Diego trip, I had one more patient to see before leaving for a few days. Felicia had been coming to me for about six months. What started as couples therapy soon became one-on-one sessions. Her marriage was built on a shaky foundation of convenience and so it crumbled.

  She was well put together in her designer outfit, Prada shoes, and two hundred dollar haircut. Her ex was conveniently wealthy.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about Kevin,” she said, looking off as if she were daydreaming.

  “Who’s Kevin?” I asked. It wasn’t her husband.

  “He’s my ex from college.”

  “Oh, what made you think of him?” I adjusted my glasses and scribbled a note.

  “You know when you’re in the midst of a break up you start to examine your past relationships?” She looked thoughtful.

  “I do.” And I totally did. “What were you looking for?”

  “A trend, I guess. Some sort of insight as to why I sabotage every relationship I’m in.”

  “What happened with Kevin?”

  She shrugged and admired her manicure. “I didn’t think his life was going anywher
e so I dumped him like garbage.”

  “Was he garbage to you?” I asked.

  Felicia folded her arms. “No, but I treated him like he was. I was young and didn’t know what really mattered in life. I keep thinking that maybe he was the one I was supposed to be with.”

  “The one that got away,” I said.

  There’s a tendency to romanticize past relationships because they feel so unfinished. Sometimes we want to believe there’s more to the story. Maybe sometimes there is or maybe it would eventually lead to the same heartbreaking end. We never know, and that’s what makes it romantic, the possibility of it all.

  I’d had a college love too. Jack Ashbury from Stanford. For a long time, I believed he was the one that got away. That all changed after James.

  “Have you thought about getting in touch with him?” I asked.

  She scoffed. “And say what?”

  “Tell him how you feel about what happened between you two. It could bring you both closure.”

  “Dr. Johns, some things are just better left in the past,” she said. There are moments when I would have agreed with her, but this was therapy. Part of my job was sorting out and dealing with the past.

  When Felicia left after her session, I decided to stop by Telly’s new office suite. She’d been begging me to come by for a week, but things had been so hectic with moving preparations and the Mexico trip. I probably should have used the free time to research kitchen tiles, but I missed my friend.

  After several glances at my text messages, I still wasn’t sure if I had the right place. When I finally arrived at suite 204, there was no question about it. It was Telly’s, from top to bottom. My footsteps echoed as I walked along the hardwood floors of the wide space. A loft style office, complete with large windows and exposed brick. Glass walls and doorways separated the space into six areas; reception, conference room, tiny kitchen, and three offices. Telly’s was the largest with a view of the city through a bell-shaped window.

  There didn’t seem to be anyone around, and I was afraid I had missed Telly at a late lunch or a meeting. Then a whine resounded in her office. I slowed my steps as I made my way in, hoping it was a frustrated whine and not a sex whine. It wouldn’t totally surprise me to walk in on her gettin’ it on in her new office. Then again, it would’ve been nice if this year wasn’t known as The Year I Walked In On My Best Friends Fucking. The closer I got the more I realized that the whine wasn’t frustrated or sexual, it was a cry.

  “Telly,” I said, knocking on the glass door as I stepped inside. After a long sniff, she cleared her throat, then appeared from behind her desk. Was she sitting on the floor? She quickly swiped her fingers underneath her eyes, wiping away all traces of tears and runny mascara.

  “I thought you weren’t coming by until later,” she said, and straightened her dress.

  “I left a little early. Are you okay?” I approached her, but kept a fair distance. Telly wasn’t the coddling type.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “What if this is a huge mistake? I left a great job at one of the best firms in the city so I could what? Work longer hours and have more stress because it’s all on me now?”

  “No, you left because you weren’t getting the respect that you deserved and so you could have ownership over your work. I thought you couldn’t wait to get out of there.”

  “I couldn’t.” She leaned on the edge of her desk and glanced around the office. “But now that I’m here, I feel like maybe I jumped the gun on this one.”

  I cracked a smile and sat in the chair in front of her. It was strange to see Telly in a position of fear. She was one of the bravest people I knew. Throughout her life, she had let down after let down and still she kept going despite it all. Her hair fell over her face as she looked down at me, hiding her leaky eyes.

  “Don’t you remember how excited you were when you told me the news at the bar? You had this immense enthusiasm and confidence. I know it’s in there somewhere.”

  Telly brushed the back of her hand along her cheek and turned away, toward the wide window. She cleared her throat and her voice regained its firm tone. “That’s my problem. I can never just be happy with where I am, with what I’ve accomplished. It’s like I’m never enough. Like I’ll always have something to prove.”

  “You’re not alone, Tell,” I said, feeling a tear surface. “I feel that way . . . all the time.” I scoffed at myself and even at Telly. I think we’d proven ourselves enough. It was time to just take what we wanted and leave the rest.

  “You do?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” I shook my head and bit my lower lip. “I never cut myself any slack.” Telly nodded as if I was reading her mind. “Let me ask you somethin’. When you left to do this, did you feel like you were putting shackles on or taking shackles off?”

  She looked up for a moment and took a deep breath. “I took them off and it’s scary as hell,” Telly said with a relieved smile. She wiped one last tear from her eye. “Jesus, I’ve been so emotional lately. I don’t feel like myself.”

  “New birth control pill?” I asked.

  “No, just been a big week.”

  “Come’re,” I said and draped my arm around her shoulder. Affectionate or not, she’d have to deal with it. “Show me the rest of the place and I’ll buy you a coffee.”

  “Thanks, Mar,” she said with an appreciative smile. I crinkled my nose and shrugged.

  “Anytime,” I said.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  My Taste

  After the office tour and a latte, I met James at Pottery Barn. Every time I walked into that place, I felt a sense of calm that only beautiful interiors could inspire. However, I couldn’t just look at everything, I had to touch it. The smooth gloss of a decorative bird statue, the plush softness of a cashmere throw, and the weight of a scented vanilla and lavender candle.

  “C’mon, Marin, the beds are over here,” James said as he pulled me away from the rows of elegant décor.

  “But,” I whimpered.

  He took a decorative pillow from one of the bed setups. It was a creamy canvas material with a leafy green pattern. It distracted my attention, as that was surely his plan.

  “This is nice,” he said.

  “What? The bedding or the bed?” I liked one, but not the other. James and I hadn’t been furniture shopping before. Though his apartment was well put together, it wasn’t my taste. And our new house was going to reflect my taste, I mean, our taste. Who was I kidding? My taste.

  “Both,” he said.

  I cringed. While I could appreciate the craftsmanship of the headboard, the bed looked like it belonged in the country more than the city. And our suburban-esc house was in the middle of the city.

  “No?” he asked, timid.

  I shook my head. We walked ahead and I spied a dark wood sleigh bed, which would look gorgeous in front of the fireplace in the bedroom.

  “No,” he said.

  What?

  “Why not?” I asked. The bed and its matching furniture was, well, a perfect match.

  “I’m too tall for a footer on the bed,” he said.

  Woes of a six-foot man. I looked to see if the footer could be detached, but no such luck.

  I sighed. “Okay.”

  As we moved along the bedding, we disagreed on poster beds and upholstered beds. Yes, he suggested using the posts as a stripper pole. Men. I was beginning to think that we weren’t going to agree on anything and that one of us would have to compromise. Guess who that’d be?

  “How about this one?” he asked and walked over to a traditional farmhouse style bed. The espresso finish gave it a contemporary feel, and the combination created a classic look. The side tables and dresser were nice too. A possible match.

  “Yeah,” I said. “How much is it?”

  James turned the price tag over to show me. “It’s in our price range,” he said. “What do you think?”

  I nodded with a slight smile. “Let’s get it.”

  “N
ow wait,” he said and held his hands up to halt the sale. “There’s only one way to be sure if this is the right one.” I shot him a questioning look and before I knew it, he’d lifted me from the ground.

  “James, stop!” I giggled and he put me on the bed before hopping in next to me. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be laying in the bed,” my voice was hushed and I was thankful that we went in on a slow Wednesday evening. I tried to slide off, but James pulled me back to lay with him.

  “Why not? We’re paying customers,” he said. It was true, we were about to buy the bed. James rested his hands behind his head and stretched out his legs, one foot over the other. “Ahh, this is nice,” he said. I turned on my side to look at him as he gazed up at the ceiling. I watched his lashes fall softly as his eyes closed. “I can see it now. You and me reading in this bed together with the fireplace going. Can you see it?”

  “Mmhmm,” I murmured. One of his eyes peaked open.

  “You have to close your eyes too,” he instructed.

  I felt a little ridiculous already lying beside him in a display bed in the middle of Pottery Barn, so I hesitated.

  “C’mon,” he said.

  I relented and closed my eyes.

  “Can you feel the heat from the fire?” he asked.

  “Mmhmm,” I said.

  “Yep, it’s feelin’ cozy.” He was really getting into it. I let out a small chuckle. “What are you reading?”

  “Hmm, Pride and Prejudice,” I said and opened my eyes again. I didn’t want to miss a moment of him lying there in Pottery Barn, imagining our future nights together. All inspired by a bed in the middle of the store.

  “I’m reading Game of Thrones,” he said, and I laughed.

  “You’re finally gonna get around to that?” I asked. He’d wanted to read the series for a long time, but the books remained untouched on his bookshelf.

  He turned to me with the most gorgeous blue eyes. “You make me really happy.”

  I blushed, it was a sweet moment, a bubble in time. Like the life of a bubble it was over in an instant. I wanted to just take it as a compliment, smile, and tell him that he made me happy too, but all I wanted to say was, then why won’t you marry me? There he was, blissfully creating our future in his mind like it was the most natural thing in the world, but somehow a ring and a wedding didn’t fit. The bed that started out as a cozy little dream suddenly became a vast space and I was disconnected.