He looked at the package in her hand. “What did you get them?”
“Their cheese board and matching cutter. You?”
“Beer mugs.”
After an hour at the shower she realized two things. One, men should never be allowed to attend any kind of bridal shower under any circumstances. For heaven’s sake, showers were boring enough for women. For men, it had to be torture. She figured most of them had been dragged there by their significant others. The rest probably had no idea what they were getting themselves into. She watched as her former karaoke partner, Matt, dozed in the corner. The only male who seemed to be enjoying the event was Uncle Albert, who had a scarf tied around his neck and had been serving mint juleps in dainty little glasses since Meg had arrived.
The other thing she noticed was a certain individual with fake eyebrows and a taste for white patent leather hitting on Bill. She’d noticed it the second they’d entered the house. Avril had been following him all night, laughing loud at everything he said. For some reason this bothered her. She liked Bill, as a friend. He was a good guy and she didn’t want to see him with someone like Avril. At least that was what she told herself.
Halfway through the gift opening she ducked into the bathroom. She was about to close the door behind her when she felt it push a little as if someone was trying to come in. She spun around and faced Bill. He closed the door behind him.
“What are you doing?” she whispered. Several yards away Claire and Ben were holding up their soup ladle for everyone to admire.
Without another word he took her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips. She surprised herself when she didn’t stop him right away. He was the perfect kisser. However, when she felt her panties turn warm she pushed him away. “Bill? This isn’t a—”
“Listen, I know this is really forward, but I figure why should I waste any time, right? I’m just going to say it. I like you, Meg. I - haven’t stopped thinking about you since Mexico.”
She was speechless—partly because she hadn’t really stopped thinking about him either. But she didn’t want to be with him. Sure, he was fun to hang out with and cute and genuine but she was in love with Mason. Love. Bill could just be a passing infatuation for all she knew. Mason was someone she could marry; why Bill had come along right when she was about to mend the fences with the love of her life, she had no idea. It was a cruel twist of fate. Like when she was skinny and there were no sales on. But when she was feeling fat right before her period there were screaming deals on - every designer brand at the mall. It was life, and unfortunately Bill was going to fall into the fateful abyss of irony.
“Bill, I’m sorry. But I, uh . . . I like you too, but it wouldn’t be fair to string you along. I . . . well, you see, I used to date one of the other groomsmen in the wedding party, and well to be honest with you I’m not over him,” she finished in a rush of words.
“I know. Claire told me.”
“She did?”
“Yeah. But I mean, how serious are you about this guy? I mean, is he serious too?”
She swallowed. “I love him.”
He nodded. “All right. Well, I guess I have to respect that.” Part of her was relieved and part of her wondered if she had just made a huge mistake.
CHAPTER SIX
She brought a book for the flight, but was too fidgety to read. She opened to where her bookmark was but found that she had read the same paragraph three times before they had even taken off. She just wanted to get there. She wanted to deplane and be with him. For two solid days. She wondered if he felt the same. An hour and a half in the sky seemed like an eternity and she tried to keep herself occupied by flipping through SkyMall magazine.
She wondered if he would pick her up curbside, or would he be waiting for her at baggage claim? They hadn’t been clear on this. She wondered what they would do that evening, but realized she - didn’t even care. She wanted to be with him. He was The One. She was sure of it now. She’d never craved someone like this before, never had such a need to feel a pair of arms around her. The thought of continuing the rest of her life without him was unfathomable. She’d pushed Bill and their rendezvous in the bathroom from her mind, and reasoned that she enjoyed the flattery of knowing that a hot, nice, fun guy was attracted to her. That was the only reason she had kissed him back. It was her ego, nothing more.
When she walked into the airport she immediately spotted him peering through a sea of faces. He was tall, almost six-three, and his gorgeous features made him stand out amid the average-looking crowd of people in the terminal.
She expected him to be in a suit and tie, having come from work, but he was wearing sweatpants, tennis shoes and a T-shirt.
He pulled her off her feet and planted a warm kiss on her cheek. She laughed. It felt good to be picked up, and she had no doubt that he was excited to see her too.
“I came from the gym,” he said as he set her down. “So I’ve gotta go home and shower before we go out to eat. Is that okay? Are you hungry now?”
“I can wait.” He grabbed her suitcase and even though it had wheels he carried it by the handle, the muscle in his forearm tight and sinewy as they headed for the escalator.
She wasn’t familiar with San Francisco, but knew it was an expensive place to live. Rent was outrageous and mortgages were even worse. So when they pulled into Mason’s apartment complex she knew right away that he must be doing well. He owned the two-bedroom apartment on the top floor of this building, complete with a sprawling view of city lights and rooftops. She was further impressed by the mirrored halls, hardwood floors and touches of modern art. “Did you decorate yourself?” she asked.
“I hired someone.” He opened the fridge. Inside were strawberries, banana yogurt, a block of cheddar cheese and Choco Top—the kind of chocolate syrup that hardens when you pour it on ice cream. He’d stocked up on all her favorite foods. “You got Choco Top,” she said, amazed.
“I sure did. And open the freezer.”
She pulled the freezer open and found a brand-new tub of vanilla ice cream sitting inside.
“I can’t believe how sweet you are.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“I want you to feel at home.”
She did feel at home, and she felt like suggesting they have Choco Top for dinner followed with some long-overdue lovemaking.
“Do you mind if I take a shower?” he asked.
“No. Not at all. I’ll just make myself comfortable.”
“Oh, I TiVo’d Oprah for you,” he said. “I know you missed it because you had to hop on the plane.” Why had she ever broken up with him?
He reached for a remote. “You just take a seat,” he said.
He messed around with the remote before a menu of selections popped onto the screen. He showed her where to click to start Oprah. “So, you’re all set.”
She started the show and two minutes into what appeared to be a makeover program the screen froze. She grabbed the remote, clicked exactly what he’d pressed and tried to unfreeze the show but it didn’t work. She tried again and again to get Oprah back, but she was gone.
She heard the shower running and realized she was stuck watching the frozen image of a middle-aged woman with feathered bangs and blue eye shadow. She looked around for some magazines. She settled on a huge coffee-table book of San Francisco.
The book was heavy and felt awkward when she set it on her lap. She’d use it to get some sightseeing ideas for their weekend. She was thinking about all the pictures of Alcatraz she’d browse when she opened the book. A card slipped from inside the front cover and fell to the floor.
Whenever she went into a male’s house she expected to be startled by a pubic hair in the bathroom sink, or a dirty sock under the sheets. Upon setting foot in the domain of the opposite sex she knew opportunity was abundant to meet with a wet toilet seat or a foul odor from the garbage disposal. However, it never occurred to her that she would encounter remnants of the woman who had been there before her.
The second she looked at the card she knew it had come from the female species. Mason’s name was scrawled in loopy, springy feminine writing on the outside of the envelope.
She said a few quick prayers that it was signed by his mother or late grandmother. Would reading the card be snooping? She had, after all, stumbled upon it. It wasn’t like she had been looking for evidence of another woman. It had fallen into her lap, literally. She looked over each shoulder before slowly pulling the card out. Before she had even cracked it open something slipped from inside. She thought her heart might pound right out of her chest and land on the coffee table when she realized it was a photograph—a picture of Mason cheek-to-cheek with some girl.
She had curly shoulder-length hair and a nose sprinkled with freckles. Her playful smile revealed straight, white teeth. At this point ending the investigation was out of the question so Meg proceeded to read:Dear Mason,
These past few months have been amazing! You are such an incredible person and you deserve the best birthday. I look forward to many more happy memories, and I thought we could explore the city together.
Love,
Kristen
So this was Kristen. This was the girl he’d dated briefly after they had broken up. Meg’d heard about her from Claire and had spent many nights wondering what she looked like. But now she wished she’d never seen the picture. She hadn’t realized how hard it would be to see Mason with another woman. To see him smiling with another woman. To know that at one point he’d felt happy with another woman.
Suddenly, the book was not as cool or interesting as it had seemed when she picked it up. What a lame gift.
She studied the picture, and hated the fact that Mason looked happy.
Kristen is gone, she thought as she stuffed the card back into the envelope. Her days of excessive underlining are over. You are here. You broke up with him, and he dated other people. Let it go.
She wondered what he would do if he knew that she had seen the photo. Would he lament over it, tuck it in between his birth certificate and college diploma in his filing cabinet? Or rip it in two before tossing it in the trash can with all his other garbage? She hoped for the second option.
She tucked the envelope back in the book before going to the kitchen for vodka.
While she poured liquor into a glass Mason returned, wearing khaki slacks and a black T-shirt.
It was strange, but seeing that photo of Kristen made her want to strip him right there and have mad passionate sex with him on the kitchen floor. She truly felt aroused. She’d never felt a need to claim anyone, but she felt sexually territorial, and it frightened her a bit.
His stomach growled loudly and she was so preoccupied that she hardly even noticed. He laughed. “Excuse me. Sorry for all my bodily noises.”
“Oh. Ha.” She faked laughter. “That’s okay.”
“You hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. I have the perfect restaurant in mind. We can walk from here.” He touched her back as they moved toward the front door. “You okay?”
“Oh. Of course. I’m fine.”
The air outside was chilly and she wrapped her arms around her chest. “Is it always like this in the summer?”
“Usually, but we get some warm days too.” He pulled off his coat. “Here. You take my jacket.”
“That’s okay. I don’t want you to freeze.”
“No. I’m used to it.”
When he wrapped the coat over her shoulders she could feel the warmth he’d left inside. They walked down one of the steepest hills she’d ever seen in her life, and she wondered how anyone managed to drive a stick shift or parallel park without rolling into something behind them.
Nonetheless, she loved the old San Francisco buildings. They were so full of charm and character, and she thought of how different San Diego was with its sprawling developments of modern tract homes. Except for a few historic neighborhoods almost all the homes in San Diego were built after the sixties.
The neighborhood seemed safe and clean, but they passed at least a dozen homeless people. Some were huddled in corners, hiding their faces beneath the high collars of dirty jackets just to stay warm. Others picked through trash cans.
They walked to a small Italian restaurant and she realized how wonderful it was to be with him again. However, she couldn’t help but wonder if he had been to this restaurant with Kristen. While he ordered a bottle of Chianti she realized that if she wanted to move forward she was going to have to erase the whole image of Kristen’s face and the book and everything about them from her memory. When they did get back together she could “accidentally” slip the book into a box headed for Goodwill.
“I think we should start with beef carpaccio and we’ll each have a salad,” he told the waiter. He looked at Meg. “Caesar for you?”
“Please.”
“I’ll have a green salad with Italian dressing.” Though being with him again seemed new, it was as if no time had passed. He still knew exactly what she liked to eat and she felt a sense of security. Dinner was delicious and they ate and chatted about old times and new times and the upcoming wedding. Afterward they walked to a jazz bar a few doors down. The inside looked like it could be the dimly lit, swanky living room of a close friend. Soft, comfortable couches in front of candlelit coffee tables covered the floor. They made themselves comfortable on a red velvet sofa and ordered martinis. The music was low and sexy and he drew her into his arms, cuddling against her body as if they were curled up on his couch watching live music. “So, you think you could live in San Francisco?”
The question took her by surprise. She’d never thought of relocating. Furthermore, she had never thought he would ask her so fast. They’d had a few drinks and maybe this was just his tipsy side talking. However, she loved this moment and wanted to believe he was serious.
She smiled. “I hadn’t thought of it. But so far I’m in love with San Francisco.”
“Good.”
After they finished their martinis she could hardly wait to get to his place. She could practically feel the warmth of his skin through his clothes and she couldn’t wait to feel their bare skin touching, the way his body felt against hers when they slept.
They held hands on the way back to his apartment. They were a couple blocks from his building when a homeless man, wearing a muscle shirt and a green top hat, approached them. He held a green cane with a shamrock on top. “Hey, you two lovebirds. You want me to sing you a song?”
“Sure,” Meg said, open to spontaneous and strange entertainment.
“No.” Mason picked up his pace, but the homeless man kept following them. He began to sing an Irish song for them before doing a little jig in their path.
“You mind sparing some change? I got no food. I’m starvin’.”
Meg reached for her purse. She liked this little leprechaun. He had a warm smile and he danced well. “Here. I think I have some extra change,” she said. Mason grabbed her elbow.
“What are you doing?” The grimace on his face spoke volumes. “Don’t give him any money.”
“Mason?” She looked up at him, surprised by his anger, as he pulled her away.
“Oh c’mon, man. Spare a brother some change.” The homeless man followed them. “C’mon, man. I’m hungry.”
“Don’t give him any money, Meg.”
“Mason, let go of my elbow.”
“Listen, you can’t pay any attention to these crackheads. They all—”
The man’s voice boomed behind them. “You gonna die with all yo’ money, man! You gonna die with it. You greedy prick, you gonna die with all yo’ money!” Though the elfin little man had given up, she could hear his voice echoing behind them all the way down the block.
“For God’s sake, Mason, let go of me.”
“Look. I’m sorry,” he said. “Those freakin’ bums are everywhere and if you give one of them money they all want money. They’re dirty and they’re on drugs. Just ignore them from now on.”
> She knew Mason had a tendency to be cold, but this cold? She wanted to tell him that it was her change, and that yes he was probably right. The man probably would go buy crack, but if it made him feel better for one night she could care less. Suddenly she remembered the time they were on the freeway and had seen an abandoned dog, frightened and nearly getting run over by oncoming traffic. Mason had refused to stop, saying the animal probably had ringworm.
At the time she had wondered how she could be with such a prick. It was the beginning of the end. She couldn’t believe she had forgotten about this side of him. Loneliness does this to people, she thought. They can forget all the bad stuff, and focus on the things that made them secure—the things that made them feel like they - weren’t alone.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking her hand.
“Nothing, it’s just that, well . . . I felt bad for that homeless man.”
“Forget about him. Trust me. He’ll make a ton of money tonight.” He kissed her on the forehead. She had to admit, she was still attracted to him. Perhaps she was being overly sensitive about the homeless man. Everyone was entitled to their opinion.
His apartment felt as cold as the outdoors when they returned.
She wasn’t sure how it happened but they ended up kissing on top of his bed. It was strange, but she felt like a schoolgirl around him, unsure if she wanted him to see her naked. Something about kissing him fully clothed seemed to make her feel more comfortable. But when he pulled her top over her head she let him. When his lips latched on to one of her nipples, she didn’t stop him. Partially because his touch had made every nerve in her body turn to water. She felt as if she were melting and the feeling of his lips lightly pulsing in and out over her breast made her want her pants off as well. He kicked his pants off then he moved his hand up her thigh. He rubbed the outside of her panties with his fingertips. With his other hand he took one of hers and moved it to his erection. She rubbed her hand over him, noticing that he was still wearing socks.
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