It was a good realization.
I took her hand in mine. “A horrible spoilsport. Can we go home now since you’re cold? Are we done with creating a deception that I doubt anyone will believe?”
“Absolutely. My joggers are calling my name. I ate too much. The ice cream put me over the edge of gluttony.”
“Yet you ate a whole branzino the other night. I’m disappointed in you. Ice cream should be easy.”
She laughed. “I think you should brag about that in our interview. What’s something Felicia is great at?’ ‘She can eat a whole branzino in one sitting.’
“Oh, I’m totally going to mention that.”
“If that’s the top of the list of my talents, I need to reevaluate my life.”
I squeezed her hand. “Nah. It’s not even in the top ten of your talents.”
Felicia glanced over at me. She smiled.
I realized in that moment, that simple, ordinary moment of walking down the street holding hands, that I was already in love with her.
Well, fuck.
“Isn’t this cozy?” Felicia asked me as she snuggled up alongside me in bed.
It was, but I wasn’t going to give it to her that easily. “You have a show about serial killers on. I don’t think that qualifies as cozy.”
The bedroom was warm though and despite her call for joggers on our walk, she had taken a hot shower and put on one of her silk nightgowns, so her bare leg was draped over mine. She’d made herself tea and her breath smelled like ginger. She’d said it was to settle her stomach.
It was all really damn domestic and yes, cozy.
“It’s called compromise. That’s what relationships are all about.”
“How is that compromise?” I asked, wrapping my arm around her head and pulling her in closer on my chest. “You agreed to no murder shows in the bedroom and here we are watching some guy do some really bloody shit. And I see blood all the time at work, so if I’m disturbed, it’s disturbing.”
I’d preferred to read the book when it came to true crime. I didn’t need the crime scene photos and reenactments.
“If it bothers you that much, feel free to change it,” she said, though it sounded like she thought I was a massive wimp. “Though remember we’re supposed to be showing each other our true selves.”
“Thank you.” I grabbed the remote and switched it to the basketball game.
“Basketball?” she said, sounding as disgusted as I felt over discussion of serial killer cannibalism.
“Yep.” I kissed the top of her head. “This is my true self. Love it or leave it.”
She stiffened against me. The words were far weightier than I had intended them to be. I was going to open my mouth and retract the words, or attempt to explain them away, when she propped herself up on my chest and stared intently at me.
“Michael?”
“Yes?” I waited, still, unable to read her expression.
“I’m feeling more inclined to love it than leave it these days,” she murmured.
That made my gut tighten. “Glad to hear it,” I said gruffly.
So maybe she was falling in love with me at the same time I was falling in love with her.
Felicia gave me a mysterious smile that did all kinds of things to my insides.
I picked up the remote. “Play ID TV,” I said to it. The TV changed the channel back to her murder show.
She laughed and kissed me. “Thank you.”
“Whatever.”
That made her laugh even louder.
“So have you ever been married or engaged before?” Gloria asked me, spreading a thin layer of artisan butter over her focaccia bread.
It was a fair question and one that presumably would have come up more conversationally if Michael and I had been dating for a year. But it still caught me a little off guard.
“No, neither.” Then because there was no reason to hide the truth, I said, “My last partner failed to mention he had a wife already. It was more than a bit awkward when she reached out to me. So I stepped away from dating for a while because it was very upsetting to have been made a cheat without my knowledge.”
“Well, you weren’t the cheat. Her husband was. You couldn’t have known.”
“No, I suppose not. There really weren’t any red flags. But the time alone was good for me.”
Gloria was scrutinizing me intently.
Why did I get the sudden feeling she was on to us?
“Seems like you would have some trust issues after an experience like that. Yet here you are engaged after just a few short months of dating.”
I never should have told her about that bastard George. Because I did have trust issues. I struggled to take someone at face value and believe they really cared about me for me. But I was not going to divulge any of that to Gloria, clearly. “Hmm. You can’t judge a man by another man’s misdeeds.”
“Good for you,” she said, raising her wineglass. “Life is too short.”
I waited for some further wisdom to follow but none seemed to be forthcoming. I just nodded and sipped my own wine. I wasn’t sure what the hell was happening but I was definitely uncomfortable.
“Michael’s been looking for a surrogate,” she said. “But I’m sure you knew that already.”
I choked on my wine. “Sorry?”
Now that was a hell of a bombshell to drop at lunch.
“He didn’t tell you?”
She didn’t really look surprised. If anything, she looked annoyed, which I couldn’t interpret. I didn’t know her well enough to get a read on her true emotions.
“He did not tell me, no.” Not even a hint.
“He probably didn’t want to scare you, but yes, that’s how serious he’s been about starting a family.”
“I know it means a lot to him.” I did know that. But damn. Michael had been willing to be a single father? Somehow that did surprise me. Then again, I’d never seen him around children.
Maybe it was time to babysit Savannah’s baby. I felt like I needed to see Michael firsthand with a baby. Or maybe that would be a terrible idea. It might make me want to open the baby factory and it was way too soon for that. Like eighteen months too soon for that.
“I’d check the condoms for holes if I were you,” Gloria said, with a tinkling laugh, like that was hilarious.
I had been distracted by my own thoughts but Gloria’s casual and teasing statement was like a bucket of ice water over my head.
“What?” I slammed my wineglass down so hard it was a miracle it didn’t shatter. Could I be pregnant already? I contemplated my uterus, questioning if I could feel an egg dividing in its depths. Nothing felt out of the ordinary. Didn’t women just know instinctively?
“I’m kidding. Michael would never do something so dishonest.”
Well, that was utterly reassuring. Not. I didn’t think he would. Or at least I hoped he wouldn’t. Because that would be very, very uncool.
“Why didn’t he and Becca have children?” I asked, curious what her perspective on their marriage would be.
“Oh, she wasn’t really interested, from what I understood at the time. She felt she was too young. I imagine that would have changed in a few years if she had lived. But it was a source of contention between them. Michael always felt like she overstated her desire for a family when they got engaged. A classic bait and switch.”
Maybe I didn’t need to worry so much about appeasing Becca’s ghost. Having children or not was something you couldn’t be dishonest about. That was just cruel to deny a man (or a woman) a child when they’d expressed such a strong desire for one.
“And then there was her spending. She never understood the meaning of the word budget. Plus there was the time I was certain she was having an affair with the contractor who redid their kitchen, but Michael would never confirm it. The contractor installed more than that island, if you catch my meaning.”
Fabulous. Now I never wanted to lean on the island again. Or spread out my takeout over t
he surface without thinking of Michael’s devious former wife.
Becca really was like Rebecca from the famed novel. Damn. I didn’t need to talk to her, I needed to sage her ass out of the closet. And order a new countertop for the island.
“I’m surprised Michael hasn’t told you this himself. I probably shouldn’t be telling you so many details about ancient history.”
I loved when people expressed regret three seconds after sharing something juicy. As if they’d ever had any intention of not saying it. I was grateful for the insider information. “Oh, I think it’s a tricky thing. Michael feels like if he talks about Becca too much I’ll be worried he’s not totally over her.”
“That sounds like Michael. He’s very considerate.”
I couldn’t really argue with that. “I’m honestly not worried about him being still hung up on her or anything like that. I don’t get that sense from him at all and it’s been ten years. Though I will be happy to buy a place we pick out together.”
I was saying that as part of the overall grand plan, but the truth was, it did sound appealing. I could already picture what a new place together would look like. I was going to layer his minimal style with some dark moody velvets and plenty of texture.
There I was, making it real when it really wasn’t.
Staying together was contingent on our feelings at the end of the month.
That thought was always in the back of my head. This might all just be for nothing in the end.
“Not to change the subject,” Gloria said, “but we’re limited on venues. Given it is December, availability is terrible and we’re on a tight time frame. We can either move the party to the spring or settle for something less than ideal. I can’t even get my event planner. She’s totally booked out until February.”
“Well,” I said, because I didn’t doubt she was right but I didn’t like either option. I didn’t want to commit to one over the other, so I drew the word out to buy some time. The wise thing to do would be to just proceed with a simple party, maybe even at Michael’s flat, or Gloria and Bud’s. Because the point really wasn’t the party, it was what it represented—legitimacy for our engagement. It demonstrated our marriage displayed premeditation as opposed to an impulse for a visa.
Sort of like murder. Did it show intent or impulse?
Not that I was going to describe my engagement in murder terms. At least not to anyone but Michael. He might be amused by my thought process. Or not.
“Should we just have it at the flat?” I asked. It was a fake engagement party. I didn’t need to book out The Plaza. “I’d rather not wait.”
Gloria seemed as thrilled about the idea as I felt. “It is Michael’s second marriage.”
Now, hang on. I didn’t think that was fair. Just because he’d been married before didn’t mean I should get stiffed on quality.
Then I remembered it was fake anyway.
“We can just put the emphasis on catering,” I said. “Everyone cares more about the food and the booze than the venue, right?”
“I wouldn’t say that’s entirely accurate but at least with it being the holidays we can go all out with the décor. Do you have a tree? I know Michael never has one and you just moved in.”
“I have a tree. I fully decorated the flat. It was my first chance to go all out in years. My place was really small, so I went crazy at Michael’s.” Not to pat myself on the back or anything. “But we could use some rental tables and chairs or everyone will be standing the entire time.” I pulled out my phone to make notes. “We should get the invites out tomorrow or the day after.”
“I want paper. You can send electronic ‘save the date ones’ if you’d like, but thrown together or not, I want this to be a real engagement party,” Gloria said.
Funny enough, so did I.
When I got home I pulled dried sage out of my purse. I’d popped into a crystals and herb shop around the corner and gotten a bunch. I wasn’t sure I believed in ghosts, but Becca felt ominous suddenly after my chat with Gloria. I didn’t want to walk into the closet and find my entire wardrobe slashed in tatters.
I flicked on a lighter and ran it under the sage brush. It caught fire so I blew it out and let the smoke rise. I waved it around pretty frantically for maximum effect.
Okay, so maybe I did believe in ghosts. Or at the very least crazy wives hidden away that were supposed to be dead, like in the novel Jane Eyre. Oh my God, what if Becca wasn’t dead?
“You’re secretly a goth, aren’t you?” Michael asked. “That’s what you needed to reveal to me.”
I jumped. “How do you do that? I never hear you come home! I could be burglarized before I even knew what hit me.”
“How could you be robbed in our own apartment with a doorman and a key code entry?”
“I don’t know. But criminals always find a way.” I tried to nonchalantly put my hand on my hip as if the sage were an accessory. Only it was still burning, so a waft of smoke plumed up from my side. It rose into my nose and I resisted the urge to cough. I failed, but I kept my mouth clamped shut, so my cheeks ballooned out like a chipmunk. Finally, I gave in and burst out with a smoky cough.
Michael entered the closet and gave me a kiss. He looked deep into my eyes and said, “What the fuck are you doing?” in a very calm voice.
I turned to the left and breathed in some fresh air. “Saging the closet. It gets rid of old energy.”
His eyebrows went up. “Jesus, we really need to move, don’t we?”
“Sage is cheaper than moving.”
“What brought this on?”
“Lunch with your mother.”
That made him laugh. “That I can believe.”
“And while I wouldn’t call myself a goth, I do have a dark side.”
“You have a dark side. I’ve gotten hints of that so far, but I’m going to need that described in a little more detail.”
I didn’t even consider myself having a dark side, but it was fun to tweak him a little. I did have nose rings and an entirely black wardrobe in high school but that was as far as I’d gone with it in terms of fashion choices. Watching crime TV and believing in ghosts didn’t mean a thing. Those were just interests, not a lifestyle.
Time to change the subject. “What is this about a surrogate, by the way? Your mother mentioned you had been looking for one.”
“Oh, geez, of course she did.” Michael peeled off his suit jacket and threw it over his shoulder, holding it with one finger. “This is not a closet conversation. Can we sit down and eat something and talk?”
“Of course. We also need to talk about the fact that we never plan dinners. Maybe we need to sort that out too.”
“I hate talking about dinner.” He turned and went down the hall to the bedroom. “Can you figure out something for tonight? Please? I’ll give you a thousand dollars.”
That made me laugh as I poked my head out of the closet to watch him. “You’re such a liar. You’re not going to give me a thousand dollars. We have some of those premade salads in the refrigerator. Can you survive on one of those?”
“I’ll hate every minute of it, but yes, I can survive on that.”
He disappeared into the bedroom and I went back to my smudging. I moved the sage around in the closet before walking with the bundle down the hallway and into the kitchen. I liberally waved it over the island.
“You think the island is possessed?”
“No. I think there might be bad memories associated with the island.”
Michael eyed me as he opened the cupboard and pulled a glass down. He was wearing workout clothes, so I expected he planned to go to the gym downstairs after we ate.
“How can a kitchen island hold bad memories? Unless it involves your cooking?”
“You’re hilarious.” I finished my wafting smoke around and put the sage in the sink. I pulled up some holiday music on my phone just to add some cheer. “Your mother might have mentioned that she thought there had been some infidelity on Becca’s part, in
volving this specific kitchen island and its installation.”
“Oh, God, my mother told you that? Wow.” He filled his glass with water from the refrigerator door. “I’m not sure how that’s any of her business or why she thought it would be okay to share something like that with you. She only knew about it because one night when Becca was sick and everyone was saying what a saint she was, I kind of lost my shit and implied it to my mother. Clearly a mistake.”
“And don’t forget Gloria told me that you were searching for a surrogate,” I reminded him. “So I totally agree that she overstepped. Trust me, I wasn’t fishing. I asked a few casual questions and she just spilled without hesitation. I’m not telling you to have you get upset with your mother, but I don’t want to pretend not to know these things either. They’re both kind of a big deal.”
“No, I get it. I don’t want you to feel awkward.” He took a sip of water and set it down. On the island. “So one day I came home at lunchtime because I spilled queso on myself and I needed a clean dress shirt.” He shrugged. “When I walked in, Becca was indeed getting fucked on the island by our contractor.”
“Good God, that’s just awful!” I felt horrible for him. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. I can’t say I forgave her, but I tried to. I do work a lot, especially back then. She felt neglected.”
What an easy excuse. “If you feel neglected, you schedule a date night. You don’t shag the contractor.”
He nodded. “I agree. If she had told me how she was feeling, I could have at least tried to prevent it. But that’s not the route she took. You can’t stay angry with someone though when they get a raw deal like cancer at thirty years old.”
I went into the refrigerator for the salads, realizing this was a good time for a confession of my own. It was embarrassing though and made me feel shameful even though I really hadn’t done anything wrong. I stood up with the plastic containers in my hands. “I dated a man who was married and I had no clue he had a wife. I was gutted when I found out. Not only was I hurt and felt cheap and used, I felt absolutely awful for his wife.”
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