“Okay.” Kyle walks away. I watch him round the corner, and then I go outside, heading for Mom’s Camry. I find the box of serving spoons in the backseat and take it out.
On my way to the door, though, my phone chimes. I pull it out, and there’s a notification that I have an email.
I unlock the phone and go to the emails, entering my parents’ house again, but when I see who the email is from I freeze, standing right in front of the door. My mouth goes dry, and my hands start shaking.
Miss Gabby,
I’ve been counting the days since our night over tacos and tequila. One week and two days, and I haven’t heard from you. I used to think I knew exactly what I was doing to a woman’s body. I mean, you came all over me, I felt it, but since I haven’t heard a peep from you, I’m assuming all of that was just for show?
I don’t expect you to respond, just want to let you know I’m thinking about you. If you need me, you know where to find me.
Marcel Ward
CEO of Ward Landscaping and Design
Oh. My. God. Is he serious right now? Why would he send this?
I read the email way too many times to count, my heart drumming in my chest. My fingers are slick with sweat, and I almost drop the box of serving spoons, but I clutch it to my chest, keeping it steady.
“Gabby!” Ricky yells, walking my way, and I nearly jump out of the light green jumper Teagan and I picked out during our mall trip. “What are you doing? We’re waiting on you to get dinner started.”
“Oh—yeah. Sorry. Got an email and had to check it.”
He takes the box from me. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine. Everything okay with you?” I ask as we go back to the kitchen.
“Never better, sis.” I can tell he’s lying. He could be better. He’s miserable with Violetta, but that’s none of my business. Just like me and my mother, Ricky has a temper too. If you piss him off, it takes him a while to calm down.
The table is crowded with chairs. Some are chairs we pulled up from the four-top table in the kitchen. While some are high-backed chairs, others are shorter, but it works for our family. We’re so used to doing it this way but I’m sure to an outsider it would look very strange. There’s a card table and folding chairs set up in the living room for a kids’ table. Aunt Carolina brought it along for the twins.
I take the seat next to Kyle, who lightly squeezes my thigh as I sit. I look up, and he’s smiling at me. “Took you a while.”
“Couldn’t figure out where she put the serving spoons. Had to search.” Geez. When will I get the chance to stop lying?
Dinner is delicious, of course, but I can’t quite enjoy it. For one, the email Marcel sent is seared into my brain. I swear my cellphone is burning a hole in my back pocket. I read it so many times in the span of a two minutes that I memorized the words.
And two, because Kyle touches my thigh every few seconds under the table, passing little hints at me. When he touches me like this, so close to what’s only supposed to be his, it means he wants sex. We haven’t done anything in several days, so I suppose I can’t I blame him for his growing need. We’re usually all over each other.
After we’ve had dessert and played a game of charades over wine, my Aunt Carolina and the twins are hugging and kissing us goodbye. Ricky and Violetta are in the living room now, watching a soccer game with my Dad. Kyle and I are helping Mamá clean off the table.
“Dinner was absolutely amazing, Mrs. Lewis,” Kyle says, dumping scraps in the trash bin.
“I’m so glad you think so! I had lots of time to figure out what I would make tonight. It all came out better than I expected.” She’s rinsing the juice out of a cup. “You two should come more often. It’s always so much fun when we’re all together.”
“That would be nice,” I murmur. “You know, we’re actually planning a housewarming next month on Cinco de Mayo weekend. You and dad should come down if you’re not too busy.”
“Cinco de Mayo?” Ricky asks, coming into the kitchen with an empty beer bottle. He goes to the fridge, taking out a new bottle.
“Yeah. Cinco de Mayo is on a Sunday, but we’ll most likely host it that Saturday before. You should come. Bring Violetta.” When my last sentence comes out, he shakes his head. “Gotta think about that one.”
“Trouble in paradise?” Mamá asks lowly, giving him an I told you so glare and cocking an arched brow.
“No, Mamá. We’re fine.”
“Ricky, you’re just as bad of a liar as Gabby.”
I swear I swallow my tongue when she says that.
“What has Gabby lied about?” Kyle asks, a curious spark in his eyes.
Mamá looks at Kyle, then swings her eyes over to me. “I don’t mean an actual liar,” she responds hurriedly. “I just mean she’s good at making things up. She’s been like that her whole life—since she was a little girl.”
“Has she?” Kyle’s face is serious now. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I don’t like it.
“When she was a little girl, she’d tell me bedtime stories of her own. I always thought they were adorable, but I knew I was going to be in for trouble, because she could make them up so easily.”
Kyle huffs a laugh, but nothing more. Great, now my husband thinks I’m a natural-born liar. Way to go, Ma!
I fight a groan, going back to the table to collect more empty dishes.
“Well, Gabby is right,” Kyle goes on, and I’m glad his voice is relaxed. “It would be nice to have you all down for the housewarming. There will be plenty to eat and drink, and it’ll give you a chance to see the home for yourselves. The images we showed you doesn’t do it justice. Not only that, but we’ve had the patio redesigned. I’ll be happy to book flights for you—shouldn’t cost too much.”
“Oh, really?” Mamá is happy to hear that. She loves when trips are free. “Well if you’re serious about those flights, we will definitely be there.”
“We have a wet bar and a hot tub now, so bring bathing suits. Hopefully weather is good that weekend.” I smile at her.
“Shit, that sounds fun,” Ricky says. “Email me the invite so I can put it on the calendar. I don’t want to forget.”
“I will.”
Ricky starts to turn, but he halts, looking back at me. “What time are you leaving tomorrow?”
“Around five? Why, what’s up?”
“Let’s go out to Lake Anna, get a boat, like old times. Just you and me?”
I’m surprised to hear this. For one, Ricky hated being on a boat. I used to rock it, and he’d get so freaked out. Mamá would always snap at me for scaring him.
“A boat? Really?” I ask, walking back to the dining room. I collect the forks and he nods, chugging down some of his beer.
“Yeah, why not?”
“I just remember you not loving the boats so much.”
“Yeah, well, things change.”
He drops his eyes for a brief second. Something is wrong with my brother. He’s not being his usual self. My brother is usually a jokester, but he seems more serious now.
“Sure. We can go. I’d like that.”
“Yeah?” His eyes are brighter. Happier.
“Yeah, I don’t see why not. As long as we go early, it’ll give us plenty of time.”
“Okay, then. Sounds good.”
He turns, leaving the dining room. I watch him go, and Mamá does the same. She then looks at me with a slight frown. I shrug, and she goes back to washing dishes. I glance over and Kyle is looking at me now. He beelines his way to me, picking up the knives from the table.
“My wife, the liar,” he says in a joking manner.
“I’m not a liar,” I mutter.
“But you’re a damn good storyteller, so I’ve heard.”
“I’m an artist, Kyle. Artists tend to have very vivid imaginations.”
“Yeah. Clearly.” He looks me over once, then meets my eyes again. “Is something wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…well, you just haven’t been yourself lately.”
“Everything is fine.” Lying. Straight through my teeth. Mamá was right. I’m not that great of a liar.
He walks around the table to get to me, setting the knives down and causing the blades of them to rattle. “It seems like you don’t want me around right now.”
I look away. “I think it’s just that time of the month about to happen. You know how I am around this time.”
“Your period isn’t due for another two weeks.” I frown, whipping my head up to look at him. How the hell does he know that? As if he senses my curiosity, he quickly adds, “I just remember you telling me when your last one was. We didn’t have sex that week at all. I always count the weeks. Three in between, right?”
“It’s weird you know when my period will come.” I huff a laugh, walking to the kitchen with the spoons. Mamá has left. She’s in the living room screaming her head off at the soccer game now. Apparently, a big score has happened because all I hear is the commentator yelling “GOALLLLL!” and my parents and Ricky screaming their heads off.
Dishes are still in the sink, so I start washing a few.
“How is that weird?” Kyle asks, resting his lower back against the counter. “You’re my wife. I like to know when things can happen and when they can’t.”
“Okay, Kyle. Sure.”
He’s quiet a moment. I avoid his eyes. “You’ve been acting so strange lately. I don’t know what I did, but I hope you decide to get over whatever mood this is very soon. I came here for you, Gabby. The least you can do is appreciate that.”
He pushes off the counter and walks away, leaving the kitchen. I peer over my shoulder for a while, listening to the stairs creak as he walks up them, then I get back to the dishes, but of course his comment remains stuck in my head.
I swear, everything is so fucked right now.
THIRTY-THREE
Marcel
I do really stupid shit when I’m drunk. Honestly, it’s fuckin’ embarrassing.
I groan as I roll over, once again reading Gabby’s response to the email I sent last night. I had a little too much whiskey, and I got bold.
I miss her, no lie. I’ve been thinking about her nonstop—not just about the sex, but her personality overall. I don’t know when I started caring so much about what she’s doing, how she’s doing, or any of that shit. All I know is I need to see her again and find out for myself, but I no longer have an excuse to come around. We’re done with her yard. I’ve been paid. In the past, life would have gone on. Things are different now.
It’s all fucked up, and I blame myself for it. Maybe if I hadn’t fucked her, I could have kept up my blasé charade. But since I’ve had a taste, she seems to be all I want. All I think about. It’s all wrong.
Mr. Ward,
I’m going to pretend you didn’t say any of that. It’s Easter weekend, and I’m here with family, so I have to make my response quick. I have been thinking about it too. How can I not? But I’m trying to consider it a one-time act and move on. Maybe you should too? It was something in our systems that clearly needed to be unleashed.
On the flip side, I’ll be having a housewarming on Cinco de Mayo weekend to show off the new patio and hot tub. Kyle insists that I invite you, since you designed it for us, and it turned out so nice, and I’m sure our guests would like to know who the man is behind the layout, so I’m extending an invite to you.
Saturday, May 4th at 6:00 p.m. My backyard. I understand if you can’t make it, but if you do, let’s pretend that what we did never happened, okay?
Best,
Gabrielle Moore
Her whole email pisses me off. She’s formal, no longer using the nickname I gave her as a sign off. It’s clear to me that the main thing she got from our encounter is a lot of guilt.
Can I blame her, really? I have no reason to feel guilty—I can’t stand her husband and I’m single—but apparently, she loves him, and she doesn’t want to ruin whatever it is they have.
It’s best that I don’t go to the housewarming. The last thing I want to do around her is pretend, and the last thing I want to see is that asshole husband of hers with his hands on her, touching her when I’m unable to.
I won’t be able to handle it, so I guess I’ll stay away.
For now.
THIRTY-FOUR
Gabby
When no reply comes within ten minutes of me sending an email back to Marcel, I stuff my phone into my back pocket and pick up the lunch Mamá packed for me off the counter. I stuff it into a tote bag she let me borrow and leave the kitchen.
Ricky and I are about to head out to the lake, and for once I’m glad I get to share some one-on-one time with my big brother.
“Be safe,” she says, kissing both our cheeks.
“We will.” Ricky hikes his backpack over his shoulder, then turns for the door. I follow after him, and a chill wraps around me. I’m so used to the heat in Hilton Head now that this low morning temperature takes me by total surprise.
“Shit, it’s cold,” I hiss.
“It’ll warm up soon,” Ricky says over his shoulder. “Sun has barely come up.”
I march to the car Kyle rented and take out the jacket I brought that’s lying stretched out on the backseat.
“Forgot what it’s like here in the mornings?” Ricky laughs, unlocking his car doors. He heads for the trunk and tosses his bag inside.
“I brought a jacket just in case, but, yeah, I’m used to the heat down there now. I can literally take Callie outside with shorts and a tank on every morning. Feels so good there.”
I give him my bag, and he places it inside the trunk before closing it. As we climb into the car, I hear a knock on a door. I peer up and Kyle is standing behind the screened door. He smiles with a mug of coffee in hand. I return the smile.
Last night wasn’t any better for us. We didn’t get too intimate, but Kyle did apologize over my shoulder for what he’d said to me in the kitchen. I apologized for acting so strange, as he’d called it. I told him I just hadn’t been feeling like myself lately, to which he replied, “Well, hopefully you’ll get over this low mood of yours soon.” Not the kind of comment I wanted to hear, but I let it go and went to sleep. After all, Easter had been a long day. It wasn’t hard to drift off, but I swear he could be a dick sometimes.
He waves to me and I wave back before getting inside the car. Ricky brings the engine to life and pulls out of the driveway. Kyle is still standing behind the door, watching us go.
“Piece of shit,” Ricky grumbles, turning the wheel and driving away from the house.
“Oh my gosh! Ricky!” I gasp, focusing on him. “Why did you just say that?”
“Because it’s true. Your husband is a piece of shit.”
“Wow.” I’m stunned, sitting back in my seat. I shouldn’t be smiling about it, but I can’t help it. “You know, you’ve never liked him.”
“He thinks he owns people. Acts like everyone around him is inadequate because we don’t own a million-dollar company. Piece of shit, like I said.”
“He makes you feel inadequate?”
He looks sideways. “Dad, too.”
“Oh, so you two have talked about this before?”
Ricky glances over with bright brown eyes. His are just like Mamá’s. I got Dad’s olive-green. “Let’s not get into it.” He sighs, looking through the windshield again. “How is everything with him?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. I don’t feel like elaborating.
Ricky reaches for the radio, turning the volume up and letting a song by Bruno Mars play. We nod our heads to the beat, jamming to it. I sing the hook, and then we jam to another song by J. Cole. I used to love riding with Ricky. We have similar tastes in music, and just like me, he sings every lyric if he can.
My brother and I have gotten into a lot of fights before, but music was always the one thing that could calm us down
and bring us together. He used to come into my room after we got into a brawl or argument. He’d have his iPod with him, one earphone plugged into his ear. He’d give the other one to me. I’d be stubborn at first, but then I’d stuff the earphone in my ear and lightly nod to the music with him.
It was his form of apology. He’d never been very good at saying sorry—neither of us had, really. I’m sure we get it from our dad, a man who carries way too much pride.
When we get to the reservoir, Ricky goes to Dad’s shed to grab one of the boats and a few paddles. He drags the boat close to shore, and I toss my bag in before climbing into it. Ricky pushes the boat even closer to shore and as it starts to bob on the water, he sloshes through, then steps into it, sitting opposite of me. We paddle until we’re close to the middle of the lake, and I ask, “Why didn’t we just ask to borrow dad’s big boat? That way we don’t have to paddle?”
“Because I need some exercise after all the food Mamá made yesterday,” he chuckles, and I laugh with him.
“Ah, yeah. Makes total sense.”
When we’re in a good enough spot to enjoy the view, we put our paddles through the metal rings. Ricky takes out his portable speaker next, starting up a song by Khalid.
“I love Khalid,” I sigh.
“Yeah. He’s got a gift.”
I look at the line of trees to my right as the wind brushes over the pines. “I missed this.”
He looks at me. “Being home?”
“Yeah.”
“Homesick?” he laughs.
“Yeah. I missed you guys!” I sigh. “So, what’s going on with you?”
“With me?” His eyebrows shoot up. “I think I should be asking you that question.”
“Nothing’s going on with me,” I tell him, still smiling.
“Seems like there’s trouble in paradise.” He reaches for his bag, taking an orange out of the front pocket.
“There’s no trouble, Ricky.” I watch him start to peel the orange.
The Man I Can't Have Page 22
