Fixer-Upper

by Linda Seed

  Chris didn’t understand why such life-altering decisions had to be made now, when he and Martina were just getting to know each other, when they were just getting used to sharing a bed and being a part of each other’s lives. Was it really critical that he know now whether he wanted to father her children?

  “This is a lot.” He rubbed his forehead, where he could feel the beginnings of a headache.

  “I’m going to see if she’s okay.” Benny shot Chris a look and headed out of the room.

  “I didn’t mean—” Chris began.

  “We know you didn’t,” Sofia said. “But whether you meant to or not, you did it.”

  Benny found Martina in the ladies’ room down the hall. She was standing in front of a mirror, dabbing at her eyes, trying not to smear her eye makeup. She sniffled and dabbed, sniffled and dabbed, her face red and blotchy. When she saw Benny come in, she let in a ragged breath.

  “I’m being an idiot,” she said.

  “There’s an idiot in this equation, for sure, but it’s not you,” Benny said.

  “We haven’t been seeing each other all that long,” Martina said.

  “He said that.”

  “And there’s no reason he should even be thinking in those terms yet.”

  “He said that, too.”

  “But ... I’m not getting any younger, and if he’s never going to want kids, I need to consider whether I’m wasting my time,” Martina said.

  “Sofia said that,” Benny told her.

  “Well, you covered a lot of ground while I was gone.”

  “He’s a guy. When you got upset and ran out, he practically had cartoon question marks floating around over his head. He needed someone to decode it for him.”

  “But why does he need things to be decoded?” Martina sniffled. “Why are men such idiots?”

  “Ah, a question for the ages,” Benny said. “If you can answer that one, you’ll change not only the experience of love and romance, but you’ll also fix politics, war, and the fact that you can’t get plastic wrap to stay flat long enough to wrap anything.”

  Martina gave Benny a courtesy laugh, just to show she appreciated her sister’s attempt to lighten the mood.

  “So, you’re really in love with him, huh?” Benny asked after a while. “I mean, if you weren’t, you wouldn’t care whether he wants to have babies with you.”

  A woman in scrubs and a white coat came into the ladies’ room and went into a stall. Martina lowered her voice. “I didn’t think I was. I really didn’t. I thought we were just having a good time. But now ... I guess I need to re-evaluate my feelings and whether it’s worth going forward.”

  Benny gave her a meaningful look. “For what it’s worth, Martina, he was really awesome today. I mean, from the way he saved the shower to the way he took charge when we found out about Bianca ... I was impressed. And I’m not easily impressed.”

  That was true. Chris had been magnificent. But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? It was part of what made Martina upset that he didn’t want her babies. If he’d been annoying, useless, or even mediocre today when she’d really needed him, she probably would have taken his comment in stride.

  “He really was great,” Martina admitted, giving the area under her eyes one last careful blot with a tissue, then turning to her sister. “You know, it wouldn’t matter so much to me that he doesn’t want kids if he weren’t so ... If he didn’t have so much ...”

  Benny nodded. “I don’t even need you to finish those thoughts. He’s got so much potential, you started to see white picket fences and baby car seats and golden wedding anniversaries. And then he ruined it all by acting as though having kids would be the same as skydiving without a parachute.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Martina admitted. “It’s stupid.”

  “It’s no more stupid than any of the rest of us falling for some fool who doesn’t deserve us.” Benny shrugged. “We’re women. It’s what we do.”

  The woman in the stall came out and washed her hands, shooting Benny and Martina surreptitious looks. She headed for the door, then turned back hesitantly. “You know, my husband didn’t want kids at first. Said he hated children. Wouldn’t even consider it.”

  “So, what happened?” Martina asked.

  “I got pregnant on accident.” She smiled. “He’s a stay-at-home dad now so I can finish my residency. He’s the one our daughter wants when she wakes up scared in the middle of the night, and he’s the one who cried the last time she had a cold because he couldn’t stand to see her uncomfortable.” She shrugged. “It’s something to think about.”

  Martina had herself put back together by the time she came out of the restroom and returned to Bianca’s room. She’d recovered from the hurt and surprise of what Chris had said—mostly—and she was intent on acting as though nothing had happened.

  “Is everything okay?” Chris asked tentatively as Martina came back into the room.

  “Fine.” Martina smiled. “Bianca, can I hold the baby one more time before we go?”

  The drive home was awkward as hell for Chris. He had a car full of people who were trying not to say the wrong thing, and Martina was acting as though she were trying to sell solar panels to a reluctant homeowner. Her manner was cheerful, polite—and completely superficial.

  “Wasn’t AJ adorable?” Martina said to no one in particular. “And Bianca named him after Dad—what a wonderful tribute.”

  “It really was,” Sofia agreed.

  Chris might have expected Sofia to say more about it, but she didn’t. He got the sense that she, like everyone else, found it hard to talk while being suffocated by the tension in the car.

  “Thank you for driving us, Chris,” Patrick said, maybe a little too formally.

  “My pleasure. I’m glad I could do it.” And, hell, could he be any more stiff and awkward himself? Could any of them?

  “Bianca will need help in the next few weeks,” Martina said. “Meals, that sort of thing. We can set up a schedule.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Sofia said.

  “I can help,” Patrick added. “I make a pretty good mac and cheese.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Chris said.

  Martina looked at him impassively. “You have a problem with mac and cheese?”

  “No. I do not have a problem with mac and cheese. I fucking love mac and cheese.”

  “Okay. I guess we’re good on the mac and cheese, then,” Patrick said.

  “Then what’s your issue?” Martina’s voice remained calm, polite, and neutral.

  “My problem is that nobody really wants to talk about mac and cheese or meal schedules. What you all want to talk about is that I said I don’t want children, and Martina had to flee the room to cry. That’s what you really want to talk about.” Chris was probably shooting himself in the metaphorical foot by putting it all out there, but he would rather deal with the issue head-on rather than making painful chitchat the rest of the ride home.

  “Well, sure,” Benny said. “But we’re not talking about that because we didn’t want you to hurl yourself out of a moving vehicle. Especially because you’re driving.”

  Everyone waited for Martina to say something, since she was, after all, at the center of this.

  “Not now,” she said, when she finally spoke.

  “What?” Chris said.

  “I said, not now. We’ll talk about it, if you want to, but not at this exact moment. Not while we’re in a car full of people and not while I’m supposed to be enjoying the glow of new aunthood. Not. Now.” Her tone made it clear he’d be a fool to try pressing forward with the topic, so he closed his mouth and focused on the road.

  “About that meal schedule,” Sofia said.

  Martina had said they would talk about it later, when they were alone, but by the time they were alone, she no longer wanted to talk to Chris about this or anything else.

  When they got to Cooper House, they all helped Sofia and Patrick load the shower gifts into the
ir car. Sofia and Patrick headed home, then Benny got into her own car and headed back to the Russo house.

  For a few minutes, Martina wasn’t sure what she was going to do—whether she was going to get into her Prius and follow them or go inside and have The Talk with Chris about their future and whether they even had one.

  But the thought of having that talk was exhausting after a day that had been problematic from the start. So, instead of going inside, she headed toward her car, her bag slung over her shoulder, her mood grim.

  “You’re going?” Chris stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants.

  “I am. Unless you need me to come inside and clean up from the party.”

  He waved her off. “I’m sure it’s done by now. Graham texted me an hour ago and said he was on it. So ... we’re fine.”

  Martina wished she had a caretaker who could clean up the mess of her personal life as easily as he could clear away the remains of a bridal shower.

  “Okay, then. I’m going to go home and get some rest.”

  “All right. If you want me to drive you—”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Martina?”

  She stopped and looked back at him.

  “Are we okay?”

  Her first instinct was to reassure him—to tell him yes, they were fine, and what he’d said didn’t really matter. But she didn’t have it in her to make him feel better for making her feel like shit.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow about the kitchen.” Then she got into her car and drove home.

  32

  Chris was sure he could make things right on Monday when Martina called to talk about the remodel. By then, she’d have had some time to think things over. That’s all she really needed, surely. Then he could apologize and they could move on as though his ill-fated remark had never been said.

  But when she called, she was all business. She spoke to him not about their relationship, such as it was, but about work schedules and inspection reports.

  “Martina, forget about the kitchen for a minute,” he told her, becoming increasingly frustrated. “About that thing I said—”

  “We don’t have to talk about that.”

  “But I want to apologize.”

  She was silent for a moment. “About what?”

  “Well ... about what I said.”

  “What I mean is, do you want to apologize because what you said isn’t true? Or because it is true, and you’re sorry I was upset by it?”

  It was a fair enough question, and he considered it carefully before answering. “It was true. It was my honest reaction to the idea of having kids. But I’m sorry about the way it came out and the timing of it. And I’m sorry it upset you.”

  “Okay. That’s fair. Thank you for the apology.” But then she started talking about the kitchen again, and he could see he was still screwed.

  He tried again over the next few days as the work on his kitchen was being finished. The cabinets and countertops were in, and the painters were taking care of the final details, like the crown molding and the other trim. Martina came over at the end of the day to inspect it and give him an update on their progress.

  “Okay, I’ve checked with the painting crew, and they’re going to do another coat tomorrow. After that, we should be finished. I’ll send you the final invoice once that’s done. Unless there’s anything you’re dissatisfied with that needs extra attention.” They were in Chris’s study, him sitting behind his desk, her standing formally in the middle of the room, her hands folded together at her waist.

  “Martina, stop it.”

  Her eyebrows rose delicately. “Stop what?”

  “Stop acting as though I’m just another client. We need to talk about this.”

  “We already have.”

  “Okay, then why are you acting like this?”

  “Like what?” He saw a hint of pain pass over her features, and he felt sorry for it.

  “Like you’re some stranger who’s only here to polish my grout. I don’t want this. I don’t want us to be like this. I want to talk about it.”

  Her shoulders sagged, and she dropped her professional persona. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be difficult. I’m just trying to sort out whether it’s even worth talking about.”

  He felt gut-punched. How could this—the two of them—not be worth the effort to fix whatever was wrong?

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

  Her face was starting to look red and pained, and he realized with horror that she was trying to hold back tears. “It’s just ... you told me the truth about how you feel. And that’s fine. It’s ... it’s good you told me the truth. But now that I know, I don’t know if we should pursue this.”

  “Martina, I don’t think it’s right for you to punish me because of how I feel about kids.”

  “I’m not punishing you.” Now a couple of stray tears did fall, and she wiped them from her cheeks impatiently. “It’s not about punishing anyone. It’s about me trying to find a way to have the life I want. And part of what I want is children. I didn’t realize how much until I saw Bianca with AJ. If you don’t want the same things, then I can’t fault you for that. It’s just who you are. But, between that and the money—”

  “What are you talking about? What about the money?” He got up and walked to her. He was beginning to think this was worse than he’d suspected.

  “When you bought the Hall property, thinking to give it to me ... Chris, that wasn’t just a misstep. It wasn’t just something you thought I might want that I really didn’t. It was a statement.”

  “A statement,” he said.

  “Yes. It was a statement about who you are and what your values are, and I can see they’re very different from mine. I just don’t know if we’re compatible enough, and I don’t know if it’s something we can overcome.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, feeling that this thing was growing increasingly out of his control. “I thought we’d settled that. I thought—”

  “We settled the question of what to do with the property. But we didn’t settle the issue of you being the kind of person who thinks you can buy your way into someone’s life.”

  He searched his mind for something useful from his therapy sessions—something he could draw forth to make this situation better. But, hell, his therapist had said something similar to him—that he tried to buy people’s love and attention. Was it true? Was that what he did?

  “Do I do that?” He was bewildered by it, just as he had been when Karen had said it to him. “Do I really do that?”

  “I don’t want it,” she said. “I don’t want our relationship to be all about what you can buy for me or what I can get you to give me. It’s just not something I know how to handle. Chris, it’s not who I am.”

  He could see that. Wasn’t it the very thing that had made Martina so different from the other women he’d been with? Wasn’t the most alluring thing about Martina that she was more interested in what she could give than in what she could get? The very idea of someone being oriented that way had been a revelation to him. And he didn’t want to let her go.

  He put a hand on her shoulder, but she stepped back out of his grasp.

  “Isn’t there something I can do to fix this?” he said softly.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Because it’s about the basic essence of who we are as people. How can you fix that?”

  Martina went home and had a good cry, lying face down on her bed. She’d wanted so much to fall into his arms and let him hold her. She’d wanted to kiss him, to take him by the hand and lead him to his bed. She’d wanted that more than anything.

  But Martina knew better than to put her momentary desires above her common sense. And her common sense told her being with him would lead to the inevitable pain of a breakup sooner or later. And doing it sooner would be less painful than doing it later, when he’d become so much a fixture in her life that she would not be able to imagine being without him.

 
What it came down to was that she didn’t want the kind of life he represented. She didn’t want to live in a huge house with so many cars in the garage that there were vehicles she’d never even seen. Hell, she hadn’t known he had an SUV until he offered to drive everyone to the hospital in it. What kind of person lived like that?

  She didn’t want that, and she didn’t want to live a life that became so much about the lifestyle, rather than the people living it, that the idea of having children who might put a crimp in that lifestyle was simply inconceivable.

  She wanted love. She wanted a small house of her own that felt like a home. She wanted her sisters near her. And she wanted children.

  Was that so much to ask?

  For him it was, and that didn’t seem like an obstacle that could be overcome.

  She was glad the kitchen project was nearly done, because once it was, she’d have little reason to be around him anymore. They’d talked about more extensive remodeling, but there’d been no contract to that effect, so she was free to walk away.

  As for the Hall property, it had gone up on the MLS the day before, and Martina had already put in an offer. If it was accepted, she would have to see Chris’s name on the documents she’d be signing over the course of the thirty-day escrow. If it wasn’t accepted—if someone else made a higher offer and beat her out for the property—then she’d have no reason to see him anymore at all.

  Except that, despite everything, she ached for him. Her body yearned for him with a strength that felt like a desperate hunger, a life-threatening thirst. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to resist him. But she had to try.

  “It’s crazy,” Chris told Will a few days later when they were having lunch at a place in Morro Bay, eating hot dogs loaded with mustard, relish, pickles, and hot peppers. “Since when does a woman dump a man because he has too much money?” He knew he was simplifying things, but stating it that way helped him to tell Will about the sheer absurdity of it.