by Lauren Layne
“I think you’re going to have bigger problems than the pillow.” I point. “The couch is too short for you.”
“I’ll sleep on my side.”
“You sleep on your back.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s what I told Gordon Price,” I say.
“Who didn’t ask, by the way.”
“Well, I also shared a room with you in Hudson.”
“And what, you watched me sleep?” he asks.
Maybe.
“And then there was the morning I brought you flowers in bed.”
“Which I neither asked for, nor wanted.”
“They were pretty!”
“They were, until they died and basically created their own compost pile.”
“File that one away too,” I say, patting his arm. “Good marriage spat and divorce fuel stuff.”
“You’re really obsessed with this divorce material,” he says, looking down at me.
I turn to face him, hugging the pillow to my chest. “Well, that’s the whole reason I’m here in New York, isn’t it? So we could live together, in order to divorce?”
He studies me, his bright blue eyes even more piercing than usual. “Do you regret it?”
I pluck at the tag of the pillow that’s poking out from the pillowcase. “We couldn’t stay married forever. And while I’m still pissed at Justin for this whole mess, I guess now is as good a time as any to see it through and move on.”
He nods. “You excited to get back to San Francisco?”
“Actually, I don’t know that I’m going back.”
He blinks. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ll have to go back to California for a while, at least. My company’s there, my apartment. But being back here in New York has felt really right. I want to mend things with my parents, continue reconnecting with past friends. I’ve been toying around the idea of starting something new, and New York’s just as good a place to do that as San Francisco. Better, in some ways.”
I haven’t really realized that was the plan until I say it out loud. But saying it makes me realize how right it feels. There will be a lot of details to work out, obviously. Friends to say goodbye to, colleagues who will be more than a little shocked, but even knowing there will be some pain, I feel excited.
Colin had been right when he told me I seemed bored whenever I talked about my job, but diving a bit deeper, I’ve realized I’m bored when I think about San Francisco too. Not because the city itself is boring. I love that city.
But I’m also realizing that it’s served its purpose. California was a place, first, for me to escape. And after that, a place to grow up. But it’s time for the next chapter, and my gut tells me that chapter’s here in Manhattan.
Colin is still staring at me in disbelief. “You’re staying here.”
“Well, not here,” I say, gesturing around our apartment. “That might be a little cozy once Rebecca moves in. Unless you’re moving to her place—or getting a new place, or—”
“We haven’t talked about it yet.”
I swallow. “Well, anyway. I don’t really know the details, and I haven’t decided for sure, but if I do stick around, maybe we could like, you know … be friends.”
“Friends.”
“Yeah, like … maybe we could even double date!” I say brightly.
“With whom?”
“With you and Rebecca!” I say, exasperated.
“And? You and—?”
“Well, I’m not seeing anyone yet, but eventually I will. But look, if it’s too weird, I’ll get it. Even though we won’t be exes in the traditional sense of the word, I can totally see how Rebecca wouldn’t exactly love spending time with your ex-wife.”
And how I wouldn’t exactly love spending time with your current wife.
“Yeah. Sure. We’ll figure it out,” Colin says.
It’s a classic blow-off, and I know chances of my double date scenario ever happening are slim to none, and that’s probably a good thing.
“I’ll miss you though,” I blurt. “I mean I’ll miss this. I’ll miss …” Hmm. “This whole situation hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be.”
“Such lofty compliments.” His eyes warm as he gives me a slow smile that’s extremely appealing.
“Yeah, well. Don’t let it go to your head.”
He looks amused at the cliché, slightly lame comeback. His smile turns a bit cocky, as though he knows I’m off my game. Worse, as though he knows why I’m off my game.
“Right. Well, if you’re sure about sleeping out here … goodnight.” Still hugging the pillow, I step to the side to move toward the bedroom.
Colin moves at the same time, trying to move out of my way, but moving in the same direction as me, blocking my path. I move to the other side just as he does the same, so we’re doing that awkward “you go, no, you go” dance.
I let out a laugh, but it’s more of an exhale because I suddenly realize how close we’re standing. I freeze, my eyes lifting to his.
There’s no hint of a smile on his face now, and his eyes seem to burn both bleak and hot as they lock onto mine.
His head dips lower, and I feel his breath on my cheek. “Charlotte.”
“Colin,” I whisper back.
He swallows and eases even closer, his gaze leaving mine to drop to my lips.
His eyes close, but other than that he doesn’t move, his expression as tortured as I feel. “Damn it, Charlotte,” he says on a breath, his voice rough.
My eyes drift closed as I feel his minty breath against my mouth, and even though I know it’s so, so wrong, I will him to kiss me. I send a silent prayer to the heavens to do everything else right in my life to make up for this one wrong moment that I want more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
It feels as though we’re locked in time, not touching, but not moving away from each other either, a million things passing between us that we don’t dare say.
“I can’t,” he whispers, still close enough that I can feel the rejection.
Then he steps back and the air goes colder, my heart growing a little colder with it.
“Goodnight,” he says, his voice rough as he stands a safe, respectable distance away from me.
“Night.” My eyes water as I say it, and I move quickly past him before he can see the tears.
I go to the bedroom. I lie down on the bed.
I do not sleep.
CHAPTER 34
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 2
“ Your support means a lot to me, truly,” I say into the phone as I pace around my temporary office space. “Yeah, it’ll be a big change, for sure, but I know I’m leaving the company in good hands. And I’ll still be around, just not in the day-to-day—”
I pause in my conversation with my CFO, giving a jolt of surprise when I see Colin standing in the open doorway. “Hey, Brian, I’m so sorry, but something just came up. Can I call you back in a bit?”
“You didn’t have to hang up,” Colin says, stepping all the way into the office as I end my call.
“Really?” I ask dubiously. “The expression on your face says otherwise.”
“What expression?”
“The one that says you’re making a rare emergence from your turtle shell. Not to mention the fact that you’re here in the first place, when I didn’t even know you knew where I worked.”
“It was on the flash cards we exchanged about each other.”
“Oh, right.” He still hasn’t moved, and I tap my phone against my palm as I watch him, trying to figure out what’s wrong. “Sorry, I don’t have a place to sit.”
The office space I’m renting is really just more of a glorified cubicle, though with closed-in walls. It’s got a desk, a chair, an ugly lamp, and really good Wi-Fi. Mostly, it’s a place to get me out of the house when I’m feeling restless and all the tables are full at Starbucks, which in New York, is basically always.
“No, it’s fine,” Colin says, looking embarrassed. �
�I should have texted. Or maybe I shouldn’t have come at all.” He runs a hand over the back of his neck then drops his arm. “I didn’t know who else to talk to.”
My heart does something stupid and flippy that I am the one he’s turning to. “You can always come to me.”
“It’s about Rebecca.”
Or maybe not always me. Because my heart does something else now, decidedly less happy, at the knowledge that he’s here to talk about another woman. A woman he plans to marry.
Still, I care about this man. A lot. And that means being here for him in the way he needs me to be, not how I want it to be in my daydreams.
“Ah.” I step around him and shut the door. I usually leave it open because it can get stuffy, but I know him well enough by now to know that if he doesn’t have complete privacy, there’s every chance of him retreating to his shell.
“What happened?” I ask.
He sets his bag on my chair and goes to the window, staring through the glass, I imagine without really taking much in since the “view” is really just of the rooftop of the neighboring building. It doesn’t offer much to look at besides pigeon poo.
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I told her about the in-home interview with immigration. About how things went well and that we only had one more to go before we were in the clear.”
“That must have made her happy.”
“You’d have thought,” he says in a low tone. “But then she asked about worst-case scenario—what would happen if Gordon Price did find us guilty of marriage fraud.”
I tap my fingers on my cheek. “Well. Maybe she should have thought about that before telling her ex-boyfriend about us.”
He gives me a sardonic look over my shoulder “I thought you weren’t mad about that.”
I grin. “I may have decided that I’m a little peeved after all.”
He gives me a faint smile, though I’m pretty sure he knows I’m just trying to distract him by lightening the mood.
Colin turns back to the window. “So, I told Rebecca the truth. That we felt good about everything going our way, but if it didn’t … we could be in a bit of trouble.”
“You’d be in a bit of trouble,” I say jokingly, leaning back onto the desktop. “I’d be in a lot of trouble.”
“We’ve talked about this,” he says, turning to face me. “You’d likely be looking at a fine. Jail time would be …”
“Unlikely, I know,” I say.
And it’s true. From what I understand, while technically people can be jailed for marriage fraud, it’s generally only the people that facilitate fraudulent marriages on a large scale. When it comes to private citizens, it’s a slap on the wrists, and writing a really big check, which I’m prepared for.
And hey, if I end up in prison … adventure, right?
Just kidding. I really don’t want to go to prison. And to be honest, I do my damnedest not to think about it. Though, since we’ve brought it up …
“You know, you’d think she’d be thrilled with the possible repercussions,” I say. “Let’s not pretend that Rebecca doesn’t hate my guts. Me having to write a six-figure check or get put behind bars must just tickle her.”
“Probably,” he surprises me by agreeing. “But we didn’t really get that far in the conversation.”
“I see,” I say, understanding. “She wanted to know what would happen to you.”
“That’s the thing, she already knows,” he says. “I’ve told her from the very start that worst-case, I get deported back to Dublin and can’t ever come back to the States.”
“She probably didn’t love that.”
“No. But in the past, we’ve always talked about it in a speculative way. It was never a real possibility.”
“But it’s real now.”
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “It’s a little more real. A part of me has been mentally preparing for it, and I wanted to prepare her for it too.”
He’s been mentally preparing to be deported?
I have a million questions, but I stay silent, letting him gather his thoughts and say what he needs to say at his own pace. He turns all the way toward me, shoving his hands even deeper into his pockets, looking heartbreakingly vulnerable.
“I asked if she’d come with me if it came to that,” Colin says quietly. “I asked if, hypothetically, she’d move to Dublin and start a life with me there.”
My chest feels like it cracks a little in pain for him, because I already know Rebecca’s answer from the fact that he’s here and from the look on his face, but he says it aloud anyway.
“She laughed,” he says. “She said she had no intention of throwing away everything she worked for to move to a place like Ireland.”
His eyes are wounded. “What does that mean?” he asks. “A place like Ireland? She’s never even been to Ireland.”
We’ve established that I’ve never been particularly fond of the future Mrs. Walsh. And right now, I’m feeling something much stronger than dislike. But my feelings aren’t what matters right now.
“That sucks,” I say with a slow nod. “It really sucks. But keep in mind that you’ve been asking a lot of Rebecca lately. Her fiancé is living with another woman. Her fiancé is looking at being deported. Her ex-boyfriend is partially to blame for that. If I had to guess, I’d say Rebecca’s probably not thinking too clearly. None of us say the right thing when we’re mad and scared.”
“You do,” he says, surprising me.
“Hardly,” I say, meaning it. “I just haven’t been mad or scared in a while.”
“Are you sure?” he asks softly.
My breath catches, because I have a sense that he can see all the way inside me to my biggest fear these days: losing him.
I force a lighthearted shrug. “Life is short. I just don’t really see the point in wasting any more time than necessary being angry or fearful.”
His expression turns thoughtful. “I’ve noticed that about you. It’s …”
“Weird?” I supply.
“Refreshing,” he counters slowly. “I was going to say it’s refreshing.”
“You’re getting much better at the compliment game,” I tell him. “But seriously, give this thing with Rebecca a day or two. I think she’ll come around.”
I pick up my purse, and he frowns. “You’re leaving?”
“We’re leaving,” I say, lifting his briefcase off the floor and handing it over.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to lunch.”
“Why?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” I say, leading him towards the elevators.
“Where?”
I sigh. “There’s an Irish pub around the corner, and I’ll tell you right now, we are ordering Guinness from the bar, and I don’t want to hear a single peep from you about how it’s 11:32 a.m.”
The elevator beeps, and I move to step into it, but Colin grabs my hand and gives it a deliberate squeeze.
He lingers just for a second, then drops my hand before I can register the unexpected show of affection, much less analyze what it means. He steps into the elevator, holding the doors for me as I follow him.
“What was that?” I ask, feeling fluttery.
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
CHAPTER 35
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 4
“Hold on, coming,” I mutter, wiping my damp hands on my blouse since the dish towel had an unfortunate incident involving a carton of chicken stock, and I haven’t gotten around to getting a fresh one yet.
I tend to go all in when I cook, so I answer the knock at the door on autopilot, my brain still distracted wondering how much the dish will suffer because I forgot to get ginger from the store.
But all thoughts of my stir-fry scatter to the wind when I open the front door. “Oh. Hello.”
Up until this point, I’d thought Rebecca’s icy scowl was the scariest thing I’d ever seen. But nope. This facsimile of a smile she’s pointing my way is muc
h, much worse.
“Hi, Charlotte,” she says in a sugary sweet tone. She presses her hands together in a pleading motion. “I’m so sorry to stop by unexpectedly like this. Do you mind if I come in?”
“Sure,” I say, stepping aside and gesturing her to enter. “But Colin’s not here. He’s—”
“Attending a networking event in Midtown, I know.”
She says it casually, but I’ve little doubt that there’s nothing offhand about the comment. She’s staking her claim, letting me know that she gets to announce Colin’s whereabouts, not me.
“So.” I gesture outward with my hands. “What can I do for you?”
Rebecca glances over at the kitchen, which is, as usual while I’m in the middle of a cooking adventure, a complete mess.
“You cook?” she asks.
“Not well, but I enjoy the process of it.”
Her eyes narrow just the tiniest bit. “How adorably … domestic.”
She doesn’t even bother to hide the snideness in her voice, and I don’t bother to get riled up. Clearly, she thinks my comment also came with an agenda, as though my stir-fry ambitions have to do with impressing Colin into thinking I’m a perfect little woman, as opposed to my real motivation: hunger.
I don’t know why, since by my estimation, she doesn’t deserve it, but I try to put my mind at ease. I think a part of me hopes the woman is wretched because she’s threatened, and if I can just convince her that yes, Colin and I really are getting divorced in a few weeks, regardless of my cooking abilities, she’ll finally be nice.
“I took a couple cooking classes after I’d been in San Francisco a few years,” I say with a friendly smile. “Cooking for one takes some getting used to, but I started to get tired of takeout.”
See? Not trying to steal your man with my domesticated ways.
Don’t get me wrong—I want her man. But he’s made his choice, and I’m doing my best to respect it.
Rebecca gives me a plastic smile then looks pointedly at the living room. “Can we sit?”
“Of course,” I say, even as warning bells sound a little louder in my head at the sense that while I may not have an agenda at the moment, she definitely does.
