Marrying Mr. Right

by Cathy Tully

  Vinnie’s lips formed a tight line. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  He stood. “I got your message and since I had dinner with Mom tonight, I thought I’d stop by.”

  She nodded. Vinnie’s mother, Martina, sold her house and moved to a senior citizen building in town after the death of Vinnie’s dad five years before. Vinnie had dinner with her on a regular basis. He might have stunk to high heaven in the husband department, but as a son, he was devoted to his mother.

  “How is Mom?”

  Vinnie shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know her. Stubborn to the core. She doesn’t want to take the meds the doctor prescribed for her high blood pressure.”

  “Anything I can do?” For all the years they were married, Missy had gotten along better with Vinnie’s mother than her own.

  “Nah. I guilted her into taking the pills by reminding her of Cara’s wedding and how I wouldn’t come to pick her up if she hadn’t been taking her medication.”

  Missy laughed. “She’s quite the character. Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?”

  “That would be nice.”

  In the background, KC and The Sunshine Band shook their bootie. A large smile creased Vinnie’s face. “Remember this? They played it at our senior prom.”

  “I remember. You pulled a groin muscle that night, Mr. Travolta.”

  He did a quick spin. “I’ve still got it.”

  “What you’ve got they don’t have a name for.”

  He reached out and turned her to face him. “Come on, admit it. I was hot.”

  She swallowed hard. Damn it, but you still are! “Let go.” She pushed his hands from her shoulders and led him through the dining room into the kitchen. “Please excuse the clutter.”

  Rolls of white wrapping paper, packages of tissue paper and spool after spool of ribbon lay on top the dining room table. On the floor and sideboard were dozens of boxes containing hostess gifts Cara had sent over from New York, which needed to be wrapped then stored in a safe place before Antoine started moving furniture out of the house. It was a monster of a task she decided to ignore for tonight.

  In the kitchen, Vinnie spread out his long legs in front of him after taking a chair while Missy brewed a fresh pot of coffee. She could feel his stare slice right through her back.

  “Cara tells me the wedding planner worked out.”

  “He’ll do.” She handed him the coffee then proceeded to tell him everything Antoine said yesterday before, during and after he toured the house.

  “This Antoine sounds like a real character.”

  Missy laughed. “You could say that. He’s, uh, how shall I say this?” After a moment, she said, “Antoine is very...French.”

  “Oh, well there you go.” He studied her face. “You seem stressed.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” When his gaze slid down the length of her again, she nearly dropped into the chair opposite him. Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” played in the background. Why hadn’t she turned the stereo off?

  He leaned in and met her eyes. “Listen, I want you to relax. Let this Antoine take care of everything. You have enough to do at the shop.”

  Missy didn’t know how to digest this new attitude. For more years than she cared to remember, he’d let her take charge of everything. This eagerness to relieve her of stress was almost unnerving.

  “Again, you look surprised.” A smile creased his mouth. “I’m surprising you a lot lately, aren’t I?”

  She felt her cheeks burn hot as a chili pepper as she sipped her coffee. “Yes. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

  His laugh came all the way from his size ten sneakers. “Missy girl, you continually amaze me.”

  Missy girl.

  He hadn’t called her that in well…she couldn’t remember when.

  Vinnie reached over to touch her hand. “I mean it.”

  A familiar electric current raced through her. Would these feelings she had for him ever go away? Marvin Gaye finished and, thank you, God, something more upbeat came through the speakers.

  “I know we have money put aside, but this guy is bringing in a electrician and a moving van and—”

  “Don’t worry about anything.” Vinnie pulled his wallet from his back pocket and slid a business card across the table.

  Vinnie Modesto now carried professionally made business cards?

  The guy who once wrote notes to himself, and shared pertinent business information on paper napkins from the local diner, claiming they were as good as paper and free?

  “Tell Antoine to send me the bills.”

  Missy didn’t know how to respond. It was hard enough having to deal with the wedding plans in such a short time, but this new and improved Vinnie was...It was almost as if they’d switched roles. The expense of the wedding had sent her heart rate into the stratosphere while he had suddenly become Mr. Responsible. This was wrong on so many levels.

  Had he undergone a brain transplant? Received a diagnosis of a terminal illness, waking him to the fact that he didn’t have much time left? Developed an alternate personality?

  “What else can I do?”

  A mouthful of coffee sputtered down her front. Hugo bounded to her side and growled at Vinnie. She patted her lap for Hugo, who immediately took his favorite spot. “It’s all right.” She ran her hand down his back. His hair was still damp from the bath she’d given him after dinner.

  “I mean it,” Vinnie swore, hand to his heart. “I want to do something, Miss.”

  She blotted her velour jacket with a paper towel. He wants to help, so be it. “We need to get a parking permit from the town. Maybe you could take care of that?”

  He tapped the kitchen table with his fingers. “Consider it done.”

  Doubt, born of painful experience, reared its ugly head. He’d never carried through on promises before, and this was their daughter’s wedding they were talking about. She couldn’t risk him screwing up.

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. It’s all over your face.” He reached over and patted her hand again.

  Please stop touching me. “Let’s Stay Together” by Al Green floated through the air.

  Oh, God, kill me now.

  “I promise, I’ll take care of it personally, tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  “What time is Antoine coming by?”

  “Around nine.”

  “I’ll be here at eight-thirty,” he said, all seriousness. “I know this whole wedding planning thing has kept you away from the shop more than you like. This way, I’ll get to meet Antoine and deal with him while you’ll get to work on time.”

  Hugo jumped onto the floor.

  “What about your job?”

  “I hired and trained a few guys who are working out well and Andy can help out in the office. It’s under control.”

  He’d hired and trained a few guys? Vinnie who’d never trusted anyone was now willing to leave his thriving construction business in the hands of someone else?

  “No. I can’t ask you to do that. It wouldn’t be fair. Thanks for the offer, but I’ll take care of it.”

  Their gazes locked. Sincerity seeped from his dark brown eyes. “Babe, I won’t screw this up. I know you expect me to blow this, but I promise I won’t. I’ve made a complete turnaround with my life and my career. After you kicked me out, I realized I needed to get my shit together. You and I might be over, but we still have the kids to consider.”

  Missy melted. Just a little.

  “I’ve disappointed you enough in our marriage over the years.”

  “I made mistakes, too,” she admitted—and meant it.

  “Sure you did. But only because you had to be both mom and dad to the kids. How you coped with all that pressure, I’ll never know.” His gaze captured hers again. “I may have been a dumb ass then. But one thing hasn’t changed: when I give my word, I see it through.”

  She sw
allowed the lump in her throat. That was true. He might have disappointed her during their marriage, but one thing was certain, Vinnie Modesto’s word was honorable.

  “Okaaaay. But Hugo doesn’t like Antoine, so you’ll need to put him in the garage.”

  At the sound of his name, Hugo ambled over to Vinnie’s chair.

  Missy said, “Pat your lap and get ready.”

  Vinnie did and a moment later Hugo was perched in his lap.

  “He’s a little big for this, isn’t he?”

  Missy giggled. “Tell him that.”

  The two of them were a sight. This big man holding this not so small dog, each one believing he was in control. Hugo sat straight and erect and stared at Vinnie as if to size him up while Vinnie leaned back not sure what the dog would do next, lick him or go for his throat. A moment later they both seemed to relax and Hugo let out a loud snort then curled up into a ball on Vinnie’s lap. Mission accomplished. They were friends.

  Man and dog. Two of a kind.

  ****

  The next morning, after Missy left him and Hugo to wait for Antoine, Vinnie poured himself a cup of coffee and gazed out the kitchen window. The size of the backyard was one of the reasons they originally bought this house. It had plenty of room for a swing set and for the kids to run around, and for the deck that he eventually built. It took a while, but to diminish the kids nightly begging, one Saturday he set to work and didn’t stop until the deck was completed.

  Coffee in hand, he walked around to the back yard, taking in the changes Missy had made since the separation. The old swing set had been replaced with a nice sized garden that currently flourished with fat, ripe red tomatoes, peppers of every variety and a couple variations of lettuce. Apparently his wife hadn’t changed. How she managed to keep the shop and grow her own vegetables he didn’t know. Then again, she’d always been a whiz at multi-tasking.

  He walked back into the homey kitchen painted in a subtle yellow and through to the sandy beige living room. Gazing at the well-worn brown sofa they all used to crowd onto to watch movies, he heard Cara’s giggle from their tickling matches. If he listened hard enough he could hear Nick’s argumentative tone fighting with his sister and mother to choose an action movie instead of a mushy chic flick.

  Eventually they compromised choosing one action movie for the guys and one romantic comedy for the girls. Missy and Cara, familiar with the drill, always voted to watch their movie second because they knew the guys would be fast asleep before the opening song finished.

  A large smile covered Vinnie’s face. One night Cara had a sleepover with five of her pre-teen girlfriends, and Nick, sneak that he was, waited patiently until they were all fast asleep before he ran through the room screaming, dressed in a sheet, wearing a scary mask, and causing havoc at three o’clock in the morning.

  His eyes rested on the floor to ceiling brick fireplace, an extra that had cost them a fortune when they built the house, where they toasted marshmallows for S’mores in the winter after he’d taken the kids sledding. Later on, when Cara began to date, Vinnie and Missy let her have the family room so she and her flavor of the week could watch television.

  Vinnie, who usually dozed off while watching television, never dozed on those nights. He’d walk out to the kitchen every half hour or so putting on the light, rummaging through the fridge, rearranging items in the pantry. Anything that made noise and reminded Cara’s boyfriend that papa bear was here waiting to pounce if he got a tad too friendly.

  Emptiness bombarded him. He missed his family. He missed the life they’d once shared.

  Goddammit, he missed his wife.

  The bell woke Vinnie from his daydream. When he opened the door, Antoine stepped back. “The dog?”

  “In the garage.”

  “Good. I do not care to have another pair of trousers ruined.”

  “Yeah, well he doesn’t like you either, buddy.” Vinnie closed the door, quicker than he probably should have, but it felt good to see the fruit loop nearly jump out of his shoes. Heh heh.

  After recovering, Mister Antoine spoke through the door, “I have my assistant and the electrician with me, Mr. Modesto. If you want your daughter's day to be perfect, I think it would be wise to let us in.”

  The man had a point. Opening the door for the three men, Mister Antoine pranced past Vinnie with a sniff and said quickly, “ Louis and Michael, the electrician.”

  Lew-ee had black hair that looked like it had been slicked back with car wax. He was also tall and thin and impeccably dressed. Vinnie guessed for Antoine’s assistant he was dressed as he should be. But this Michael guy was another story. He had worked with dozens of electricians over the years. Most wore jeans and t-shirts on the job. Clearly, Michael never got that memo because he was dressed in a crisp button down shirt and khakis with a perfect seam ironed straight down the leg. Did he have lackeys who did the grunt work for him, too?

  No sooner were they in the foyer than Mister Antoine started spitting orders at Louis, who busily jotted down detailed notes in a leather bound journal. “We must remove this furniture. It is too shabby and much too large for this space.”

  Vinnie felt his forehead crease. Keep your mouth shut, he reminded himself.

  “Also, Michael, we need more light. It is like a tomb in here!”

  Hugo’s whine bounced off the hallway walls. Vinnie took the dog’s howls as an excuse for him to duck out into the garage before he told Antoine off. Missy had decorated their house with love. It was warm, lived in and probably the exact opposite style Antoine the Idiot decorated his place in.

  In the garage, Vinnie sat on the steps next to Hugo, who instantly quieted. “I can understand why you peed on him. I would have done the same thing.”

  The dog snorted, then nudged Vinnie’s hand with his nose. “Yeah, I don’t like him either.” Vinnie scratched the dog’s ear and the dog leaned in toward him. “So. You live with my Missy now?”

  Hugo looked up at him. “I’m glad. I like you.”

  The dog rested his head on Vinnie’s thigh. “You protect her.”

  With a groan, Hugo went to the floor and curled up at Vinnie’s feet. “See, I worry about her being all alone in this big house.”

  Hugo yawned. “I know. I know. You have it under control. Well, I’m glad we had this talk.”

  The dog closed his eyes and went into a deep sleep.

  “It’s a dog’s life, all right,” Vinnie whispered.

  Chapter Four

  Two weeks later, Missy and Val sat around her kitchen table drinking wine, eating Oreo cookies, and wrapping hostess gifts; hand-painted Italian bowls from an artist in New York, which Cara had picked out to give to the guests at the reception. The crinkle of tissue paper and tape dispensed for wrapping filled the space. Soft sixties and seventies music played in the background.

  Since Antoine had come on board, he’d secured a caterer, DJ and a videographer, the massive tent and people to construct it, and a moving company. As Vinnie said, with a great deal of reluctance, “He might be temperamental, but he gets shit done.”

  Missy cut another piece of paper and placed a box on top of it. She folded the sides and, “Damn it!” Missy yelped. “Another paper cut.”

  “This wrapping paper is nice,” Val said, “but why is it so heavy?”

  She sucked on her finger. “Since the boxes are brown, the paper has to be heavy to cover them.” Missy popped an Oreo into her mouth.

  Val sipped more wine. “And why are the boxes brown, again?”

  “Don’t ask me. It’s something to do with the artist’s beige logo embossed on the brown box. I know nothing. I’m just a gift-wrap elf.”

  The two women laughed.

  Hugo hit Missy’s thigh with his paw. “No. You can’t have a cookie. They’re chocolate.” She sipped her wine.

  He licked his chops then hit her again.

  Missy rolled her eyes and went to the pantry for his box of dog biscuits. The kitchen chair scraped across the wood flo
or. “Damn. I keep forgetting to pick up those round felt pieces for the bottoms of the chairs.” She tossed a dog treat onto his bed. Hugo didn’t move. Instead, he looked from the bed to the table as if to say, “That’s not what I want. I want what you have.”

  She bent down to take his precious face between her palms. “Chocolate isn’t good for dogs. It can make you sick.” Hugo licked her nose. “I give up.” She returned to her seat at the table.

  Val laughed and pressed more tissue into the next box. Securing the lid, she said, “Typical man. He wants the sweets from his sweet.” She twisted the top off a cookie and licked the cream.

  “I love him too much to give him anything that will hurt him.” Missy reached across the table and took another box.

  Hugo wobbled to his dog bed in the corner and plopped down on top of the dog biscuit Missy had tossed over. “I guess he showed me.”

  Avoiding her eyes, Val offered, “So, Vinnie’s here a lot.”

  Missy tried to concentrate on wrapping. “He says he wants to help, so I’m letting him help.”

  “I caught a glimpse of him a few days ago. He lose weight?”

  Missy fanned herself. Visions of Vinnie’s tight jeans and the nice package that resided there made Missy’s mouth go dry as a desert. She sipped her wine. “I think so.” She wrapped faster. “He looks more…in shape.”

  “His butt looks good. Tight.”

  “Val!”

  “What? I’m just saying—”

  “He’s my ex.”

  “So? Neither one of you has signed the divorce papers yet.”

  “What has that got to do with anything?” She poured herself more wine and drained half the glass.

  Val met her eyes. “Tell me why you haven’t signed those papers.”

  Missy quickly glanced around the kitchen. “I’ve been busy. And honestly, I can’t remember where I put the envelope the lawyer sent over. This place is such a mess.”

  Val leaned back in her chair. “You could ask him to send you another package.”