by Jillian Dodd
"Um," I say, feeling ridiculous for screaming. "I, uh, thought I saw something."
"Like what?"
I let out a big sigh then open the pantry and show him.
He jumps back. "What the hell is the gnome doing in there? And why is he holding a noose?"
"He's threatening us!" I say, slamming the door shut. "He scared the shit out of me! How does he keep moving?"
Phillip narrows his eyes. "Danny was in our dining room last night after dinner. He said he was looking at our wedding photos."
"The ones your mom decided to put into all the frames we got as wedding gifts and display all over the dining room?"
He glazes right over my irritation with his mother. "Yes, exactly. And he was looking sneaky."
"Do you think he's the one who's been moving it?"
"It would make sense," Phillip says.
"And it's a whole lot more comforting than the alternative."
"What's the alternative?"
"That the gnome is slowly working it's way into the kitchen so it can find a knife to kill us in our sleep."
"You've watched too many scary movies."
"You and Danny used to make me watch them. I hate them!"
Phillip wraps his wet arms around me. "I loved them because when you were scared, you always snuggled up next to me."
"That's because Danny was just as scared as I was. If I recall, he was snuggled up to you too. Although, I'm sure he would deny it."
"So, what do you think?" he smirks, holding the gnome in front of me. "Time for some payback?"
"Definitely," I say, my hand sliding under his towel.
"Let's put the gnome back in the drawer, so Danny doesn't know we know he's moving it."
Phillip's brushing his teeth while I curl my hair. "I don't know, Phillip. I'm not sure it was Danny. How would he even know to do it?"
Phillip has a mouthful of toothpaste and is talking through it. "I maybe told him you thought it stomped on the wrapping paper."
"Were you making fun of me, Phillip?"
"I was maybe laughing a little."
"A little?"
"Fine, I thought it was pretty damn funny. Danny was laughing his ass off."
"Then it was definitely him. We need to get back at him by putting the gnome somewhere only he would find it."
"His workout room," Phillip says. "It's going to be done in a couple days."
"Yeah, but Lori is going to do yoga and work out there too."
"Hmmm," Phillip says.
"Oh! I know! The sauna. Lori said Danny is all excited for it, but she's bummed she can't go in it while she's pregnant due to the heat."
"That's perfect," Phillip says. "You're brilliant."
March 28th
Batshit crazy.
Nicky: Will you please text Macy?
Me: Uh, sure. Any reason?
Nicky: Did Phillip tell you that she won't see me or talk to me?
Me: No, he didn't. He's out of town today visiting a client.
Nicky: I'm dying.
Me: Did she choose Peter?
Nicky: Not yet. Supposedly she's not seeing or talking to either one of us until she makes up her mind. She wants to see who she misses.
Me: And how long is that expected to take?
Nicky: I have no freaking idea. Honestly, I don't think she does either.
Me: Remember the advice Phillip gave you?
Nicky: About not sleeping with her until she decided?
Me: Yeah. Did you?
Nicky: I may have slipped a few times. Well, quite a few times. Okay, so I could only resist once. Look, I'm not this kind of guy. I've never screwed around with a girl who had a boyfriend. Let alone someone who's engaged.
Me: What about Karly?
Nicky: She told me she didn't have a boyfriend.
Me: And Madeline?
Nicky: They were sort of broke up. So fine, I have, but not on purpose.
Me: Accidental cheating, Nicky. That's why I love you.
Nicky: Shut up. I don't run a background check on every girl I meet. We're getting off topic here. YOU NEED TO TEXT HER AND FIND OUT WHAT THE HELL SHE'S THINKING BEFORE I GO BATSHIT CRAZY!! I'm seriously ready to do something crazy here!
Me: Sometimes crazy is good. But hang on. I'll text her.
I glance at the clock, noting it's nearly three. I can picture my bridesmaid, sitting on her bed in the sorority house, her bubblegum pink toes dangling off the bed and her dark brown waves pushed over one shoulder as she studies. With her piercing blue eyes and great body, she bears an uncanny resemblance to a young Megan Fox, only she has an adorable southern twang.
Me: Hey, Macy!! What's up? I haven't talked to you in forever! Do I get to see you at Lori's shower?
Macy: Did Nick ask you to text me?
Me: Would it be a good thing if he did?
Macy: I miss him.
Me: He misses you. He's going crazy. Actually, he said he's going BATSHIT CRAZY.
Macy: Aww :( I hate that I'm doing this to him. Peter too. He's such a sweetheart. He just . . .
Me: Isn't doing it for you?
Macy: Kind of. Everything is so hot with Nick. We have this amazing, incredible chemistry.
Me: And Peter?
Macy: He's my best friend.
Me: Chemistry?
Macy: Not through the roof like with Nick. That's why I'm so confused. Peter is a good guy. He'd be a great dad. A good husband. I know exactly what I'm getting with him. With Nick, I don't even know if we'd end up married. Do I risk giving up my engagement to a great guy for a possible relationship with Nick?
Me: Nick said you aren't supposed to talk to either of them. Have you?
Macy: Peter isn't abiding by the rule. Does that mean he loves me more?
Me: It's means he doesn't want to lose you. He's fighting for you.
Macy: But Nick isn't?
Me: Nick is trying to play by the rules you set. He's being respectful, if you ask me.
Macy: OMG!
Me: What?!
Macy: Some guy is outside the house with a big glittery I LOVE YOU sign. It's so adorable. And he's blaring music. I can't quite make out the song.
Me: Who is the sign for?
Macy: I don't know. Let me take a closer look.
Macy: OMG!! OMG!!! OH MY GOD!!!!!! IT'S HIM!!
Me: Which him?!
Macy: NICKY!!!! Holy shit! I gotta go!
CHAPTER NINE
Dear Baby Mac,
Now you are the size of a lemon and apparently you are sucking your thumb in there. We aren't going to find out what sex you are, but get this. I just read that if you are super hungry when you're pregnant--as in hungry like your dad and Danny used to be when they were teenagers--that research shows you could be expecting a boy.
I'd be happy with either a boy or a girl. I just pray that you're healthy.
But . . . I kinda think you are a boy.
Well, I did. Until Lori started telling me about different ways you can tell what you are having. These ways are called Old Wives' Tales. Which means they are like a fairy tale and you don't really know if they are true or not. But if you are a boy you failed.
First, she set a key in front of me and told me to pick it up. I picked it up by the narrow part, meaning you are a girl.
Then, I had to take off my wedding ring, tie it to a piece of string, and hang it over my belly. It swung back and forth, meaning you are a girl.
She also said that because I had morning sickness that I'm having a girl. Which means she is too. It would be fun if you were both girls.
But I still think you are a boy.
Over the next few months, your dad and I are going to have to come up with some awesome baby names. A girl's name is going to be hard. It's a tradition in my family that the first-born girls have the middle name James, which was my great-great grandmother's maiden name. My great grandma was named Darlene James, my grandma was Elizabeth James, my mother was Veronica James, and I am Jadyn James. And al
though when I was younger, I hated my name and swore I'd never give my daughter that middle name, now, I want to--in honor of the women who came before me.
April 4th
Poetic promises.
As I'm driving to my meeting this morning, I'm smiling and feeling like I'm driving under the influence. They talk about influencers on social media, people with social clout who can make you buy a product or watch a video. Phillip is my influencer. He affects my moods. He's an integrated part of my soul. The beauty of his love is purely in that love's existence. The power of our hearts to find our match, and the profound impact on our life when we do.
I almost sound poetic.
Ha!
Which is fitting, I guess. Poetic promises of love are murmured into ears, on top of pillows, and behind closed doors. But I know that real love isn't just a bunch of pretty words.
Real love is when you are running way late for meeting, and as you are rushing out the door you realize you drove home on fumes last night because you were too tired to stop for gas and put it off until the next morning. You get in your car expecting to have to coast halfway to the gas station, but then in front of you is what appears to be a miracle. The gas needle is not buried below empty, but is sitting on the other side of the energy rainbow--straight up full. And as you look through a shiny, clean windshield, you realize that when the man you're married to ran to the store last night to buy you Oreos and milk, he took your car, and not only did he fill it up with gas but ran it through the car wash too.
When people would ask my grandmother how she and Grandpa stayed married for so long, she would say, it's the little things that matter not just the big gestures.
Like every girl who grew up being read fairy tales, I thought love was all about big gestures. But now I understand exactly what Grandma meant.
It's the heart he drew in the sand on our honeymoon, driving miles to get me the best chicken noodle soup when I was sick, making me coffee every morning.
Getting me gas.
After my meeting with the construction team, I peek into Phillip's office.
"There's my gorgeous wife," he says, looking up from his computer. "How was your meeting this morning? We on track?"
"I really like the general contractor and the foreman who's overseeing the job site. They say we'll finish on schedule."
"Helps that Dad offered a bonus if they do."
"I was running late this morning," I confess.
"Shocker," Phillip teases.
"And I still needed to get gas."
He gives me a proud grin. "I got you gas last night."
"And washed my car. You didn't tell me. What made you do that?"
"When I went into the garage to go to the store, I noticed your car was all salty so I thought I'd run it through the car wash. I didn't have much choice on the fuel."
"It was sweet. I love you."
"I'm sweet on you."
"I have a surprise for you tonight," I say as he pulls me into his arms.
"I love your surprises, but don't forget my parents are back in town today."
"Crap, I forgot. I think my bra is still lying by the couch. But I wasn't referring to sex."
"Damn."
"Phillip, do you like being repaid with sex?"
"I didn't do it to get repaid. I did it to be nice. But, yes, I like when you're nice back."
I leave work before Phillip does, stopping on the way home to pick up his surprise.
As I'm pulling in our subdivision, I get a text.
Macy: I did it. Broke off my engagement with Peter. Told my parents. I thought they would be so mad but they didn't want me to marry him if I wasn't sure. I can't even tell you the weight that's been lifted off my shoulders. And it sounds crazy, but Nick and I are officially dating!!
Me: I'm happy for you!!
When I bought my condo in Omaha, I had to buy a new refrigerator. Our new house came with a built-in fridge, so Phillip put the one from my condo in the garage, dubbing it his beer fridge. But as of yet, it's only had a few random Coronas and some Miller Lite cans in it.
I pull into the garage and get to work, readjusting the refrigerator shelves to allow for three rows of bottles. I then organize the fourteen different types of beer I bought into perfectly neat rows. The cans get put into the produce drawers and the door shelves are filled with back stock.
I stand back and admire my work. I can't wait for him to get home!
He's going to be so excited!
I grab my purse and tote out of the car and head into the house. Phillip's mom is in the kitchen surrounded by flour and has my new mixer--which I've yet to use myself--running.
"Oh, hey," she says, wiping her hands. "I have a surprise for you!"
She gestures toward where, in the breakfast room in front of the bay window overlooking the lake, sits a white wooden kitchen table with six shaker style chairs surrounding it.
"What's that for?" I ask. I can't say much else. I can't even begin to describe all the ways in which this table is completely wrong for the room.
I want to cry.
She's ruined my kitchen, my beautiful, modern kitchen. Even though I don't want to get closer to it, I'm drawn toward the offensive table and realize it's even worse than I thought. Not only has she ruined my kitchen aesthetically--she's added insult to the injury by choosing a table made of pressed wood.
"It's similar to the table at our house," she says, "but I got white so it would match your house better. Surprise! Now you don't have to sit at the bar." I tear my eyes away from the train-wreck table to look at her. She's smiling, happy, and still speaking. "Phillip always loved our table. I have so many good memories of he and Ashley, and often you, eating around it."
"Your table is solid oak," I manage to mutter, my mind a blur of worry. "It was really nice of you . . . " I start with a compliment, hoping to ease the blow. "But Phillip and I already picked out a table."
"Well, now you don't need it," she says, firmly.
I rush into my bedroom. I can't look at the table. I can't pretend to be excited about it. How do I ask her to take it back? To get the hideous thing out of my house?
I hear a car, rush to the window, and see Phillip pulling into the driveway.
Thank goodness, he's home. Maybe he can tell his mother we will not be keeping the table. He's her son. Even if she gets mad at him or gets her feelings hurt, she'll get over it because she loves him.
I don't want her to hate me, especially now. Lately, she's made me feel like I'm not good enough for Phillip. My house is dusty. I don't cook five-course meals every night.
I don't have a kitchen table.
I hear Phillip's heavy footsteps coming down the hall, so I rush in my closet and rip off my clothes, so he'll think I'm just changing out of my work clothes and not hiding in the bathroom freaking out.
"Hey, he says, peeking around the corner as I'm pulling on a pair of yoga pants. He comes into my closet and gives me a kiss.
I expect him to say something about the table but he doesn't.
Maybe he already handled it and she's moving it to the garage as we speak?
That's probably wishful thinking.
"So, uh, did you see what your mom bought?" I ask.
"Yeah, what do you think of it?"
"Um, what do you think of it?"
"It reminds me of when we were kids. Mom suggested we cancel the table we ordered. It'd definitely save us some money."
My mouth falls open and my eyes widen. I'm holding back tears and unable to comment.
Phillip twists his mouth. "You still love the table we ordered, right?"
"Yeah, it's the perfect table for our future family."
He frowns. "My mom made me think you decided against it. I was surprised by that."
"No, Phillip," I say, letting the tears fall. "We love that table. It's what we want. You have to tell her she needs to take her table back."
"I'm not telling her that. It will hurt her feelings, and she's all exc
ited about it."
"Phillip, it's hideous."
He gives me a look.
"Okay, so it's not hideous on it's own. It just looks hideous in our modern house. I wanted to cry the second I saw it."
"What did you tell her?"
"That it was sweet of her to get, but that we found a table."
"What did she say?"
"That we didn't need it now. Phillip, you have to do something."
He mutters something unintelligible as he goes to change out of his suit.
I consider refusing to even sit at the table but when I go out to the kitchen Phillip's dad is sitting at it and dinner is spread across it.
After dinner, I'm hiding in my office sketching in my dream house book. I found out today that not only is Phillip getting a bonus, but I am too. Part of a company wide profit sharing plan. And I know exactly how I'd like to spend it. I want to work toward finishing our dining room. Because we already have the expensive furniture pieces, it won't take much. All it really needs is two wingback chairs, curtains, fabric to reupholster the dining chairs, and a great piece of artwork.
I want to get Phillip on board, so I'm doing a rendering of how the room will look. And I'm really excited by how it's turning out.
