Almost Married

by Kylie Gilmore

  “I had fun dancing, but ya know, that’s my thing.” She tossed her curly dark brown hair over her shoulder. “Didn’t meet anyone. Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and fixed Steph with an expectant look. “Back to you.”

  Her friend was beautiful with smooth café-au-lait skin and a graceful dancer’s body. Jaz claimed she only ever met other dancers and, of those few guys that were straight, she lost interest after a few weeks. Though Jaz had confided once—after too many mojitos while they watched The Notebook—that she’d never been in love. Steph hoped that would change now that Jaz lived close by. Steph would keep an eye out for eligible bachelors.

  “How’s the dance studio going so far?” Steph asked. It had opened a month ago.

  Jaz smacked her arm. “Girl, don’t tell me you’re married and make small talk. Spill.”

  “I need water.” Steph helped herself to a glass of water in the small kitchen.

  Jaz was right behind her. “I’ll make green tea. All those antioxidants and just a pinch of caffeine work great for a hangover.” She set the kettle on to boil. “So-oo, how long have we been married?”

  “Five years.”

  Jaz’s hands flew to her temples, eyes wide in shock. “Five years!”

  Steph winced.

  Jaz dropped her hands and lowered her voice. “Sorry. Five years? Where is this mystery man?”

  Steph took a long drink of water. “He’s in L.A. last I heard. We’ve been separated for most of that time, but neither of us ever bothered to officially call it off.”

  Jaz shook her head with a small smile as if she couldn’t quite believe it. Steph mostly tried not to think about her failed marriage in her day-to-day life. She’d moved on, even without the official paperwork.

  “Jaz, last night Dave said the L word. And I said it back and meant it.” She met Jaz’s eyes, looking for judgment, but saw only sympathy.

  “You have to tell Dave right away,” Jaz said. “Deception is not the way to go. Dave’s a nice guy. There’s not too many of those out there.”

  Steph watched Jaz get out the stuff for tea and mentally reviewed her night. She vaguely remembered going back to her apartment. Dave walking with her to the bedroom. Then nothing. She'd woken up in her underwear, the blanket tucked around her. Dave had neatly folded her dress and left it on her dresser. For a moment, she'd thought maybe they'd fooled around, but came to the conclusion that Dave would never take advantage like that. They’d spent six weeks just kissing. He was the real deal. Dave was the reason she desperately wanted this divorce. She was terrified that if she told Dave she was still married, his gentlemanly code of honor might make him leave her on moral grounds. She should be glad he was that kind of man. It meant he'd always choose the high ground. He'd never cheat on her. Yet he might think she was cheating on Griffin. Not that Griff was Mr. Squeaky Clean himself. What with all the groupies and supermodels.

  “I'm not a totally horrible person, am I?” Steph asked. “I filed for divorce the first chance I got after I met Dave. Before that it never seemed to matter since things never moved past a couple of dates.” Her throat got tight. “I knew right away Dave was special.”

  Jaz turned. “Wait. You already filed for divorce? Then what’s the problem?”

  “Griffin hasn't signed the papers. I have no idea why.”

  Jaz’s eyebrows scrunched together. “That's weird. Do you think he wants to stay married?”

  “If he does, he has a funny way of showing it. He hasn't picked up the phone in years. I mean, I know he travels a lot, but it’s not hard to call or text.” She closed her eyes as her headache took a turn for the worse, a pounding in her head to go along with the ache.

  Jaz put a hand on her arm. “Are you okay? You don't look so good.”

  “I feel like shit.”

  “Lie down on the sofa. I’ll bring the tea when it’s ready.”

  Steph gratefully headed for the sofa, flopped down, and threw an arm over her eyes.

  A short while later, Jaz returned with a cool washcloth that she placed on Steph’s forehead before handing her the tea. The medicine she’d taken just before she walked the few blocks over finally kicked in. She slowly sat up. “Thanks.”

  “Call Griffin after you finish your tea. I’ll be your backup. If he doesn’t listen”—Jaz made a fist—“I’ll let him have it.”

  Steph found herself smiling. Jaz didn’t even know Griff, but she was willing to step up for her. Unlike Steph, Jaz didn’t back down from confrontation. Just look at how she went toe-to-toe with Will Levi this summer. Will had stepped in for his dad as the pianist for the Eastman community theater’s production of The Pirates of Penzance. To Jaz’s extreme aggravation, she couldn’t get Will to slow the tempo of the music to accommodate the two left feet of a lot of the men in the cast, and she couldn’t get him to ever stop the music to correct anyone who was out of tune. Will was a bit uptight, a bit of a rule follower, insisting on playing the music exactly as written and refusing to step out of his role as simply the piano player. He was basically the anti-Jaz. And, unfortunately for Will, Jaz’s dance studio shared a wall with his orthodontist office—a surprise to both of them when she moved into the building last month.

  “You still fighting with Will?” Steph asked.

  Jaz’s eyes flashed. “The man has no clue! He’s all”—she mimicked in a deep, surly tone—“turn down the music, don’t park out front, there’s too much noise at night.” She shook her head and her curls bounced. “I need the music. It’s a dance studio! Parents have to park out front because there’s not enough room in the back for both his patients and my students, which I explained.” She gestured wildly. “And what does he care about noise at night? His office hours end at six!”

  Steph sipped her tea. “You should really try to get along with him. Your lease is for a year, right?”

  Jaz pursed her lips and slapped the phone into Steph’s hand. “Call Griffin.”

  Steph stared at the phone. Griff had changed his cell number years ago and never bothered to give her the new one. “I don't have his number anymore. I just contact his manager.”

  “His manager?”

  Steph took another sip of tea before admitting, “I'm married to Griffin Huntley.”

  Jaz’s jaw dropped. “Omigod! Griffin Huntley from Twisted Star? Griffin Huntley”—her voice hit a decibel that only dogs could hear—“the rock star?”

  Steph cringed and lowered her hand, asking for a voice that didn’t shatter glass. And her eardrums.

  Jaz did a quick, excited foot-stomping dance from her seat on the sofa. “I love Twisted Star! You and Griffin Huntley! Omigod, how did that happen?”

  Steph lifted one shoulder up and down. “I met him before he was famous. He was my guitar teacher. He taught private lessons on the side while he played gigs with his band, hoping to make it big. And then he did.”

  “And then he left you.” Jaz squeezed her arm to soften the words.

  “Yup. He got the big contract, went on tour, and never came back. We kept in touch that first year, doing the long-distance thing, but his calls got further and further apart until they just stopped.” She twirled a piece of her hair. “I guess some part of me was hoping he'd come back, and we'd pick up where we left off.”

  Jaz gave her a sympathetic look. Everyone knew Griff had his pick of women. The gossip mags splashed with pictures of her husband with supermodels should’ve killed any hope Steph had of a reconciliation, but Griff kept it alive with what he did for her younger brother. She pushed that thought aside. Their divorce was long overdue. And she’d do her best for her brother with or without Griff’s help.

  Steph sipped her tea and went on. “I just never met anyone that mattered enough to really push the issue of a divorce until—”

  “Dave.”

  “Dave.” She sighed.

  Jaz shook her head with a smile. “Could Dave be any more different from Griffin?”

  The two men were like Ashley Wilkes to Rhett But
ler. Then who was Scarlett? Definitely not her. Griff sure liked attention like that Southern belle, and he had long black hair. She giggled, picturing her tattooed ex as the beautiful Scarlett.

  “Maybe that's why it works between us,” Steph finally said.

  “You've got to be the squeaky wheel and keep following up with Griffin’s manager. That's the only way this'll happen.” Jaz looked her in the eye. “You can't leave Dave in the dark either. That’s not fair to him. Tell him right away.”

  She was right. Steph knew she was right.

  “Call Griffin's manager first,” Jaz said. “Then tell Dave you want to see him tonight, and you’ll tell him in person.”

  “Yes, Bossy Pants.”

  Jaz smiled. “That's Miss Bossy Pants to you.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Dave arrived at the brownstone in Brooklyn he'd grown up in and bent to kiss his grandmother on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Nonna.” He handed her a card. Inside was a gift card to her favorite restaurant, Nathan’s Famous (Famous for hot dogs).

  “Thank you, sweetie. Are you hungry?”

  His Italian grandmother felt it was her life's mission to feed him and his older sister, Christina. Only Chris refused to stuff herself on their grandmother's behalf. His sister was petite like their mother's Italian side while he was tall and lean like his father's Norwegian ancestors.

  “Always,” he said.

  “There he is, my genius,” his mom said, coming in from the kitchen and hugging him.

  Dave winced. “Ma, I'm not a genius.”

  She ruffled his hair. “Some would say differently.”

  Dave smoothed his hair back into its side part. “Where's Dad?”

  “He stopped by your Aunt Helen's house to see why her car keeps stalling.”

  His dad was a master mechanic, a skill he'd passed on to Dave from the age of five when he could first hold a wrench. Dave had considered following in his dad’s footsteps, but his mom was adamant that he and his sister be the first in their family to go to college. He’d started out in mechanical engineering because of his affinity for machines, but was soon lured in by the beauty and elegance of mathematics. He’d gotten sidetracked after his master’s degree by a two-year stint in Teach for America, teaching math to inner-city middle schoolers. He loved teaching—felt like he was making a real difference—and never looked back.

  “There you are, Waldo,” Chris said, coming down the stairs. She wore a purple velvet jogging suit, her usual attire when she wasn't working as a nurse.

  He ignored her teasing about his glasses because he wanted to talk to her later about Steph. “Hey. After I eat, let's go for a drive.” They still had a couple of hours before they had his grandmother’s birthday dinner and cake.

  “I'd love to get out of this place,” Chris said.

  “I heard that,” their mom said from the sofa where she’d picked up her crochet—another blanket. He hoped it wasn't for him. He already had three in his closet.

  “I've been here for two days.” Chris threw up her hands. “I'm starting to feel like a shut-in.”

  Chris was thirty-two and had recently gone through a bitter divorce. Since then, she frequently spent her weekends off back home.

  Their mom gestured to the door with her crochet needle. “So go, what do I care?”

  “Ma, don't be like that,” Chris said, throwing an arm around him. “It's just sibling bonding time.”

  Their mom smiled. “You two are close now that you're grown up. Didn't I tell you he wouldn't always be an annoying little twerp?”

  “Yeah, you did.” Chris reached up to ruffle his hair, and he smoothed it back in place. “Now he's just an annoying big twerp.”

  He scooped her up and turned her upside down.

  “Aah! Put me down!”

  “Not unless you call me King Dave for the rest of the day.”

  “Never!”

  “I can stand here all day.” He glanced down. Her face was turning an interesting shade of red.

  “Okay! Put me down, King Dave!”

  He set her back upright on the floor. She immediately kicked him in the shin. “Ow!”

  “Children!” his mom said.

  He limped into the kitchen. Nonna piled a plate with leftover roast beef and a side of ziti and put it in the microwave. He dug in a few minutes later at the small kitchen table.

  Chris sat across from him and watched him eat. “You know we’re having manicotti and cake in two hours.”

  “If the boy wants to eat, let him eat,” Nonna said as she covered the leftover food with aluminum foil.

  “Where do you put it all?” Chris asked. “You're always thin.”

  He chewed for a moment. “I run.”

  She scoffed. “I run too. If I just look at pasta, I gain five pounds.”

  “High metabolism?”

  “You suck.”

  He pointed his fork at her. “You suck, King Dave.”

  She snorted.

  “It wouldn't hurt you to put a little meat on your bones, Christina Marie,” Nonna said. “Men like curves.”

  “I got curves,” Chris said. “I don't need love handles.”

  “More to love,” Dave quipped.

  He finished the meal, thanked his grandmother, and pulled out his car keys. “Let's go.”

  Chris slid into the passenger side of his Ford Fusion Hybrid—he loved its fuel efficiency—and promptly changed the radio to a top-forty station. He didn't even change it back to National Public Radio (though NPR was doing a fascinating segment on game theory as it applied to online algorithms). Nothing could spoil his mood now that he was in love with someone that loved him back.

  “I met someone,” he told her.

  “Seriously?”

  He glanced at her. It shouldn't have been that shocking. He wasn’t an ogre.

  “Yes, seriously,” he said. “Her name is Stephanie Moore. She's a fifth grade teacher. I'm crazy about her. I'm thinking of proposing.”

  “Whoa, slow down there. How long have you been dating?”

  “Six weeks. I love her. She said she loves me too.”

  “Six weeks isn't very long. How well do you know her?”

  He stopped at a stop sign and gestured to some kids to cross the street. “I'm thirty years old. I know what I want. I know she's the one. Do you think the Diamond District is open today?” It was Sunday, but some of the shops might be open. New York City was hopping every day of the week.

  “It's too soon to shop for diamonds! You're rushing things. Just because you sleep with someone doesn't mean you have to run out and buy them a ring. I sure never got that.”

  He didn't comment on the sleeping-together thing. They'd get there. Maybe tonight. Or tomorrow since they both were off for Columbus Day. As for the ring, Chris might be right. He didn't want to scare Steph off. On the other hand, Chris was still bitter about her ex divorcing her to marry his pregnant girlfriend, so she was probably not the best person to ask for diamond-ring advice.

  He turned down a street that went past his old elementary school. “Okay, I’ll skip the Diamond District. I'll research diamonds online, just in case.”

  “I'm telling you—too soon.”

  He thought of last night, how Steph had said she loved him. How she’d said “I love you” a second time before she fell asleep. He found himself smiling.

  “Are you sure she'll say yes?” Chris asked quietly.

  He grinned. “Yes.”

  “Well, now I've got to meet her. She must be something awfully special.”

  “She is, she really is.” Then he proceeded to tell her all of Steph Moore's many virtues.

  ~ ~ ~

  Steph made sure to ask for a back booth for lunch with Dave at Garner's Sports Bar & Grill the next day. Last night he’d called when he got home from Brooklyn, but she’d already been in her pajamas, exhausted from the previous night’s partying. Knowing she needed to have their big talk, she’d put him off until today. She wanted this relationship to
work, wanted to see where things could go. She was rusty on relationships, but she knew Jaz was right—honesty was the most important thing. She’d spent the morning going over possible ways to break the news, but there really was no good way to tell your steady boyfriend that you still had a husband. That was probably why she made it through the entire lunch without a peep about Griffin.

  “You're awfully quiet,” Dave said. “Everything okay?” He pushed the last sliver of their shared dessert of apple pie toward her. “Let’s split it. Pi divided by two means you’re the one.” He grinned and waggled his brows.

  Another math joke. He meant the number pi divided by two equaled one. She shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “Those pi jokes never get old.”

  He smiled. “That’s why I always order it.”

  “I'm full. You eat it.”

  She watched him eat and tried to calm the jitters in her stomach. She just had to say it. Dave would understand. Hopefully.

  She took a deep breath. “Dave, we need to talk.”

  He straightened up. “That sounds ominous.”

  “No…it's…I don't know.” She blew out a breath, suddenly at a loss for words. How did you tell the man you loved that you were married?

  He set down his fork. “You’re making me nervous. Are you breaking up with me?”

  A hysterical laugh escaped. “No!”

  He flopped back in his seat. “Good. Because after all the I love yous…” He gestured back and forth between them.

  “I know, right?” She laughed maniacally and clamped her mouth shut.

  He became serious, leaning forward to study her across the table. “I’m glad.”

  “Sorry. I mean, me too.” She barked out a laugh. “I’m sorry. This isn’t funny.” She forced herself to stop the insane smiling. “It’s just so hard to talk about.”

  He took her hand. “Steph, I love you.” His thumb rubbed small circles across her palm, warming her. “You can tell me anything.”

  He was so fucking sweet, and she was going to ruin everything. She felt sick. “Oh, God…”

  He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. Just say it.”

  “I'm married,” she blurted, then all in a rush, “I filed for divorce after I met you, but Griffin hasn't signed the papers.”