by Remy Rose
“Jack...”
“I’ve come to a conclusion, Callaway.”
“What’s that?”
“Your husband must have been a total idiot.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“Seriously, a complete moron. But I feel kind of sorry for him, because he gave up such a stunning woman. If I ever see him, I should say thank you, because without his stupidity, I never would have met you.” My throat gets a little clogged so I clear it, and damn, Callaway eyes are filling up, a tear sliding down her cheek. I reach over and give her arm a little squeeze.
“Hey, hey...no crying, okay? I don’t want to make you sad.”
She nods, picks up her napkin, dabs it at her eyes, tries to smile. My chest feels full and tight. It’s a weird sensation, and for a second I worry I’m having a heart attack. All of a sudden I’ve got this panicky urge to leave. I can’t drag this out for much longer; it’s too tough for both of us. I have a kind of goodbye gift for her, so I’ll get that and then go home.
“I have something for you, in my truck. And it’s not the bill.” I grin at her, hoping to lighten the mood. “Be right back, okay?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be pathetic.”
“You’re far from pathetic, Callaway. And don’t apologize.” My chair scrapes against the tile floor as I get up. I bend down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek on my way out.
I open the door to the breath of August, hot and heavy in my face. It’s the kind of day where around noontime, you’ll be able to actually see the heat, hanging shimmery over the pavement. The kind of day where you’d want to hang out on the edge of the ocean, sinking your bare feet into the packed wet sand, knocking back a few brews.
In other words, the kind of day that would be perfect to spend right here.
I take out the package from my truck. I only had single-guy wrapping paper—blue and white stripes—and no bow, but then again, I didn’t want to make a big deal out of giving her something since our alliance is over now. Over—that word kind of feels like an ice cube down my back.
She’s wiping the table when I come back in and shakes her head when she sees the gift. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jack. I feel guilty now that I didn’t get you anything.”
“Are you kidding me? The dinners you made me, the snack breaks, the great company? Not to mention the...um, you know.”
I’m glad to see her eyes sparkle a little at that. “That was a mutual gift.”
“Anyway—here. Open it.” I hold out the package and she takes it, sliding her finger underneath the folded edge and unwrapping it carefully. Her lips part—God, that mouth—as she makes this little surprised inhale and looks up at me. “You took a picture of me?”
I’m not going to tell her that this is another mutual gift—so I can look at her anytime I want.
“Yeah. It was that day I met you down at the water—when you explained what that stack of rocks was. Hope you don’t now consider me some kind of creeper.”
“You mean more than I already do?”
I chalk her up an air point. “Ha. Score for Callaway. Just so you know, the photo was a spur of the moment kind of thing. I was heading down to see you, and the scene looked like a painting: glittery water, bright sun, girl rocking an orange bikini...the closer I got to it, the more awesome it looked. I had to capture it.”
“It’s a beautiful shot. I mean, not me—just the scene.”
“You are what makes it beautiful, Callaway.”
Shit. There I go again, letting the words out of my mouth before I analyze what impact they might have. The way she’s looking at me, I have to bring this train back to the station before it gets totally derailed. “Anyway, I think it came out really nice. I like the contrast in it—the gray of the sand with your orange bathing suit, the wildness of the ocean with the solid vibe that rock stack gives off.”
“Cairn,” she says, the ghost of a smile flickering on her lips.
“Right—cairn. I still need to look that up.” I’m staring at her, wanting to memorize the little dent between her eyes she gets when she’s troubled or concentrating hard, wanting to remember the renegade pieces of her hair that are always sneaking out of captivity.
This sucks, because I’m really going to miss her eyelashes. And the dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose.
Whoa. Jack, buddy. Time to get off the train. “Hey, I really should be getting home. But thanks for the coffee. And everything.”
Callaway puts her hand on my arm. My heart feels like I’ve got a woodworking vise clamping down on it. “Jack—before you go, I just want you to know that being with you has been the most intense five weeks of my life. I’m glad you were the first person I was with after my divorce.” Her words sound choked. “And it wasn’t just about the sex. I hope you know that. I—I really like you.”
I respond slowly, carefully. “I really like you, too, Madeline.”
“Remember when I told you what I was afraid of? Being betrayed again?”
“I remember.”
“I’m changing it.”
I want and don’t want to hear this.
Madeline’s holding me with her eyes which are big and dewy, like a doe’s. “My biggest fear is losing you.”
I don’t know what the fuck to say. I just stand there, looking down at her, hoping by some miracle I’ll come up with a few words that might make this easier. They don’t come, but luckily she saves my ass and brings this scene to a close by reaching out to shake my hand. This definitely doesn’t feel like enough, so I bend down, breathing in the sweet smell of her hair and pulling her in to me for a tight hug.
It was at least ten seconds.
Chapter 26 ~ Madeline
September 5
“Okay, everybody’s done.” Delaney is sitting cross-legged, rocking from side to side to scoot herself farther back against the couch. “Read the answers, Kel.” We’re playing Loaded Questions. It’s not even the adult version, but we’re making it inappropriate whenever we can, because that’s what we do. Be crude, eat, and drink.
Kelly peers at us sternly from behind her sexy librarian glasses. “I will, but guys, we have to watch the noise level. It’s a bitch trying to get Maura back to sleep when she wakes up.”
“We’ll be good,” Amanda assures her, holding up two fingers in the sign for peace. “Lesbian’s honor.”
“Did you seriously just make a vag symbol? Like V for vagina?” Laney is incredulous.
“I totally did.” Amanda flashes us a triumphant grin, and we all burst out in the kind of snickery giggles that even the threat of waking up toddlers can’t suppress. Kelly tries to glare at us, but even she can’t keep from laughing.
It hits me that this is the first time I’ve laughed, really laughed, since Jack. I’ve been in survival mode these past few weeks. It’s like I’m in a time warp—not moving forward, stuck in what feels like a big pile of sludge, my senses dulled so that food is tasteless, music doesn’t move me...I’ve been going through the motions with no real sense of what day it is, hoping my mechanical smile at work will be convincing. I’m quite confident Angie and Jordan are on to me.
Kelly leans over in her chair to the end table so she can see the video baby monitor and then clasps her hands in mock prayer. “Thank God. They’re both still sleeping. I know this is a sucky place to do a girls’ night, but with Scott on his business trip and me not being able to find a sitter...”
Delaney shushes her. “No need to explain. I think it’s great that we’re all here, except for Jordan, who ditched us for her title attorney. Again.”
“Ah, she’s in love,” smiles Kelly. “You’d do the same thing.”
“Well, we’ll never know, seeing as that’s never going to happen.”
“Never say never, Laney,” Kelly winks. “Someone might come along and sweep you off your feet.”
“Nope. I like my feet on solid ground, thanks. Can we get back to the game?”
“Sorry,
yes.”
“Maddie’s guessing who said what. Here’s the question again: what’s your favorite kind of candy?” Delaney picks up the slips of paper with our answers and begins to read each one. “Suckers...anything chocolate...cream-filled...and eye.”
We start giggling again, I match all of the answers correctly, the girls give me high-fives, and we take a snack and beer break in the kitchen.
“I am so glad I took the night off,” Amanda sighs, sliding onto a stool at the high-top table and reaching for the peanut dish. “I’ve been working way too much. My new assistant manager is young and eager—it’s so sweet, really—and you woulda thought I was signing over the restaurant when I asked her to cover for me.”
“Aw, that’s cute,” says Kelly. “Take full advantage before she becomes jaded like you.”
“Oh, don’t worry—I plan to. And speaking of the restaurant business...Mads, I know I’ve said this before, but you’d kick some major ass as a chef. You’re fucking slaying this party with the apps you brought. Butternut squash apple bruschetta...mmm, I wish you were mine,” she says, waggling her thick eyebrows.
“Don’t forget her pumpkin pie dippers.” Kelly takes one off the plate. “When I said bring a snack to share, Maddie, I meant one. Uno. Singular.”
“You know how I like to cook. No big deal,” I tell her. “Plus, I need the focus.”
“I’m still mad at that handyman, but the silver lining is more food for us.” Kelly is smiling until she realizes I’m not. “Oh, fuck, Madeline—that was mean, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”
“Get me another Pumpkinhead and I’ll forgive you. No rum this time, though.”
Kelly blows me a kiss as she takes my glass, rubs an orange slice around the rim and then turns it over in the plate of cinnamon sugar. She hands it back to me, refilled, her eyes soft with sympathy that I really don’t want. I can feel the others looking at me, unspoken questions and comments glittering in the air like dust in sunlight.
Oh, what the hell. I’ll go there. It’ll be less painful if I initiate it.
“So first of all, I’m okay, I’m functioning. People have been through a lot worse. And it wasn’t even like I was with him for six months or anything. I mean, technically, I wasn’t even with him, right?”
They are nodding hesitantly, not sure if I want them to agree or disagree with me. I don’t know, either.
“Right,” Kelly says slowly, as if she’s measuring her words, “but it was intense, and there was a lot packed into that time. So it isn’t surprising that you’d be really affected by breaking up. And you said the sex was amazing.”
“Yes. But it was more than sex.”
They slide knowing glances toward each other. I probably shouldn’t have said that. “The whole thing, though—it wasn’t rational. Relationships should unfold more gradually, shouldn’t they?”
“I don’t think that’s necessarily true, sweetness,” Amanda says, her round brown eyes warm and kind. “There are all kinds of relationships—whirlwind, slow burn, friends to lovers...who’s to say if one is better than the other?”
“’Manda’s right,” Laney nods. “My grandparents have been together almost sixty years, and my grandfather proposed three weeks after they met. So it can happen.”
“When you know, you know,” Kelly adds, giving me a gentle, anxious smile.
“I thought I knew with Paul, and look how that turned out.”
Laney holds up her hand. “As your BFF from college, I have to disagree. You were on the fence even a few days before your wedding, remember? Your cold feet must have been trying to tell you something.”
“You’re saying that I should have listened to my feet?”
“Yup.”
“I think she’s saying that if you had really loved him, you would have felt it everywhere.” Kelly’s eyes mist over. “That happened when I fell in love with Scott. I loved him with every part of me.”
Delaney grins, her blue eyes lightening with mischief. “Does that include your shinbones? Ear lobes? Armpits?”
The rest of us are snickering, but Kelly is undaunted. “Yes, beeyotch. Every molecule of my being fell totally in love with him. And he can still make me weak in the knees, when he winks at me or puts his hand on the back of my neck or whispers dirty things to me, and believe me, when you’re knee-deep in potty-training and Play-Doh...”
Play-Doh. Jack.
“...you need to be totally in love, so it can pull you out of the day-to-day stuff and remind you of the nights.” She sighs. “Fuck that he’s on the business trip, because I’d be going upstairs right now and riding him like he was a stallion.”
“Bottom line, you got rid of Paul who turned out to be a prick, and you enjoyed getting hot and heavy with your handyman.” Delaney smiles at me encouragingly. “You’ll always have those memories.”
“Yes on the memories, but sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of Paul.”
“Wha-a-t? Don’t tell me he’s still contacting you.” Kelly looks indignant. “He’s got some nerve, seeing as it was him who wanted to end the marriage in the first place!”
“My God, he’s like a shit that won’t flush,” Laney exclaims.
Amanda flexes her left arm and smacks her bicep. “Just say the word, Maddie. I’ll pound the crap out of him.”
“That’s tempting, but it’s not like he’s stalking me or anything—just texting and calling me every so often and saying he wants to talk. He doesn’t seem to get that I don’t care what he has to say, that I’m over him. I think it’s partly due to the fact he’s no longer with his mistress, and he doesn’t do the alone thing very well. Hopefully he’ll stop soon, or find someone else. It’s not going to be me.”
“You may have to really confront him, Mads—like a come to Jesus meeting.” Laney sighs as she takes a sip of beer. “I hope it doesn’t get to that point, but he’s being pretty persistent.”
“I’ve thought of that. I’ll cross that bridge when—if—I come to it.”
“With the exception of Kelly’s husband...” Laney winks at her. “...men are ignorant. I’m surrounded by pigs at work, Maddie’s ex can’t take a hint, and her contractor needs someone to pick up a 2 x 4 and knock some sense into him. I seriously feel lucky to be single.”
I feel like I want to defend Jack. “I agree with you about Paul. But Jack made it clear from the beginning how it had to be. I went into it with my eyes wide open.”
“I know. I just can’t stand that you’re hurting. Makes me hate everyone with a penis.”
“I could never hate Jack.” I don’t know if it’s the three beers I’ve had, or PMS, or the warm sympathy I feel from my friends enveloping me like a soft blanket, but before I can stop it, tears spring to my eyes. I blink them back viciously.
“I don’t know if anyone told you, pumpkin,” Amanda says, leaning over the table to squeeze my hand, “but there’s no crying at girls’ night.”
I sniff and laugh and sniff again, and thankfully the talk shifts to safe things like binge-watching One Tree Hill, Kelly’s mother-in-law, if we should go to a paint-and-sip. For now, I tuck away thoughts of Jack like I’m packing a prom corsage in a memorabilia box, knowing that whenever I want, I can take out a memory and hold it, faded but still beautiful.
Chapter 27 ~ Jack
September 5
I’m not going to think about her.
That’s probably one of the dumbest fucking thoughts I’ve ever had, and ironic, too, because trying not to think about someone is, in fact, thinking about them. I’m sprawled out on my couch at home watching the Sox kick some Yankee ass, and about ten minutes in, I start feeling antsy and restless and like I need to be around people. So I end up down at Louie’s to watch the rest of the game, sitting on a wobbly bar stool next to a chatty oil delivery guy who’d just been dumped by his girlfriend. I don’t want to be rude and find another seat, because the poor chump obviously needs someone to vent to, but Jesus, he’s talking my ear off, and listening to so
meone pining over a girl is probably the opposite of what I should be doing.
I’m just about ready to excuse myself to the men’s room when this smoking hot girl with shiny black hair and shiny red lips appears out of nowhere and kind of squeezes in beside me to ask the bartender for a Manhattan. She’s wearing a black V-neck with a really deep V, tight jeans, high black boots, and perfume that makes more than just my nose perk up. It’s been three weeks since the python has seen any action other than my hand, and I’m pretty sure that’s a record for me.
So this girl smells great—fresh, flowery—and she’s sending me some pretty strong messages that she’s into me, with the way she’s standing so close, and how she puts her tongue out a little bit before taking a sip of her drink...man, that glimpse of pink is getting to me. I’m checking her out as best I can with my side view. Chatty Oil Guy seems to sense there might be something going on here because he’s stopped talking to me. And as I’m checking her out, I realize that the most important thing is, she doesn’t look anything like Madeline Callaway.
Whom I’m not supposed to be thinking about.
I suck at this.
Earlier today, I thought about deleting Callaway’s contact info from my phone, but then I thought I’d better leave her number in there, because there might be some issue with the bathroom (you can never predict those sorts of things), and it would be stupid if this number came up on my screen and I didn’t know whose it was. Plus, I have most of my former clients still in my contacts, so it’s no big deal if I keep her.
Back to the not thinking about her.
So this girl might be just what I need. I’ve found truth in the expression, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone. It helped me get over Brianne.
