The Husband Maker Boxed Set

by White, Karey

  I probably should have taken more breaks. Maybe then I’d have sent fewer men into the arms of matrimony. But there was something audaciously hopeful inside me. Or maybe it was fear. Whatever it was, I couldn’t turn down a decent guy. What if I did and he was the one I was supposed to marry? What if I said no and the love of my life slipped through my fingers?

  So I always said yes. And I always tried to make the best of every relationship because I wanted to find love. I wanted a wonderful husband and cute babies who would grow into chubby toddlers who would grow into awkward tweens and...

  Well, you get the picture.

  Anyway, I almost single-handedly kept Angus and me in therapy. Lucky for me, he was still single, or who would have joined me in our own little version of couples counseling?

  The valet looked skeptical when he climbed out of my car. Folding my five foot eleven inch frame into my classic Volkswagen Beetle was crazy enough. Watching Angus contort his way in was enough to give my spirit a little lift, and make the uniformed men at the curb shake their heads. When he was in the passenger seat, his knees near his ears and his always-a-little messy, sandy brown hair flattened against the roof, I pulled out onto California Avenue.

  “I’m glad you took a taxi here, so we don’t have to worry about two cars,” I said.

  “Easy for you to say. These cars weren’t made for guys my size.” Angus was almost six feet four inches.

  “Technically, they probably weren’t made for girls my size either, but at least I can park in my garage without scraping the sides.” I’d purposely traded in my old sedan for this little car after Mia and I had moved into our tiny, two-bedroom walk up. It came with a garage that fit my car and our bikes. Mia refused to sell the SUV her parents had bought her for graduation, so she was stuck finding street parking—no easy task on a street filled with ground-floor businesses.

  A light changed and a utility truck slammed on its brakes. I turned sharply to the left and pulled up beside it at the light.

  Angus braced himself against the dashboard. “Easy, Chuck. Luigi’s doesn’t close ’til ten.”

  “When are you going to start calling me Charlotte? You and Will are the only Neanderthals who still use Chuck and Chuckers. They’re hideous.”

  “Ouch. They’re not hideous. They’re cute, and we use them ’cause we love you.”

  “They’re not cute. Especially in front of people.”

  “People like old boyfriends? Or cheerleaders?”

  “Like anyone I’ve met in the last ten years.” Was I fighting a hopeless battle?

  Angus elbowed me. Not a hard thing to do in my clown car. “Charlotte sounds too mature and sophisticated. Like British royalty or something. Sorry, Charlie. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to call you Charlotte and take myself seriously.”

  “What about taking me seriously, Angus?”

  “Maybe when we’re grownups.”

  I blew out a raspberry sigh.

  There was no winning this debate. We’d been through it way too many times. Will and I had been friends with Angus since first grade. For years, I’d been one of the boys—riding bikes, playing video games, and building forts. In elementary school, Dad started calling me Charlie. Soon it had been shortened to Chuck. In the fourth grade, I protested. It wasn’t fair for me to be called a boy’s name. Will didn’t get called by a girl’s name.

  Dad remedied that by calling Will, Wilhelmina. That didn’t go over so well, so after several months of protests, Dad reverted back to Charlotte and Will. But the damage had been done, and the guys continued to call me Chuck. I complained, but I’m pretty sure that made it worse. Finally I gave up.

  “Can we sit toward the back?” Angus asked the hostess when we walked into Luigi’s. The restaurant was nearly full, even though they closed in less than an hour. We sat down at a quiet booth in the corner.

  Mrs. Shelton’s words bounced around in my head. They call her the husband maker.

  “That’s quite a frown you’ve got going there.”

  “Sorry.”

  Angus dipped his head, forcing me to make eye contact with him.

  “Don’t be sorry. Just talk to me.”

  “Have you heard anyone call me the husband maker?”

  Angus leaned back in the booth and shook his head. His dark, worried eyes watched me. “Who told you about that?”

  “So you have?” When he didn’t immediately speak, I knew the answer. I sighed and leaned back against my seat as well.

  There we sat, both of us slouching against our seats, looking at each other.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered.

  “Now why would I do that? Why would I purposely tell you something that would hurt your feelings?”

  I should have appreciated his desire to spare me, but at the moment, I wasn’t sure what to think. “Wouldn’t a real friend be honest with me?”

  “I was honest. If you’d ever asked me, I’d have told you. I wouldn’t have lied to you. But I don’t think a real friend would jump at the chance to share something hurtful. Wouldn’t a real friend be protective?”

  I shrugged.

  “Who told you?”

  “No one.”

  “Then how—?”

  “I overheard Hannah Shelton’s mom in the restroom. She was telling some other woman that everyone calls me the husband maker.”

  “Not everyone, Chuck.”

  “You know what I mean. And why shouldn’t they? There I was at Harrison’s wedding. I guess I just made him a husband. I guess I made Skyler a husband. And CJ and Jerry and... I can keep going if you want me to.” I would have kept going to illustrate my point, but my voice was starting to quiver, and in a minute, I’d only have two options—cry or yell at Angus. As upset as I was that he’d never told me, I knew he didn’t deserve to be yelled at. He was here for therapy, after all.

  “Charlotte.”

  His voice was full of concern, and he used my given name, so I knew he wasn’t kidding around.

  “What?” My voice cracked.

  He shook his head. “Don’t worry about what people say. You’ve had bad luck. That’s all. It isn’t your fault.”

  The waitress brought out our food. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “This is great, thanks.” Angus wasted no time piling food on his plate. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said after she left.

  “I can’t believe we’re eating this much food at almost ten.”

  “If the food doesn’t take your mind off all this junk, the heartburn will.”

  Angus’s voice turned serious again. “If you wish I’d have told you, I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer, but I had to ask. “Have you ever called me that?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Whew. Thanks.” I gave him half a smile. “We may have to skip the pie tonight.” I tucked a couple of napkins over my dress.

  “Or get it to go.” Angus piled food on his plate. “You know, Charlie is still single. I’ve thought several times I should set you up with him.”

  “Charlie and Charlie. It sounds ridiculous.”

  “His name is actually Charles. And he’s a great guy.” Charlie had been in one of Angus’s study groups three years earlier. Angus swore up and down he was a great guy and that someday—when I was between boyfriends—he was going to play matchmaker. “He’s taking a residency in Sacramento, so he won’t be too far away. That’s a date-able distance. Hey, if you dated him, I might have to call you Charlotte to keep you straight.”

  “Yeah, right. You’d call us Charlie and Chuck, and I’d still have the uglier nickname.”

  “I should give him a call.”

  “Thanks for thinking of me, but not now.”

  The ribs were exactly what I needed—sweet, tangy, and messy. We joked and laughed. I told Angus about the job I’d just finished—a tourist package for the Arkansas Alligator Farm and Petting Zoo. “They wanted a cartoon map, four post-ca
rds, two key chains, and two refrigerator magnets.”

  “Did you go to Arkansas?” Angus asked.

  “No. They didn’t have a big enough budget for an on-site visit, so they emailed me all kinds of pictures. Not sure I needed to see the alligators in person anyway.”

  “I still can’t believe this is a real job.”

  “Hey, it may not be as important as what an orthopedic surgeon does, but I work hard.” Promotional materials and souvenir creation might sound like a made up profession, but I’d worked hard to get my position with Jayne Fife Graphics. When it had been Jayne, Patty and me, she’d called the position PMS (promotional materials and souvenirs) for short, but after she hired Brian and Keith, that acronym disappeared.

  When I first started there, I mostly created menus and pamphlets, but after a while I’d become the go-to gal for all things touristy. Now I handled almost all the souvenir creation that came to Fife.

  “I know you do. Maybe I’m jealous because you’re out in the real world making decent money instead of getting ready to start a five-year residency.”

  “It’ll be over before you know it.”

  “You’ve been saying that for eight years,” Angus said pointing at my chin.

  I dabbed with my napkin and laughed as I wiped away a glob of barbecue sauce. “Every time I say it, it’s closer to being the truth. And at least now you’ll be practicing medicine. That’s gotta be pretty exciting.”

  “It is. I’ll actually be in the operating room, and you’re right, there’s finally an end in sight.”

  “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be a great surgeon.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Do you know where you’ll be doing your residency? Please say it’s close by.”

  “I’ve narrowed it down to two options. Alameda County Medical Center has offered me a position. So has New York Methodist. I’ve done everything else here in the bay area. It might be nice to go somewhere new. See a new part of the country. New York would be interesting.”

  “New York’s got nothing on Alameda.” Angus had been a part of our lives almost as long as I could remember. It would be hard to have him clear across the country.

  Angus laughed. “I’ve got a few months to decide.”

  We were nearly sick so Angus ordered the pie to go. I put my fork down and rested my chin in my hand. Angus leaned back in his seat and sighed.

  “You should take that home,” I said. I was so full the pie the waitress brought didn’t even look good.

  “No, you should. This was your therapy session.”

  “I want you to take it. Share it with the guys.”

  “Nathan’s on a no sugar kick, and Zach and I don’t need a whole pie.”

  Angus motioned for the waitress. “Would it be possible to split this into two containers?”

  “Sure.” She took the pie, and Angus leaned forward. “Okay, be straight with me.”

  “Are we getting serious again?” I asked.

  “Just for a minute.” He took a deep breath. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

  “Do what to myself?” I clasped my hands in my lap and braced for his answer.

  “Come on, Chuck. You know what I’m talking about. Why do you go to these weddings? This has to be at least three that you’ve attended.” It was actually four, but I wasn’t going to admit that.

  “I don’t invite myself, you know.”

  “I know, but just because you get an invitation doesn’t mean you have to go. Save yourself the heartache and stay away. Most of them don’t deserve your time, and they certainly don’t deserve a gift. What did you give Harrison?”

  “A toaster.”

  “He didn’t deserve a toilet plunger from you, Charlie. And he sure didn’t deserve you standing there congratulating him and his new bride. You should have gone to the movies tonight or to the Warriors game.”

  “I can’t afford a playoff game,” I said.

  “That’s not the point. You should have done anything but put yourself through that.”

  “Perfect. Go ahead and criticize me for going. I dated him for long enough that we kinda became friends, you know. Why were you there? You guys hardly even know each other.”

  Angus quietly studied the salt and pepper shakers. “I was only there to be sure you were okay.”

  I gaped at him, but he didn’t look up. “Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I watch you making it easy for these guys who dump you—sorry, but most of them aren’t nice—and I hate that you let them off the hook when I know most of the time you’re still hurting.”

  “I’m not always hurting, Angus. Honestly, sometimes I don’t even care that we break up.”

  “But it’s happened enough that I know these weddings end up being a slap in the face. Even if you weren’t in love with the guy. And I don’t like you getting slapped in the face.”

  The waiter brought back the two boxes of pie and our check. We each left a few bills on the table and walked out into the twinkling night. The beetle was parked a block away, and at first we walked in silence. Finally, I couldn’t stand the quiet any longer. I hugged Angus’s arm. “Thank you for caring.”

  His burst of laughter startled me.

  “I’m serious. I’m glad I have a friend who cares, but really, you don’t have to worry about my heart.”

  “Tell you what, Charles. If you’ll start worrying about it, I’ll try to stop.”

  “Harrison got married?” Jayne shrieked and dropped into the chair across the desk from me. Jayne was all angles and no curves. She wore her dark hair short and would have looked like a teenage boy, except for the giant hoop earrings and bright red lipstick she wore every day. “I didn’t even know you guys broke up. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I just did.”

  “Charlotte, if he’s married, you broke up a long time ago.”

  “It’s been a few months.” I tried to act like it was no big deal.

  “You’re joking.”

  I shook my head. Jayne was looking at me like I’d sprouted antlers and had grown a beard of feathers.

  “How is that possible? I thought you guys were kinda serious.”

  “Don’t ask. I’ve quit analyzing my love life. It’s too confusing.”

  Jayne closed her mouth and leaned forward in her chair. “Does this mean I can set you up with Kyle?” I buried my face in my hands. For the past year, she’d been trying to convince me that Kyle and I were perfect for each other. I’m not opposed to most setups, but Kyle was a different story. He was nine years older than me. NINE! YEARS! That made him a confirmed bachelor, right? That meant he was practically an antique.

  Another problem with Kyle was he came from money. Garden party, private jet, and cars that cost as much as my parents’ house kind of money. I know that doesn’t sound like it should be a deal-breaker, but when you combine a much older guy with loads of cash, one word usually comes to mind. Gold-digger. (I’m calling it one word because it’s hyphenated.) I can assure you I’m not the kind of girl Kanye West writes songs about, nor did I want to be mistaken for one. So for the past two years, I’d been telling Jayne no.

  “Jayne, he’s so old.”

  “I told you. He looks younger than he is. And he’s a great guy.”

  “Then why isn’t he already married?”

  “Because he’s waiting for you.” Jayne winked.

  “I’m serious. If he’s so great, he should already be married. He’s nearly forty years old, for crying out loud.”

  “Exaggerate much? He’s only thirty-five.”

  “Same thing.”

  Jayne rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible. If you won’t go out for you, consider it an act of charity.”

  “That’s not funny. I don’t want to date as an act of charity.”

  Jayne leaned forward, her voice suddenly serious. “Okay, Charlotte. Here’s the deal. Kyle has been Trent’s frien
d since long before Trent and I got married, and I like him. I want him to find a nice wife, and if it can’t be you because of your little hang-up with his age and the fact that he’s rich, then I want it to be with someone else. Soon. So I need you to go out with him.”

  I didn’t mean to, but I snorted. She was serious. She wanted me to go out with him so he could get married. Who cared what it did to me? Even though Jayne knew about my boyfriend-to-husband track record, there was no way I’d be telling her about the nickname I’d discovered over the weekend. Knowing Jayne, she’d probably have a nameplate made, and I’d have “The Husband Maker” hanging on my door.

  “You’re being superstitious. And you’re using me.” I tried not to sound hurt. Why shouldn’t Jayne’s primary loyalty be to a man she’d known longer than me?

  Jayne shrugged.

  “There’s no guarantee it would work anyway, you know. I’m sure I’ve gone out with lots of guys who didn’t get married right after we dated.”

  “You say that, but I bet you can’t think of a single one,” she said and I sighed.

  “Just go out with him. What can it hurt? Who knows, maybe you’ll like him. If I weren’t already married, I’d set myself up with him. I’m not opposed to a life of financial ease, with great vacations and a housekeeper to clean my bathrooms. Say yes, or I’ll have to set up one of those awkward ‘chance’ meetings, and then you’ll hate me.”

  Inside I surrendered. I was a hopeless failure at finding love for myself. I might as well try to help someone else. Especially a desperate old guy. “Fine, Jayne. Go ahead and set it up. But promise you won’t hate me when it doesn’t work out and he’s still a bachelor four or five girls from now.”

  Jayne clapped her hands and squealed like a teenager. “You won’t be sorry. I promise you’re going to like him.”

  “You have to admit nine years is a lot. He was in third grade when I was born. When I was starting kindergarten, he was starting high school. When he was finishing college, I was in junior high. Ick.”