I looked up at him. Had his wife cheated on him too?
“I was angry that she died. That she’d decided to go to a movie that night. That she’d taken that particular route.” I watched his eyes go around the room. “And it’s okay to be angry.” At some of the people’s questioning looks, he clarified, “No, I didn’t find out any secrets about her afterward such as she was an undercover CIA agent, or had been cheating on me. Nothing like that.”
As several people chuckled, I let out an unplanned huff and his eyes met mine.
Fuck.
“But even if you find there are some skeletons in the closet, then be angry! It’s okay! But instead of punching a wall, I found something a little easier on the knuckles for you to do. I know it’s cheesy, but it might help.” He chuckled then instructed us to each grab a water bottle from the boxes in front of us.
Birdie finally turned to face me and our eyes met for a moment, but she quickly looked away as she reached into the box for a bottle.
“There’s flour inside each bottle,” Charles explained. “Now grab a balloon and a Sharpie. Write anything on the balloon you want. We’re all adults here. If ‘Fuck you’ is what you wanna write, do it.” A few people laughed nervously. “Then cover the end of the bottle with the balloon, turn it so the flour pours inside it and tie the end because we’re making stress balls!”
A couple women let out an Ahhh of understanding as we started in on making the silly things. I sat staring at the blue balloon on the table in front of me wondering what to write on it. Somehow, I’ll fucking kill the motherfuckers who fucked my fucking wife didn’t seem appropriate and I let out a snort, just then looking up at Birdie to see her staring down at her pink balloon.
“Hey,” I said quietly, making her wary green eyes move up to settle on mine. “Trade?” I asked.
She bit her bottom lip in thought for a moment before raising an eyebrow then tossed her balloon to me. I did the same, grinning at her which made her look away and down at my balloon in front of her.
As big as I could in block letters, I wrote, “FUCK STRESS” on hers then filled it with the flour and tied the end. After I finished, I saw that she was still staring at my balloon. We didn’t know each other at all, I didn’t know how her mind worked, and I was curious to see what she’d write. Then I saw her lightbulb moment come and she uncapped her marker and wrote something then proceeded to finish the project, tossing my balloon back to me after.
I rolled hers across the table and watched her smile when she read what was on it. Then I let out a laugh at reading mine seeing she’d written practically the same thing but in a neat cursive: SCREW STRESS.
I smiled and nodded looking down at the homemade stress ball knowing we’d connected.
Chapter 13—Birdie
I had to laugh.
Beck and I had written almost the same thing and it was nice to connect with another person after the week I’d had.
When I’d gotten home from the club, Jaden had helped me pack a bag and we’d gone back to her and Evan’s place. I’d told her I’d just go to my parents’ but she’d said it was late and I shouldn’t bother them that night. I’d agreed because I hadn’t felt like explaining to them why I was there.
My parents had been great throughout everything. They loved Mason and wanted to help as much as they could but they also knew when to stay out of things. This was probably a time I needed them to do the latter. I didn’t want to soil his reputation with them just yet. Yeah, look at me being all mature and shit, but what good would it have done if I’d told them right then? Dad would’ve wanted to beat him to a pulp and Mom would’ve made cookies. Yep. It would’ve been just what I’d needed, a dying husband beaten all to hell as I gained ten pounds overnight.
Mason had called. Of course he had. I hadn’t answered.
He’d left voicemails. I hadn’t listened.
He’d texted. I hadn’t read them.
It’d gone on all day Friday and Saturday which had been fun.
I’d taken Friday off from work because I hadn’t wanted to risk his showing up at my office because I wouldn’t have known what to say to him if he had. I mean, there were several things I wanted to say to him, but nothing that would’ve been appropriate at my place of employment nor that my coworkers would’ve bounced back from very easily. And sure enough, Lynn, one of my coworkers, had called that morning to tell me he’d done just that, shown up. So see? Bullet dodged.
Of course, the whole time I was at Jaden’s I’d cried nonstop which had been productive. Friday she’d had to go to a job for a few hours but when she’d come back, she’d consoled me with my favorite panini she’d picked up at a deli. Then we’d talked for hours about what I was going to do, where the only thing that came from all our talking that I even liked was my suggestion that I be put into a coma for the next thirty years. She hadn’t thought it was funny.
I’d ended up going back home Sunday and finally answering his nine millionth call, I’d told Mase to meet me there and we’d talked. I’d pretty much cried myself out by that point and had faced the fact that my husband was cheating on me. Oh, and Jaden had given me a half a Valium, so I was pretty calm by the time he showed up.
Although my heart had been broken, I’d told him to spare me no details, which he hadn’t. He’d told me that since he knew he was dying, he wasn’t going to waste my time. And, damn, he so hadn’t.
He’d explained that Maci, the woman he’d been with at the club, was a twenty-year-old secretary from work who’d had a crush on him. They’d been flirting for some time, texting, getting coffee together, and he thought he might now be in love with her.
Huh.
When I’d gotten up the nerve to ask if they’d had sex, at his answer, Valium or not, I thought it was I who was the one dying.
He informed me they’d slept together right after he’d found out about the tumor. Again, he hadn’t wanted to waste any time, you know, ‘cause “life was too short.”
Oh, it hadn’t been intentional. He didn’t mean for it to happen.
I’d asked, What, you just slipped and fell and landed with your dick inside her?
Oh, he still loved me. That hadn’t changed.
I’d said, You’re just not in love with me.
Oh, it was just that Maci was so exciting.
Maci was vivacious.
Maci made him feel alive.
Maci, Maci, Maci.
If my heart hadn’t already been demolished, I would’ve been hurt beyond repair. Now, that was a fricking paradox if I’d ever heard one.
I’d told him I wanted a divorce.
He’d begged me to stay.
I’d told him I wouldn’t sleep with him again.
He’d begged me to continue.
I’d told him I was moving in with my parents.
He’d begged me not to.
I’d given in on the first and last.
We’d stay together but only for appearances’ sake and because he was sick. Nothing more. Nothing less.
And I informed him he’d be moving into the guest bedroom.
After our talk, he’d left to go to the office, which I now knew was code for “Going to see Maci,” and I’d stayed. I was still sitting on the sofa when he got home having been pondering for hours the age-old question:
When someone has fallen out of love with you, how do you stop doing the same on your end? It’s not a faucet. You can’t just twist the handle and turn it off.
When I’d called and asked Jaden, she’d told me it’d take time.
I’d told her that if he kept it up with Maci, it’d be sooner than later.
Jaden said good. The sooner the better.
So now there I sat in the grief counseling class I was attending—all because my husband who was no longer in love with me was sick—having connected with another man over a stupid balloon stress ball.
Welcome to your life, Birdie Chapman.
“You wanna go get a coffee?” came from acros
s the table.
Looking up, I saw Beck smiling at me head tilted to the side in amusement still chuckling about our stress balls, and I noticed he had a dimple on the left side of his mouth.
Huh.
I then heard myself respond, “Yes, I’d like that,” before even thinking it through.
The meeting was over and we walked to the elevator with everyone else, neither of us saying a word. On the lower level, we got a cab and I listened as Beck gave the driver an address of a small place I’d been to before.
“They have great pecan pie,” we both said at the same time looking at each other and chuckling.
I turned away and sighed sadly.
I admit I wasn’t great company, having so much on my mind. Until the great reveal happened.
“I guess I’m just in a stupor!” I blurted as we sat at a table for two drinking coffee and eating our pie.
We’d been making very small, small talk up to that point, commenting on how much we liked Charles and how we thought the group could be a good thing. And then those words just fell out of my mouth.
Bleh.
Beck sat back with a concerned look on his face, but who could blame him. I hadn’t said much while we’d eaten, mostly listened to him then BOOM! that nifty little piece of intel came out. Ergh.
“Why’re you in a stupor, Birdie?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
Well, I’d just opened the door for my freaking sob story.
Yay.
I waved a hand at him. “It’s nothing. Just forget I said anything. I’m just tired.”
He studied me for several seconds which made me squirm a bit in my chair before he said, “My wife’s a drug addict who’s fucked at least two men since we’ve been married to get her drugs.”
That made me sit up straight with a gasp. “What?”
He held his mug to his mouth and nodded before taking a sip. As he set the cup down, he continued. “She was in rehab for thirty days. It only took a week back home before she overdosed on Oxycontin. It was the night I saw you in the stairwell. I don’t know where she got it. Maybe she fucked someone for it. And now I find out she has a bad heart, so she’s on the list waiting for a transplant. So, you wanna talk about being in a stupor? Yeah. I get it.”
I stared at him in shock. This beautiful man was going through so much and I never would’ve guessed it.
Before I could tell him I was sorry, I watched as he picked up his fork then set it down again. “So why’re you in a stupor, Birdie? Tell me.”
“Well…”
His eyes pierced mine, dazzling in their cerulean intensity.
“My husband has a brain tumor. It—it’s inoperable.”
He rested his forearms on the table clasping his hands in front of him…waiting for me to go on.
God.
I bit my lip then started in. “He, uh, well, I just, um…” I picked up my mug and took a sip hoping he’d let me off the hook. When that didn’t happen, I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “I just found out he’s been cheating on me.” I dropped my eyes to the table where I saw a heart carved in it, and using my forefinger traced it as I spoke. “With a secretary from his office. I just found out last Thursday after I left counseling.” My eyes moved to see him watching me patiently. I looked back down at the heart then remembered something. “Wait, that’s not right. My friend Jaden and I went out to a new club after I got home, and I saw him there with her. Her name is Maci.” My voice dropped to a whisper as I watched my finger on the tabletop tracing away. “How could he do that to me?”
Suddenly, Beck’s huge hand grabbed mine that was outlining the heart and my eyes shot up to see pity in his which pissed me off. I looked down at our hands and tried pulling mine away because pity was the last thing I wanted.
“Birdie,” he said softly, keeping my hand in his and squeezing it until I glanced back at him. “Hey.”
There it was again. Pity. My eyes dropped back down to where we were connected and I jerked even harder but to no avail.
He suddenly gave a quick yank of my hand and I looked at him again, this time frowning because fuck him.
“Let me go,” I whispered, ducking my head and fighting back tears as I tried getting free.
“Honey. Birdie, look at me.”
I blinked back the hot tears then gritting my teeth, looked him square in the eye daring him to keep looking at me that way.
“I don’t know what you think you’re seeing, but I’m not feeling sorry for you.” He shook his head slowly.
My brow went down as I wondered how he’d read me so well. How he knew what I’d been thinking.
“I understand. My wife cheated too. If anything, I empathize with you. I get it. Okay?” he explained.
I stared into his azure eyes realizing that I’d read him wrong. What I’d seen hadn’t been pity. It was understanding. It was hurt. Betrayal. Everything I’d experienced since finding out Mason had cheated. I gazed down at our joined hands again.
“I don’t know what to feel anymore,” I admitted quietly.
He gave a last squeeze before letting go and I watched his hand slide slowly back across the table before he picked up his mug and took a drink.
“Oh, fuck, this is cold,” he mumbled making a sour face which made me snort out a chuckle.
Huh. I’d just told him all my woes, yet he hadn’t blinked an eye then proceeded to make me laugh.
“Thanks, Beck.”
As he held his cup up to the waitress, he turned back to me. “For?”
While the waitress poured us both a new cup, I replied sincerely with a small smile, “For not pitying me and making me feel worse than I already do.”
In a bad Humphrey Bogart impression from Casablanca, he stated, “Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
I winced dramatically. “Don’t quit your day job, dude.”
He chuckled. “C’mon. That was pretty good.”
In my best attempt, I repeated the line and he groaned. “What? That was decent!” I said in mock annoyance.
“Well, here’s looking at you, kid,” he quoted with a smirk, holding his mug up for me to toast mine against.
I shook my head huffing out a chuckle then clanked my mug to his.
Chapter 14—Beck
Having coffee and pie with Birdie? Best thing that had happened to me in a while.
And I’d truly meant it when I said I thought what we had was the beginning of a good friendship. She got me. I got her. We didn’t have to pretend that our lives were perfect or even that we were happy. That was the best part. We could just be us.
After we finished, when Birdie was safely off in a cab, I hailed my own and went back to the hospital. Gina had had to go home for the week, so I wanted to check on Sonya to make sure she was good. When I stuck my head in her door, I saw that she was asleep, so going in, I left a note on her tray.
Sweet dreams.
See you tomorrow.
Beck
That was all I could come up with. I’d tried forcing my hand to write “I love you” but it’d balked, so that was as good as it was going to get for now. I stood watching her sleep for a moment before leaving her room where I ran into a nurse.
“Oh, hi, Mr. Griffin. I wanted you to know we had to give her a dose of methadone tonight. She was a little restless,” he informed.
I nodded. “Thanks.”
He nodded back then continued on his rounds.
Jesus. She was still having withdrawals from the drugs. At first, I’d been afraid to tell them about her past with drugs, thinking it might’ve moved her down the list for getting a heart, but it’d been the best thing I’d done by far. They’d been surprisingly understanding and at least now they were taking care of it.
As I turned to go to the elevator, I let out a breath, so tired of knowing all this shit.
I was also sick of thinking about her sleeping with other men. That was the killer. And how the hell I was supposed to deal with that, I had n
o idea. Although I’d pushed it to the back of my mind, it was there. Always there.
At times, I’d lie awake in bed at night thinking of divorcing her. Other times, I thought we might be able to work it out. All the back-and-forth was the reason I refused to think about any of it, well, for the most part, only resigning myself to dealing with things when the time came.
For now, I’d focus on work and her getting better.
Dr. Schmidt had told us that sometimes it took up to six months to get a new heart. When I’d asked if Sonya had to remain hospitalized the entire time, he’d recommended it saying she was receiving inotropes through her IV. Of course. Whatever that shit meant. He’d gone on to say they’d done an evaluation and that although she may have been more a Status 1B, he still felt more comfortable with her staying where she was.
So my routine continued—work, hospital, home. The only thing I found myself looking forward to was Thursdays when I knew I’d see Birdie.
The next Thursday, after the meeting had started and she still hadn’t arrived, I found myself worrying. But when she came in fifteen minutes late, apologizing to Charles then quickly sitting across from me, I took a relieved breath.
Once she’d settled, she’d looked at me and rolled her eyes shaking her head. I’d grinned back.
“Why were you late?” I asked afterward as we walked to the elevator.
“A meeting ran long,” she explained.
“Coffee and pie?” I questioned with eyebrows raised as we boarded the lift.
She looked up at me and smiled. “Sure. I’d like that.”
Over coffee and lemon meringue, I asked, “So what is it you do?”
“I’m a CPA.”
“Bean counter,” I said. When she gave me a look with a raised eyebrow, I chuckled. “Okay, penny processor?”
“I didn’t know you were funny,” she stated blandly making me snort.
“I can be.”
“So what do you do, stand-up comedy?”
I laughed. “I’m an industrial engineer for a pharmaceutical company.”
“Oh. A pill pusher. Gotcha.” I tried to stop my frown but she saw it nonetheless and realizing what she’d said, she looked mortified. “I’m so sorry, Beck. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Thursdays (The Wait Book 1) Page 7
