by Cindi Madsen
“I’m sure he’s adorable,” I said, and it was true. The glimpse I’d had of Amy last night, plus Grant’s genes… Jealousy twisted my gut despite my best attempts to hold it back.
Grant rounded my desk and took my hand. “I want you to meet him. Next week I get him to myself. We’re going to go to the park a few streets over. Can I come pick you up beforehand?”
Just when I thought my life was separating from his, he pulled me back in. He brushed his thumb across my knuckles and my skin warmed under his. Maybe I was just a hormonal mess, so deprived of a guy’s touch that any would do.
I knew that wasn’t true, though. Grant was familiar comfort, more than a year of shared togetherness, and getting through ups and downs. Brendan was new yet still familiar, a shared history and a sense of adventure that made me feel like a kid again. All it did was confuse everything again. “If you and I were actually going to work, wouldn’t you have married me?”
“I couldn’t go out and marry you without telling you about Amy and the possibility I was a dad—it wouldn’t have been fair to you. But I’d waited too long. I’ve wished a hundred times I’d told you sooner. All I need is a little more time to get this part of my life figured out.” His grip on my hand tightened. “Then I’ll marry you. I will. In a big ceremony if that’s what you want.”
Longing wrapped itself around my heart. I could see me, Grant, and a little Grant look-alike sitting in his house. Running around in the backyard with Cupid. Secure. Stable. What I’d thought about several times in the months leading up to our wedding, even if the circumstances were slightly different than I’d originally imagined. It was still everything I’d wanted, offered up on a platter if I held out a little longer.
But would more time really make someone ready for marriage? I got waiting until you knew if you could stand the person for long stretches at a time, and dating to make sure you were compatible and that the chemistry didn’t fizzle out after the lust phase—of course all of that was important. But Grant and I had already passed all those milestones and then some. What would make him decide he was suddenly ready and excited about it?
Then again, if he asked me to get married today, I couldn’t say I was ready. Not after the past few weeks with Brendan and being unable to shake the lust phase feelings I got whenever he was around. I was starting to wonder if not getting married was a blessing in disguise. The kind of blessing that smothers you, then makes you feel grateful for air.
Like a Stockholm syndrome blessing. I laughed at my own joke, which was totally inappropriate right now. That was when I did my best laughing, really—I’d had to remove myself from a ceremony when the bride’s grandmother started swearing in what I was sure she thought was under her breath. Of course thinking about that made me laugh more.
Grant’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Dakota? Are you okay?”
I wasn’t sure. But when I looked up into his eyes, I thought that a little more time might do us both good. “I’m willing to start talking again and see where it goes. I’m not sure meeting your son is a good idea, though. Seems like a big step.”
“We’ll keep it super casual. Just hanging out at the park, totally low-key, and I’ll even introduce you as a friend—not that he’ll pay much attention. He’s two, so really his most pressing concern will be the slide and if I remembered the crackers and juice.”
I rapped my fingernails on my desk, going back and forth.
“Honestly, I’m a little lost on the whole kid thing,” he said. “Our few visits have gone well, but Amy’s always been there. This is the first time I’ll have him without her supervision, and I’m nervous I’ll screw it up. You’re good at this kind of thing, and I could use your help.” He squeezed my hand. “No matter what happens between us, I hope I haven’t lost you as a friend. That means you’ll still be in my life, even if we can’t work out our other problems.”
When he put it that way, how could I refuse? “Okay. I’ll go with you to the park, and at least help you with your first outing with him. After that…we can see how it goes.”
Relief flooded Grant’s features, and then he leaned down and kissed me. I meant to tell him to slow down, but instead, I closed my eyes and focused on how I really felt. Underneath the pleasant sensation of his lips on mine, did I get that tingly hope? Did he feel like the guy for me again?
I couldn’t be sure, but hope was definitely not working its way through me.
…
When questioning your entire life, I don’t advise walking into a community center that smells like moldy feet. Especially if you have to limp in there. Trust me, it only makes your life situation seem that much more dire. The fact that I was required to be here thanks to a glorified gossip communist who subsisted on carrot sticks and cocktails wasn’t helping, either.
As I looked for room 105, irritation pulsed through my veins. You know how going to anger management class made me feel? It made me feel angry. Seemed counterintuitive to their goal, if you asked me.
As I stepped inside the room, I glanced around at all the mostly normal-looking people who were probably also here because of annoying coworkers. Whether you controlled your anger or not, some people needed smacked upside the head. I considered saying so, sure I’d get a few Amens! but the last thing I wanted to be known as was the anger management class troublemaker.
The tatted-up guy in the back with the goatee, scowl, and leather biker jacket looked like he might rip someone’s head off if given the tiniest excuse, and I assumed he had a little more reason to be here than the rest of us. Hopefully they had happy pills on hand in case of an anger emergency.
I’ve just gotta get through this, and then I can move on with my life. I took a seat in the middle—not too brownnose-y, not rebel without a cause like Skull Crusher back there.
Another handful of people filtered in and then a small man with a comb-over and yellow pit stains under the arms of his white shirt stood at the front of the room. “Welcome. My name is Ron, and I’ll be teaching you for the next two weeks. We all know what anger is, and we’ve all felt it…” He droned on and on about the heat, clenching your fists, your body tensing up, nearly losing your temper. But he was so monotone, it sounded pretty mild to me. I tried to pay attention, though admittedly I was rearranging floral displays for Valentina’s wedding in my head.
Relaxing was the first anger-control strategy. Breathing, meditation, and the like. Here’s the thing. I’ve been in yoga classes, with all the breathe in and out—hell, I even advise my brides to do it. But the only thing that ever helped calm me down was being in control. And not in a breathing in and out kind of way.
Great. I guess I do have some issues. Maybe I do belong here with Skull Crusher. I glanced back at him and he gave me a large grin, no malice but more a sense of solidarity. He rolled his eyes at Ron, and I decided Skull Crusher and I were going to be BFFs by the end of the course.
We were instructed to close our eyes and visualize a relaxing experience, also known as going to a happy place. I started to visualize a perfectly done wedding, only then it morphed into my wedding and sitting in my dress crying on the beach, that crippling sense of abandonment stealing my breath.
He doesn’t want me. Talk about ruining happy place chi.
The intensity I’d felt that day was more than that moment, though. I wasn’t sure why it ached so deeply, to the point that it was still there when I thought about it. It shattered my trust—the trust I’d fully put in Grant—that was for sure. But I shouldn’t be feeling that. We’d made up. I’d agreed to meet his son.
I tried to picture us all together. Grant, me, and his son. But it felt like staring at one of the stock photos that comes in the frame when you buy it in the store. Pretty, but not yours. No memories attached.
Okay, anger management class is messing with my head. If sorrow put out anger, I was there. Anger-free and wanting to cry. Damn emotions.
“Great. I’m getting a really good vibe off this group,” Ron said from the
front, proof that his vibe-o-meter was missing a couple rainbows.
Changing the way we thought was next on the list of tips to ridding ourselves of anger.
“Silly humor”—Ron actually chuckled—“can help with rage in a number of ways. It helps you gain perspective. When you get angry and call someone a name or refer to them in some derogatory term, stop and picture what that word would literally look like. If you’re at work and you think of a coworker as ‘scum’ or an ‘unimaginative ape’ for example, picture a piece of scum or an ape in place of your colleague, taking a call or typing on the computer.”
Scum? Unimaginative ape? Talk about unimaginative. I can think of way better insults.
“You might even want to draw it,” Ron continued. “It will help take the edge off of your wrath.”
I pictured myself drawing Phoebe as a villain—a comic book type that had an accident with nuclear waste so that her face resembled a Picasso. I’ll admit it actually was calming.
“One word of caution: don’t give in to cruel, sarcastic humor,” Ron said. “That’s just another form of an unhealthy way to express your anger.”
I wasn’t sure if my deformed image would count as cruel, sarcastic humor. Probably. And just when I was borderline having fun, too.
We did another calming exercise involving counting, and during our short recess, I made friends with Skull Crusher—real name Wild Bill. Anyway, it was the name he gave me, although I doubted it was the one his mama used. He told me he’d give me a discount on a tattoo if I was interested, and I told him I’d refer my clients to him if any of them asked about ink. A lot got tattoos for each other pre-wedding. A romantic gesture, but something I’d probably advise against now. How awful would it be if Grant’s name were somewhere on my person on top of having all the other fallout? Then again, if I had the tattoo, I’d probably feel more pressure to make it work now.
Either way, if my peeps wanted tattoos of any kind, I’d be referring them to Wild Bill, anger management co-conspirator. Although I’d probably leave off that last part.
Part two of the class covered changing your environment and habits. Getting rid of triggers, and recognizing when you were about to lose it.
Okay, so I totally didn’t deserve to be in this course, but it got me thinking that maybe I could use a couple of the tips. I’d already changed my environment, but maybe I needed to avoid getting in the habit of thinking about Brendan in any way but as friends. And I’d think of Grant as a possibility. And I’d change my thinking about weddings, too.
First I imagined smashing a cake into a mess of icing and a cracked cake topper, ripping apart a bridal gown, and overturning decorated tables, centerpieces and flowers flying everywhere. Months of work destroyed in the most satisfying way. Then I mentally put it together again, a nice wedding puzzle that ended with picturesque perfection. It didn’t make me super happy to think of my next event, but it did make me think it was bearable.
I was in control of my life. Phoebe could write about it all she liked, but I wouldn’t let her change me. And I supposed I’d try extra hard not to punch her. Even make it a goal on my to-do list and everything.
After having Ron sign off on my slip, I bumped the knuckles Wild Bill held out to me, and told him I’d catch him next time.
Hope and tingly-happy feelings for weddings could wait. Right now, I was just grateful to be turning over a new leaf in my life. I crossed Anger management class off my to-do list, and moved down to the Find a way to renew my hope in love action item on the bottom. I figured it was time to change the color from Tangerine to Canary. Still elevated, but no longer high risk.
Yeah, I was all over this.
…
“How was Hulk class?” Brendan asked as I dropped my giant purse so I could give Cupid some attention.
I smooshed my doggy’s face between my hands and told him what a good boy he was, then glanced up at Brendan. “It’s anti-Hulk class, thank you very much. And it wasn’t as bad as I expected. I even made some friends.” I dug into my pocket and held up Wild Bill’s card as I moved closer to Brendan. “See. Good in a bar fight or if you’re looking to sport some ink.”
Brendan shot me a smile that I felt deep in my gut. “I’m so proud.”
He’s my friend. The friend glue that’s holding my life together right now. I didn’t know what I’d do if I didn’t get to decompress around him—probably self-combust. Of course, decompressing wasn’t easy once I started thinking about those undone buttons on his shirt and what would happen if a few more of them came loose.
I switched to the topic that’d help derail that line of thinking. “So, Grant came into my office today.”
There was a slight tic in Brendan’s jaw, so I decided to skip the part where Brendan and I were in the paper and Grant was upset about it, and focused on the part I could use help on—I’d call Jillian tomorrow, but I already knew she’d tell me Grant didn’t deserve another shot, so I wanted another opinion. A less biased one. “He wants me to meet his son.” I perched on the arm of the couch, happy to take my weight off my sore ankle. “I said I would, even though it kinda freaks me out, and I’m not really sure what I’m doing.”
“Does that mean you’re thinking of getting back together with him?”
“Honestly, I don’t really know. He claims that’s what he wants. For now I’m going to take it slow. See what happens.”
For a moment it was dead silent. Apparently Brendan wasn’t going to be giving me any advice, and now it seemed weird that I’d asked his opinion. Cupid was dancing around at my feet anyway, giving me sad eyes, so I walked into the kitchen and got him a treat. When I turned around, Brendan was right behind me.
“Meeting someone’s kid isn’t going slow, Deej. It’s a serious step that implies you’re planning on being in both of their lives.”
“I worried about that at first, too, but it’ll just be lunch at the park. Grant assured me it’d be casual, and he needs my help.”
“Casual,” Brendan muttered. “Sounds like he’s manipulating you into meeting his son so he can use him to get you back.”
“I heard that.”
“Good.” Brendan’s eyes met mine. “You should be aware of what he’s trying to do.”
I sighed. “No matter how many times he says he still wants me, the only way for me to believe it is to see if I still fit into his life, kid and all. I’m trying to be careful, but it’s not like there’s a manual on how to act in this situation. If there was, I would’ve read it and had it highlighted and tabbed by now.”
A little of the tension leaked out of the room as Brendan bit back a smile. “I have no doubt you would.” He ran a hand through his hair and then glanced at me, his eyebrows drawing together as he noticed the way I was standing with all my weight on one side. “How’s the ankle?”
I lifted it and rotated it one way and then the other. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to piggyback me around for the foreseeable future,” I joked, glad to be on to an easier topic.
“Fine by me. It’ll be good exercise, packing you around.” He brushed past me, opened the freezer, and peered inside.
“I’ll try not to take that to mean I’m only good for weight training.” I thought he’d turn and make another joke, but he was still digging around, his attention on the bags of frozen food. I leaned on the counter. “Actually, I’m surprised by how much better it feels. I should be back in my heels in no time.”
Brendan glanced at me and then shook his head. He pulled out a bag of frozen peas, came over and put his arm around my waist, and then walked me back to the couch. I probably didn’t need to lean on him as heavily as I did, but he was warm and solid, and wearing that amazing total-guy cologne he always did.
We set up on the couch, and when he placed the icy peas on my ankle, I flinched and sighed, the cool nice and uncomfortable at the same time. Which pretty much described how being around Brendan always made me feel.
When I glanced up, I noticed a dark spot
on his skin. “Is that a bruise on your chin?”
Brendan ran his fingers across his jaw, right where the hint of purple was. “Hmm. I didn’t think it’d bruise. Guess I need some ice, too.”
“Did someone hit you?”
“Barely glanced off me, really—not a big deal. Once in a while people take a swing, but they rarely land, and they only get one.”
I blinked at him for a moment, thinking I shouldn’t be turned on by the threat in his voice. “I’m now picturing you in the back room, going all Sopranos-style on a guy.”
Brendan’s expression didn’t confirm or deny.
“Wait…so at your job, takedowns are encouraged, and at mine, just saying the word ‘punch’ lands me in an anger management course? Wanna trade?”
He cracked a smile. “No one wants me planning a wedding or writing an article about it. I’d end up saying red or pink instead of crimson or…”
“Watermelon? Dusty rose? Orchid? Salmon? I could go on all day.”
“See. I totally fail at fifty shades of pink. And if it makes you feel any better, most days my job is more observing and keeping things in check than getting to take anyone down.” He shifted the peas on my now-numb ankle, which was now looking rather pink itself. “You should come by sometime. Tell them you know me, and I’ll give you the whole tour—the stuff no one else gets to see.” His eyes lit up when he talked about his job. I could tell that he liked it and was good at it, and it gave me hope that he was here in town to stay.
“Hmm, a trip to the casino. Can I bring all my new anger management friends with me?” I asked, all false innocence.
“Uh, no.” He leaned over me to grab the TV remote off the coffee table, his firm chest pressing against my thigh, his face so close that I could see his pulse beating at his neck.
It’d be so easy to lean in and kiss his cheek, drag my lips across his skin. A swirl of desire went through me. Reminding myself that Brendan and I needed to remain only friends just got upgraded to Fuchsia.
