by S. A. Wolfe
“I wasn’t until you took it off the table. Then it became perfectly clear to me that I want to be with someone who is keeping all options open. I don’t want to think I’m falling in love with someone who can’t commit.”
“Wait. Do you think you’re falling in love with me, or are you in love with me?”
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s a really big point.”
“No, the point is you can’t commit. By saying you’ll never get married, you’re telling me and the world that I’ll never be anything more than a girlfriend. I’m the side dish, not the entrée. I’m the coleslaw you get with your steak, and sometimes you want the slaw and sometimes you don’t.”
“That is the stupidest analogy,” he says with an angry laugh. “And, for the record, I can commit. Marriage isn’t the only way to show commitment. I want to be with you, and I thought you could move in with me. That shows commitment.”
“That shows you want a live-in booty call.”
“Do you really believe that? Have I treated you in a way that makes you feel less important? Because you are the most important person to me.”
“Then we have different ways of showing it. I can’t settle for being a live-in girlfriend. I’m not ready for marriage, but I know I do not want to be the eternal girlfriend. I want my future to hold the possibility of more, but you’re shutting the door on all of that.”
“Let’s have one of the limo drivers take us back to my place. We’ll talk there.”
“I don’t want to go to your house where I’m the houseguest. I’m going to my place tonight.”
“You actually think I’m the wrong guy for you because I don’t give a shit about a marriage certificate?”
“I do. It says a lot about who we are and what we want. Someday, I want a man to put himself out there for me, no matter how embarrassing it may feel or look to others. I want him to love me enough that he’s willing to propose to me in the middle of the street. I want him to drop to his knee and stop traffic. That’s not the same man that asks me to move in with him because it’s convenient.”
Cooper shakes his head in disbelief. “You just made that up. That’s not the Imogene I’ve been with over these past weeks and months.”
“Then I thank you for helping me see the light of day.”
“Christ, if you really saw my family and saw what I grew up with, you’d understand why marriage doesn’t work with a MacKenzie. Every single marriage in our family has ended in divorce. My mother has been married three times! My father twice! Even my sister and brothers are divorced. I’ve got a boatload of stepbrothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and no one has married parents. Marriage and MacKenzies don’t mix. They cheat on each other, they divorce, and the cycle continues.”
As much as I’m shocked by his revelation, I keep my poker face on. “You know divorce and infidelity are not genetic, right?”
“I think there’s an exception with my family.”
“You believe marriage would make you cheat?” I stare in disbelief at him.
“No. I wouldn’t …” He looks down and is quiet for a moment before it dawns on me what he’s saying.
“Oh, you believe I couldn’t be faithful,” I say in a measured tone.
“I didn’t say that.”
“It sounds like you are implying that, Cooper.”
“I think people who marry a MacKenzie are bound to end up divorced. We drive people away. I don’t know how or why, but it happens every single time.”
“That is a horrible outlook on life and relationships, and I can’t be with someone who feels that way.” I push away from the railing and walk briskly to exit the gazebo as I fight back tears.
“Imogene!” Cooper tries to block me from approaching one of the dozens of limo drivers parked in front of the hotel.
One of the drivers sees me charging towards his car. When he gets out and opens the back door for me, I get in without moving over to let Cooper in.
“We’re not breaking up over this,” he says furiously, holding the door open.
“We just did.” I yank the door from his hand and slam it closed.
Twenty-Five
Avoidance is easy. Humans invented it. I excel at it.
I listen to Aimee Mann’s “That’s Just What You Are” at least two hundred times to justify my anger and refusal to answer Cooper’s calls and texts. Yes, as the song goes, we could talk to each other until we’re blue in the face, but we would end up in the same place because I will not settle for less than what my parents have.
Lauren and Emma both lived with their husbands before marrying them. It worked for them because each couple knew they would eventually get married. Even Jess and Carson lived together during their engagement, but it was only thirty days! I’m no longer the dumbass that fell for Jeremy’s insincere innocence. I’m pretty sure, if I try really hard, I can talk myself out of all those feelings I built up for Cooper. All those vivid, overpowering emotions that made me feel happy and beautiful inside and out.
With Lauren and Leo off on a weeklong honeymoon at a nearby spa resort, I wander around the house in my ratty, old football jersey some guy gave me in college and cry myself stupid until my face cracks with dried tears and my head feels like it has a bullet lodged in it. My self-therapy is going like gangbusters.
Monday morning, I have to open the workshop without Lauren. On the early drive over, I plot how I’ll get through the day without running into Cooper. I arrive to the parking lot before six in the morning to find his Harley is already there. I drive slowly over the gravel, hoping he doesn’t hear my car, and park on the grass to get as close as possible to the front door. In the early light, the area is very quiet.
Just as I get out of my car, I hear fast, loud, crunching steps on the gravel. I turn to see Cooper, angry as all hell, walking my way like a man who has been wronged and is out for justice. Kcuf this small town life!
“I pounded on your door for a good ten minutes last night! I was ready to break in, but then you only approve of me breaking and entering into churches.”
I have never seen him so pissed off.
“I was sleeping. Resting,” I say, thinking about the headphones I never took off.
“At seven o’clock at night? And what about all my messages? You couldn’t bother to return a single call?”
“I needed to rest, and I wanted to take advantage of the day since I didn’t have to work and had the house to myself.”
He slams my car door closed and follows me inside the workshop where I proceed to calmly flick on the lights and walk around, pretending to check on miscellaneous objects around the room.
“Imogene, knock it off.” He stands at the door and crosses his arms.
“Cooper, if you think I haven’t given this a lot of thought, you’re nuts. All I’ve done for the last two days is rack my brain over how we got to this shitty point. I’m so miserable over this.”
“Then you can stop being miserable,” he says, closing the distance between us quickly. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for an urgent kiss, his hands holding my head and back as his mouth takes over mine.
As our tongues fight for control, I reach up and hold his face, caressing the stubble that has returned. This is the kiss I wanted when I first saw him shaved, polished, and decked out in a tux at the church.
The kiss ends slowly, and my gut reminds me that nothing has changed, nothing has been resolved.
He cups my face. “I want to be with you all the time. I’m fucking crazy about you, and you’re crazy about me. I see it in your eyes every time you look at me, Imogene.”
Of course he’s right. I look at him with crazy, lust-filled eyes every time. I feel it, too, but he’s also not amending his earlier arguments. Like Jeremy, Cooper is waiting for me to change for him, to go along with his plan, follow his will.
I believe in compromise, but I will not drop everything to be with a
man if it means giving up a part of myself. There’s a big part of me that is a traditional-thinking woman who occasionally imagines herself as one day getting married, maybe having a child, and maybe even having a bunny rabbit because, if we’re going to dream big, why can’t I have that damn bunny my parents refused to get me when I was seven? However, conceding and giving up on an actual marriage contract isn’t something I can do. I can laugh about my loose convictions when it comes to premarital sex, yet it doesn’t change how I respect and desire the union of marriage.
“Cooper, being crazy about each other isn’t enough. If that’s all we’re doing is being crazy for each other, we can get deprogrammed,” I say, trying to lighten the mood so I don’t cry.
“That’s not funny.”
“No, this isn’t funny. It hurts, and I don’t want to go through this again. I don’t think people should try to force change on others. Change has to come from within ourselves— blah, blah, blah. I’m not going to try to get you to accept something you don’t believe in, and I’m not going to settle for what you’re offering. Ultimately, it wouldn’t work, and we’d both end up being miserable.”
Cooper drops his hands at his side, looking stunned. “My family’s record-setting gold medals in divorce happened because people lied to each other. One of the reasons I worked all those hours in the FBI was to escape the insanity of my family, all of their lying and cheating. But my work with the bureau involved a lot of similar people. Do you know how many people looked me in the eye and lied to me?”
I shake my head nervously.
“Hundreds. Thousands. Day after day, I had to talk to liars. When I decided to quit and had the chance to move here, I did it because Carson and everyone I met were decent people. But you were the prize. You were the one I noticed above all else. I value your honesty. You’ve never lied to me.”
“No. I may not have been the nicest person, but aside from sarcastic fibs, I have never lied to you.” My voice falters. I need him to leave so I can barricade myself in the back office and cry alone.
Cooper gives me a solemn nod. “I have to get back to the factory. I left a project unattended,” he says somberly. “When or if you want to talk to me, please do because this is going to be really shitty being near you every day and not being able to be with you.”
Over the next five days, Anita and Tracy are very understanding. After witnessing my tirade during the bridal bouquet toss, they assume I am in relationship fallout mode and keep all conversations on work. I am quiet and overwhelmed with fatigue. I wish Lauren were here to help me get through this; however, she won’t be returning for two more days.
I have managed to become my own worst, wimpy nightmare. I stay late at work to avoid possibly running into Cooper in the parking lot, and I arrive earlier and earlier each day to the point that there’s no point in going home to sleep the four remaining hours. I brown-bag lunch and hide in the workshop, keeping tabs on the comings and goings of Cooper’s bike. I’m developing a nervous tic of hunching and diving from the window every time I hear the roar of a motorcycle.
On Friday, as we work in silence, outside the open front windows, Dylan begins dribbling a basketball on the half court. He’s followed by two other employees, Noelle and Gemma, and then I see Cooper heading out of the factory and making his way over to Dylan. They chat for a moment, and then they start a game against the women.
“How can they play in this heat?” Tracy asks, staring out the window.
I glance up from the beads I’m stringing and notice Dylan and Cooper taking off their T-shirts and tossing them off to the side before getting back in the game.
“That’s how,” Anita replies with a big sigh. “Cooper’s trying to get your attention.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
After twenty minutes of listening to the ball hit the pavement and bang against the backboard, I can’t take it anymore. I put down the necklace I’m working on and decide to take action against Cooper’s little plan. I whip off my T-shirt and head outside. At least I’m wearing my full-coverage, underwire bra today so I don’t have too much on display. As the screen door to the workshop slams behind me, Dylan looks over and breaks out laughing. Cooper is less amused. He stops dribbling and Noelle snatches the ball from his hands as he stares at me.
“Excellent,” Dylan says, unfazed by my attire. “Join the game!”
“Imogene!” Noelle shoots the ball at me, and I take the jump shot. It circles the rim before going in, and Noelle and Gemma cheer.
I’m elated. If I’m going to make a statement and jump around with my breasts bobbing, I better get in some good shots.
“Put your shirt on.” Cooper hasn’t budged. He’s still glaring at me, and unlike the others, he doesn’t find this hilarious at all.
“No. You put your shirt on,” I snap back.
Dylan passes the ball to Cooper and it bounces off his chest as he stalks towards me and gets in my face.
“This isn’t funny, Imogene. Go back inside and put on your goddamn shirt.”
Hands on hips, chest out, I lean forward and look up at his pissed eyes. “No. You started this by banging that ball around. You’re giving us concussions over there.” I nod my head towards the workshop where Anita and Tracy are watching everything from the windows. “If you can take your shirt off and play during your lunch hour, so can I.”
“Everyone in the factory can see you.” He moves to block me so no one other than my employees can see me.
“So what? My bra covers more than my bikini. I’m not anymore indecent than you are. You wanted my attention, you got it.”
“I wouldn’t have to try to get your attention if you’d talk to me. Instead, you’ve been cowering in there all the time. I can’t see you before or after work, because you’re hiding from me.”
“You said when or if I want to talk to call you. Obviously, I don’t want to talk.”
“Then why did you come out here?”
“To play topless basketball because I have absolutely nothing better to do!”
Gemma and Dylan laugh loudly at that.
“Cooper MacKenzie!” Daisy shouts into a bullhorn from the factory door.
Cooper turns around with a grimace.
“Cooper MacKenzie, you are needed in the factory! We’ve got another snake!”
“I see you got the bullhorn I suggested,” I say wryly.
Cooper turns back to me. “This isn’t over.”
“Hey!” Carson yells as he comes our way. “Can I get my management team to get back to work?”
“We’re coming,” Noelle says as she and Gemma follow Carson back to the factory.
Dylan puts his T-shirt back on. “Come on, Cooper. You’re on snake duty.”
Cooper grabs his Blackard Designs T-shirt off the ground and quickly shoves it over my head.
“Hey,” I fumble into the shirt that smells like Cooper and sweat, spitting out some sawdust that’s clinging to the shirt.
“You’re coming with me,” Cooper says as he grabs my wrist and leads me towards the factory door.
“Why? It’s your problem. I hate snakes.” I struggle to get my wrist free, but his stride and grip are too forceful.
“Because I said so.”
When we enter the factory, all the employees are standing on the far side of the room, looking up at the high rafters. On the middle, flat beam, there’s a big, fat snake curled up. Carson is standing directly underneath the beam, looking up as if he can talk the snake into coming down.
“Sorry, but it’s your turn, and you’re the best at walking the beams,” Carson says to Cooper.
Cooper lets go of me. “Don’t leave.”
“Let’s stand over here,” Carson says as he guides me over to where the others are standing. “We wouldn’t want it to drop on our heads.”
“Why are you sending Cooper up there? What if he gets bitten?”
“It’s not poisonous. It’s just
a regular, old garden snake.”
“It looks like a boa constrictor.”
“No. We get these fat, lazy snakes all the time. You might have them, too.”
“You’re kidding? Is that why we get to use your building for free?”
Carson smiles. “Watch him. He’s good at this.”
Silly Carson, of course I’m watching Cooper. He’s shirtless. Why would my eyes not be riveted on his gorgeous body? Seriously, even in heartache, I can’t tear my eyes away from the guy.
Cooper leans a metal ladder against the wall and climbs to the top. Then he grabs onto a beam and does a monkey swing and grab routine until he’s hanging from the beam with the snake.
“Careful,” Daisy says, forgetting she still has the bullhorn up to her mouth so her intended whisper booms through the whole warehouse. As everyone, including Cooper, looks at her, Carson gently removes the bullhorn from her grasp.
Cooper lifts his legs up and wraps them around the beam and pulls himself up until he’s upright, squatting on top of the beam. He stands and then begins to walk the narrow strip of wood, one foot in front of the other as he slowly approaches the snake.
“Shouldn’t you have a safety net under him in case he falls?”
“Shh,” Carson dismisses me. “He does this all the time.”
I continue to watch with a morbid fascination. It’s like watching an Olympic gymnast when you’re tense and worried that they’ll take an embarrassing nosedive off the beam.
“Hey, little buddy,” Cooper says to the snake. In a flash, he has a hand at the base of the snake’s head, holding him up before grabbing the squirming middle.
“Yuck,” I mutter.
Dylan and two other guys hold an industrial sized burlap sack open and stand under the beam so Cooper can drop the snake directly into the bag.
“Are you going to kill it?” I ask.
“No. We release them down the hill, but they like us. They keep coming back,” Carson says.
Cooper does his whole beam walking and swinging routine in reverse until he’s climbing down the ladder. Then he approaches me, and I can tell a lot of the steam has gone out of his engine. I’ll have to remember that snake wrangling is a good way to calm down an enraged person.
