Down with Love

by Kate Meader

  “Max said I was helpful?” Too late, I realize she meant her other son. “Oh, James. Well, he and Gina are so lovely together.” My cover-up sounds flustered.

  I search for phoniness in her smile. James and Gina’s is a rather quick courtship, after all, and there’s a lot of money in play. She appears open and genuine.

  “This is Penny, Mrs. Henderson. She’s in the book club with Gina.”

  “Wonderful! What are you reading?”

  We usually read romance but Jessica, our tyrannical founder, insisted that this month “we break out of our emotional chains.” I name a good-for-us New York Times bestseller that’s putting me into a nightly coma.

  “God, I hated that one. So bloody pompous,” Mrs. Henderson says with great feeling, and I immediately fall in love with her.

  “So,” Penny says. “There are guys here.”

  “Yes, well spotted!” She winks—or at least I think it’s a wink. One eyelid closes all the way, and the other falls to half-mast. “We decided to do a co-ed shower, even though most of the men would rather pull out their fingernails than attend. That way, everyone is forced to join in the fun.” Mrs. Henderson leans in conspiratorially. “Now, I’m a little worried about Gina. She said she doesn’t talk to her family much, and I get the impression she’s rather alone here in Chicago.”

  “She’s not,” I say. “She’s a recent transplant so that can be tough, but I expect she’ll settle in soon.” Challenge spikes my voice, and I pin on my own smile.

  Mrs. Henderson squeezes my hand, like we’re already best friends. Her next words are said slowly, clearly to appease the crazy, strangely protective wedding planner in the room. “We abso-lute-ly adore her. She and James are such a great complement to each other, and I know she’ll make him happy. So you’ve met Max?”

  “A couple of times,” I answer neutrally. Yes, I am Switzerland.

  This makes her laugh and little lines appear around her bright eyes. She opens her mouth but before she can speak, a deep, loud, also-British voice calls out, “Suzy, you bloody gorgeous creature!”

  We all turn to find a so-handsome-it-hurts guy in a blue-going-on-teal blazer, a fedora, and—get this—white jeans that shouldn’t work but look the bomb. I could hang on his cheekbones they’re so gorgeous. He lifts Max’s mother off the ground, making her screech.

  “Lucas, you naughty boy! Put me down!”

  “Run away with me, Suzy. I left the car running outside.”

  She swats at his chest. “You know Jack would hunt us down, darling. Viciously.”

  “The man is a beast. And he would kick my arse.” His face lights up on seeing me and Penny. He tips his hat. “Ladies, Lucas Wright. Rejected and heartbroken, but at your service.”

  A grinning Mrs. Henderson shakes her head. “Ignore this scoundrel, ladies. Let’s get you some champagne.”

  Two minutes later, I’m in the middle of a gaggle of excited women and a murder of not-so-excited men. Gina isn’t nearly as friendless as I thought, and I enjoy seeing her making a real effort to stop and chat to everyone instead of sticking with the few people she knows well. In her hand is a flute with something sparkling, which I know isn’t alcoholic. She and James have decided to keep the pregnancy under wraps for now as a stress-reduction measure, and we’ve already discussed ways she could avoid alcohol in company and not give up her secret. Ginger ale where possible and barely a sip of her bubbly where not.

  After popping my gift on the table practically straining under the weight of wrapped and beribboned boxes, Penny and I approach the guest of honor.

  “Hey, blushing bride-to-be, how’s it going?”

  “Fuckin’ awesome,” she says, then pulls us both in for a joint, slightly awkward hug. “Shit, I’m so nervous, and I always swear like a motherfucker when I’m nervous.”

  This girl is me ten years ago.

  “You’re fine. Where’s James?” And Max, because if this is a co-ed event, I can’t imagine he’d stay away, not after he promised to be supportive. My pulse picks up at the thought.

  Gina looks around. “Over there with his dad.”

  I follow her gaze to where James is standing with an older man, who is essentially an aged-up version of the eldest Henderson brother. This preview of future Max is so darn tasty I resolve to expand my dating profiles to an older male demographic.

  “Papa Henderson is pretty hot,” Penny blurts before I make a fool of myself and say the same thing.

  “Right? That’s what I have to look forward to.” Gina’s slightly troubled gaze wanders to the table, piled high with a mountain of gifts. “Susanne is a total doll. Have you met her?”

  “Yes. Very sweet.”

  Much sweeter than I imagined. Given Max’s opposition to happily-ever-afters, I expected some cold society matron who would slice through me with a crystal-cut stare and a clipped “how do you do?” Max would have grown up in a loveless home that made him protective of James but reluctant to open his starved heart to anyone because his parents had taught him that love was gray and pointless.

  Apparently, I’m looking for reasons to feel sorry for Max Henderson.

  Mrs. H appears behind her husband and squeezes in under his arm. He pats her still-got-it butt and pulls her into his side for a kiss, while James rolls his eyes with a familiar indulgence. Adorable.

  I don’t see any evidence of a chilly upbringing here. Now I’m left wondering who hurt Max—and if I can reach the part of him so closed off.

  Shut that down. I should not be trying to see Max as anything other than what he’s chosen to present. And what he’s chosen is cynical, wealthy playboy who occasionally shows slivers of compassion. For Sully and Donna, for James, for me.

  This level of examination is not in keeping with the objectives of the day: to celebrate love and ensure that the happy couple need never again buy another kitchen gadget.

  Max

  I’d thought this would be a good time to hit the golf course with James and Dad. Turns out my mom had other ideas.

  We’re doing this co-ed deal for Gina because she doesn’t know that many people in Chicago. That’s okay. I can be a trouper, but then I spot Charlie and realize that this afternoon might not be such a chore after all. For the last couple of weeks, we’ve been seeing each other off and on. Or rather, she’s been summoning me by text, and I’ve been heading over to her place to let her work me into an exhausted but very sated and happy camper.

  “Hello, Ms. Love,” I say behind her, which is a bad idea because my approach made her splash her drink on her dress. “Damn, sorry ‘bout that.”

  She shakes her head. “This creeping up on me is getting to be a habit, Henderson.”

  “My best work is done from behind,” I murmur in her ear, but then I notice a sort-of-familiar, pretty Asian woman, her mouth curved in a grin, and realize I need to behave. “Hi, I’m Max.”

  “Penny Kim. We met once about five years ago during the dedication of the Henderson wing at Lurie Children’s. I work in fundraising there.”

  “Right. Nice to see you again. You know Charlie?”

  “Since college.” She grins in an oh-the-stories-I-could-tell kind of way.

  Charlie is dabbing a napkin at the neckline of her dress, something peach-colored and floral.

  “Come on, let me get you some club soda.”

  With a quelling look at her grinning friend that tells me they were definitely talking about me, she follows me out of the living room.

  “Surprised to see you here,” I say.

  “Gina invited me.” She sounds a touch defensive.

  “Okay. Still surprised. You two are getting friendly?”

  Cute nose twitch. “A little. I don’t usually hang with clients but Gina—”

  “It’s great you’re h
elping her out.”

  She seems tense as I lead her into the French country–style kitchen—or so my mom tells me. All I know is that ceramic roosters en masse give me the creeps. I check the beverage stash in the pantry and arm myself with a bottle of club soda and a dishcloth.

  “Your parents’ home is lovely. And I met your mom. So nice.”

  “Hard to believe she produced a hard-boiled cynic like me, right?”

  There’s that smile. Charlie Love enjoys my negatives far too much.

  “Your parents do seem very happy together…”

  “I was engaged once.”

  Charlie looks just as surprised as me by this revelation. Where the hell did that come from? The moment stretches because neither of us has a clue what to do with it.

  “Bad wedding planner?” she asks with a wry grin that yields a laugh from me.

  “Just a bad match.”

  No longer smiling, she nods, her gaze all compassion I neither want nor need. “She hurt you?”

  “She opened my eyes.”

  “That’s your story?”

  “And I’m sticking to it.” She needn’t know that Becca was interested only in the Henderson name, the penthouse, the trappings. You see I’ve already trod this path that James is on: the taste tests, the fittings, the bridal showers (plural). Five years is plenty of time for me to get over it, and my job ensures I don’t get complacent.

  It’s her turn to share, but she doesn’t volunteer any information.

  “How about you and Craven?”

  “I’d ask how you know but you’ve already proven that you have your ways.”

  “I googled you”—after your dad filled me in—“and saw you stepping out at a few events with him. Made the society pages.”

  “It was something casual,” she says, “or that’s what he told me later. He needed someone who better fit his aspirations. Has an eye on a congressional run, you see.”

  I knew it. Fucking asshole. “What? Charlie Love not diplomatic enough to be a politician’s sidekick?”

  “Not with this trucker mouth,” she says with a grin that even when forced is beautiful.

  I touch a finger beneath her chin. “I happen to adore this trucker mouth.”

  “Yeah, ya do. You love when it’s wrapped around your co—”

  I cut her off with a kiss, loving the taste of her—champagne, cupcake frosting, and Charlie. I can make her forget this asshole who couldn’t see the many facets of this woman. Tigress, professional, a surprise in every moment.

  His loss.

  But is it my gain? I’m telling myself I can’t lead her on, yet that’s not what’s happening. She’s leading me to a place that feels intimate and familiar. To a place I’m starting to crave, this bubble with just me and her.

  I deepen the kiss, holding her jaw to pour all my need into this joining. Maybe it was the mention of Becca. Maybe it was the allusion to Craven. Either way, I need this and I think Charlie does, too.

  She should be afraid of the passion I’m unleashing in the middle of my parents’ kitchen, but she doesn’t hold back. She curls a hand around my neck and pins me in place for the sensual response. I’ll say this for Charlie—once she commits, she goes all in.

  We separate, a little dazed, a lot confused.

  “Hi,” she says.

  I laugh, delight flooding every cell. “Hi.”

  “Hello, you two,” I hear in the unmistakable baritone of my father.

  I turn, unsurprised to see my mom is with him. They’re a package deal.

  Dad gives me a look. “Maybe you should introduce us to this strange young woman you’re debauching in our kitchen, Max.”

  My mom’s smile is designed to put Charlie at ease. “Oh, Jack, this isn’t a strange young woman. It’s Charlie. She’s a friend of Gina’s.”

  “Looks like she’s a friend of Max’s,” Dad says, the old Henderson blues twinkling.

  Mom spots the dishcloth and club soda. “Oh, dear, Charlie, did you spill something on your lovely dress?”

  “Just a little champagne, Mrs. Henderson. It’s nothing.”

  “My fault, Mom.”

  “Very creative, son,” Dad offers. “Going to show her your debate trophies next? They’re in his old bedroom, Charlie.”

  Charlie laughs, and it is fucking sunshine in my chest. “I know all about your son’s verbal accomplishments. He’s got the gift.”

  Mom looks on indulgently. “If only he’d use it for good. He was always so impassioned as a child. Civil rights, that’s what I thought he’d do.”

  My mother thinks I should be arguing constitutional law before the Supreme Court on a weekly basis. “I don’t need you ganging up on me with Charlie, Mom. She’s in the marriage-creation business so we’re kind of at odds.”

  “Or well-balanced,” my mom quips, to which Charlie gives a snort. So much for that idea.

  “I’d better get back,” Charlie says. “I’m sure we’re missing all the fun and games.”

  “Oh, I don’t know…” my dad responds with a hammy wink. Jesus.

  “Lovely to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson.”

  “Jack and Susanne,” my mom says, but as soon as Charlie is out of earshot, she murmurs, “or Dad and Mom?”

  “Don’t, Susanne.” I call her this when she’s overstepping. “That’s not happening.”

  “Something’s happening. I’ve never seen you light up around anyone like that, not even whatsherface.”

  Loyal to the core, my mother refuses to say Becca’s name. She’s right, though. I don’t recall feeling this way around my former fiancée. Maybe I was too young to understand real love and all that jazz and by the time I did, my day-to-day work experience hardened the crust over my heart.

  Not that I’m in love with Charlie. I just don’t enjoy her dismissal of me, but then I only have myself to blame.

  “Jack, I need a word with our son alone.”

  Shit, that’s Mom’s warpath voice. I look to Dad for help here, but he merely shrugs and leaves the kitchen. This is how they’ve stayed married all these years. The man knows when to make an exit.

  I try to preempt the melodrama with a whiny, “Mom…” but she’s having none of it.

  “Do you like this girl?”

  A simple question that demands a simple answer. This is my mom, so I can’t lie. “Yes.”

  “And how are you holding up with all this?” She gestures around the kitchen but I know what she means. The relentless countdown to joy.

  “It was a long time ago, Mom. I’m not the same person, and I’m not going to let what happened with Becca affect my best man duties.”

  “I know that, darling. But it seems you will let it close you off to the possibilities of happiness and companionship.”

  “I’m plenty happy and have no shortage of companionship.” Even before the sentence is finished, I know it sounds tired. I’m not a little bored with myself and this rut I’ve dug.

  Becca hurt me and made me gun-shy when it comes to relationships. There, I’ve said it.

  “Darling Max, fruit of my womb”—my shudder draws her wicked grin—“you are so much more than your father’s strong chin and my razor-sharp intellect and excellent sense of humor. You are generous and compassionate, and any woman would be blessed to have you. Now go tell this woman that today’s the start of her lucky life.”

  * * *

  —

  Back in the parlor, games are afoot. I can’t win the movie quote trivia one because I created it, but it’s fun to walk around and give hints.

  Now there’s no good reason why anyone should be stumped by “As you wish” and “Here’s looking at you, kid.” These are movie quote classics, and I’m exceedingly judgmental of anyone wh
o doesn’t have an inkling where these lines are concerned. I’m more prepared to forgive someone who hasn’t seen Ghost or The English Patient, which are technically romances but actually garbage.

  Per usual I’m seeking out Ms. Love when I spot her in animated conversation with Lucas and her friend Penny. That cheeky limey fucker is obviously turning the charm up to eleven—in white jeans, I might add—so I zero in to break it up.

  “As Good as It Gets,” Charlie is saying, her head unnecessarily close to Lucas’s. “Jack Nicholson said, ‘You make me want to be a better man.’ ”

  “Yes, but should he have said it?” Lucas replies. “No one should change for someone else. That’s bloody ridiculous. If she can’t accept him, warts and all, then what chance do they have?”

  “If he can’t make some effort to become the man she needs, then I’d say their chances are zero.”

  “Wright, you are pissing in the wind here,” I say. “Charlie’s not going to be swayed by your poorly constructed argument. It’s unimaginative and anti-romance.”

  “You come up with this, Maxie?” He waves the quiz between us.

  “Guilty.”

  “Really?” Charlie turns to me, surprised, which was obviously Lucas’s intention. His wink rivals my father’s for top-shelf hambone. “A movie trivia game with romantic quotes?”

  “Our Max prefers his romance in the movies,” Lucas says. “Unrealistic, impossibly idealistic, and usually involving some unattainable chick.”

  “And this, my friend, is why no woman wants to put up with you.” I take Charlie’s form from her and scan it. “Top of the class, Ms. Love. I guess you know your movies. Any favorites here?”

  She clutches her chest dramatically. “ ‘Oh, it’s nobody’s fault but my own! I was looking up…it was the nearest thing to heaven! You were there.’ ” Her Deborah Kerr impression is flawless, and I know my accents having been raised by a Brit. “That one’s probably too mushy for you, Henderson, but it does have your fave, Cary Grant.”

  True. In fact, I love An Affair to Remember despite the weird children-singing-to-the-heroine-in-the-hospital interlude. I love it mostly because it’s about a man—a playboy—who everyone assumes one thing about but who is transformed by a woman. There’s something meta about it, too. Cary Grant, up until this point in his career, was viewed as a one-trick pony, all slick surfaces and smooth patter. In Affair, he reveals theretofore unseen subtleties and depths as an actor. A breakout role twenty years in the making.