by Robin Hill
As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, I hear Evelyn’s sigh and peer at her over my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Are you as nervous as I am?” she asks, popping the cork on the Patrón.
I let out a shaky laugh as I turn around. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Here.” She trades me the tequila for the glasses. “Bottoms up.”
I take a swig straight from the bottle and she does the same.
“Feel better?” she asks.
“Much.”
“One more,” she says, passing it back to me. “Quick, before we get busted.”
I choke on a laugh and take a much smaller sip. The last thing I need is a repeat of my birthday.
“Dinner’s ready. I just need to whip up some vinaigrette for the salad,” Darian says, rounding the corner from the family room. “You guys hungry now or would you rather have a drink first?”
“Gloria’s vinaigrette?” I ask eagerly.
Darian smiles tightly and nods.
“I think a drink sounds nice,” Evelyn says, motioning for me to pour.
Evelyn and I take our drinks outside while Darian finishes up in the kitchen. She’s quiet, which feels unnatural for her, even though I just met her.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask once we’re out of earshot.
“Oh, yes, dear. I’m fine.”
We settle into the cream-colored cushions on the couch in front of the fire. Evelyn turns toward me and pats my knee. “Gloria’s lovely. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous of her.” The sight of her glassy eyes tugs at my heart. She reaches in her pants pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. “I had a feeling I might need this,” she says, dabbing her eyes and clearing her throat. “As much as I wanted him in my life, she’s who he needed, and I’m glad he had her.”
“He needed you too. He didn’t realize it at the time, but he did. He still does.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, tucking her handkerchief back in her pocket. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
I lower my gaze to my fidgety hand that’s toying with the sunrays on the necklace Darian gave me. “I was worried you wouldn’t like me.”
A cool breeze blows through the courtyard stirring the fire into a rage. Evelyn leans back and takes a slow sip of her tequila. “I adore Darian,” she says, her eyes transfixed on the flames, “and he adores you. I know you must be something special to have gotten through to him the way you have, and for that, I’m grateful.” She takes my hand and squeezes it. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have him back. I like you very much, and I hate to think of how difficult this must be for you.”
“For me?”
“I’ve had many years to process what happened, and so has Darian. You, on the other hand, have only had a few months. You’re marrying a widower. That’s a lot to take on. You must really love him.”
“I do.”
The door closes behind us, and our heads snap to Darian who’s wearing an apron that says Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’. Evelyn and I exchange glances before exploding into fits of laughter.
I shake my head. “Yep, I love him. Sometimes it’s hard, but I do.”
“I came bearing tequila, but I think I might need to cut you two off,” Darian says, holding up the bottle.
“I’m cutting myself off,” Evelyn says, placing her glass on the table. “But next time, I’ll be sure to call an Uber.” She pushes off the couch and steps up to the fire to warm her hands. “Darian, have you considered planting the honeysuckle in here, rather than along the fence line? We could install trellises and have it climbing the walls in no time.”
Darian folds his arms across his chest, his gaze scanning the perimeter of the courtyard as he considers her suggestion.
“How soon are you two planning on starting a family?” she asks, her attention still focused on the fire. She laughs. “I can’t imagine you’d raise a child who’d be interested in eating plants, but in large quantities, honeysuckle can be poisonous. It might be better in here, where you can contain it behind locked…” Her voice trails off as she turns back to Darian. A grave expression shrouds his face, sending a chill up my spine.
What was that?
“Evil Woman” sounds from Darian’s phone, and I get an eye-roll as he pulls it from his pocket.
“Excuse me,” he says. “I need to take this.” He answers, and halfway to the house, he stops. “They’re already advertising? Fuck. … I know, Amanda, but under the circumstances, it has to be you. … Well, it wouldn’t be a bad investment if— … Fine. … I’ll call him right now.”
Darian tucks his phone back in his pocket.
“Everything all right?” I ask him.
“Work. It never ends. I need to make a quick call. Then dinner?”
“You go ahead,” Evelyn says. “We’ll be fine.”
Darian goes from the closet to the dresser in only his boxers and the Thin Lizzy T-shirt he wore for dinner. He pulls the shirt over his head and I’m treated to the giant smiley face donning his backside. It contradicts his mood, which turned solemn and stoic the minute Evelyn left. Before that, he was…distracted.
I power off my phone and set it on the nightstand. “Is something happening with the label?”
“Just the usual bullshit,” he says, unclasping his watch.
“Is that what’s bothering you?”
His gaze flickers to mine in the mirror and back again. “Nothing’s bothering me.”
“Something’s bothering you.” I hug my knees to my chest beneath the covers. “Is it Evelyn?”
“Evelyn?”
“Are you upset about what she said? About us having kids?”
The watch hits the dresser with a clank. Darian doesn’t speak, but his suddenly stiff posture and the muscles clenching in his back tell me I got his attention.
“Because you had the same reaction when I joked about turning the library into a nursery,” I say gently. “It was thoughtless and ill-timed, but that wasn’t your issue, was it?”
“No,” he says, finding my gaze again. “Were you joking?”
“I was.”
“Evelyn wasn’t.”
“And that upsets you?”
Darian turns around and leans against the dresser, hands tightly gripping the edge. “She talks about it like…”
“Like you having another child isn’t the biggest decision in the world?”
A frown pulls at his mouth. “Yeah.”
“Evelyn’s faced her grief head on since the beginning, and you—”
“Haven’t faced it at all.”
The defeat in his voice makes my throat ache. I straighten against the headboard and give him a small shrug. “Maybe that’s why you’re not on the same page.”
Darian’s phone buzzes behind him, interrupting our conversation. I glance at the clock; it’s after midnight. He’s still getting calls?
He silences the ringer and returns it to the dresser. “And whose page are you on?”
“I’m on yours.”
His eyes narrow. “You don’t want kids?”
“Do you?”
Long seconds pass as he contemplates his answer. “You’d make an amazing mother. I’d never deny you a family…if that’s what you want.”
“That’s not what I asked.” His silence is a loud thrumming in my ears. “Do I want to have children with you? Yes, because it’s you. But only when you’re ready. What I don’t want is you flinching every time the question is raised, because the second people find out about our engagement, it will be.”
“What if I’m never ready?”
The thrumming gets louder. Not having a child isn’t a deal breaker for me. Before Darian, kids weren’t even a consideration. But hearing the word never…
I swallow hard. “Then you’re never ready, and I’m fine with that,” I say, putting on a smile that doesn’t quite fit. “But Evelyn? She’s another story.”
Take It as It Comes
Darian: Come on, Cade. I know you have some personal shit going on and the last thing I want to do is add to it, but I can’t stall much longer. Cross to Bear is in breach of contract, and your guys aren’t giving me a damn thing I can use. You have a month. Get me something.
Frankie
The first two weeks of our engagement aren’t very engagement-y.
With my company’s party box sales at an all-time high, I consider taking a break from consulting to spend with my new fiancé, but he’s working more now than I’ve ever known him to. I still don’t know what’s going on at the label, but whatever it is, it keeps him both busy and preoccupied. He puts in such long days that by the time he gets home at night, the last thing he wants to do is talk about work. It can be isolating, but I’m trying not to press.
So instead of taking a break, I take on more. In the past few weeks, I’ve done three graduation parties, a bon voyage, and a bar mitzvah. Everything but my wedding. That particular task has gone to Jane, who changed her tune shortly after I told her the news. She was silent for the first few days and then the texts began.
Jane: What about the last one I sent you? It’s perfect, right?
Frankie: I thought you said I could pick my own dress if I let you pick yours.
Jane: You can’t get married in a sundress!
Frankie: I’m not wearing a floor-length gown with a full train on the beach!
Jane: You’re still set on the island? What about all the sand? *shudders*
Frankie: Sand won’t be an issue if I’m barefoot in a sundress.
Jane: Barefoot? You’re killin’ me, Smalls.
I set my phone beside the stove when I hear Darian come in from the garage. “You’re home early,” I say, joking, because it’s already dark.
He kisses my cheek, then peeks under the lid of the saucepan. “I had a sneaking suspicion you were making spaghetti tonight.”
“A sneaking suspicion, huh? By way of a text that said, ‘Don’t eat. I’m making spaghetti’?”
His stomach makes a timely growl right as my phone begins to buzz with more texts from Jane.
Jane: Ooh, look at the one I just emailed you! It’s sort of a sundress!
Jane: And it’s long enough that your feet won’t show if you go barefoot!
Jane: Well?
“How is our little wedding planner today?” Darian asks with a smirk.
Involved, which is all I care about.
“She finally gave up on the harpist.” I grin. “But now she wants you to book Cross to Bear, so expect a call.” The tic of his jaw makes my smile falter. “Hey, I’m kidding.”
“Sorry, it’s not you. I’ve had some issues with—” He shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s not important. How long till dinner’s ready?”
“Fifteen minutes?” I say, ignoring the sudden tension rolling off of him. “Just need to cook the pasta.”
He jerks his chin in the direction of the stairs. “Going to change. I’ll be back in ten.”
Once I put the spaghetti on to boil, I shoot a quick text to Jane.
Frankie: Darian’s home. I’ll take a look tomorrow.
Jane: How’s he doing?
Frankie: Not sure.
Ten minutes later, Darian returns wearing sweat pants and a Montrose T-shirt, the casual ensemble making his rigid stance and clenched jaw all the more evident.
“Are you okay?” I ask, giving the sauce a final stir. “You seem stressed.” More than normal.
He pulls open the silverware drawer. “I’m fine.”
“Did something happen with Cross to Bear?”
His hand stills briefly before grabbing a couple of forks. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“I’m not worried, but…”
“Did you get the—” Darian’s gaze cuts to the plates on the island. “Yes, you did.”
“I know they’re my favorite band, but I can be impartial. I can—”
The forks make a loud clank as they land on the plates. Darian’s shoulders bunch beneath his shirt at the sound. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” he says, slowly turning to face me. “And with Amanda going to Austin, things will likely get worse before they get better.”
“What?” A nervous feeling flutters in my stomach. “Amanda’s going to Austin? For how long?”
“Until further notice,” he says, passing me for the refrigerator. “You good with water?”
Ignoring his question, I lean against the cabinet with my arms folded. “What does that mean, ‘until further notice’?”
“It means, she’s going to need to relocate. At least for the time being.”
“Relocate?” My voice feels thick in my throat. “Darian, why aren’t you going to Austin? Why aren’t we?” I draw in a lungful of air. “I thought that was always the plan—to live in both places.”
“It’s still the plan, but right now, it’s imperative I stay here.”
“What about the renovation? Is Amanda going to handle that too?”
Because you and I are supposed to do it together.
Darian passes me a bottle of water and opens his own. “She’s been handling it. The plans look fantastic. I think you’re going to love what she…” His words trail off, and I spin around before he can see the tears beginning to form. “I need Austin up and running and I need Amanda to spearhead it. That’s all. Please don’t make a bigger deal out of this than it is.”
“But it is a big deal,” I tell him. A broken promise is always a big deal.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize remodeling the office was so important to you.”
“It’s not. I…” I feel like Amanda’s taking something from me and you’re letting her. “I’m just homesick.”
“I know, baby. I hate that I’m so busy right now, but soon, okay? We’ll go back soon.”
Darian also promised he’d stop leaving me at night, and so far, he’s kept that promise. He still has nightmares, but they aren’t as frequent as they used to be. Most of the time, he goes right back to sleep. Occasionally, he makes love to me. But he no longer leaves our bed. Last night’s dream was intense—his first in days—and we both struggled to sleep after that.
When I wake, I expect to find him next to me, but instead, I find a note.
Woke up early and thought I’d get a head start.
See you tonight. Love you.
I put the note on my nightstand and glance at the clock. Gone before seven a.m. And if the cool sheets on his side of the bed are any indication, he left much earlier than that.
Once I’m showered and dressed in yoga pants and a coral-colored tunic, I head downstairs for my breakfast of choice, a Diet Coke and a chocolate muffin. I pick at my food as I scroll through the new collection of dresses Jane emailed me overnight.
Nope. Nope. “Hmm, maybe.” Not happening. “Hell no.”
Frankie: #3 is a maybe.
Jane: That’s my least favorite.
Figures.
Jane: You should drop the whole “old-fashioned keeping it from the fiancé” thing and ask Darian. He’d side with me. I’m sure of it.
Frankie: I might consider it if he were here long enough.
Jane: Maybe you should go to him. Take him to lunch or “something.”
I like that idea. The lunch part, anyway.
I take Jane’s advice and text my fiancé for a date.
Frankie: Are you available for lunch?
Darian: I wish. Too busy today.
Frankie: Had to try.
Darian: I can pencil you in for Thursday. ;-)
Frankie: I’ll take it! See you tonight.
Darian: I may be late. Don’t wait up.
Frankie: OK. I love you.
Darian: Love you too.
For the second night in a row, I cook, hoping Darian will make it home in time. He doesn’t, so I leave his plate in the oven and curl up on the sofa wi
th a book. The next morning, I wake in the same spot, beneath the blanket he covered me with, and find another note.
Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.
Thank you for dinner last night.
There’s a chance I might have to work late again.
I’ll let you know.
Love you.
P.S. Maybe read in bed?
He does work late—very late. It’s almost midnight when he finds me in my office. “Why are you still up?”
I push out of my chair and walk toward him. “I miss you,” I say, circling my arms around his waist. “I hate going whole days without seeing you.”
Darian plants a kiss on the top of my head. “Come downstairs with me while I eat?”
In the kitchen, I retrieve his plate and set it in front of him at the island. “Was today any better?”
“Little bit,” he says, giving me an appreciative smile as he picks up his fork.
“How are things with Austin?”
“Not great.” He cuts into his meatloaf. “Amanda doesn’t want to go and I don’t blame her. Miami’s her home.”
“I still don’t understand why we can’t go. Why can’t she handle things here?”
“It’s complicated.” He takes a small bite and chews it slowly before swallowing. “The issues I’m facing here are bigger. They need my direct involvement.”
I hop onto the barstool beside him. “What issues?”
His lips pinch together. “Just a bunch of shit I don’t want to get into. I’d rather talk about you. How’s that fiftieth anniversary luau going?”
“Birthday, and it’s fine. Except now they want live entertainment by way of hula dancers. In rural Iowa.” I moan my frustration. “I’ll make it work.”
“I have no doubt.”
I swipe a green bean from his plate and bite off the end. “So Amanda will be there tomorrow? During lunch?”
