by P. Dangelico
Wow, didn’t see that coming. “So he has to see her all the time?”
“All the time,” Ethan repeats with an exasperated sigh.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” growls a low voice I’ve come to know well. By the time I glance over my shoulder, he’s right behind me. I turn and take him in. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he was completely chill. But I do know better and the ticking of his jaw muscle is a dead giveaway.
“I told you,” I explain very softly, “that I was going with Sam, and you nodded.”
This new information takes a few seconds to process. I see the wheels spinning and know when he recalls it because his chin tips up and jaw relaxes. Looking away, he mutters, “I didn’t hear you.”
In my peripheral vision, I notice Ethan watching Calvin closely, a question in his eyes––though he doesn’t voice it.
“Do you need me? Because I can get Sam out. I’m not leaving him in that thing unattended.” Calvin’s pointed gaze moves to the two nannies talking and not paying any attention to what’s going on around them. “I’m not leaving him,” I repeat and get one of his nods.
“I’m going to need another one of these if I have to last another couple of hours,” Ethan deadpans, rattling the ice in his now empty tumbler.
“Later, counselor. Try not to cause a stampede of single ladies.” Ethan walks away after giving me one of his slaying grins. I glance up and catch Calvin frowning, his lips tight. He doesn’t seem to find my humor amusing, or anything else for that matter. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that your face is going to freeze that way?”
“My mother was too concerned with getting wasted than what my face looked like.”
I’m speechless. It takes me an eternity to recover from that stunner. Mouth hanging open, words caught in my throat, all I manage is a feeble, “Cal…”
His troubled gray stare moves over my shoulder, his full lips pinch. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” He blows out a deep breath and rakes his fingers through his hair. My gaze remains on him, willing him to look at me––but he won’t.
“Let me get Sam.”
At the bouncy castle, Sam and Phoebe are getting out. His face is all sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead, his shirttails falling out of his pants. There’s a wild, excited look in his big eyes I haven’t seen before. “Let’s get you cleaned up before the service starts,” I say, taking his hand. Calvin follows us as we make our way through the crowd, toward the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, we take our seats as the wedding begins. It’s beautiful. The couple is surrounded by a passel of children, some from a prior marriage, some they share. They make quite the stunning pair. Both tall and fit. Him, dark and solemn. Her, pale and bubbly. Their love for each other and their kids permeates everything around them, extending over the crowd like a blanket of warm fuzzies that has me on the verge of shedding tears. The whole day has brought back memories and feelings I was doing a good job keeping at bay.
Calvin’s brooding silence continues throughout the service and dinner. Our table is mostly Titans players and their wives and girlfriends. He doesn’t socialize unless someone approaches him––even though he seems to know everybody. While he continues to ignore the world at large, I watch the bride and groom slow dance like no one else exists and it makes me sad as shit.
Phoebe comes to collect Sam shortly after the meal is over. He leaves Cal and me without a backward glance. Tempting as it is, I resists the urge to give him a standing ovation as I watch them walk away hand in hand. I guess he just needed the right person to come along and change his mind about keeping to himself.
I’m waiting in line at the dessert buffet, ready to drown my gloom in a triple scoop ice cream sunday, when someone taps me on the shoulder.
“How about a dance, darlin’?” Justin is standing behind me, uncharacteristically subdued and wearing a suit.
“What are you up to, Dimples?” I drawl suspiciously.
“Come on. You look like you could use a dance.” Before I can object he takes my hand and drags me onto the dance floor.
I’ve never been much of a dancer. Actually, I suck at it. But if I don’t distract myself at this point, my spirits will hit rock bottom very soon.
Justin clutches my hand like I’m his eighty year old grangran and places his other one respectfully high up my back. Then we proceed to do the white man shuffle, rocking back and forth from foot to foot.
Still sitting at our table, Calvin is staring out at some indefinable point in the distance that seems to have somehow offended him. By the look on his face, not getting his attention would be the best course of action. In this mood, he’s liable to do anything.
“You’re doing this just to piss him off.”
“He’s an asshole.”
I snicker at how simple things seem at his age. “Not usually,” I find myself answering truthfully. “You’re going to need him to throw you the ball, Dimples. Not antagonizing him would be a good idea.”
My eyes meet Calvin’s and the amusement falls away from my face. Putting it mildly, he looks like he’s about to commit bloody murder. It certainly looks like he’s daydreaming about it. Suddenly, to his left, I spot trouble in the form of a stunning blonde in a painted on cocktail dress. She wraps her claws around Calvin’s forearm as he’s rising from his chair. His expression instantly transforms to a frozen look of dread and just as quickly, an odd streak of protectiveness raises my hackles.
“Thanks for the dance, Justin, but I gotta go rescue my…um…boyfriend.” I mutter the last word under my breath.
“Boyfriend?”
The question hangs between us, which I don’t bother to explain. Instead, I ditch the dance floor and march over to the table where the aggressive blonde has made herself at home in my seat. Without preamble, I do my best impression of a possessive girlfriend. Might as well have some fun, I figure.
“Boobear––” Placing my hands on my hips, I go with an over the top whine. “You promised me the next dance.”
Every conversation at the table comes to a screeching halt, a curious look on all their faces. Both the blonde and Calvin glance up. The blonde releases her grip while her eyes travel over me. I know she’s calculating her chances of stealing him away and see exactly when she’s determined that I’m an unworthy rival.
The embalmed expression Calvin’s wearing lifts for a moment. He murmurs something to the blonde and shoots out of his chair. As we make our way to the dance floor, he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Boobear?”
The feel of his wide palm on my lower back makes my breath catch. So foreign, and yet so familiar, comfortable…huh.
“You wanted me to block bitches for you. Consider her blocked.” In the silence, I look up. I’m almost positive I can see a smile in his eyes…maybe. The eye contact makes me edgy so I redirect my gaze to his shoulder.
Taking my hand in his, he wraps the other securely around my waist and we start moving slowly across the dance floor. Just as a Sinatra song comes to an end, Etta James’ At Last comes on. Cue the eye roll. Could there be a more sickeningly romantic song? That’s a hard no.
I’m suddenly flushed and embarrassed, unsteady, where as Cal’s hold on me is determined. The man expertly takes charge. He isn’t at all awkward about it like I am. I don’t even have the stones to look up at him again.
Every single place his body touches mine feels scalded. My boobs are smashed up against a wall of granite wrapped in silky wool. And the heat…good golly, the heat coming off of him is nuclear. My thighs are starting to sweat. I can feel the dampness accumulating between my bare thighs. This is not good.
He’s a great dancer. I don’t even bother pretending to know what I’m doing; I just follow his lead. And I can say without a doubt that this is not the white man shuffle. This is like…well, it’s like good foreplay.
“I’m a shitty dancer.”
“I know.”
At his absent reply, I glance up and find
his mouth curving up ever so slightly. “Don’t spare my feelings, really.”
“You’d rather I lie to you?”
Those words hit me hard and fast. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Whatever happens, please don’t ever lie to me. It’s the one thing I can’t handle.” The look on my face must’ve broadcast my panic because concern just as quickly alters his.
“I won’t ever lie to you, Cam. I promise.” Guileless and open, I can see it in his eyes that he means it. His promise reaches inside my heart and makes itself at home.
“Calvin,” calls a smooth feminine voice. We both stop moving. His ex-wife stands before us with a soft smile, her expression serene. “I wanted to say hello.” She extends a slim fingered hand at me. “Kim Holtzman.”
She’s elegant, self-assured from something that has nothing to do with her looks. Next to me, Calvin seems to have moved. He’s standing even closer––and as tense as he would be for a rectal exam. I shake her hand without hesitation, “Camilla DeSantis.”
Her focus shifts to Cal and my eyes follow hers. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She smiles affectionately. “Then again you’ve always had a knack for surprising me.”
“I have a good reason to get out more.” Nobody fails to get the implication. My gaze drops to avoid her scrutiny, afraid that she may see the guilty look on my face.
“Well, you look good,” she states. And for some absurd reason, the way she checks him out bothers me.
Without thought, I lace my fingers through his and say, “We should find Sam.”
Calvin nods and smiles at me. Yes, smiles. No teeth, but it’s definitely a smile. It’s like a sighting of Bigfoot. I’m momentarily stunned. Did I really just witness it? Am I losing my mind? Probably a little of both. Recovering quickly, I say, “Nice to meet you, Kim. I’m sure we’ll have occasion to speak again,” and pull Calvin away.
The young man in question is busy playing a video game with four other children of various ages. After determining that the game isn’t too mature, I allow him to play a little longer. It’s so wonderful to see him smiling and laughing like all the other kids that I don’t want to do anything to diminish his joy.
Back in our room, I strip and hang the dress back up. I can’t imagine when I’ll ever have the opportunity to wear it again. Merely entertaining that thought for a moment sinks my mood further into the mud.
As soon as I’m tucked in, Cal enters dragging his feet and tugging on his tie. He’s quiet––what else is new. No thought to privacy whatsoever, he starts undressing in front of me as casually as if he’s done it a million times. God only knows how many women he’s gotten naked with. I don’t wait for him to notice the disapproving frown on my face because, more than likely, he won’t care anyway. Instead, I scramble out of bed as soon as he begins to unbuckle his belt. And there it is, my cue to go check on Sam. Like my hair is on fire, I throw on a hoodie head out the door.
Sam’s already tucked himself in and turned off the lights. It seems like he’s been taking care of himself for a while; he’s too self-sufficient for a boy his age. Not for the first time, I wonder if his parents know what an amazing kid they have, how unbelievably lucky they are. By the looks of it, I’d have to say no. Which, of course, pisses me off beyond measure.
After counting to ten, I enter our room again. Calvin’s sprawled out on top of the covers, no t-shirt, barely any underwear––no surprise. Oh brother, he’s staring at the ceiling. By the look on his face, I know this is not a good time to argue the merits of pajamas so I remove my hoody and climb into bed. Waves of angst are rolling off his big body. I could pretend I don’t feel them suffocating me…I could. I probably should…but I don’t.
“You want to talk about it?” I get absolutely nothing in response. “I’m a great listener…and let’s not forget I signed an NDA.” Still nothing. “I think it’ll help if you talk about it.” An eternity later, I give it one last try. “Are you still in love with her?”
“No.”
Why is it that one word can make me feel like I just won the lottery? Pathetic, I’m completely pathetic. I turn on my side and tuck a hand under my face. He’s still staring blankly at the ceiling.
“Does it bother you that she’s happy?”
“No.”
I believe him. Calvin is many things, a liar is not one of them. “What happened between you two?”
“She cheated. Then she left me for the person she cheated with.” I can only imagine what that did to a man as proud as Calvin.
“How did you find out?”
“She got pregnant.”
“They have a baby?” I confirm, my voice just above a whisper.
“Hmm.”
“Did she tell you? That it wasn’t yours.”
“She insisted on a paternity test…but I couldn’t have gotten her pregnant.”
I can’t stop the eye roll at his gullibility. “A lot of women lie about birth control, Cal. Not to mention a shit ton of reasons why it fails.”
His eyes catch mine in a sideways glance, measuring me, considering his words. The silence stretches on and on. I yawn. I’m about to give up and go to sleep.
“The first thing I did after the draft was get a vasectomy.”
Huh. Say what?
His dark head does a slow turn in my direction, his eyes searching for a reaction. Shock. That’s my reaction. Total. Frigging. Shock.
“Did you say va–sec–to–my?”
“Yup.”
“Why?” A teeny, tiny bit of outrage on behalf of womankind makes me sound a tad shrilly.
“Because I don’t want kids,” he spits out sharp and fast. Processing his words takes an inordinate amount of time. My mind goes down alley after alley of every conceivable reason and still hits dead ends.
“There has to be more to it than that.”
Resignation rings loudly in his deep exhale. “I’m the oldest of eight. I’ve changed more diapers and heated more bottles than any one person ever should. I don’t want any part of that ever again, as long as I live.” His twang is back with a vengeance. And now I have about a million more questions wanting to burst out of me.
“What about your parents?”
“More concerned with getting wasted than with the kids they kept spittin’ out like jackrabbits.”
Jeeezuz. The bottom drops out of my stomach. Grey meets brown and I’m hit by the conviction burning in his eyes, blown away by it. This is what determination looks like. I sympathize, I do. And yet as a woman who wants children, it hits me on a personal level.
“But…but…but…” He’s reduced me to a stammering idiot. “Didn’t your wife want kids?”
“Not when we got married. She was all gun-ho about her career. I explained it to her a thousand times and she promised she understood. But then I was only twenty-two, she’s five years older, so she probably thought she could change my mind.”
“How did she feel about the vasectomy?” His cool gaze bores into mine. “Holy shit, she didn’t know?”
“I told her I wasn’t having kids.” His full lips are set in a tight line, his dark scruff covered jaw locked.
Hiding my shock is out of the question. Face-palm. How to handle this? I understand his point, but to omit a bombshell of this magnitude? Talk about a matter of trust.
“Calvin,” I say über gently. “I completely sympathize with your plight, I do, but you can’t believe that a marriage based on an omission that important could survive the aftermath.”
Unapologetically, his heavy-lidded gray gaze holds mine. Sometimes I really do admire his arrogance, how self contained he is. If only a microscopic piece of it would rub off on me, maybe I could start to put my life back together. I can see the wheels turning in his eyes, past hurts and old argument coming to the surface and retreating. He bites the inside of his cheek, a clear sign of his discomfort.
“I was young. If I were to do it over again…I don’t know.”
“I give you more credit than that.
I think you would tell her. As a matter of fact, I think it would lighten that yoke you carry around your neck if you told her that you regret it.”
“Not happening.”
“Suit yourself,” I reply with a shrug and close my eyes.
An age later, I hear him say, “Why?”
I crack open my eyes one at a time to find another lovely scowl doctoring his face––although it looks more like frustration this time.
“Why do I give you credit?” He answers my query with a quick nod. “Because I’ve learned the hard way to judge a man’s character by his actions, not his words.” He holds the eye contact longer than I find comfortable. I turn my back to him and pull the blanket up to my neck. “Now stop chewing my ear off and let me get some sleep.”
The next morning I wake up with the sweet scent of clean man filling my lungs and soft puffs of air hitting my temple. After wallowing in confusion for a few seconds, it dawns on me that I’m snuggled in the nook between Calvin’s throat and armpit. Right before mortification can set in, I catch a soft snore. I can’t resist the temptation to listen for a while, the feeling bittersweet. The sound wraps around my heart and squeezes painfully. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes.
The memory of what I had and what I lost, the knowledge that I may never have it again, hits me like a freight train. That’s the thing with grief. It’s fickle and selfish. It doesn’t follow any rules, and shows up when you least expect it. One limb at a time, I slowly peel myself away, retreat to the bathroom, and shed my tears in private.
On the drive back home, Calvin remains in quiet contemplation for most of the ride. I determine this must be the result of all the disclosures of the night before. Maybe he regrets telling me. Maybe he’s had second thoughts about whether I can be trusted with such personal information. Whatever the reason, I feel this pressing need to clear the air between us. I would hate for him to worry that I’m someone he needs to protect himself from. Though, in the end, I can’t muster the courage to broach the subject.
By the time we pull into the garage, close to nightfall, we’re all dog-tired. I slide out of the Rover and go to grab my bags but he beats me to it.
