Eliot wrapped his fingers around my hand. “Okay. You can handle all of the questions about the house. I’ll just sit silently next to you and look pretty.”
“That’s good. You need to practice. If Sarah has her way you’re going to be in prison soon, so you’ll have to be pretty if you expect to find a solid prison husband.”
Eliot’s smile flipped upside down. “You make me tired.”
“I have a gift.”
“SO, TELL me about your fabulous new house.” Aunt Sally rubbed her hands together as she slid into a chair at the family table at my grandfather’s restaurant and fixed her attention on me. Her hair was Lucille Ball red today – a nice change from the Chucky red of last week and the Ronald McDonald red of last month – and she seemed keen on getting information about the big move.
The family restaurant, located in northern Oakland County, is a throwback to the mid-nineteen hundreds. The tables are Formica and the booths are vinyl. The restaurant has been in our family long before I was born, my great-grandmother starting it when she was a newlywed. My grandfather technically owns it now, but my Uncle Tim does all of the heavy lifting.
“We’re just starting the moving process,” I explained evasively. “We haven’t had a lot of time to focus on the big items.”
“We’re doing some of that tonight,” Eliot volunteered. “I got one of those paint chip wheels so we can pick out some colors, and we’re shopping for furniture online. We’re going to make a big thing out of it.”
That was news to me. “Excuse me? When did we agree on that?” What happened to him sitting there and looking pretty? I liked that idea. It didn’t last five minutes before he abandoned it.
“You agreed to pick out paint colors and furniture with me this week,” Eliot reminded me. “It’s Friday. You have no other choice but to do it tonight.”
“We have Saturday and Sunday yet,” I whined.
“Oh, please. You’ll be camped out at that carnival Saturday and Sunday. Don’t bother denying it. That means I’ll be there with you, so no paint selection or furniture shopping will get done.”
I made a face, annoyed. “It will get done. I promise.”
“Is this like the time you promised to pack your shoes?” Eliot challenged. “Last time I checked, they were still in a pile in your office. They haven’t been packed.”
“I ran out of boxes.”
“There’s a stack of them in the laundry room.”
“They have to be sorted correctly or there will be issues.”
“I doubt very much the shoes are going to develop latent allergies to one another.”
Wow! He waited until he had an audience that was likely to take his side to turn on me. I see how his mind works. I couldn’t help but be a little proud that he was trying to bully me. “You’re being manipulative,” I pointed out finally.
“I learned from the best.”
He had a point. Still … . I forced a smile as I returned my gaze to Aunt Sally. “We’re going to negotiate a time to pick paint colors and furniture tonight.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” Aunt Sally looked confused, which was her perpetual state, but she didn’t push the issue. Eliot was another story.
“We’re doing both tonight.” Eliot’s tone was firm. “You can either help or let me pick everything out myself. If you do that, you can’t complain about a single thing in that house from here on out.”
That sounded unlikely. “I like the color purple.”
“That’s what I thought.” Eliot’s expression shifted from mildly grumpy to bright and sunny when he caught sight of my mother as she joined the booth. “Hello. How are you?”
Mom returned Eliot’s smile. “I’m wonderful. How are you?” She genuinely likes Eliot. I’m not sure if it’s because she thinks he’s my last shot at getting married or if it’s because she really likes him. I’m leaning toward a mixture of the two.
“I’m great.”
“Of course he’s great,” I confirmed. “He’s in love with the smartest woman in the world.”
I have no idea what it is about my mother, but I get delight in poking her. Verbal jabs are good, but if I could find a big stick – you know, with a really sharp point and splinters – there are times I think that would be even better.
“Yes, lucky Eliot.” Mom widened her eyes to comical proportions as she sat next to her favorite imaginary son-in-law. “What was everyone talking about?”
Avery’s new house,” Aunt Sally replied. “I want to see photographs when she’s done decorating.”
“I haven’t even started decorating, so that’s going to be a long time down the road,” I pointed out.
“We’re picking out furniture and paint tonight,” Eliot reminded me. “If you try to get out of it, I’m going to take those Wonder Woman Underoos of yours and tie you to the bed.”
That was an interesting visual.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about picking out paint and furniture with Avery,” Mom said to Eliot. “She’ll be a nightmare there. You should ignore the inclination to include her.”
Eliot cocked an eyebrow. “Really? It’s her house, too. I think she should have a say.”
“She doesn’t need a say.”
I had no idea where my mother was going with this, but I had a sneaking suspicion I wasn’t going to like it.
“Well, I want her to have a say,” Eliot said after a beat. He wasn’t afraid to tangle with my mother when the mood struck. She always forgave him … eventually.
“She doesn’t need a say,” Mom repeated. “I’ve been doing some shopping online and I can help you pick out furniture and paint. In fact, I’ve found a lovely pink color by Sherwin Williams that I think will look fantastic in your kitchen.”
“Like Pepto-Bismol?” I internally cringed at the visual. “I don’t think you want to paint the room where you eat the same color of the medicine you drink when you’re thinking about puking.”
“She has a point,” Aunt Sally said.
“No one asked you.” Aunt Sally was Mom’s baby sister. They enjoyed antagonizing one another. “I believe this is a beautiful pink.”
“I don’t want a pink kitchen.” Eliot leaned back in his chair and slipped an arm around my shoulders. “I was thinking blue for the kitchen.”
“I like blue” I offered.
“Pink is better,” Mom gritted out, her eyes darkening. “It will be lovely given the way the sliding glass doors open in the eating area. There’s a lot of natural light there to take advantage of.”
“The kitchen isn’t going to be pink. I can promise you that.” Eliot was adamant. He was clearly missing the bigger picture, though.
“How do you even know about the sliding glass doors opening in the dining area?” I challenged.
Eliot’s eyes widened as he glanced between Mom and me. “That’s a good question. We haven’t given you a tour yet. We wanted to wait until everything was painted and furnished.”
I already knew the answer to the question. “She’s been in the house.”
“But … how?”
Mom averted her gaze. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I knew it,” I hissed, leaning forward. “I smelled you when I was there the other day.”
Mom was affronted. “You smelled me? Are you insinuating I have an odor?”
“You do.” I bobbed my head. “You smell like bottled bullying and disappointment wrapped around a field of rancid daisies.”
Grandpa, who sat at the end of the table, snorted an amused laugh. He didn’t bother to apologize when Mom scorched him with a look. “What? She gets her sense of humor from me.”
“That’s nothing to be proud of,” Mom snapped.
I slid my eyes to Eliot. “We need to have the locks changed again.”
“I don’t understand how she got in,” Eliot complained.
“She’s crazy.” I twirled my finger by my ear for emphasis. “She should be locked up.”
“I h
eard that.” Mom’s annoyance ratcheted up a notch. “You have never decorated a home by yourself before, Avery. You need my expert guidance. In return, I need your cooperation.”
“And my bare butt to kiss,” I muttered, causing Eliot to snicker.
“I’m working with an interior designer to plan your entire layout,” Mom supplied. “It’s going to be beautiful.”
“If you want to design something, look at your own house,” I ordered. “As for our house, we’ll design it. Eliot and me. We’re the ‘we.’ We’re going to pick paint colors and furniture tonight, in fact.”
I didn’t miss Eliot’s smirk.
“Oh, you did that on purpose,” I muttered, realizing he’d accomplished everything he set out to do and I was now trapped with no escape.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Eliot countered. “It was merely a happy coincidence.”
“Well, bully for you.” I made a face as I glanced around the table. Several familiar faces were missing. “Where is everyone?”
“I’m right here,” Mom replied. “We’re not done talking about the designer.”
“Oh, we’re done talking about that,” I grumbled. “Where is everyone else, though? Where are Derrick, Lexie and Mario?” That was my favorite trio of cousins – even though Derrick and I fought like wet cats in a bathtub – and I considered the rest of my cousins annoying acquaintances most of the time.
“Derrick called and said he couldn’t make it because he has to work,” Aunt Marnie supplied. “He has to put in a shift at that Mount Clemens festival. Apparently there was some sort of murder.”
Yeah, I’d better steer clear of that subject. I shifted in my chair, suspicious. “Uh-huh. And Lexie?”
“She had a date. They were going to the carnival.”
“And Mario?”
“Who knows what he’s doing,” Aunt Marnie replied. “He mentioned something about picking up extra work as a carnie.”
Well, that figured. Everyone else got out of family dinner – which was largely unheard of and frowned upon – and stuck me with the onus of the familial disappointment. “I’ll make all of them pay,” I muttered, leaning closer to Eliot. “Every single one of them. They did this on purpose.”
“Look on the bright side,” Eliot suggested. “At least you didn’t have to prove how bad your lying skills are in front of Devon for a change.”
He had a point. Still … . “Have you called a new locksmith yet?”
“He’s meeting us at the house as soon as we’re done here.”
“Good man.”
Eliot kissed my cheek and frowned when he realized Mom was staring at us, an evil expression on her face. “What?”
“I want to talk to you about the red color that will look best in your bedroom,” Mom announced.
“I hate red,” I shot back.
Mom’s expression was dark. “After the red bedroom, we need to discuss the yellow bathroom.”
Oh, and I thought this day couldn’t possibly get any worse.
25
Twenty-Five
Eliot was already on the computer when I woke the next morning, propped up in bed beside me with the laptop on his stomach. He tapped away, staring at various furniture configurations while I attempted to clear the inevitable hangover I get whenever I spend time with my family.
“I thought we finished that last night.”
“We did. I just wanted to look at it one more time. I’m not a fan of impulse shopping.”
“If I didn’t impulse shop I would own absolutely zero clothing.”
Eliot grinned. “Hey, that’s a way to go.” He dropped a kiss on my forehead as I shifted to rest my head on his shoulder. “Why are you so grumpy this morning? I thought you’d be happy once we finished picking out furniture and colors.”
“Who says I’m not happy?”
Eliot shrugged. “You don’t seem happy.”
“That’s because my head hurts. I have the world’s worst hangover.”
“We didn’t drink last night,” Eliot reminded me. “How can you be hungover?”
“You’ve met my mother. She’s more powerful than a Long Island Iced Tea … or even a dozen of them.”
Eliot chuckled as he slouched lower. Weekend mornings together were his favorite time of the week. Even though I had plans for my afternoon, I was content to laze about for a bit longer before embracing the day.
“Show me again,” I prodded, nodding toward the screen.
“I left the color wheel in the living room.”
“Not the colors. I remember the colors. Show me the furniture again.” I remembered the furniture fine, but Eliot found such joy in shopping for the house we would share together that I wanted to let him enjoy the process a bit longer.
“Well, here’s your desk.” Eliot clicked on a window. “We’re getting these shelves for your walls, this desk, this filing cabinet and this chair.” The furniture was from Restoration Hardware so it was a bit pricey, but absolutely beautiful. I love reclaimed wood, so when he suggested going that route I was only too happy to comply. “You picked a plum color for the walls. I think you’ll be happy in this office.”
“I think so, too. Show me the couch again.” We picked out a custom tufted couch and matching chairs to arrange around a large square reclaimed wood table.
Eliot went through each room again and I could picture the finished product in my mind when he described where everything would go.
“I think that’s everything,” I said. “We’re getting a lot of furniture. I’m not sure I have my half of the money to cover it.” That was the one drawback to buying everything from scratch. As a reporter, I made next to nothing. Eventually I would get money from the sale of the Roseville house, but that was all going to Eliot because he fronted the down payment on the new house.
“Don’t worry about that.” Eliot shifted his brown eyes to me, as if searching for discontent. “I have plenty of money to cover the furniture.”
“That doesn’t exactly seem fair. We’re supposed to be sharing this.”
“I … .” Eliot broke off, unsure. “If this bothers you, we can put off buying furniture and make do with what we have. I thought you would like the new furniture.”
“I do like the new furniture. I just … I’m supposed to be shouldering half the cost here. That’s what we agreed upon.”
“I thought we agreed to live together and be happy.” Eliot looked pained. “Is this the way you’re going to try to get out of this?”
I huffed out an annoyed sigh and rolled to a sitting position, dragging a hand through my unfortunate bedhead as I fought to contain my temper. I lost. “I’m not trying to get out of this! Do you have any idea how annoying it is when you say things like that?”
Instead of backing down, Eliot calmly closed the laptop and moved it to the nightstand before focusing on me. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. That’s not what this is about. If the furniture makes you feel bad … we’ll wait.”
He looked so disappointed I could do nothing but roll my eyes, which made matters worse. “Oh, knock that off,” I ordered. “I love the furniture. It’s better furniture than I ever imagined having. You shouldn’t have to pay for everything, though. I should pay my fair share.”
“We’re building a life together,” Eliot reminded me. “I don’t think about things in those terms. I know you don’t make a lot of money. I can handle the furniture.”
“But … .”
“But what?” Eliot prodded, keeping his voice low. “What is bothering you? I can’t fix it until you tell me.”
“What if you decide this was a mistake at some point?” I was wary about asking the question, but I didn’t see where I had much choice. “You’ll have put all of the money into the furniture, and all of the furniture I owned – however crappy – will be gone. I won’t have anything.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Instead of reacting out of anger, Eliot seemed relieved. “This is not a mistake. We’ve
already talked about this. I know you’re worried that we’re not married … .”
“I’m not trying to force you into marriage,” I protested, offended.
Eliot held up a hand to silence me. “I know that. You’ve never once attempted to force me into anything of the sort despite the manner in which your mother tries to manipulate me. I would marry you right now, but you’re not ready. This is the first step to getting you ready.
“I don’t want you to think of things as if we’re splitting them down the middle,” he continued. “It’s not your stuff and my stuff. We’re buying our stuff. We’re painting our house. We’re totally going skinny-dipping in our pool next week.”
“But you could change your mind.”
“Do you want me to sign a contract that will keep you protected so you can keep half the furniture should we break up?”
Did I? Whenever I tried to ascertain what I wanted him to do the only answer I came up with is that I wanted him to continue doing what he was already doing. “I want you to be happy,” I said finally. I’m not big on mushy scenes, but this morning it appeared one was warranted. “I don’t want you to regret any of this.”
“Oh, geez.” Eliot slipped an arm around my back and rubbed his fingers over my spine. “I am happy. You’re a complete and total pain in the butt, but I’ve never been happier. Don’t you know that I worry about the exact same thing when it comes to you? I want you to be happy, Avery. I’m sometimes terrified into inaction because I want that so badly.”
He was better with words. I write for a living, so that was a terrifying thought. “I am happy. You make me happy.”
“I know.” Eliot kissed my cheek. “I’m going to buy the furniture. You can work off the tab in trade.”
“Skinny-dipping?”
“Among other things.”
I leaned into him, enjoying the warmth of his body. “Do you want to know what scares me most?”
“Yes.”
“The idea that we’re going to be happy forever.”
Eliot stilled. “What do you mean?”
“My entire persona is about snark and sarcasm. If everything goes great from here on out, what do I have to be snarky about?”
Off the Record (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 10) Page 23
