Play Dates

by Maggie Wells

  “What?” Her sister’s horrified gasp was sharp.

  Monica pulled the phone away from her ear.

  “How? What did you…How could you not tell him? Didn’t he notice you were short one adorable kid?”

  “I lied. Again.” Her chest squeezed. “I told him I was sick.”

  “Oh, Monica.”

  The disappointment in Melody’s tone sent a hot rush of tears to her eyes. Her phone vibrated to indicate an incoming text. Blinking furiously and curious to see if her sister had found a way to chastise her on multiple fronts, Monica looked at the screen. The message was from Colm and so sweet she could probably curl into a ball and die without any outside intervention.

  You must be sleeping. Get some rest. I have a dentist appt in the AM. Will call after.

  Her breath caught in her chest, and for the life of her, Monica couldn’t remember exactly how the whole breathing sequence was supposed to go. With the last of what she had trapped in her lungs, she managed a tremulous, “Melly?”

  “Yeah?”

  “His little boy is so cute,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I—I like him so—” She bit her lip as the tears spilled over her lashes. “I think I’m in trouble.”

  There was only a millisecond of silence on her sister’s end of the call, then Melody’s voice came through soft but firm. “Breathe, Monnie. In, and out. In and out,” she chanted. Once Monica caught on to the cadence, Mel’s tone shifted into brisk and no-nonsense. “Jeremy is getting Emma settled in. I’m picking up Ben and Jerry, and the three of us will be over in fifteen minutes.”

  “Mel, no—”

  “Fifteen minutes. Hang in there, Monnie. Chunky Monkey is coming to the rescue.”

  Her preferred flavor for heartache was Coffee Toffee Crunch, but Melody hung up. Monica gave a moment’s thought to calling her sister back to beg off, but she knew she wouldn’t win. She’d have to make do with banana ice cream rather than the caffeinated kind. The switch up seemed only fitting. Her well-ordered life had somehow gone completely nuts.

  Chapter 9

  Colm was unspeakably relieved when Aiden showed no apparent signs or symptoms of illness while they were preparing to leave the house. Sure, they hadn’t actually stepped foot into Monica’s place, but you never knew with kids. They seemed to pick up and pass along viruses like relay racers with a baton. Swallowing his guilt, he dropped his well-rested kid off at daycare, and proceeded to his early morning dentist appointment without attempting to call and check on Monica and Emma. He hoped they were getting at least some sleep and didn’t want to risk waking them.

  He was at the door when Dr. Holt’s hygienist, Andrea, arrived. “Wow. Someone’s excited to get their X-rays.”

  Colm smiled and pushed away from the wall opposite the office door. “Yeah, well, what guy doesn’t want a bat-wing of his own?”

  “Hate to break this to you, champ, but they’re called bitewing, not bat wing.”

  Affecting a scowl, Colm waited as she flipped on overhead lights. “Oh. In that case…”

  She laughed and waved him in. “Nope. Shauna’s not here yet, but I’ll check you in and get you all shined up before Dr. Holt gets here.”

  He followed her into one of the patient cubicles and took his seat in the chair. Andrea handed him an ancient copy of Field & Stream and told him to keep himself entertained while she juiced up the coffee maker. Colm ruffled the pages of the magazine, but the pictures barely registered. He liked fishing and stuff but wasn’t really up for reading up on the subject. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he tapped his way through his inbox and a handful of other notifications.

  Nothing new from Monica yet. Unable to hold off a minute longer, he typed a quick message about hoping they felt better and promising to call after his appointment. The little whooshing noise made him feel slightly less guilty about getting a full night’s sleep. He knew how miserable spending the whole night dumping puke pots and changing sheets could be.

  “Ready to go?” Andrea asked, snapping the cuff on her latex glove.

  “You love the snap, don’t you?” he asked, eying her warily.

  She grinned, then pulled her mask up over her nose and mouth. “Limited career options for born sadists,” she said, her voice only slightly muffled by the covering. Her eyes twinkled as she slipped a pair of wrap-around safety glasses onto her nose. “My choices were dental hygienist or beauty aesthetician.”

  “Beauty aesthetician? What do they do?”

  The corners of her eyes crinkled as she ripped open a pack of sanitized instruments and pressed the pedal to lower the chair into supine position. Looming over him, she raised her instruments. “They get to do bikini waxes and all the fun stuff.” She tapped his chin with her pinkie finger. “Open wide.”

  Thirty minutes later, Andrea pronounced him sparkling clean. Mask crumpled around her neck, she patted his shoulder as she returned the chair to an upright position. “You were a good boy.”

  He smirked at her condescending tone. She said the same thing to Aiden when he was done, too. Except Aiden got his pick of toys when he was through, and Colm got stuck paying the bill. “Thanks. Do I get to visit the treasure chest?”

  “We’ll see what Dr. Holt says,” she said in a sing-song voice. “I heard him come in. I’ll send him on in.”

  Upright again, Colm worked his jaw back and forth as he took a moment to study the exam room. A picture Aiden had colored was pinned to a corkboard, surrounded by pictures of grinning patients. The countertops held anatomically correct models, a disturbing display on gum disease, and an oversized pair of plastic chattering teeth sat right in front of a framed photo of Dr. Holt and his family.

  He’d been about to move on to an advertisement for whitening treatments when the hairs on his neck prickled. Turning to the photo, he skipped over the good doctor and squinted hard at the woman and child clustered close to him. Mrs. Holt was a pretty woman in an all-natural sort of way. Her wavy dirty-blond hair was carelessly styled and a little wispy. She had the wispy look of an artist or a gypsy. Or maybe the assumption was based solely on the patchwork skirt and floaty white blouse she wore. But there was something familiar about her. Maybe her eyes? Possibly the nose. Her smile. Yes, that was it. He’d seen her smile. Knew that smile. Intimately.

  Swinging his legs over the side of the chair, he planted his feet on the ground, but his body seemed to be moving in slow motion. His gaze slipped from the mother to the daughter. The skinny brown-haired girl had the same smile as her mother.

  His stomach twisted into a knot as he pushed the toy teeth aside and picked up the frame. He needed a closer look to be absolutely sure. But there was no denying what he was seeing. The little girl’s grin confirmed she was standing exactly where she belonged.

  “My wife, Melody, and my daughter, Emma.”

  Colm jumped and the frame almost slipped from his hand. He caught the picture with a grunt, pressing the glass into his stomach to be certain he’d secured it, then fumbled the photo back into place. “I was, uh…” He adjusted the angle on the counter and shoved the chattering teeth into place. “Nice picture.”

  “Thanks.” Dr. Holt gestured for him to take a seat in the chair again. Once Colm complied, he immediately began to flatten and lower the chair. “My wife hates studio photography. She says it’s stifling.” His soft snort let Colm know he thought his wife was both wacky and wonderful. “My sister-in-law took that one last spring.”

  Colm managed to get a quick “Yeah?” out as the doctor motioned for him to open his mouth.

  “Yeah. Melody likes candid stuff, has all this crazy expensive photography equipment.” He craned his head to peer at Colm’s molars. “Our place is littered with pictures of crumbling bridges and shacks. For family pictures, I have to rely on Monica and her cell phone.”

  Dread pooled cold and heavy in Colm’s belly. He closed his ey
es as if he might be able to block out the truth. But there was no point. He’d known the minute he saw the little girl in the photo. Emma wasn’t Monica’s daughter. Lies. Everything Monica had told him from the moment they met had been complete bullshit.

  Exactly like Carmen.

  The moment the connection was made, there was no way of unknowing. The dread he’d felt a moment ago congealed into a ball of icy anger. He said nothing. Couldn’t with this guy probing around in his mouth. Taking deliberate breaths through his nose, he fixed his gaze on the muted television screen mounted on the ceiling. The news was covering the mayor’s press conference. Colm narrowed his eyes as he watched the man dodge and duck the questions being lobbed at him. He didn’t need to read the closed captioning to know the man was lying his ass off, too. The whole fucking world was filled with nothing but liars.

  “Looking good.” Dr. Holt sat back and pulled his mask down. “X-rays were clean. You’re good to go for another six months unless there’s something bothering you.”

  The chair hummed and vibrated beneath him. Colm stared at the dentist’s open, inquisitive face, wondering if the guy knew. If he’d been in on the joke. Maybe they all thought Monica using their kid to meet guys was a hoot. Or, maybe old doc here was trying to offload the sister-in-law on some poor, unsuspecting schmuck.

  “I think I’ve met your daughter,” he said, jerking his chin toward the picture. “She was at the park with your sister-in-law. Monica,” he added as if unequivocal confirmation was needed.

  “You did?”

  “Yeah.” Rubbing a hand across his jaw, he licked his latex-dry lips. “Your Emma found my kid’s toy for him. Nice girl.”

  “She’s awesome.” Dr. Holt beamed. “Best thing to happen to me ever. Don’t tell Mel I said so, you’ll only get me in trouble.”

  Colm couldn’t help but return the man’s smile. He knew that level of enthusiasm well. “Yeah, kids are great. They make you crazy, but they’re great.”

  “Set him up for another six months, Andrea.” As the hygienist pecked at the computer, Dr. Holt peeled off his gloves and nodded to the picture. “She and Aiden are probably about the same age.”

  Six months apart, Colm thought. But he couldn’t say so, because Monica had told him how old Emma was, and for all he knew, that was another lie. Monica had lied to him. Lied over and over again. The implications were too much to absorb. The park. Her whole “let’s not talk about the kids” bit. The convenient stomach bug she’d made up to keep him from crossing her threshold last night. Had she been sick, or was the stomach bug just one more lie? Like the cherry on top?

  His gaze drifted to the photo again, but this time he zeroed in on the sister. Had she been in on the plot? Did Dr. Holt know his wife was letting his daughter be used as a prop to pick up guys in the park?

  As if reading his thoughts, the doctor continued. “Funny, Emma looks and acts so much like Mel’s sister. Emma’s very no-nonsense like Monica. Melody swears the two of them gang up on her.”

  Colm swallowed hard. “Yeah, I guess I assumed they were mom and daughter when I saw them in the park.”

  The other man snorted. “Not hardly.” When he caught Colm’s startled stare, Dr. Holt shrugged. “Monica’s not the maternal type. She’s one of those high-powered career women who doesn’t have time to date.” Turning away, he tossed the balled up gloves into a container. “Don’t get me wrong. She’s a good aunt, but she’s definitely more the hands-off type with kids.”

  “She is, huh?” Colm practically launched himself out of the space chair. He needed to get out of there. Turning to Andrea, he made a show of checking his watch. “Hey, I have to get going. Will you set me up for six months and send me a reminder?”

  The hygienist seemed taken aback by his sudden rush. Muttering his goodbyes, he beat a path to the office door.

  He was in front of Monica’s brownstone in a matter of minutes. Of course, she wasn’t home. He unclipped his phone from his belt as he jogged down the steps but didn’t place the call. The thought of having this confrontation over the phone crawled all over him, but he couldn’t imagine storming her office and trying to have it out with her in front of all her colleagues. Sitting in his truck, Colm stared down at the photo he’d attached to her contact information.

  This was the Monica he knew. Tousled, sexed-up, and satiated. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized he didn’t have the first idea where her office was. He didn’t know if she stopped for coffee on the way in to work at the crack of dawn, or if she was one of those freaks who didn’t drink coffee. Rubbing the pad of his thumb idly across the screen, he searched his memory, trying to recall if he’d even spotted a coffee maker in her barely used kitchen. He knew nothing about her other than how to make her come.

  Except, she was apparently a compulsive liar.

  Jaw set, he tapped the option to place the call. She answered on the first ring, her tone crisp and business-like.

  “Monica Rayburn.”

  He inhaled through his nose, but forced a civil tone. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Oh, hi.” Her voice softened like butter left too long in the microwave. “Hey.”

  “Fully recovered?” he persisted.

  “Hm? Oh! Yeah. Must have been one of those overnight bugs.”

  “And Emma?”

  She hesitated for a second. When she did, there was a note of caution in her voice. “She’s fine.”

  Colm couldn’t take the lies and half-truths any longer. “And you’d know this because you stopped by your sister’s on the way in to work this morning?”

  Silence. The question and all of its implications and accusations hung there. Her lack of response was like a bucket of sand tossed over the last smoldering coals of hope burning in his gut. Of course she wasn’t going to deny it. To deny would be to confirm, and Monica was too sharp to fall for anything so obvious.

  “I had a dentist appointment this morning. Guess who had a picture of a little girl I know named Emma? My dentist, Dr. Holt.”

  “Colm—”

  “Imagine my surprise when he told me Emma was his little girl, and the woman in the photo with them was his wife. Emma’s mother.”

  “I can explain—”

  “Can you? You can explain how everything you told me was a lie?”

  “Not everything.”

  She stopped talking. Of course she did. Monica was sharp. The nit-picking defense wasn’t a great strategy to take at the moment, and she’d tuned into the volume of his silence. She was perceptive. He knew that much about her, even if he didn’t know anything else.

  “How do you take your coffee?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.

  “Colm—”

  “Where’s your office?”

  “Please listen—”

  “No, I think I’m done listening to you.” He couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of prodding and pressing her. Even if it meant he had to subject himself to every ounce of pain her deception produced. After all, he deserved a good dose, too.

  He was the idiot who’d been so gullible. Again.

  He’d let himself believe. Again.

  And look where he was—alone. Again.

  “When were you going to tell me?” he demanded.

  To her credit, she didn’t lie this time. “Never.”

  “You were going to fuck me for a while, and what? Stop calling?”

  The minute the words were out of his mouth, he wished they hadn’t escaped. Because they had a deal. They’d agreed to exactly those terms when they started. The set-up he thought he wanted. And now he was pissed at her for sticking to the plan? Christ, he sounded like a needy teenager.

  Covering his eyes with his hand, he pressed his temples with his thumb and middle finger. “Well, you can stop,” he said, his voice flat and forbidding.

  “Colm, don’t,” sh
e said in a rush. “Let me explain.”

  “That you lied? You’ve been lying and planned to keep on lying?” He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “No need. I clued in all on my own.”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  There was a knife’s edge keenness in her tone. One that said she was adept at splitting hairs. Suddenly, he felt tired. So tired. Like he’d been the one up all night with a fake kid nursing the fake flu. There was no point in dissecting this. Whatever he thought their relationship was, or might have become, they obviously hadn’t been on the same page.

  Letting his breath go, he forced his shoulders to come down and stretched his neck forward to release the tension. There was really no need. They’d had a mutually satisfying physical relationship. If he’d developed unrealistic expectations about what was happening between them, the fallout was his problem and he’d deal. Alone.

  “Good-bye, Monica.”

  He didn’t wait to listen to whatever she had lined up behind the desperate-sounding “But—” she blurted.

  With a single tap on the screen, he stopped the lies.

  * * * *

  Monica dropped into her desk chair like a stone. Her assistant came scurrying to her side. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you sick?” Nicole dropped to a knee beside Monica’s chair and reached out as if to touch Monica’s forehead. “Do I need to call 911?”

  Monica batted the young woman’s hand away. “What? Why? No!” She gripped the arms of her chair and forced herself to sit up ramrod straight. “I’m fine.”

  “But you’re sitting,” Nicole insisted, her forehead puckering in consternation. “You don’t sit when there’s trading.”

  Startled by the truth in the observation, Monica blinked. Her glass-walled office offered little privacy for either her or her staff. Usually, she liked it. As a matter of fact, in all the years since she’d become partner, she’d never once closed the sliding glass door to her office while the market was open. She wanted to see all. Hear all. Thrived on the chaos of business surrounding her.

  Ironic. Now, her actual life was in chaos, and she didn’t have the first idea what to do to fix things.