Marrying Up

by Jackie Rose

  While I poke around and try to find something to eat, he discusses with his mother at length her concerns about his grandmother and her sciatica, someone named Helen’s upcoming cataract surgery and his father’s plans to build a new toolshed. After a great deal of eye-rolling and promising to go home to San Diego for a visit during Labor Day weekend, he finally manages to hang up.

  “Sorry. The older she gets, the harder it is to get off the phone with her. She goes on and on, repeating the same things over and over. I can only assume she doesn’t know she’s doing it. My father must have the patience of Job.”

  I love that he’s nice to his mother. “It’s okay. You’re a mama’s boy. You don’t have to apologize.”

  “Don’t push me, woman.”

  “Forget that. I’m starving.” I hop up beside him onto the counter. “Ah—cool on the backside. Good idea.”

  He reaches across my lap for the stack of dog-eared delivery menus. Even though I’ve definitely slept off my beer buzz, having his skin so close to mine leaves me a little woozy.

  “Pizza or Chinese?”

  Our eyes meet.

  “Both!”

  Over yet another delightful meal from Chang’s Italian Gardens, I tell him all about what happened with Vale. Had I known the crashing and burning of my personal life made such fabulous dinner conversation, I might have told him sooner. I think Remy pretty much guesses where the story is going once I get to Vale’s less-than-convincing response to my big “Am I Sexy?” question, because he can barely contain his laughter from that point on. Granted, I embellish the good parts a little, adding a horrified gasp or a dramatic sob here and there, so that the whole thing actually ends up sounding a hell of a lot funnier than it seemed to me at the time. I should have known the only thing Remy would enjoy more than being right about my boyfriend being so wrong was listening to a blow-by-blow account of me learning it for myself. Who could blame him? I’d definitely failed to see the signs.

  “So…not quite the proposal you’d imagined, huh?”

  “I imagined the Fred Leighton part, all right…”

  “Who?”

  “He’s a jeweler…never mind.”

  “Just chalk it up to experience and move on. That’s my advice.”

  “I just can’t believe how willing I was to deceive myself for something…something I don’t even want! I can totally see that now, by the way, in case you were thinking of making fun of me some more.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t. You’ve suffered enough.”

  “Thanks. And to make matters worse, this whole thing has really done a number on my self-esteem!”

  “Yeah… I’ve been kinda wondering about that. Why are you so down on yourself? Don’t you think you deserve a decent guy?”

  “Of course I do,” I sigh, and attempt to condense the past ten years of my social life into two or three sentences. “But I don’t exactly have the best luck with men. My only real boyfriend, this guy Jim, was a real loser. And that was, like, a decade ago, anyway, so I guess being single for so long…well, after a while, you just begin to think it’s not the guys, but you. I mean, me. Oh, you know what I mean… But I am picky. Or I was, anyway. Too picky. So I guess it is the guys, too…”

  “Whoa. Hold up—you didn’t get any play between Jim and Vale? Nothing? Wow. That is a long time. Was it…intentional?”

  Great. Now he thinks I’m one of those born-again virgins. “For heaven’s sake, Remy. I’m not a complete nerd. Of course I’ve had, uh, some action. There were a few short-term things, just nothing serious…”

  He scratches his head. “Nope. Don’t buy it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It takes more than one putz and a dry spell here and there to inflict the kind of psychological damage and self-sabotage you seem to labor beneath.”

  “You really like to think you know it all, don’t you? Okay, Mr. Minor in Psychology. Fine. You wanna know my dirty little secret?”

  “I don’t know. Do I?”

  “It all goes back to when I was twelve…”

  “Cripes…is this gonna be another one of those tragic first-kiss stories?”

  “Do you want to hear it or not?”

  “Sorry. Go on.”

  “There was this guy…and yes—he was the first guy I ever kissed. It was awful. I almost bit his tongue off and there was all this blood and so of course he had to go and tell everyone I was a hermaphrodite and that’s why I had no boobs and, well, high school pretty much got worse from there.”

  “Okay, that’s pretty bad,” he chuckles.

  “Suffice it to say I’m pretty sure that’s what made me so self-conscious about my chest.”

  His eyes go right to where my boobs should be. “Your chest? What’s wrong with your chest?”

  “Oh, shut up. So now you understand why this whole Vale-being-gay thing has thrown me for such a loop….”

  “I don’t get it. What does one have to do with the other?”

  “Maybe the only reason Vale liked me to begin with or chose me or whatever…it’s because I’m flat! Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to keep it up long enough for us to make babies, see? I bet he was pretending I was Brad Pitt while we were—”

  “Hold it,” he interrupted, shaking his head in disbelief. “That is so wrong on so many levels, I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “Really?”

  “First of all, Brad Pitt definitely has bigger pecs than you.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, Remy, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “Okay, fine. What I mean is…let me see…how should I put this? Well, to quote another great man, ‘Anything bigger than a handful, you’re risking a sprained thumb.’”

  “Anthony Michael Hall,” I sigh. “Weird Science.”

  “Damn, you’re good.”

  “You just don’t understand what it’s like, being permanently self-conscious, feeling like you’re being judged all the time for something that’s totally beyond your control. This is a breast-centric, world, Remy—you can’t deny it. Even my brothers called me Wall-y Holly! It’s a world where Hooters is the hottest restaurant in town, where women torture themselves to look like magazine covers. I’m so damn tired of it…. We pay men to surgically insert silicone volleyballs into our chests and we spend a trillion dollars on miracle diets and then we eat ourselves into oblivion to numb the pain of failing to be perfect! It’s…it’s infuriating! And if you somehow manage to evolve beyond it all…well, just when you think you’ve accepted yourself, love yourself for the way you are, a gay guy comes along to play on your insecurities and pretend to love you and then wants to hire you to be his wife!”

  “By ‘you,’ you don’t actually mean me, do you?”

  I manage a weak laugh, but my eyes are filling with tears. “Sorry to rant. I just don’t want to be controlled by these superficial things anymore. I resent all the time and energy I’ve wasted on them.”

  “Look, Holly. I do understand what you’re saying. It sucks being liked—or disliked—for the wrong reasons, whether they’re perceived or real. I do know what that feels like. Who the hell doesn’t? But half the time it’s all in your own head, anyway. Like, everyone has something they think weighs them down, whether it’s a flat chest or an empty bank account or the brain of a rocket scientist trapped in a supermodel’s body. You just have to surround yourself with people who like you fine the way you are and not get too worked up about the ones who don’t.”

  “In theory, sure. But it’s hard to not let these kinds of things affect you. And even though you know how much it hurts, it’s also hard not to judge other people in exactly the same way they judge you.”

  “Of course it’s hard. Most people can’t do it. That’s why the world is overrun with assholes and idiots. But at least you’re trying.”

  “I was an asshole, too,” I murmur.

  Can I blame Vale for offering me exactly what I wanted? I never really liked him all that much and I wa
s willing to be with him, anyway, and not just for the sake of “research.” I now understood what Jill saw in Boyfriend—a chance to not be alone. Vale’s proposal was a twisted variation on that theme. Was it fair to hold him or anyone else to a higher standard than I held myself?

  “You sure were,” he agrees. “But there’s hope for you yet.”

  “So what’s your hideous flaw, Mr. Perfect?”

  “Hmmm…I don’t know…maybe my calves? They’re a little smaller than I’d like. But are you gonna throw the babe out with the bathwater?” He flexes them for my benefit and flashes me his best smile.

  “You’re right. They’re hideous. And your bottom teeth are crooked, too.”

  “Yes, but they give me character.”

  “I just feel like I’ve spent a lot of time, too much time, wishing I were rich, wishing I were beautiful, you know? It’s a waste of energy. I’m ready to let it all go.”

  “You are beautiful. You must know that.”

  “I know I’m okay. But I’m not exactly drop-dead gorgeous….”

  He turns my chin toward him. “Yes, you are. Well, maybe not to everyone…but so what? You are to me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Are you serious?”

  Oooh!

  Before I can think of something ridiculous to say that will ruin everything, he leans in and kisses me. And before it’s over, I know that if I had to choose one moment to live over and over again for the rest of my life, this would be it.

  He pulls away and smiles.

  “Wow,” I say.

  “Wow,” he agrees.

  “My heart…”

  He puts his hand on my chest. “I feel it.”

  “Wow,” I say again.

  “You said that already.”

  “I guess I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Say you’ll come upstairs with me.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  He hops down from the counter and turns to face me, putting his hands on my hips. “Are you sure you want to?”

  “Uh, yeah. I mean yes. Yes, I want to…”

  He kisses me again and I try my best to kiss him back like I mean it (the first time, I think I was a little stunned, so it probably wasn’t my best work). I open my eyes for a second, just to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  The kitchen glows and I definitely feel like I’m in a dream sequence…or is it the subtle recessed lighting we installed together earlier this week? In the corner, near the door to the backyard, is the tile cutter I almost sliced my finger off with last month. I remove my hand from the back of Remy’s neck and hold it up to check for the scar. It’s still there, angry and pink, despite weeks of slathering it with vitamin E.

  Nope! Definitely not dreaming.

  I slide off the edge of the counter and press up against him, wrapping my arms around his waist. We kiss some more, just standing there, until at last I completely forget myself and there’s nothing in my mind but the kissing. Which is quickly becoming quite a bit more than just kissing….

  “So…”

  “Yeah.”

  He leads me through the dining room, past the walls we’d put up, into the living room, where we’d argued about the height of a chair rail, then up the stairs I’d sanded and stained and varnished and then resanded and restained and revarnished because the color was half a shade off. The second floor is a mess; not much has changed since I first saw it six months earlier. Aside from the bathroom, there’s only one room with walls…but it’s the best room of all. The only room that matters. Remy’s bedroom.

  I walk up to the window while he goes over to the bed and sits down. I have no idea what time it is, but the moon is high and it lights up the room.

  “Did you ever notice the trim on the house across the street?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “I like it.”

  “So do I. What’s your point?”

  “No point.”

  “Then come over here.”

  “Okay,” I say. But I can’t move. Remy is so gorgeous to begin with that in the moonlight he appears almost divine. The perfect angles of his face, his lonely gray eyes, the straight lines of his nose and chin and cheeks take me aback every single time I see him, and tonight is no different, except that I am on the verge of seeing the rest of him as well. What on earth could this heavenly creature possibly want with me? But my cheeks still burn from his stubble, and there he sits, waiting for me to join him.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “We don’t have to rush.”

  I breathe out my fear and try to be as honest as I can. “If this is a…a pity thing, Remy, then I don’t want it.”

  He flops back dramatically onto the mattress. “Watch it, Holly. Or I might change my mind.”

  “Don’t do me any favors,” I say and turn back to the window.

  He sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just teasing. You know you’d be the one doing me the honor.”

  “No…”

  “Of course!” He gets up off the bed and comes over to the window. “You’re a beautiful creature. I’ve been pining for you for months. I was just waiting for you to be single again so I could make my move. And the second you told me, I did!”

  “Yeah, right.”

  He shakes his head. “Why won’t you believe me?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then why stop believing me now?”

  I glance over at the bed. “Hmm…could it be…?”

  “Okay, I’ll admit that I’m more than a little, uh, ready, right now, but I’m not the kind of guy who’d trick a girl into the sack by lying to her. That said, I sure as hell ain’t gonna beg you either…”

  Him beg me? I giggle at the mere thought of it.

  “You’re killing me, Holly. You’re fucking killing me.”

  “Okay, okay,” I say and kiss him quickly. Broken heart be damned—this guy is worth the risk. “But can I ask you something first?”

  “Sure.”

  “Will this be the first time for you since…”

  He looks at me uneasily, not quite sure what I mean.

  “Since, you know…your wife?”

  “God, no!”

  “Oh. Okay. Of course…”

  He must have guessed that I am blushing, because he touches my cheek with the back of his hand. “I mean, I don’t exactly sleep around, but I’ve had some action. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “I’m not disappointed. I’ve just never seen you with anybody, that’s all.”

  “So you’ve been keeping track of my comings and goings?”

  “Maybe a little,” I admit. “You’re surprised?”

  “Not really. You’re pretty easy to read. I knew you wanted me the second we met.” He moves back over to the bed and lies down, and this time, I follow him. “Am I right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “See?” He smiles and begins kissing my neck. “I’m irresistible…”

  “So, I guess you wanted me right away, too, then?”

  “No.”

  “Hey!”

  “Don’t worry—it didn’t take too long. You can’t deny there’s some pretty good sexual tension between us.”

  “Well, yeah. But I just assumed it was one-sided.”

  He kisses me again, and thankfully I’m already lying down because I surely would have swooned.

  “It doesn’t feel like that if it’s only one-sided.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Holly…”

  “Yes, Remy?”

  “Can we stop talking now?”

  I nod my head and smile.

  chapter 21

  Alone in the Wilderness of Despair

  For an entire week, I avoid Remy like the plague. I tell no one, not even George, what has happened between us. I know I’m in love—in love for the first time!—but I a
lso know that I’d better get over it before I make the mistake of thinking it will end well. Do I regret sleeping with him? Of course not. It was the best night of my life. I do regret getting my hopes up, though, since I am now in the unenviable position of having to deprogram myself and move on.

  In case you’re thinking, there she goes again—letting her dark side, her melodrama, ruin a perfectly good thing, let me set you straight: During the delicious three-and-a-half hours between first contact and when the bubble finally burst, I believed Remy Wakefield and I actually had a chance. More than that, even… I was thinking he was my soul mate, an appellation not to be invoked lightly, least of all by a studied cynic like me. We fit together perfectly, no doubt about it, and there was chemistry, passion and connection to burn. So what if he’s hot and I’m not? Big deal. I’ll get over it. So what if he’s unfocused and immature? I’m just as self-deprecating and neurotic. We’d complement each other’s weaknesses and thrive on each other’s strengths.

  What was a big deal was the one thing we couldn’t move forward without. The one thing I didn’t realize I should have been worried about all along….

  Timing.

  As in, I’m too late. Way too late.

  All these years of singlehood, I’ve been worried about finding the right guy. I just never imagined how important the when would be, once the who was taken care of. Luckily, I didn’t see it until after Remy and I had slept together and it was staring me right in the face, so I didn’t miss out on the night I will surely treasure fondly as the highlight of my sex life. Thank heaven for small mercies, I suppose.

  It had come out of left field, while my defenses were down. Remy and I were eating leftover chow mein in bed, sharing one pair of chopsticks and making a complete mess.

  “Not a bad way to work up an appetite,” he said.

  I smiled. “Just another lame Saturday night with the landlord.”

  “I guess neither of us has much of a social life.”

  “Nope.”

  “Don’t think this gets you out of our arrangement, by the way. You start painting tomorrow at seven.”