by Layne Harper
Bile begins to rise in my throat. I can’t do this. I can’t talk about this yet. I can’t take a breath, and sweat begins to gather on my brow.
“Colin, it’s okay,” Doctor Benson says from some far-off place. “You’ve acknowledged the fear. That’s the first step.”
Relief washes over me. I don’t have to say any more out loud. The weight lightens, and I can take a breath.
Doctor Benson leans forward, and says, “Colin, I would like to recommend someone for you to speak with. They’re…”
I cut her off. “I don’t need to see anyone.” I close the book on that subject. “I just want advice on how I can make her feel secure with our new life.” I say it way too quickly. Calm, cool, collected Colin is still trying to make his way back.
Doctor Benson isn’t thrilled with me changing the subject as her face momentarily darkens, but she thankfully goes with it. “You know, Colin, Caroline has mentioned numerous times in our sessions how much she loves hearing you tell her that you’ll love her any way that you can get her. My best advice would be to make her believe those words, every single day.”
Doctor Benson has given me a game plan. I’m going to ask Charlie what she wants. I’m going to quit pressuring her to set another wedding date. Most importantly, I’m going to make sure she knows that I love and will never leave her, no matter what.
I let out a sigh and feel like the weight of the world has been lessened from my shoulders. “Thank you. Now I know why Charlie refuses to find another therapist in Dallas. You’re awesome.”
She chuckles and says, “Any time. Night or day. Will I see you two in Dallas next week for your couple’s appointment?”
“Umm…yeah. Sure. Please don’t mention that I came here, okay?”
“I will not keep secrets from Caroline. If she asks, I’m going to tell her that I saw you.”
“I guess I can live with that.” Now, I have to hope that Charlie doesn’t find out I was in Houston.
Before I leave Doctor Benson’s office, she prompts, “Would you like to talk a little more about you?”
What’s there to talk about? I’m not going to talk about Charlie’s eating disorder again. She says, “The issue of having unprotected sex when you first reunited has been brought up in your joint sessions frequently. I would like to discuss it with you, now that we’re alone.”
Oh, that. I fidget with my ring, not really wanting to go there. “It was stupid. We didn’t get pregnant, so it’s in the past. What’s there to talk about?”
“Why do you want a child?” she asks as she re-crosses her legs at the ankles.
“I want to be a dad.” Duh! Isn’t it obvious?
“Are you sure that it’s not to solidify your place in Caroline’s life?”
Oh, shit! I see this for what it is. She’s trying to bring this back around to Charlie’s eating disorder. I let out a sigh. “All I’ve wanted since I realized that Charlie was my oxygen was to marry her and have a family with her. She’s the only person that I can see being with forever. I’m not patient. Yeah. I wish she was already pregnant with our baby.” That’s it, Doctor Benson. I’m not willing to say out loud what you want me to admit. Yes, I want a baby because he or she will link us together for the rest of our lives, but it’s much, much more than that. I want to be a father. I want our baby that we made out of love. I want my parents to be grandparents. I want to throw a football in the front yard with my son, and teach my daughter how to two-step. If a child means that Charlie and I have to fight a little harder for our marriage, then so be it.
Doctor Benson says, “I’d like to give you some homework. I want you to really think about the impact that a child would have on your life. The pros and cons. I would like to discuss it with you at our next appointment.”
I thank Doctor Benson for her time, but I sure hate having my ass on the hot seat. This therapy stuff is rough.
When I leave Doctor Benson’s office, I head towards Charlie’s town home. Item three on my to-do list is to move some of her furniture to Dallas. She doesn’t know it, but I’m converting my pool house into an office for her and Brad. The damn interior designer keeps bugging me to pick out fabrics and shit like that. Something that Doctor Benson said in a previous appointment made me realize that maybe Charlie would rather have the stuff she’s chosen.
We haven’t discussed what we’re going to do with her town home. If she wants to keep it for the rest of her life, then that’s fine by me. I can always hire a caretaker to look after it, or move one of her many sisters into it. God knows, she has enough of them. I’ll give Jack credit. He’s got beautiful, smart daughters.
The movers are waiting for me when I pull up. I ask them to stay outside, and let me go in first. I meticulously take pictures of everything that I think that the designer will need. When I’m finished, I let the movers start doing their job. I go room to room, tagging the items that I’m taking. I make sure to slap a tag on the old, used-to-be red chair in her bedroom. That bad boy is going in our bedroom in Dallas.
While I supervise the loading, I send Jenny a text.
Me: Did you find out anything on my trees?
Jenny: What’s up with the trees?
Me: Damn you, woman. I want oak trees.
Jenny’s just being difficult. This is part of our give and take.
Jenny: They’re fucking crazy expensive and have to be machine dug.
Me: ???
Jenny: I assume you don’t care. I’ll schedule them to be installed on Wednesday.
Me: Perfect
Next, I decide to text my girl.
Me: Hi beautiful.
No response…
No response…
No response…
Damn! I hate it when she ignores me. I start worrying about her. I’ll give her ten minutes, then call her.
The moving company boss grabs me to sign the paperwork. I’ve asked them to hold the stuff for a couple of days. I’m taking Charlie with me to Los Angeles for the Espy Awards. The decorator’s going to do the remodel job while we’re gone.
I check my watch. If I leave now, I’ll miss traffic and be back in Dallas with enough time to tuck Charlie into bed.
As I’m pulling away from her house, I get a text back from her.
Charlie: I think that you call me beautiful so you’re sure that you don’t call me by the wrong name
Dear God, she fucking kills me.
Chapter Five
Charlie
CharCol is stepping out for the first time tonight as a couple since they announced their engagement more than three months ago. Rumor has it that Charlie is going to be wearing a Calvin Klein dress, fresh off the runway in Milan. Will we see wedding rings? What’s Colin wearing? Who cares? If we’re lucky, ladies, he’ll arrive in his underwear.
I don’t recognize the person in the mirror. Her hair is hanging past the middle of her back, with soft waves framing her face. The hair color isn’t exactly caramel any longer. It’s maybe a sandy blonde with gold highlights, and light brown lowlights? Her eyes are still violet, but the makeup artist has used some trick to change the shape to make them appear more almond. Her body has been sprayed with a tan that gives her a healthy glow.
She’s wearing a long, pale pink, body-skimming dress. It almost looks as if she’s wearing a slip. It’s been borrowed from some famous designer that offered to loan her the gown for the evening. Apparently it came straight off the runway in Milan, and was able to be let out enough to accommodate the girl in the mirror’s non-model measurements. Her shoes are nude strappy sandals. Even though they have a very high heel, she’ll still be much shorter than her date.
She’s very pretty. If I saw the girl in the mirror in a gossip magazine—not that I read them—I would think she had been blessed by the gods with Colin’s kind of beauty.
The only way that I can tell that the girl in the mirror is me is that she has on her silver infinity necklace, given to her by the man that’s her forever: her Aggie ring. She
’s also wearing huge diamond earrings, marked with Colin’s symbols, and an engagement/wedding ring given to her last night by Colin-fucking-McKinney.
It’s taken him and the jeweler over three months to get the ring perfect enough for Colin to give it to me. The only say that I had in the design was that I didn’t want a diamond. I saw the jeweler’s jaw drop almost to his knees as the words exited my mouth. I’m sure that he had to immediately call his real estate agent and cancel the home purchase in Beverly Hills that he was about to be able to afford off the proceeds from the sale of the diamond that Colin wanted me to have.
After I explained to him, as well as Colin, that I’m a surgeon, I think they understood. I wear latex gloves all day. I can’t have some gigantic rock. I wanted a ring that I never have to take off.
The jeweler then called and canceled his purchase of his new fancy car when I said that I didn’t want two rings. One ring was enough. Colin made some ridiculous comment under his breath about why I can’t be a normal girl. I ignored it, because we both know that if I were a normal girl, he wouldn’t be the least bit interested in me.
I then further slashed the jeweler’s bank account when I said that it had to be simple. Not flashy or gaudy, and the ring had to be made out of surgical grade titanium.
Colin threw a fit. He’s said, more than once, that this ring costs less than the original engagement ring that he bought for me with his signing bonus when he joined Dallas. I don’t care. After slammed doors and lots of yelling, I think he finally got it. I didn’t want a diamond wedding or engagement ring. He gave me the earrings. That’s enough diamonds for me. I threw the term “Get over it” around a lot.
Colin refused to re-propose when he gave it to me last night. The months since we’ve gotten back together have been rough. I’m pretty sure that he was convinced I would say that I wouldn’t marry him if he asked again. Instead, last night, while we were making love and playing his favorite game, the one where he tries out all of my new names while he samples his favorite places on my body, he slipped it on my finger using his teeth while he sucked on my ring finger. Erotic? Yes. Romantic? Definitely. A story that we can share over Thanksgiving turkey? Not so much.
I finally got to really look at the ring about an hour later. It’s perfect—just what I wanted. Colin and the jeweler captured our relationship to a T. It’s two pieces of titanium, twisted together and inset with one row of light lavender amethyst stones, for the color of my eyes and the lavender dresses that Colin loves to see me wear, and a row of diamonds because, by God, Colin was going to sneak diamonds in somehow. My ring is simple, not the least bit gaudy, without a beginning or ending, and practical. I’ll never take it off.
I look back at the thirty-year-old girl in the mirror. The façade in the mirror is simply gorgeous. She’s had a team of people working on her for over three hours.
The real girl has on something called Lipo in a Box that’s supposed to take ten pounds off of your figure, lift your butt, and flatten your stomach. I can barely breathe. My face feels like I have pancake batter smeared on it. My “natural” looking hair has been hair sprayed within an inch of its life. The only thing about me that’s real is my necklace, which I refused to take off, even after the stylist threw a fit, and my rings. The diamond earrings weren’t an issue, because, well, they’re so big that they look fake.
My stomach is in complete knots. I haven’t been able to eat, because I’m afraid that I’ll be sick. This is the first time that Colin and I’ve attended a public event together since the interview with Allison Katz aired. We’ll be expected to pose on the red carpet for the photographers to catch us from every angle. I’ve also been told that the dress designer expects me to pose by myself. That sounds terrifying.
Blogs and websites have developed a rather sick fascination with us as a couple. One was kind enough to post a picture of Colin and me from college. It must have been taken after his last game during his senior year. His long arm was wrapped around me, tucking me into his side. He’s a sweaty, hot, beautiful mess. He was still in his A&M uniform. I think the game had just ended. His pads made him look even larger than he actually was. I look like a child compared to him. My caramel-colored hair was blowing in the wind, and I was looking up at him adoringly. It’s a ridiculously cute picture. In fact, I would frame it, if I could get a high enough resolution copy of it.
It was before I got really sick. My eyes were still bright and shiny, and I looked so happy. Healthy. I was in love with the man whose side I was pressed against. I was never going to leave him. I never saw a future without Colin in it.
Little did I know that, just over a year later, I would tell him goodbye for what I thought was my new forever.
Next to that picture was a photo taken of Colin and me, leaving a restaurant in New York. He’d finished up shooting his last underwear campaign ever, and we were celebrating. Colin had on a suit that was tailored perfectly to him. His light blue dress shirt and grey tie made his eyes translucent green. We’d been forty-five minutes late for our dinner reservation because I couldn’t keep my hands off of him. It was the night that I’d given him his engagement/future wedding ring.
I’d left the photo shoot earlier in the day, because seeing him sitting there in nothing but a pair of white underwear was maddening. But then, when the director had him dropping back, as if he was going to throw a pass in nothing but his tighty whities, I thought that I would lose my mind. That beautiful man was mine. Mine alone. He’d given all of that up so I would be the only girl to see him that way.
I’d channeled my sexual frustration into a great day of shopping. In fact, I’d purchased the dress that I had on in the picture. I could have sworn that it looked great on me. I even took a picture of me in it, and sent it to Brad for his approval before I bought it.
However, when I saw me in the dress next to Colin, I agreed with the reporter’s statement. “Colin McKinney has only gotten hotter with age, but what’s happened to Charlie? Time has not been kind to her. They say that love is blind.”
Ouch!
Seeing the pictures side by side, I can really tell that I’ve aged. I’m probably fifteen pounds heavier than I was in college. My face is definitely fuller. My arms look fat. Seriously? How did I get fat arms? I didn’t even think that was possible. Apparently, I need to add weight training to my exercise routine.
Don’t get me wrong. I know logically that I’m not overweight, but I look thirty in the picture, and Colin looks like an ageless god.
Then, because I can’t stop myself, I read the comments section. The first one said, “Maybe he’s gay, and she wares a strap-on for him.”
Okay. That’s just dumb. I disregard the comment, because that person is clearly an idiot. “It’s ‘wears’ not ‘wares,’” I said to the screen. As if the person could hear me.
I read the next one. “I never understood what he saw in her. She was ugly in college.”
I can objectively look in the mirror and know that I wasn’t ugly then, and I’m not unattractive now. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
The next comment actually took my breath away. “Maybe a good run at anorexia would do Charlie some good.” That comment hit me right where it hurts.
The façade looks carefree, as if she doesn’t have a worry in the world. The real person is struggling, minute by minute, for control over her life. The real girl knows that her worst fear has come true. She’s lost all sense of who she is. The order of her life, that she clung so desperately to, is dust in the wind. The only thing that she has is her one true love. She’s lost herself, and that’s a devastating thing to admit. She’s struggling every day to find her new normal. And, she’s winning.
Colin saunters into the second bedroom in the suite at the Peninsula Beverly Hills, that’s been turned into my personal salon. The bed was removed before we checked in. There is a makeup chair in the corner surrounded by chests of cosmetics and lights brought in for the occasion. Two wardrobe racks line the walls wit
h tuxes and back-up dresses. I watch him approach me from behind as I stare into the floor-length, silver framed, modern accessory mirror that’s propped up against the wall.
I can’t take my eyes off of him. He’s quite possibly the most beautiful man alive. Even his crooked nose adds to his perfection. He walks up behind me and places a soft kiss on my neck, just where it meets my shoulder. It’s a simple kiss, but it holds so much promise when our eyes lock together in the mirror.
“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous that I’m not letting you out of sight tonight.” He pauses, and wraps his arm around my waist, splaying his hand possessively on my stomach. “But, I can’t wait for this evening to be over so I can wipe that shit off your face, wash your hair, lose this dress, and see the real Charlie that puts this girl to shame. I want you naked and underneath me. I want the Charlie that nobody else sees. I want my beautiful girl,” he whispers in my ear, as his hand travels south.
Just when I don’t think that Colin can get any more awesome, he drops a line like that. It’s like he’d been reading my thoughts. The man knows me so scarily well. “Well, McKinney. I have to say that you’re no slouch yourself in that tuxedo.” I run my eyes up and down his physique, drinking him in. He can fill out his Armani tux—well. His wavy, dark blonde curls have been slicked back away from his tan face. His stubbled jawline is rugged and sexy while still giving him a sophisticated air. The black jacket and crisp white shirt that he has on makes his emerald green eyes sparkle. “I wouldn’t be opposed to skipping out on the evening, heading to In and Out Burger, and making damn good use of this suite.”
