I laugh. “Five years old?”
“Yeah, you just had that way about you,” Pop says. “Serious. Thoughtful. Smart as hell. And you knew how to get what you wanted.”
Until today, I didn’t know I’d ever get what I really wanted. But now everything is finally falling into place.
Chapter 50
Nick
Chrissy walks into my office with a package I asked her to pick up, and she’s wearing a tight black dress, black stockings, black boots, and a short black jacket so I can still make out every curve of her ass. Maybe it’ll never happen between Chrissy and me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the way she looks in a tight black dress.
“Who died?” I joke.
“Someone out in Bensonhurst,” Chrissy tells me. She glances at her watch, “I gotta go to the funeral right after this.”
“Oh.” I shift in my wheelchair. “Sorry. I didn’t realize someone had really died. I thought it was just one of your usual classy ensembles. Anyone I know?”
She hesitates a long minute. “Jessica Schultz.”
I nearly choke. I lose all composure as I stare at Chrissy. “Jessie… died?”
Christ, I should have called her. Why the hell didn’t I call her? I had ten goddamn years to call her. And now… holy shit, how is this possible? What the hell happened to her? She’s only twenty-eight years old! How could Jessie be…
Whatever happened, maybe I could’ve stopped it. Or at least, I could’ve been there.
I think I’m gonna be sick.
“Oh, no.” She shakes her head vigorously. “It’s Jess’s dad.”
“Well, why the fuck did you tell me Jessie died?” Jesus Christ, sometimes I think she’s trying to give me a heart attack.
“You asked if it was somebody that you—”
“Never mind,” I say before she can launch into a stupid explanation. My heart is only beginning to slow to a normal pace. “I just… I didn’t realize you and Jessie kept in touch.”
“We didn’t,” she says. “It’s a recent thing.”
“Uh huh.” I’m biting my tongue to keep from asking my questions. How’s Jessie doing? What kind of job does she have? How’s she look?
Is she single?
But I don’t say it. There’s no point.
“You wanna come, Nick?” she asks me. “I’d love a ride.”
“I’m too busy,” I mutter.
I am too busy. The amount of work I’ve got to get through today is almost overwhelming. But that’s not the reason I don’t want to go to this funeral. And it’s not because Jessie’s dad was an asshole who got what he deserved either.
“Come on,” Chrissy says. “You know you’re dying to see Jess.”
“I’m not,” I say. “At all.”
“Bullshit.”
I shrug.
She folds her arms across her chest. “So you’re saying after all those years of obsessing over Jess Schultz, you don’t want to see her at all? Not even a teensy tiny bit?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Chrissy.”
I pretend to flip through some papers on my desk, but I can’t focus anymore. I keep thinking about Jessie’s smile. About her golden hair. About the way her lips felt on mine. About what it felt like to fuck her.
She’s the last girl I fucked while I could still feel it.
“You’re such a goddamn liar, Nick.” Chrissy shakes her head at me. “I’m going to this funeral. And I think you should come with me.”
I miss Jessie more than anything. But I made myself a promise all those years ago that I’d never let her see me like this. I’ll never walk again, so that means I’m never gonna see Jessie again.
Except it doesn’t seem right. A few minutes ago, when I thought she’d died, all I could think is that I should’ve called her when I had the chance.
“Come on, Nick,” Chrissy pleads with me. “If your father died, Jess would be there to pay her respects. You should go.”
She’s right, although my father deserves respect and Jessie’s doesn’t. Still. I have an excuse to go. I’ll never have another excuse like this to see her. Maybe this is fate telling me that it’s time to let go of my stupid hang-ups.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”
Jessie
My tears have dried up by the day of my father’s funeral.
There’s a period of time when I consider not going. After all, he essentially kicked me out of the house. He hit me and my mother countless times. He was a horrible person. But I go. Because he’s dead and it doesn’t matter to him whether or not I go to his funeral. Only my mother really cares, and I think she needs me there.
Also, there’s a tiny part of me that thinks Nick Moretti might be there.
It’s not entirely irrational. He almost certainly heard about my father’s death from Chrissy, who can’t keep her mouth shut. It seems reasonable he might want to pay his respects.
And once I see him in person, not just in tabloid photographs, I’ll know how I feel about him once and for all.
Seth takes a day off from work and goes with me, riding out on the D train with me in the direction of Bensonhurst. At this hour, the train is practically empty aside from us and the homeless people. Seth is wearing a dark suit, and I’m wearing a black blouse with a black suit-jacket and black skirt. We’re sitting across from a scraggly haired man wearing clothes he’s probably had on for a month that are almost certainly covered in urine. We look a little out of place.
Seth nudges my shoulder with his own. “How are you holding up, Jess?”
“Fine,” I say.
Seth raises an eyebrow at me.
“I’m fine,” I insist. “You know my father and I didn’t get along. It’s really… it’s not a big deal. I just want to get this over with.”
“But he’s your father,” he points out.
“Barely,” I mutter under my breath.
Seth is quiet for a second, eyeing the barely conscious homeless man in front of us. Finally, he says, “My dad used to beat my mom up too. When I was a kid.”
I look at him in surprise. I’ve known Seth for nearly a decade and this is something he never shared with me. Then again, I never told him about why I never visited my own father—he only found out when he heard me grilling my mother the other night. So I guess we’re even.
“He only did it when he was drunk,” Seth sighs. “But there was a period of time when that was… often. He never touched me. Ever. But I’d always hear shouting downstairs and then the next day, my mother would have a black eye or something.”
I look down at my hands, which look very pale against the black sleeves. “You never told me.”
“Well, it’s not exactly something I’m proud of,” he sniffs. “The worst part is I never stood up to him. I knew he was doing it and I never told him not to touch my mom. I guess… I don’t know. I was too afraid.”
Seth turns away from me. I can see his skin is flushed. I reach out to touch his shoulder.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say. “I mean, I feel guilty too. I could have called the cops on my father. I could have gotten her out of there or at least tried. But I never bothered.”
He doesn’t say anything but he reaches out and takes my hand. We sit in silence for several minutes until Seth breaks it: “Did he ever hit you?”
“Yes,” I say. I close my eyes against the memory of how he attacked me after what I still count as the best night of my life. “He did.”
Seth puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to him. “I’m sorry that happened, Jess. And… I’m sorry you never felt you could share it with me before.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It’s not Seth exactly—I haven’t shared what my father did with anyone who didn’t know me in Brooklyn. Yet now that I’ve told him, I’m glad I did. I feel closer to this man than I ever have in the course of our relationship.
“I’m sorry I’ve been working so hard lately,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m
just trying to make things good. For us.”
“Us?”
“For you and me,” he says. “You know, our future. You think about our future, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I murmur. “I do.”
I’ve been wondering a lot lately if Seth and I have a future. Recently, I’d been thinking we didn’t—that’s why I’d been hoping to get in touch with Nick. But now I think maybe we do. Yes, we definitely do.
“Good,” he says, “because I think about it all the time.”
I smile at him.
“Jessica.” Seth stands up abruptly from his seat. And then, to my surprise, he falls to one knee. He picks up my right hand in his.
Oh my God, no. He’s not doing this. He’s not asking me to marry him on the D train on the way to my father’s funeral. And ew, he’s kneeling in what’s probably years’ worth of grime and urine.
“Jessica, will you marry me?” he asks, his light brown eyes staring into mine.
“Oh my God, will you get up?” I eye the homeless guy snoring on the bench across from us. “It’s disgusting down there.”
Seth’s cheeks turn pink. He scrambles up off the floor and sits down on the bench next to me. He drops his head into his hands. “Sorry,” he mutters. “That was stupid. Sorry.”
He won’t look at me. I guess I can’t blame him.
“I will,” I say.
Seth lifts his face. His eyes are wide. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I poke him with my finger. “Just don’t ever kneel down on the floor of the subway again, okay?”
A grin spreads across his face. “You got it… Future Wife.”
“And where’s my ring, Future Husband?”
Seth snorts. “You really want me to give you a diamond ring on the D train? Do you want us to get our throats slit?”
Hmm. Good point.
I lean my head back on Seth’s shoulder and we sit that way the rest of the ride to Bensonhurst. And that’s how I remember the day of my father’s funeral as possibly the second best day of my life.
Chapter 51
Nick
The funeral for Jessie’s father is being held at St. Stephen’s Church. While I drive, Chrissy chatters the whole way, hardly seeming to notice that I haven’t said two words. I’m too nervous to listen to anything that Chrissy is saying. I’m about to see Jessie, the only girl I ever loved in my whole goddamn life. How can I focus on anything else?
Chrissy printed out a map before we left, and she holds it in her lap, directing me as we go. After twenty minutes of cruising around, following her directions, it’s obvious we’re lost. I pull over and snatch the map out of her hands.
“Don’t you know how to read a goddamn map, Chrissy?” I snap at her.
“Touchy, touchy,” she says. “Boy, you sure must be nervous about seeing Jess.”
I raise my eyes to glare at her, but drop them so I can figure out this map. I’ve got plenty to do today without spending the rest of the morning driving circles around Brooklyn. It’s not like I’m anxious to see Jessie or anything like that.
Five minutes after I commandeered the map, we come across a majestic brownstone church with a tall, green steeple, and three separate red doors leading inside, each of which has five stairs leading to them. I should’ve guessed there’d be stairs. The church my parents go to has ten steps to get inside, and no alternative aside from me getting carried up the stairs. That’s part of why I don’t go to church with my parents much anymore. Or ever, really.
Anyway, there’s no way I’m letting anyone carry me up these stairs. I shoot Chrissy a look.
“Relax,” she says. “I’ve been here before. There’s a ground level entrance in the back—I swear.”
I don’t know if she’s telling me that just to keep me from driving back to Manhattan, but I see a handicapped spot, so I grab it. Except the second I’ve parked the car, my chest feels tight. I loosen my tie with my thumb, but it doesn’t help. I can’t believe I’m seeing Jessie again for the first time in nearly ten years.
And it’ll be the first time she sees me in a wheelchair.
Chrissy unbuckles her seatbelt and leans forward to straighten out my tie. She brushes some lint off my shirt and her eyes linger on my face. “You look so good, Nick. Really.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I manage.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Chrissy shakes her head. “The way you act when you’re in meetings—honestly, you scare the shit out of me sometimes. You think I don’t know what you did to Marco Russo? Everyone knows. You’re one of the toughest guys I ever met. I don’t understand why you’re so terrified of a girl.”
I stare down at my hands. “I don’t know either.”
“So knock it off!” She punches me in the shoulder, which actually almost hurts. “Get out of this car and get her back, if she’s that important to you!”
I rub my legs, smoothing out the creases on my pants. I glance over at Chrissy, whose brown eyes are wide. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
Chrissy gets out of the car so that I can grab my wheelchair from the back. I pull out the frame, followed by the two wheels. I pop the wheels back into place, then unfold the frame. The chair is now ready for me to transfer into. In a few minutes, I’m going to be face-to-face with Jessie, sitting my wheelchair.
Except before I can make the transfer, I see a glimmer of gold that attracts my attention. I look up and I see her. Jessie. Jesus Christ, it’s Jessie. And she looks just as beautiful as I remember her, even dressed all in black, with her gold hair pinned up. She’s making her way to the church. And she’s not alone.
There’s a man with her. He’s young—maybe our age—and he’s tall and lanky. His arm is around Jessie’s shoulders, and she’s leaning her head against him. I watch him turn his head and kiss her on the forehead. She lifts her own head and smiles up at him. Then he kisses her on the lips.
It’s a church kiss—one appropriate for just outside the funeral of a father she hated. But I know a boyfriend when I see one.
“Who’s that?” I say to Chrissy, who is leaning against my car.
She squints at Jessie and the man, who are now walking up the steps of the church. “Oh. That’s her…”
“Her boyfriend.”
Chrissy’s face colors. “Well, yes.”
I sigh. “You couldn’t have told me she had a boyfriend, could you?”
“Look,” she says, “it’s just a boyfriend. It’s not like he’s her husband. I bet she’d dump him for you in a second.”
I look down at the wheelchair I was about to climb into. I feel like an idiot. What was I thinking? Jessie isn’t going to want me like this. Does Chrissy really think I’m going to go into that church and talk Jessie into leaving her tall, able-bodied boyfriend for me? If I go in there, she’s just going to feel sorry for me.
I reach for my wheelchair and pull off the right wheel. “I’m going home,” I say.
“Nick!” Chrissy cries. “Come on, are you serious?”
“I’m not getting out of this car, that’s for sure.” I pop off the left wheel and toss it in the back. “I’m sure you can find your way back home after the funeral.”
Chrissy is quiet as she watches me fold up the frame and put it back in the car. She straightens up and the next thing I know, she’s gotten back into the passenger’s seat. I frown at her. “What are you doing, Chrissy?”
“I’m coming with you.” She shrugs. “Funerals are depressing anyway. And Mr. Schultz was an asshole.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I say.
She rests her hand on my forearm. “Let’s go back to Manhattan. We could play hooky and go get a drink together.”
For the first time since I got in this car, I allow myself a tiny smile. “Thanks, Chrissy.”
She winks at me. “Just remember this when it’s time to give me a raise.”
She reaches out and takes my hand in hers. Chrissy has such soft hands. I try not to think about the fir
st girl I ever held hands with—Jessie, of course. When I was walking her home from school all those years ago. Nothing will ever be like that, but this is nice too.
And then a second later, Chrissy’s kissing me. And I’m kissing her back.
It helps me forget the pain.
Chapter 52
Jessie
As I’m walking with Seth to St. Stephen’s, I see the BMW in the lot adjacent to the church. It sticks out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood—nobody has an expensive car like that around here. I also notice one other detail:
It’s parked in a handicapped spot.
Oh my God, did Nick really come to the funeral?
Less than an hour earlier, Seth asked me to marry him and I said yes. I meant it. I do want to marry him. But at the same time, my heart leaps at the sight of Nick’s car in a way I haven’t felt in ten years.
I want to see Nick.
The desire to see him is almost overwhelming, especially when I notice movement from within the car. I want to rip away from Seth and run over to say hello.
“How are you holding up, Jess?” Seth asks me. “You look… a little pale.”
“I’m okay,” I say. I can’t admit that the reason I’m distracted has nothing to do with my father. It has everything to do with one of the people attending the funeral.
When I see Nick, I’m not sure what I’ll say. It’s not like I’m going to leave Seth. I love Seth.
Except…
I don’t know what to do. But when I see him, I’m certain it will all be clear. I just want to see him.
“Hey,” I say to Seth, “go ahead inside without me. There’s an, um, relative that I want to say hello to.”
Seth frowns at me, but he’s not going to start arguing with me at my father’s funeral. He heads in through the doors to the church, and I’m left alone. To approach the owner of the mysterious BMW with the handicapped plates. I’ve been wrong before when I thought I spotted Nick, so I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up too much.
The Girl I Didn't Marry Page 22
