“Are you going to hire a maid to vacuum all day?”
“Well, actually, I have another plan.”
“I don’t know if my heart can take any more plans. What now?”
“I want you to quit your job to focus on your art.”
“I can’t do that. I won’t make any money, and even if I did, it would be sporadic. I’ve supported myself my whole life. I am not interested in becoming a dependent.”
“I am not planning on you being a dependent. I am investing in your business.”
I narrow my eyes and glance around the room. “I don’t have a business.”
“Your art is your business. Let me explain. When our parents died, they left me and Eve a lot of money. Eve used hers for her sons’ college funds, but I saved mine.”
He rests his head on a pillow and looks away. “Many times I wanted to tell Noreen to quit her job and focus on her art. I had the money to allow her to do it. For a long time I felt guilty that I wasn’t more generous, but I also knew she couldn’t handle it. She liked the structure of a real job. Anyway, I’m sorry for going back to that to illustrate my point.”
I touch his hand, nudging him to go on. “I know you would thrive in an independent work situation, and your job is not your passion. I want to give you money to get your work off the ground. Whatever you want it to be. I can pay the bills here, so your money is just for you and your expenses.”
My teary eyes are the answer, but I quietly say, “Okay, I accept your insanely beautiful and lavish offer.”
I move over to his lap, and put my arms around his neck, admiring the sparkle of my new diamond. Quickly I grow anxious again. “I still don’t know if I can get over my feelings about your past…and Noreen’s memory.”
“Megan and I are going to tackle this house, starting tomorrow. She told me I was fucking things up with you, and she’s right. The best thing I can do for Noreen is let her rest in peace. We’ll take her ashes to the mountains near the campground she loved, and scatter them. We’ll bring Eve, too, once she recovers from her impending hangover from hell.”
“Yeah, I don’t know if she’ll be very helpful.” I smile and want to tell him all the funny things she was saying, but that can wait. The nagging feeling of uneasiness is still clawing at me.
“So you’re sure you won’t give up on me if I act insecure from time to time. I may not always be a perfect, understanding wife.”
“In the words of our buddy, Jeff—all women are nuts.”
I punch him in the arm, and he rubs the spot, pretending it hurts.
“That could be a little bit true, but we have good reasons.” I playfully peer at him and continue. “Old fears are hard to overcome. Even though you think we’re all nuts, how do I know you won’t trade me in for a lesser wacko? After all, I’m still a teensy bit afraid of ghosts, too.” I squeeze my fingers together to highlight the size of my worry.
“Why would I want a different wacko? I have the best one.”
We laugh and I cover his face with kisses. He continues to cradle my body in his lap, until we finally crawl off to bed before the sun comes up. I grab the suitcase off the bed while he’s checking the front door locks, and kick it into the closet, quietly shutting the door.
As I brush my teeth and remove what’s left of my makeup, I stare at the ring on my finger, and begin to count all of the reasons my life will be better than ever as a wife and artist, yet I will face new challenges. But isn’t that part of being alive, and something we should cherish instead of dread?
I think of quitting my job on Monday. No more toilet paper complaints or dealing with horny middle-aged men who can’t keep their junk in their pants. Just the one I’m going to grow old with.
I smirk at my little joke, and get in bed. Steve is already snoring. The poor guy must feel abundant relief now, or at least I hope he does. I lay down next to him and kiss his cheek, and for once it feels like we’re alone.
THE END
THE JUGGLING ACT
Read Chapter One of Book 3 in the hilarious and heart-warming Rom-Com on the edge series by Carol Maloney Scott.
Now that her dating days are finally behind her, Claire is enjoying a blissful life with her new husband and baby boy. Gone are the drunken nights in impractical shoes, and Internet dates with men who lose their hair…and their pants.
Unfortunately, she’s discovering that life as a married, working mom isn’t turning out to be the perfect happily ever after she dreamed about. She adores her little boy, but her husband’s behavior is about to make him eligible for the Most Disappointing Spouse of the Year Award.
His unwillingness to help around the house and his slacker work ethic are frustrating enough, but the constant parade of beautiful, single women in his life has Claire in a constant state of distress. Didn’t she realize that the cute front man of a popular cover band would attract hot, young women with perfect cellulite-free legs? And whose idea was it to hire the curvy nanny with the sexy accent?
When an unexpected business trip pops up – with a super-hot, much-too-young former love interest, Claire’s own loyalty is put to the test. A publishing conference in Key West may be the ideal escape from her troubles, but will she be tempted by the forbidden in a town full of swingers and breakfast alcohol consumption? And why does everyone they meet think the business colleagues are on their honeymoon?
Scrambling to cover up innocent, but suspicious circumstances, the couple struggles with honesty, loyalty and what to share with each other. As they sink deeper into their marital gloom, will they find their way back to wedded bliss, or finally succumb to the enticement of new…and uncomplicated romance?
THE JUGGLING ACT
CHAPTER ONE
Claire
“I don’t care if we leave the damn thing up until Valentine’s Day.”
I study the sparkly monstrosity in front of the living room window with dread. The pine needles are forming a sizable pile on the tree skirt, and it’s a wonder both baby and wiener dogs haven’t choked on the prickly green reminders of their parents’ negligence.
“Why don’t we go for St. Patrick’s Day? It fits in with the green theme. By Easter we could hang some eggs on it. Maybe stick Aidan’s stuffed bunny on the top?”
Brandon smiles and squeezes his little boy, while I scowl at him with multiple ornament boxes in my arms.
Fourteen-month-old Aidan revels in the attention, and in turn squeezes his stuffed bunny, Mr. Hoppy. In all fairness to his parents, we do keep the pocket doors shut during the holiday season, so that Aidan can’t toddle in and get into tree mischief, and the wiener dogs, Dixie and Duncan, can’t eat the wooden pieces off the tree skirt and generally destroy the entire room.
“You’re hilarious. You know, I have to go back to work on Monday, and I’m stressed out, and—”
Brandon rises from the couch, holding Aidan in the flying position, straight at Mommy.
“Kiss your baby, and stop worrying.”
Aidan giggles and reaches out for me. I take him and plant him on my hip. His giggling causes me to crack a smile, but I look more sternly at my young, handsome husband.
“Are you going to help me?”
“Yes, Claire, but it’s Friday, and we have the whole weekend. I’m wiped out from last night. Playing a gig on New Year’s Eve takes a lot out of you.” Brandon sits back down and runs his fingers through his thick, sandy hair.
“I was there, too. Remember? And I was up early this morning, taking the dogs out and feeding Aidan.” I kiss my son’s head and widen my eyes at my slothful husband.
“Well, if I remember correctly, it was your idea to give Tatiana the long weekend off for New Year’s.”
“Well, I thought it was only right. She only has one relative in town, and she also needs to mingle and make some friends. I don’t like the way she looks at you.”
Brandon rolls his eyes. “I have no interest in the nanny. And besides, hiring her was your idea. I know she comes cheap, and you’re
helping out Ron and Natasha by employing her sister, but I thought we were doing just fine before she came along. Right, little buddy?” Brandon gets up and touches Aidan’s chubby hand, which is flailing about in excitement.
“You could not possibly have continued trying to take care of Aidan while I’m at work, and work on your writing and your music. This way you have the time to put in a full workday. I thought I was helping you achieve your dreams.” My expression softens as I channel my mother’s words—nagging the shit out of a man never accomplished anything.
Brandon grabs me, and holds both me and our baby close, whispering in my ear. “You are too tense. It will get done. Stop worrying.” Breaking the embrace, he says, “Now I’m going downstairs to work on a few things in my studio, and get in today’s word count on my novel. Tonight after dinner, I will take the ornaments off the tree and throw it in the woods.” He touches my chin, lifting it up to catch my eyes. “Okay, Princess?”
I grimace and relent. “Fine, I’ll go fold some laundry, and maybe take the dogs for a little walk while Aidan naps.” Aidan squirms, signaling that he wants to get down. I carefully place him on the ground, and he plops on his butt.
Brandon kisses both of us, and heads down to his basement work area. As soon as he opens the pocket door, the doggie twins come running in, almost knocking into Aidan, who bursts into hysterics every time he sees his furry brother and sister.
I gather up my brood and lead them out of the living room. Dixie is my four-year-old black and tan, short hair mini dachshund. I brought her into my life at a time when my maternal instinct was high, but my prospects for motherhood were low. I had been recently divorced, and forced to have a hysterectomy after suffering several miscarriages toward the end of my marriage. My ex-husband, Ron, was insensitive, but seems to love being a dad to his two-year-old daughter, Galina, with his new wife, Natasha.
Natasha is Ron’s Russian Internet bride, but contrary to some foolish rumors, he just met her on the Internet. She’s obviously not a mail order bride. Ron seems happy, and I no longer hold any resentment towards him. Natasha’s sister, Tatiana, moved to Richmond this past summer, and her need for work coincided with our need for help at home. In exchange for room and board, and a small salary, Tatiana is now the nanny in the Harmon household.
Instead of dragging the whole gang upstairs, I haul the basket of clean laundry into the kitchen, and start folding the clothes on the table. Aidan plays with his feet on the floor, while he dodges puppy kisses. To keep all the little ones happy, I distribute warm, just out of the dryer, blankets to all three delighted recipients.
Duncan is the newest addition to the family. He was adopted in the summer and is now only nine months old. Still a puppy, his behavior is challenging, and I don’t have the time to properly train him. Not that I have any dog training skills whatsoever, which is evidenced by Dixie’s track record of pooping in shoes and eating couch cushions.
Duncan is a long haired, red mini dachshund, with a more easy going personality than Dixie, who is the canine drill sergeant, yet sweet protector, of the home. Dixie is sleek, with a beautiful face, and Duncan is a handsome clown with curly ears.
Brandon didn’t want the second dog or the nanny, but he finds it hard to say no to me. Our whirlwind romance only began less than three years ago, and already we are married with a one-year-old.
Already in my later mid-thirties when we met, I was eager to start a family, and Brandon’s connections in the adoption world made it easier for us to find a newborn through a private adoption. His successful novels, based on his own experiences as an adopted child, have earned him near rock star status in adoption circles.
He finally turned thirty last year, and could have waited longer to become a father, but he wanted to make my dream of motherhood come true. Unfortunately, I find myself tense a great deal of the time, even more so than when I was out drinking, and generally screwing up my life, in my post-divorce dating period.
I adore my precious baby, but I underestimated how being a working mother was going to affect me, and our relationship, despite the warnings of my own mother and several friends who have kids.
Aidan was born a month after our wedding, and while we were excited to become instant parents, it has been quite a revolution to adjust to our new lifestyle. I work full time at Bella Donna Press as an Acquisitions Editor, and my job has become more demanding over the past couple of years. Brandon’s flexible, work at home endeavors, which include writing and fronting a rock band, aren’t stable employment. However, I believe in his creativity and I want to help him succeed. I just wish he would stop throwing his underwear on the floor and take the trash out once in a while.
The doorbell interrupts my laundry folding rhythm, and I tentatively approach the front door. No one ever knocks unexpectedly for any good reason. I don’t want Girl Scout cookies or whatever else anyone is peddling. I hold the dogs back with my foot, pick up Aidan and crack open the door.
“Hey, Claire.” Huge pale blue eyes stare at me, in the tiny, porcelain doll face of my new tenant, Diamond.
When I moved into Brandon’s two story Cape Cod style home, we rented out my two story colonial across the street. Originally it was rented to an odd single man by the name of Oscar. He paid the rent on time and was quiet. Then again, that’s what the neighbors of serial killers always say about them.
Unfortunately because we were busy getting married and becoming instant parents, we didn’t notice that Oscar had painted the entire inside of the house black, or that he kept an army of smelly gerbils in the downstairs bathroom. As new landlords, we vowed we would learn from this experience, and make more visits to our rental property to check on things, as it was only across the cul-de-sac.
“Hi, Diamond. Oh, and I see little Ruby.” Her equally pale blond, blue-eyed daughter pokes her head from behind her mommy’s pencil thin legs. Diamond’s skinny jeans hug every curve and bit of bone structure, and her sequined halter top is an odd choice for a single mother, at home alone with her baby, on New Year’s Day. It’s also thirty degrees outside. I look down at my own cable knit sweater and feel frumpy.
Diamond smiles and scoops up her daughter, who was already reaching out for Aidan. At this young age, my son already has a girlfriend. Because Diamond doesn’t work, and Brandon is home all day as well, Aidan and Ruby have frequent play dates during the week. Therefore, I worry about my husband also having a girlfriend.
“Is Brandon home?” My raised eyebrows cause her to hesitate, and she adds, “He told me last night was awesome, and I wanted to hear about the audience reaction to the new songs. You must be so proud. I wish my ex would have taken Ruby. Staying home on New Year’s Eve sucks.”
My first inclination is to tell her Brandon was abducted by aliens, but I’ve been working on my self-control lately, so I invite my neighbor in before she catches pneumonia, and the little girl turns into a vanilla popsicle. At least Diamond had the good sense to put a coat on her daughter.
She enters the foyer and immediately greets Aidan and the dogs loudly. “Oh, aren’t you so sweet? Yes, you are such good little babies.”
Dixie and Duncan return the enthusiasm with licks and twirls. Aidan hugs his little friend and almost pulls her to the floor. I take Ruby’s coat and lead everyone to the playroom, which is really a main floor family room that now looks like Disney World after a cyclone blazed through it.
“Brandon’s downstairs working and I don’t think—”
“Hey, I’m here.” He looks a bit breathless, as if he sprinted up the stairs when he heard we had company. Or is this just my imagination?
Diamond and Brandon begin talking about the show last night. Clearly Brandon texted her after the performance, probably to wish her a Happy New Year. How else would she know the night was successful?
So everyone loved the original stuff?” Diamond’s already bulging eyeballs grow larger as she hangs on Brandon’s every word.
Since turning thirty, Brandon has ramped
up his efforts with his rock cover band, Chain. Once content to play well known rock anthems in local bars, he now wants to write original music with his band members, Max, Jon, Rob and the latest addition, a female singer named Zoe. I was supportive at first, but now it seems that he is spending a disproportionate amount of time on this endeavor, and less time on his writing (which does earn money), and helping around the house.
I watch my husband and the young blond with the anime eyes and collagen enhanced lips, and can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. I’m still thin and reasonably attractive at thirty-eight (for another month). I have been told my own blond hair and brown eyes are a striking combination, and I am often complemented by men of all ages. Unlike Diamond, I didn’t give birth to a child, but honestly how could she have lost all of her baby weight with no residual damage in eighteen months?
“Claire, hello. You’re zoning out again, Honey. Are you okay with the babies for a few minutes while I show Diamond what I’m working on?”
I swallow hard and tuck murderous thoughts to the back of my mind, where my hope for domestic bliss still resides. “Sure, no problem.” I smile and watch Brandon disappear with the new neighborhood floozy.
My best friend, Jane and I used to jokingly refer to me as the ‘neighborhood floozy’ because I was the only single woman on a street bursting with mommies. Now I have what I’ve always wanted—to be one of them, and sometimes I long for my own slutty, sequined tops and seasonably inappropriate clothing.
I open Aidan’s largest toy box and start absentmindedly handing out stuffed animals, puzzles, games and other toddler amusements. Aidan has now discarded Mr. Hoppy for other delights, and as the little ones giggle and throw toys all over the room, I settle back against the wall, holding a memory of my own attractiveness.
Afraid of Her Shadow Page 36
