California Girls

by Susan Mallery

  “Mom, just stop. Ali’s a grown woman who knows what she’s doing,” Finola said, trying to take in everything her mother had said without getting distracted by the fact that her sister had apparently moved in with a guy she’d fallen for and hadn’t said a word. Although her first instinct was to get mad at her sister, she had a feeling that the real problem was more about her. In truth she’d barely been in touch with Ali over the past few weeks. They’d once been so close, but somehow that had been lost.

  Finola assumed they were equally to blame—each of them had been dealing with so much upheaval and there hadn’t been a lot left for reaching out. Still, she should have made more of an effort.

  Oh no, she thought, remembering the last time Ali had mentioned Daniel was helping with canceling the wedding. She’d talked about him in glowing terms and Finola had warned her not to make a fool out of herself. No wonder she hadn’t heard from Ali.

  “You’re not listening to me,” her mother complained as they sorted through dishes in the large hutch. The estate sale was fast approaching and there were still cupboards and closets to be sorted. Finola had promised they would finish the dining room today.

  “I’m listening, Mom, but I’m thinking, too. I’m thinking Ali was with a guy who didn’t love her the way he should have, and we should be happy that she’s with a good guy now.”

  “But we don’t know he’s a good guy. What if he’s worse?”

  Finola thought about what her sister had said about Daniel. “He was there for her from the first moment Glen dumped her. He stepped in and took care of things. He’s a good guy.” Which her sister had been trying to tell her for a while, only she hadn’t been listening. “Ali knows what she’s doing. We should give her a little credit.”

  “Knows what she’s doing?” Mary Jo’s voice rose two octaves. “She practically got stood up at the altar.”

  “Yes, and my marriage is in shambles and you got a divorce, so let’s not cast stones.”

  Her mother glared at her. “You’re being very magnanimous all of a sudden.”

  “Let’s just say I’m trying to make up for past behavior.”

  “Fine.” Her mother sniffed with displeasure. “Think the best. It’s all going to fall apart. I just don’t know where I failed my daughters.”

  Finola decided not to get into that. She shifted the subject to how they were going to advertise the estate sale and managed to get through the rest of the morning. When she left around noon, she sat in her car and texted her sister.

  Mom told me about your broken arm. Please let me know how I can help. Finola hesitated before adding, I heard about Daniel, too. I was wrong before about what I said. I’m glad you’re together and I hope he makes you happy. Love you.

  She’d barely pushed Send when her phone buzzed with a text. How on earth had Ali answered so quickly? Only it wasn’t Ali. The text was from Nigel.

  Can we talk? I’d like to come by. Are you free today?

  She went hot and then cold. Her insides flipped and she didn’t know if she should cry or just throw up.

  I’m at my mom’s. Give me an hour and I’ll meet you at the house.

  See you then.

  Finola sucked in a breath, not sure what to think. She backed out of the driveway and made her way home. She thought about changing her clothes, or putting on makeup or something, then decided that what she should do was breathe. The rest would take care of itself.

  Nigel arrived fifty minutes later. She heard the garage door open. She thought about going into the living room, but that seemed too formal. Instead she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table.

  He walked in seconds later. He looked as he had on the interview—older and thinner. Tired. Part of her wanted to go to him and hold him. Part of her wanted to bolt. But nowhere inside did she feel smug or pleased that things had obviously gone badly for him with Treasure. She didn’t want him punished—not anymore. Mostly she wanted not to feel sad.

  He got himself a cup of coffee and sat across from her. They stared at each other for several minutes until he finally spoke.

  “Hell of a thing.”

  “I saw the interview,” she said. “I assume if it’s not over, it will be soon. Treasure doesn’t strike me as the type to take that kind of information well.”

  “It’s over.” He dropped his gaze to his coffee. “I was a fool. It’s the oldest story in the book. I thought I was getting something better, something that would last, and I was wrong on both counts.”

  Finally, she thought, waiting for the sense of relief, of rightness. At last they could pick up the pieces of their marriage and start over. They could go into counseling and forgive each other. She could even get pregnant.

  Only there wasn’t much of anything. It was as if she’d felt so much over the past weeks and months, she was drained of all emotion.

  “I don’t know how much you want to know,” he began.

  “I don’t want to know anything. It doesn’t matter.”

  He looked at her then. “I know what I did was unforgivable. The things I said to you.” He shook his head. “How I blindsided you. How I acted about the ski trip—all of it. I’m ashamed, Finola, and broken. I’m sorry. I can’t say that enough. We were so good together and I screwed that up. I destroyed something wonderful and precious. I ripped our lives apart and for what? An affair? It’s pathetic.”

  He was visibly shaking. She found herself feeling bad for him, but also a little dispassionate, as if she weren’t truly in the moment.

  “I know there were problems in the marriage,” he continued. “But that’s not an excuse. I should have talked to you. I should have told you how I was feeling. I’ve been doing some reading on infidelity. I’m a fairly classic case, it turns out.”

  He wrapped his hands around his mug and looked at her. “Say something, please. Tell me we can try or that I should go to hell. Whatever you want. Scream at me, throw something. Tell me I’m a bastard and you’ll never forgive me. I deserve it all.”

  “Just like that,” she said, more curious than upset. “A month ago she was a drug and now you want to come back?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Nigel, you were wrong. Not just the affair but how you didn’t have my back. You undermined me and you mocked our marriage publicly.”

  “I did. You’re right.”

  “How am I supposed to trust you not to follow the next flirty woman who promises you the world? How can I ever believe that I matter?”

  “Trust has to be earned. We’ll get help. Finola, I want to make this right.”

  She wanted to believe him—she wanted to know that the pieces could be put back together. That the broken bits weren’t unmendable, that instead they would heal as scars, that in the end, they would be marred but still together and stronger for what they’d endured.

  But even if she could get over what had happened, what about the rest of it?

  “Do you know what’s in my office?” she asked, surprising herself with her words. “Pictures of me with politicians and celebrities. Awards, certificates. Do you know that I have never bothered to serve on a charity board? I’ll show up to events. I’ll sign a check, but God forbid I commit to doing actual work on a regular basis. I put my career first, Nigel. It was more important to me than our marriage. You should have told me you were unhappy but I should have seen it for myself. I should have guessed there were problems.”

  “My practice has suffered,” he told her. “My partners are pissed at me and I’m going to have to work to build back their trust. They’re giving me a chance, Finola. Can’t you give me one, too? I’ll do the work. I’ll show up and take the steps and be here.”

  “Did you even hear me?” she asked gently. “I’m saying some of this is my fault.”

  “No, it’s mine. All mine. I see that now.” He stretched his han
ds toward her. “We’re a team, Finola. We’re so good together. Give me a chance. Please.”

  She placed her hands on his, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin. She thought of all she’d been through, of how her life had been shattered. She thought of her behavior and who she’d become. There were only a handful of relationships she could be proud of. She’d done right by Rochelle and she’d been a decent daughter. She was going to do better with her sisters. As for Nigel...

  “You were wrong,” she said, releasing his hands. “But let’s be honest. Treasure’s a symptom, Nigel, but she’s not the real problem. We both know that.”

  His eyes filled with tears. “Don’t. Don’t say we can’t make it. Don’t say it’s over.”

  She wasn’t going to. She’d never been going to say that. She wanted them back together. They had so much history and potential and she’d wanted them to get back together from the second he’d first told her about the affair. And now she didn’t.

  The truth was soft and unexpected, flowing into her brain like a cool breeze. She had no idea what she did want, but it wasn’t her marriage. Maybe there had been a time when the damage could be fixed, but that time had passed. They’d both gone in different directions.

  “You’ve already decided,” he said, wiping his face. “I ruined everything.”

  “No, Nigel. We ruined it together. Both of us. We let it slip away and now it’s gone. I’m sorry.”

  He nodded.

  She rose and went around to his chair. He got to his feet and then they were holding on to each other. She gave in to tears and they stood there, crying for what they had once had and what had been lost.

  It took a few minutes for them to recover. They returned to their seats and looked at each other.

  “We’re really doing this?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Where are you staying?”

  “In a hotel.”

  “That’s expensive. Why don’t you move in here? I’ll go back with my mom. We’ll get the house ready to sell.”

  It wouldn’t take much—not only was the market always hot for this neighborhood, the place was beautiful and in perfect condition. She would miss the house, she thought sadly. She would miss a lot of things.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll check out of the hotel.”

  “I can be out by tomorrow. I just need to let her know and grab my things. We can sort out the rest of it later.”

  She spoke so calmly, she thought, somewhat surprised by her lack of emotion. She was probably numb. The shock and pain would come later, but for now she was just in the moment, watching her marriage end and wishing things had been different for both of them.

  “I’m not going to be an asshole about the divorce,” he said. “We’ll split what we have and walk away.”

  “I agree.”

  And there it was, she thought with resignation. The end.

  They went upstairs. Finola packed the suitcases she’d so recently unpacked. Nigel wandered around. He came out of his closet holding a wrapped package she’d nearly forgotten about. For the first time since they’d started talking, she felt a stab of pain in her gut.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Don’t. I bought that back when I thought we were going to Hawaii. Don’t open it, Nigel. You don’t want to see—”

  He didn’t listen. He pulled off the bow and ripped the paper, then lifted up the cover of the box. Inside were yellow booties, a small jar of flavored body dust and a silly fluorescent vibrator. He looked at her.

  “I don’t understand.”

  She felt the pieces of her shattered heart crumble and turn to dust. “It was for our week in Hawaii. I thought we could work on getting me pregnant.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and broke into sobs. Finola gently laid a hand on his shoulder. So much had been lost, she thought grimly. They could have had it all and now they had nothing, and they were each very much to blame.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Regret didn’t begin to cover what Zennie was feeling. She still had months to go and already her body was turning into something she didn’t recognize. Her boobs didn’t just throb, they were growing. Her emotions continued to simmer just below the surface. That morning, in the OR, she’d been so caught up in the beautiful dance that was heart surgery that she’d nearly started to cry. She was a mess and she was pissed at herself for agreeing to have Bernie’s baby in the first place.

  Who did that? Who did it without considering the consequences? That would be her. She’d blithely agreed to something momentous without a second thought and now she was paying the price. She was trapped with a baby growing inside of her and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Dr. Chen watched as new team member Dr. Kanji carefully closed after the surgery. Zennie collected the dirty instruments and equipment. On her way past, Dr. Chen said, “Zennie, would you meet me in consult room three in ten minutes?”

  Her head snapped around as she stared at Dr. Chen over her surgical mask. She nodded once and hurried out of the OR.

  Ten minutes later, she was a swirling mass of nerves. What if he was going to fire her? What if he yelled at her? Dr. Chen didn’t like change or incompetence or any disruption to his OR. He was a perfectionist and demanding and while she’d always prided herself on being his equal in her own way, she was filled with doubts.

  She returned to wheel the patient to the recovery room and passed on Dr. Chen’s instructions. He would check on him several times before he was taken to the cardiac care unit. Zennie left recovery and went directly to the consult room where Dr. Chen waited.

  She did her best not to look wary and defensive as she closed the door behind her. Dr. Chen motioned for her to sit down across from him at the small desk.

  The consult rooms were used for just that—consultations with the family before surgery—usually in an emergency. They offered some privacy, although they were far from soundproof. Zennie told herself to be grateful Dr. Chen wasn’t a screamer and made a mental note to not cry. As if a stern instruction would make a difference to her wayward hormones.

  “There’s something going on, Zennie,” Dr. Chen said flatly. “I’m not much of a people person, but even I’ve been able to guess that. So far it’s not affecting your work, and I’m grateful, but I would like to know what the problem is. Maybe I can help.”

  The unexpected offer made her smile. Dr. Chen helping her while she was pregnant. Um, no.

  “I’m fine,” she began.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve always trusted your integrity. Don’t make me doubt it now.”

  Ouch. “I’m fine,” she repeated. “But there has been a change in my life.” She hesitated, wondering if she could put off the conversation a few more months. That had been her initial plan, but now she was stuck.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said, meeting his steady gaze. She explained about the artificial insemination and Bernie and how far along she was.

  “I’m healthy and I have excellent medical care. There’s no reason to assume I won’t be able to continue working in the OR for several more months.”

  She’d meant to stop there. That was all the man needed to know. But somehow she found herself continuing to talk.

  “It’s just so much harder than I thought it would be,” she admitted. “I feel emotional all the time. The smells aren’t getting to me, so that’s good, and I don’t have morning sickness, but my body is changing and the food I have to eat is disgusting. I thought I ate fairly healthy but I am so sick of being told how many servings of dairy I need in a day. I have to cut back on my running and I miss coffee and wine and I know this is a good thing and I love my friend, but sometimes I feel really alone and scared and then I start crying.”

  On cue, tears filled her eyes. “See? It’s a nightmare and now I�
�m worried you’ll take me out of rotation.”

  Dr. Chen opened a drawer and pulled out a box of tissues. She grabbed one and blotted her eyes.

  “Are you wearing support stockings?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Support stockings. You’re at risk for varicose veins and the support stockings will help with that.”

  “I’m wearing them.” And they were one more insult to her life. “I thought I’d be a better person. I thought I’d get pregnant and be happy the whole time and I’m not. I don’t want an abortion or anything, but this is a lot harder than I thought. My mom isn’t very understanding and some of my friends have been awful. Clark’s back in my life, which is weird, but nice. He’s a good guy. We’re just friends this time, and I like that.”

  “I have no idea who Clark is.”

  “I know. Sorry. I’ll stop talking now.” She consciously pressed her lips together in an effort to silence the flow of words.

  “Zennie, you’re the best nurse on my team. I don’t want to lose you. I’m glad you told me what’s going on.” He leaned toward her. “You’re doing a good thing. Of course you have doubts—you’re human and this is a huge thing to take on. But you’ll get through it. As for work, I’m going to trust you to tell me when you aren’t comfortable handling the long hours on your feet. Given how fit you are and your age, I’m guessing you can go several months, but at some point, you’re going to have to transfer out of the unit.”

  More tears. “I don’t want to.”

  He smiled. “I don’t, either, but it will just be temporary. Trust me, I’ll be counting the days until your return.”

  “You promise?”

  The smile widened. “Yes. Now to get yourself through this, work on strengthening your core and your back. That will help you manage the standing. Also, get Clark to rub your feet for twenty minutes a day. Studies show it helps with lower leg circulation.” He winked. “And I’ve heard it feels nice.”