On Second Thought
Page 38
“No, it’s not,” Leo said. “Sorry, kid. There’s a pound in Tarrytown. Time to get a cat.”
I shook my head. “No, really. I know he sounds like an idiot, but he’s been an amazing boyfriend for a long time. Eleven years. He just freaked out when Nathan died. Before that, he was almost perfect. Right, Kate?”
“There’s a group for divorced people down the hall,” Lileth said, smiling her fake smile. “I’m sure they’d be more than supportive with your, ah, unfolding drama. But we have our own issues—”
“I’m sick of our issues,” Janette said.
“Me, too,” said George. “Kate, was he really perfect?”
Kate blinked. “Um...well, no one’s perfect.”
“So what you’re saying is, he was a self-centered bastard,” Leo said.
Kate winced. “No, not...well, not a bastard. He was—is—self-centered, though. I mean, don’t you think so, Ainsley?”
I shifted in the hard chair. “Yeah, well, he’s also smart and funny and nice.”
“He called you a corpse,” Leo said.
“Metaphorically.” My face was hot. Defending Eric wasn’t easy, but we had eleven good years. Great years. “It was the cancer, then Nathan dying. He just panicked. He’ll come around.”
“Before or after his Alaskan adventure?” George asked.
“The Discovery Channel makes it look so great, doesn’t it?” Bree said. “I wonder if I should pack up the kids and go up there.”
“There are a lot of single men,” I said. “You know. For when you’re ready.”
“Keep us in the loop,” Janette said.
“Will do.”
It seemed as if my public humiliation had greatly cheered the mourners, and for that, I was genuinely glad. Our hour was up; Lileth pointed out the cookies and coffee and her availability for one-on-one discussion and reminded Kate to read the tome of rules before next week, then smiled that mournful, practiced rictus.
I snagged a couple of cookies and walked with my sister down the hall.
“How do you feel?” I asked as we went outside. The earlier mist had stopped, and the air smelled like wet soil and copper. Kate stepped around an earthworm—funny, I’d forgotten that she was afraid of them.
“I’m okay,” she said. “A little embarrassed.”
“You’re entitled, Kate. And everyone in the group has been through it, and here they are,” I said. “Doing okay. Still alive.”
“True.”
“I really liked Leo. And LuAnn. My God, that eye shadow is fantastic! And I think I might fix Gram-Gram up with George when he’s ready.”
Kate smiled a little. “Yeah, everyone was very...kind.”
“Think you’ll go again?” Since this had been my suggestion, I really wanted it to work in my endless need to win Kate’s (or anyone’s) approval. For a second, I pictured her calling Sean to complain about me. Ainsley forced me to go to this horrible group, then all she talked about was Eric.
“Maybe. Yeah. It was a good idea, Ainsley. Thanks for coming with me.”
“Of course! Anytime.”
The church basement door opened, and there was Jonathan Kent, still dressed in his suit, a trench coat draped over his arm. He lurched unsubtly to a stop at the sight of me.
AA? NA? It gave his personality a little color, if also a crippling addiction.
“Hi,” I said, since he obviously wasn’t going to.
“Ainsley.” His strange blue eyes shifted to Kate. “Hello,” he said.
“Hi, Jonathan. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. It’s good to see you.”
“Thanks. You, too.” She sounded sincere.
For a second, I pictured them as a couple, then rudely shoved that image away. No. Jonathan Kent was not her type.
Even if he was.
Which he wasn’t.
“Can I have a moment of your time, Ainsley?” he said.
“Of course, Mr. Kent.” I batted my eyelashes at him, strangely and suddenly irritable. “I’ll just be a second, Kate.”
“Take your time,” she said, getting into the car and checking her phone.
Jonathan came around to my side of the car and looked at the pavement, a lock of hair flopping over his forehead as if he were a Regency duke.
His hair had flopped the night Nathan died, too.
“You need a haircut,” I snapped.
He looked up, startled.
“Sorry,” I said. “What is it, Jonathan?”
He lowered his gaze to my chin. Probably I had a pimple there. My fingers twitched, wanting to find out. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention my presence here tonight.”
“At Alcoholics Anonymous?” I suggested.
He didn’t blink.
“NA, then?”
Still nothing.
“I won’t say anything. I assume it’s the divorce group.”
His face didn’t change. Then again, it never did. “Have you spoken to Eric yet?” he asked. “I would very much like a commitment from him.”
I would very much like? People didn’t talk like that in real life. “No, I haven’t. He’s on my shit list at the moment.”
“I thought so. I sent him a message this afternoon after your early departure. We’re meeting him in the city next Friday for drinks. Eric, you and I.”
“What? No, we’re not!”
He looked to the left, his jaw tightening. “Ainsley, you petitioned very hard to get The Cancer Chronicles linked to Hudson Lifestyle. Now—finally—people are reading that ridiculous blog. Traffic on the entire site today was up 9,000 percent. If you’d like to keep your job—indeed, if you’d like to do your job, which would be refreshing—I strongly suggest you make yourself available. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I was busy sputtering and therefore unable to answer. It was probably best... I didn’t want to cuss my boss out—but how dare he? I didn’t want to see Eric!
Except I did. I wanted to see the old Eric, the one who loved me and didn’t think I was a corpse.
Jonathan had already walked away. I got in my car and slammed the door.
“You okay?” Kate asked.
“Peachy,” I said, started the car and headed for Kate’s. A bath in that soaking tub was definitely on the agenda. And a nice violent television show. Game of Thrones.
I was in the mood for beheadings.
Chapter Fourteen
Kate
I woke up the day after the grief group with a glorious revelation.
I didn’t have to be sad anymore! I’d been so sad these past few weeks, shaking in my sleep, for God’s sake, scared and stunned, feeling like a cannonball had gone through my chest and taken out everything.
But I could be done with that. My duty was fulfilled. Already, the grief group had worked wonders.
Symbolically, I was lying in the middle of our huge bed. My huge bed. No more sleeping on the left side. Also, the sun was streaming through the windows, and I could see the Japanese cherry tree, laden with impossibly pretty blossoms, gently swaying in the wind.
The mourning period was over.
Those others in the group last night—Leo losing his pregnant wife, poor Bree with the little ones, Janette watching her husband waste away, George after forty-three years—they had it rough. They had processing and stages and stuff.
I shook my head. “No, really. I know he sounds like an idiot, but he’s been an amazing boyfriend for a long time. Eleven years. He just freaked out when Nathan died. Before that, he was almost perfect. Right, Kate?”
“There’s a group for divorced people down the hall,” Lileth said, smiling her fake smile. “I’m sure they’d be more than supportive with your, ah, unfolding drama. But we have our own issues—”
“I’m sick of our issues,” Janette said.
“Me, too,” said George. “Kate, was he really perfect?”
Kate blinked. “Um...well, no one’s perfect.”
“So what you’re saying is, he was a self-centered bastard,” Leo said.
Kate winced. “No, not...well, not a bastard. He was—is—self-centered, though. I mean, don’t you think so, Ainsley?”
I shifted in the hard chair. “Yeah, well, he’s also smart and funny and nice.”
“He called you a corpse,” Leo said.
“Metaphorically.” My face was hot. Defending Eric wasn’t easy, but we had eleven good years. Great years. “It was the cancer, then Nathan dying. He just panicked. He’ll come around.”
“Before or after his Alaskan adventure?” George asked.
“The Discovery Channel makes it look so great, doesn’t it?” Bree said. “I wonder if I should pack up the kids and go up there.”
“There are a lot of single men,” I said. “You know. For when you’re ready.”
“Keep us in the loop,” Janette said.
“Will do.”
It seemed as if my public humiliation had greatly cheered the mourners, and for that, I was genuinely glad. Our hour was up; Lileth pointed out the cookies and coffee and her availability for one-on-one discussion and reminded Kate to read the tome of rules before next week, then smiled that mournful, practiced rictus.
I snagged a couple of cookies and walked with my sister down the hall.
“How do you feel?” I asked as we went outside. The earlier mist had stopped, and the air smelled like wet soil and copper. Kate stepped around an earthworm—funny, I’d forgotten that she was afraid of them.
“I’m okay,” she said. “A little embarrassed.”
“You’re entitled, Kate. And everyone in the group has been through it, and here they are,” I said. “Doing okay. Still alive.”
“True.”
“I really liked Leo. And LuAnn. My God, that eye shadow is fantastic! And I think I might fix Gram-Gram up with George when he’s ready.”
Kate smiled a little. “Yeah, everyone was very...kind.”
“Think you’ll go again?” Since this had been my suggestion, I really wanted it to work in my endless need to win Kate’s (or anyone’s) approval. For a second, I pictured her calling Sean to complain about me. Ainsley forced me to go to this horrible group, then all she talked about was Eric.
“Maybe. Yeah. It was a good idea, Ainsley. Thanks for coming with me.”
“Of course! Anytime.”
The church basement door opened, and there was Jonathan Kent, still dressed in his suit, a trench coat draped over his arm. He lurched unsubtly to a stop at the sight of me.
AA? NA? It gave his personality a little color, if also a crippling addiction.
“Hi,” I said, since he obviously wasn’t going to.
“Ainsley.” His strange blue eyes shifted to Kate. “Hello,” he said.
“Hi, Jonathan. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. It’s good to see you.”
“Thanks. You, too.” She sounded sincere.
For a second, I pictured them as a couple, then rudely shoved that image away. No. Jonathan Kent was not her type.
Even if he was.
Which he wasn’t.
“Can I have a moment of your time, Ainsley?” he said.
“Of course, Mr. Kent.” I batted my eyelashes at him, strangely and suddenly irritable. “I’ll just be a second, Kate.”
“Take your time,” she said, getting into the car and checking her phone.
Jonathan came around to my side of the car and looked at the pavement, a lock of hair flopping over his forehead as if he were a Regency duke.
His hair had flopped the night Nathan died, too.
“You need a haircut,” I snapped.
He looked up, startled.
“Sorry,” I said. “What is it, Jonathan?”
He lowered his gaze to my chin. Probably I had a pimple there. My fingers twitched, wanting to find out. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention my presence here tonight.”
“At Alcoholics Anonymous?” I suggested.
He didn’t blink.
“NA, then?”
Still nothing.
“I won’t say anything. I assume it’s the divorce group.”
His face didn’t change. Then again, it never did. “Have you spoken to Eric yet?” he asked. “I would very much like a commitment from him.”
I would very much like? People didn’t talk like that in real life. “No, I haven’t. He’s on my shit list at the moment.”
“I thought so. I sent him a message this afternoon after your early departure. We’re meeting him in the city next Friday for drinks. Eric, you and I.”
“What? No, we’re not!”
He looked to the left, his jaw tightening. “Ainsley, you petitioned very hard to get The Cancer Chronicles linked to Hudson Lifestyle. Now—finally—people are reading that ridiculous blog. Traffic on the entire site today was up 9,000 percent. If you’d like to keep your job—indeed, if you’d like to do your job, which would be refreshing—I strongly suggest you make yourself available. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I was busy sputtering and therefore unable to answer. It was probably best... I didn’t want to cuss my boss out—but how dare he? I didn’t want to see Eric!
Except I did. I wanted to see the old Eric, the one who loved me and didn’t think I was a corpse.
Jonathan had already walked away. I got in my car and slammed the door.
“You okay?” Kate asked.
“Peachy,” I said, started the car and headed for Kate’s. A bath in that soaking tub was definitely on the agenda. And a nice violent television show. Game of Thrones.
I was in the mood for beheadings.
Chapter Fourteen
Kate
I woke up the day after the grief group with a glorious revelation.
I didn’t have to be sad anymore! I’d been so sad these past few weeks, shaking in my sleep, for God’s sake, scared and stunned, feeling like a cannonball had gone through my chest and taken out everything.
But I could be done with that. My duty was fulfilled. Already, the grief group had worked wonders.
Symbolically, I was lying in the middle of our huge bed. My huge bed. No more sleeping on the left side. Also, the sun was streaming through the windows, and I could see the Japanese cherry tree, laden with impossibly pretty blossoms, gently swaying in the wind.
The mourning period was over.
Those others in the group last night—Leo losing his pregnant wife, poor Bree with the little ones, Janette watching her husband waste away, George after forty-three years—they had it rough. They had processing and stages and stuff.
