“How do you know that?” I ask as I trail behind him.
He shrugs. “When Alexandra was pregnant, I read a lot. I wanted to be prepared in case she went into labor at a family function, or if we got stuck in a cab together during rush-hour traffic.”
He unzips the bag and adds, “I would’ve had to gouge my fucking eyeballs out afterward, of course, but it would’ve been worth it.”
I smile.
He takes me by the shoulders and sits me down on the edge of the bed. “Just . . . put your feet up. Rest.”
Then he turns toward the dresser and takes a stack of my T-shirts out of the drawer, placing them neatly in the suitcase. He doesn’t look at me as he works.
“You’re helping me pack?”
He nods stiffly. “Yep.”
“But you still don’t want me to move out?”
“Nope.”
“And . . . you still think it’s a stupid idea?”
“Yep. You don’t have many stupid ideas-but even if you did, this would be the dumbest of them all.”
He takes another pile from the drawer as I ask, “Then why are you helping me?”
He drops the pile in the bag and makes eye contact. And his face says everything that he’s feeling-frustration, resignation . . . devotion.
“In the last two years, I’ve probably told you a dozen times that I would do anything for you.” He shrugs. “It’s time I put up or shut up.”
And this . . . this is why I love him. I suspect it’s why you love him too.
Because despite his faults and flaws, Drew is bold enough to give me everything he’s got. To put his heart on the chopping block and hand me the ax.
He’ll do things he hates, just because I ask him to. He’ll go against his instincts and better judgment, if it’s what I need. He puts his well-being, his happiness, second to my own.
I stand up, wrap my arms around his neck, and press my lips to his. A moment later, my feet leave the floor and his hand buries in my hair. His mouth captures my moan as he presses me closer.
I pull back and tell him, “You’re amazing.”
He gives me a soft smirk. “That is the general consensus.”
I smile. “And I love you.”
He sets my feet on the floor but keeps his arms around my waist. “Good. Then you’re going to let me put three locks on the door of whatever apartment you decide to move into. And a chain. And a dead bolt.”
I smile wider. “Okay.”
Drew slowly steps forward, backing me up toward the bed.
“And you’re not going to bitch when I have a security system installed.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We take another step together, almost like we’re dancing.
“I’m thinking about buying you one of those ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ necklaces too.”
My eyes squint as I pretend to think about the idea. “We’ll talk about it.”
“And . . . you’re going to let me walk you home from work every night.”
“Yes.”
The back of my legs make contact with the bed frame.
“I’m also going to come to every doctor’s appointment with you.”
“I didn’t for a second imagine you wouldn’t.”
Drew cups my face in his hands. “And one day, I’m going to ask you to marry me. And you’re going to know it’s not because you’re pregnant, or because of some misguided attempt to keep you.”
Tears spring into my eyes as we gaze at each other.
In a rough voice, he continues, “You’re going to know I’m asking because nothing would make me prouder than to be able to say, ‘This is my wife, Kate.’ And when I do ask, you’re going to say yes.”
When I nod, one tear trails down my cheek. Drew wipes it away with his thumb as I promise, “It’s a sure thing.”
And then he’s kissing me, with all the passion and desire he’s held in check the last two days. Drew cradles my head as we fall on the bed together. Then I arch up, and heat spreads across my stomach and down my thighs as I rub myself against where he’s already hard and ready.
Resting his elbows on the bed above my shoulders, Drew lifts his head and pants, “So . . . is this make-up sex . . . or break-up sex? Because I have really fantastic ideas for either one.”
I open my legs wider, nestling Drew between them. “It’s definitely make-up sex, maybe a little bit of take-a-break sex. And a whole lot of last-day-in-the-apartment sex. That’s a lot to cover-so it’s going to take a really, really long time.”
Drew smiles. And it’s his boyish, delighted smile-one of my favorites-that only comes out on very special occasions.
“I adore the way you think.”
And we don’t leave the bed for the rest of the day.
Epilogue
Eight months later
So . . . I’ve gone back to church. Every week. Sometimes twice a week.
Yeah-it’s me, Drew.
Long time no see. Miss me? Judging from the “I’d like to shove your dick in an automatic pencil sharpener” look on your face . . . I’m guessing that’s a no.
Still pissed, huh? Can’t say I blame you. It was a solid three weeks before I could look at my reflection in the mirror and not want to kick my own ass. In fact, one night I was out with the guys celebrating a massive deal Jack closed, and after one too many shots of Jäger, I begged Matthew to punch me in the nuts as hard as he could.
Because I couldn’t stop seeing the look on Kate’s face when she walked in the door that horrible night. It replayed in my head over and over, like one of those awful films on cable that’s constantly on, but no one ever watches.
Lucky for me, Matthew refused. Even luckier is that fact that Delores wasn’t with him, since I’m sure she would’ve been more than happy to oblige. Yeah-the list of asses I’ve had to kiss over the last few months is long. Assembly-line worthy. Kate, Delores, Carol, my father, Alexandra . . .
I stocked up on lip balm-didn’t want to chafe.
You’ve missed a lot. I’ll try and fill you in.
Images
What do you know about rebuilding years? Every great baseball team has them. Hell, the Yankees have one every other year. The goal of a rebuilding year isn’t to win the World Series. It’s to develop your strengths, recognize your weaknesses. Make your team solid . . . strong.
That’s what those weeks were like for Kate and me after she moved the fuck out. It didn’t take her long to find a new apartment. One bedroom, furnished, decent part of town. It was small . . . my sister called it quaint. If I was being objective, I’d say it was pretty nice.
But objectivity’s not exactly my strong suit, so it was a dump. I hated it-every square inch.
That first Monday when Kate and I returned to work wasn’t pleasant. My father hauled us into his office and sat us both down for The Lecture.
It’s a punishing technique he developed during my teen years, when he realized smacking me for my transgressions wasn’t as effective as it used to be. The old man’s a talker-Wendy Davis has got nothing on him-and he could go on for hours. There were times when I actually would’ve preferred him to hit me; it would’ve been so much easier.
The long verbal flogging he employed that particular day with me and Kate involved words like “disappointed” and “bad judgment,” “immaturity” and “self-reflection.”
In the end, he explained there were two great loves in his life-his family and our firm-and he wouldn’t allow one to cannibalize the other. So, if Kate or I ever let our personal lives affect our professional performance again, one or both of us would be looking for a different place of employment.
Overall, I thought it was pretty benevolent of him. If I’d been in his shoes, I would’ve fired my ass. Afterward, when we told him he was going to be a grandpa for the third time . . . Well, let’s just say that news went a long way to mending our fences.
Kate and I saw each other every day, at work and after. There were no sleepovers, but there were dates-dinners, shows, walks in Central Park, marathon telephone conversations that rivaled the yappiest teenaged girl’s. We talked a lot. Guess that was kind of the point.
Nothing was off limits. Everything was on the table. We talked about our insecurities-self-doubts are like weeds; if you don’t deal with them right away, they multiply. And before you know it, your garden looks like a jungle in Vietnam.
Kate accused me of using sex as a weapon and a security blanket. And I told her she freezes me out-she shuts down, so I have no way to know what she’s really thinking. Between the two of us, we had enough issues to fill a whole season of Dr. Phil.
Who knew?
Getting it all out in the open helped. I talked so much about my feelings, it’s a wonder I didn’t sprout tits.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.