Unexpectingly Happily Ever After

14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourtee n

Friendships should be cherished with other women; know that other non-mothers might feel resentment and bitterness for the amount of time you spend on your children.

A Young Woman’s Guide to Raising Obedient Children

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid, (1943)

“ H is name is Bron?” Brit screeches the next morning.

“His name’s actually Ron but because of his size, they always called him brawny Ronnie. So now he’s Bron.” Despite the late night, Morgan is the first one awake, showered, and ready.

″Just how big is he?” Brit asks, still in her satin pajamas. She’s not asking Morgan how tall Bron is.

″We had coffee last night. Only coffee,” Morgan assures us. I still had to share the bed with her last night; I had been both impressed and slightly disappointed that she returned to the hotel room moments before the promised one hour. “He’s taking me to breakfast this morning.”

″Are you sure he’s a stripper?” Brit asks despairingly. “I thought they were all drinking and drugs and sex after shows.”

″He’s nice,” Morgan protests. “He’s not like that.”

I glance at Morgan. I’ve known her for almost twenty-five years, and while Morgan tends to keep her feelings tucked close to her chest, unlike more emotional me, I’ve learned to read her long ago.

She likes this guy. She likes him a lot.

″You’ve been watching too much Magic Mike ,” I say to Brit. “I’m sure they’re not all like that.”

″He’s getting us tickets for the show tonight,” Morgan promises. “The Power of the Tower. It’s always sold out.”

″That’s nice of him. I guess he wants you to see him dance.”

″Actually, he doesn’t,” Morgan laughs. “He says he’ll be too self-conscious with me in the audience. But I begged him. I said if I was going to be getting to know him better, I need to see it for myself, rather than imagining the worst.”

″You’re going to be getting to know him better?” I ask at the same time Brit cries out. “Strippers are not self-conscious! Who is this guy?”

Morgan only shrugs with a soft expression in her eyes. “He’s Bron.”

″At least you’re getting something out of it. We have appointments at the spa in an hour,” Brit reminds her.

″I might be a little late for that,” Morgan hedges, heading for the door.

And then she’s gone, not giving me a chance to ask what the heck was going on.

″I can’t believe she just did that,” Brit says in a quiet voice after the door closes behind her .

″She must really like him.”

″Well, she needs to like me better since I organized this weekend to celebrate our friendship,” Brit says in a haughty voice.

″Celebrate our friendship?” I echo. “That’s nice enough, but I thought this was your stagette?”

Brit gives a wave. “That’s what all the little girls from last night called it. Hens’ nights. Bachelorette parties. I’m beyond that.”

She stalks through the room, heading for the terrace. Her focus seems to be shifted away from Morgan, but I can read Brit even better than Morgan and something is off. “Have you talked to Justin?” I ask as she pulls open the door. We’re high enough that the sounds from The Strip are a faint buzz, like white noise.

″This is a girls’ weekend, so why would I talk to him?”

″I’m going to talk to J.B. now,” I call as she steps outside.

″If you must.”

It’s not like I need her permission. I connect to FaceTime. Even though I’m sleep rumpled and still wearing last night’s makeup, the good thing about being married is that J.B. has undoubtedly seen me look worse.

With the time difference, it pains me that I’ve missed seeing the kids before they went to school, but J.B.’s smiling face answers the call. “Hey, babe.”

″Are the kids okay?”

″And I miss you too. Are you having fun? The kids are fine–sent them off to school with money for lunch.”

″You have to send them food for lunch!” That’s the grin I love, the one that shows his dimple. “I miss them.”

“I know. They miss you too.” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up. It’s eleven-thirty back in Toronto and usually, he would be getting ready to head to the restaurant. But I can tell he’s wearing one of those soft T-shirts that stretch at his broad shoulders, so he must be working from home. I can’t believe how good it is to see J.B. It’s only been twenty-four hours but all I want to do is stare at the phone, rememorizing the lines and curves of his face. I wish I was home so I could throw my arms around him and press my nose into his chest to breathe in his J.B. smell.

But if I wasn’t here, I would be at school, with eighteen 5-year-olds, breathing in their special scent of glue and crayons.

″Tell me what trouble you’ve gotten into,” J.B. demands with another grin, this one that has the butterflies in my stomach taking flight, even after six years of marriage.

″Morgan met a man,” I report. “He’s a stripper.”

″Do I want to know how she met him?”

″Perfectly innocently–we were at a bar and he had all his clothes on. But she’s got us tickets to see his show tonight.”

J.B. raises an eyebrow. “That will be interesting.”

″Do you mind? Because I’m not asking permission.”

″You shouldn’t have to.” He frowns. “Do you want me to mind?”

″Not really. What’s been going on there?” I ask eagerly. “Kids, you…”

″Nothing exciting since we talked to you last night. They loved the video from the casino, by the way. How much did you win?”

″I still haven’t gone back to cash it in,” I admit, making a mental note to do that today. I tell him about last night, what we ate in the restaurant and because he’s into mixology, the different bars, and clubs, and drinks we had.

I glance up when Brit comes in from the terrace.

″Are you still talking? ”

I wave the phone at her. “Hi Brit,” J.B says, pasting a smile on his face. He does his best, but Brit’s never been his favourite person. He gets along much better with Morgan. “Happy bachelorette party.”

″Hi, J.B. Do you want to get breakfast when you’re done talking?”

″I would love to go to breakfast with you, Brit,” J.B. replies.

″Unfortunately, you’re not invited,” Brit says rudely. “Casey? I’m famished.”

Famished means she might have an egg with her yogurt and fruit. “Yep, I’m hungry. Just a sec.” I turn back to J.B.’s face. “I’ll try and call when the kids are home from school.”

″If you can’t, don’t worry. Your sister invited us for dinner tonight. Apparently, she doesn’t think I’m capable of feeding my children. Wonder how she got that idea?”

″I didn’t say anything about cooking,” I protest. “I miss you.”

″I miss you too. Stay out of trouble.”

″No promises.” I kiss the screen and end the call. When I look up, Brit is staring at me.

″You’re still so sappy.”

For once, her comment doesn’t sound like a criticism. I shrug. “I still love him.”

″Well, I don’t expect that will change but you’re always so miss you, love you , mwah, mwah, mwah. ″ She makes kissing faces to go with the sound effects.

″I’m sorry if it offends you,” I say stiffly.

″It doesn’t offend me.” She pauses and I pull myself off the bed, thinking that she’s finished. But she’s not. “It–you’re the only one of the three of us to have found that with someone. I guess I’ve never realized how rare that is, that kind of love.”

Mystified, I only stare at her. Was that a compliment about my relationship? But before I can ask, her expression tightens. “Get dressed. Let’s go get something to eat.”

I get dressed in record time and Brit and I find a suitable place for breakfast. As much as I try to bring the conversation back around, it’s clear Brit is back on her no- talking-about-men mantra.

I watch her eat blueberry pancakes swimming in syrup. It’s a first for her. In all the years we’ve been friends, I’ve never witnessed Brit enjoying a meal when we go out. She goes for the low-fat, no-flavour things when we’re out in public.

It’s not just this morning; last night she had pasta for dinner, plus dessert. Her own–no sharing like I sometimes do with Morgan.

″Why are you staring at me?” Brit interrupts my observation.

″Because I never see you eat like this,” I tell her honestly.

Brit shrugs as she forks up another mouthful of pancakes. I went for the eggs Benedict like I always do, but for once am regretting my decision. The pancakes look good.

″Is everything okay?”

She meets my gaze with a steely-eyed look. “Why do you ask?”

″Because…you’re eating. And you seem more anti-men than usual. I can’t put my finger on it.”

Brit gives me a roll of her eye. “I’m not anti-men.”

″Anti-our men, then. More than usual. Normally you would have gotten all the details out of Morgan about last night by now.”

″I don’t think there were many details to be had. They had coffee.”

There’s a hint of irritation in her voice, more than usual. “You’re being a bitch,” I say in a quiet voice. “More than usual.”

Brit stares at her plate. “I know.”

Brit has always been a difficult person to like, with her lack of empathy for my issues and hard-ass approach to life. But she’s very easy to love when she lets down her guard, which she’s done many times in our years of friendship. And she’s always been there for me when I needed her the most, just like I always have been for her.

″Could you stop?” I ask. No accusation. There’s no need. Brit is almost as close to me as my sister, which is why she treats me like she does.

And I don’t bother asking her what’s bothering her. I know Brit will tell me when she’s ready.

″I’ll try.”

I nod and return to my eggs. “What’s Lacey up to these days?”

I can tell Brit is making an effort to sound less bitchy as she tells me the latest hijinks her younger sister Lacey has gotten up to. The cloud seems to pass from her face as we talk and begin to laugh together, and by the end of the meal, I’m once again reminded that Brit can be fun.

It’s nice to have a day with her.

We don’t see Morgan until the middle of the afternoon when she finds us sunning by the pool. Her hands are full of daiquiris. “I brought gifts,” she says with a nervous glance at Brit. Morgan missed the morning at the spa, the hours Brit and I spent wandering the shops of the hotel. Both of us would have liked to explore The Strip, but there was so much to see right there in the hotel.

I brace myself for the tongue-lashing guilt trip, prepared to jump in to save Morgan.

″You better bring more than gifts,” Brit says, reaching for one of the daiquiris. “We expect details.”