Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
CONRAD
Great, just what Mirabeth needs. More people expecting to chit-chat. Or more specifically, her of all people.
Alisa stands from the couch, having sat there and waited for who knows how long, interrupting the pressing conversation I need to have with Mirabeth. Even better—not—she’s shown up in a silky, black robe, the belt knotted tight at her waist, wearing slippers that I’m pretty sure I once gifted her.
“I need to talk to you,” Alisa says to me, chewing the inside of her cheek.
Mirabeth says low with agitation, “I’m going to bed. I’ll leave you two to it.”
I snag Mirabeth’s elbow when she tries to leave, pulling her into my side. “So talk,” I tell Alisa. Anything she needs to say to me can be said in front of my wife. Anything that can’t be said in front of my wife, I don’t want to hear.
Alisa darts her eyes to the side when one of our neighbors trudges up the stairs. “Can we go inside?”
“I guess,” Mirabeth mutters. This exhausted impatience is a new side of her, and it’s wholly understandable, given how far I’ve pushed her; how many people I’ve introduced her to in the short time we’ve known each other; and also the fact that my ex-fiancée has shown up to our apartment in the middle of the night, half-dressed.
I’ll have to do something to make it up to Mirabeth. An orgasm or two and a snack would be a good start. Preferably tonight. Like, within the next ten minutes. I might even finally tell her I know about her secret tote and that every day, it makes me even more excited about our future.
Mirabeth sighs as she unlocks the front door, and I step inside first to run interference in case Merlin is in a bad mood after we left him alone for so long. Sure enough, I have to catch him midair, though he purrs, tucking his head under my chin.
“I hope you’re as good with our kids as you are with Merlin if they turn out to be as spoiled as he is,” Mirabeth says. She jolts and looks up sharply. “I meant, your kids, like, way, way, way in the future with your real wife.”
“You are my real wife.” I yank her into me and drop a kiss on her forehead.
“For the next three years,” she says, looking off to the side.
“About that—”
I’d already forgotten Alisa was here until she reminds me, loudly clearing her throat, interrupting me once again when she’s the last to step inside.
Looking left and right, it takes her less than five seconds to check out the apartment, and then she stands there awkwardly, just inside the door.
I’d tell her to take a seat at the drafting table—definitely not on my bed that I share with my real wife—but I’m hoping my ex won’t be here long enough to need one.
“What on earth did you need to tell me in the middle of the night that couldn’t have waited until morning?” I ask Alisa in a not-so-friendly manner.
She does exactly what I don’t want—she drops onto the edge of the bed, as if the weight of the world is heavy on her shoulders. I bite back the demand that she get up at once.
Alisa’s voice is only a step above a whisper when she says, “I know I should’ve waited, and that you probably don’t want to see me, but I couldn’t. It’s been eating at me nonstop since your party.”
I don’t particularly care what’s been eating at her, and I motion my hand for her to hurry up. It’s just our luck that tears well in her eyes, and Mirabeth disappears into the kitchen to get Alisa a paper towel. Alisa takes it with a twinge of a smile and dabs at her cheeks.
“Spit it out,” I tell Alisa, the longer she makes us wait, internally groaning when I’m reminded of uttering those same words to Mirabeth only a few minutes ago.
I’ve never been so short with Alisa before, and she’s surprised as she regards me.
“I wanted to say how sorry I am for the way I left you when you were sentenced. Abandoned you like that when you needed people in your corner most.” She swallows, dropping her chin to her chest. “And then, to make it all worse—I’m so sorry—I didn’t know you wanted to name our son after Andrew,” Alisa finally says with a rush, flicking her eyes nervously to Mirabeth.
Mirabeth goes rigid beside me while I gag at the thought of having children with Alisa. “If you’re implying that Drew is mine, I hate to break it to you, but I know how to count.”
At this, Mirabeth lets out an audible exhale, and I tug her closer, wrapping an arm around her back to grip her waist that may or may not start expanding soon if I don’t get my urges under control. Which I won’t. Can’t, even if I wanted to.
“No. No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Alisa’s chin quivers, and she soaks the paper towel with her tears. “But he would’ve been yours. If I had known, back then, that you’d get out so soon, I wouldn’t have married Brad. But I’m so—”
“Seriously? Right in front of me?” Mirabeth peels my hand off her waist and sweeps open the front door. “Get out.”
“That sounded bad. I promise I didn’t mean—I mean, I love Brad. He—” Alisa cringes away from Mirabeth’s low growl.
Huh. I quite like that, this possessive streak from Mirabeth, even as the sick feeling I got when Alisa said our son makes my stomach revolt.
“Brad was there for me when you went to prison, and he treats me like a queen.” Alisa worries her bottom lip with her teeth.
“Congratulations. I’m happy for you,” I say, shooing Alisa toward the door. “Tell my brother I said ‘hi’ when you get home.”
“I’m sorry,” Alisa says once again, standing and shuffling toward the front door. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone. I just…just needed to apologize, and I wanted to say—”
“I don’t care what you want. Bye,” Mirabeth says, holding the door open wider for Alisa to step out. “I’m going to get ready for bed,” she says to me quietly, covering a yawn with the back of her hand.
I go to close the door, intent on following Mirabeth as she strides to the bathroom, wanting to pick back up where we left off with our conversation.
Alisa captures my wrist. “Please, Conrad, I don’t want to leave things like this again.”
I shake Alisa’s hand off. “What do you want?” I ask, none too kindly, though I don’t care any more than Mirabeth does.
“Other than to come here and disrespect my wife and my marriage? Do you think I wanted to hear that you would have waited for me? That I wanted my wife to hear that shit? It’s fucked up. ”
“I’m so sorry. I really didn’t think…This was a bad idea.” She sighs. “I just hope we can move on from the past and maybe even be friends. That’s all.”
“Not likely,” I say.
“Ok, then…I’ll settle for civil. For things not to be so tense, since we’re going to be seeing each other at family functions for the rest of our lives, ok?
” Alisa looks up with a plea. “I want Drew to know and love his uncle. He really is an angel, and he deserves to grow up in a happy family, even if his parents messed up.”
I shove my hands in my pockets as I consider her request. Finally, I say without hostility, “I want that too.” After all, Drew will be my future kids’ cousin, and I want them all to get along and be as close as I was to my cousins before their family relocated all the way to Massachusetts.
“Good, I’m glad,” Alisa says, relaxing her shoulders with relief, pulling her robe tighter across her chest when a breeze sweeps across the balcony. “Will you apologize to Mirabeth on my behalf? I truly didn’t mean any disrespect.”
I shake my head. If she wants to apologize, she can do so herself.
She turns to go, but hesitates. “Can I at least give you one last hug?” When my upper lip curls, since I don’t particularly want to touch her ever again, she says, “It would mean a lot to me.”
Anything that’ll get you to finally leave, I think to myself. Though I lean a shoulder forward to accept Alisa’s hug around my neck, I leave my hands hovering in the air. I’m already pulling away half a second later when she cups the back of my head, turns her cheek, and pecks my lips.
Fury ignites in my blood, and I jerk away, my stomach in my throat. “What the fuck?” I hiss, wiping my mouth with disgust.
“I’m sorry, so sorry! I swear I didn’t mean to do that,” Alisa says in a rushed whisper, her eyes widening as she covers her mouth with both hands. “Stupid force of habit. I promise, it was an accident. Please don’t tell Brad. It would break his heart.”
Dropping my voice lower, I say, “Then figure out how to break the habit, because that shit cannot happen again. Ever.” Though I don’t know if the kiss, as accidental as it was, would break Mirabeth’s heart, I make Alisa promise not to tell her either.
I can’t stand the thought of Mirabeth so much as feeling a flicker of hurt or distrust. “And this is the first and last time you show up at my apartment, you hear me?”
“I won’t, I promise.” Alisa grimaces as she backs away. Before she turns, she calls out, “Will I see you at your parents’ anniversary dinner?” When I nod reluctantly and ask for more details, she says, “Give me your new number, and I’ll text you.”
Mom had dropped my phone line while I was in prison, then activated a new one shortly before I was released, and I silently seethe over what’s happened as Alisa and I exchange numbers.
Afterwards, I close the door, throw the lock, and say good riddance to one problem, needing to face another—Mirabeth’s mistaken assumption that I’m going to disappear in three years.
As cliché as it is, as the saying goes, when you know, you know, and even just this short whirlwind with Mirabeth has been long and intense enough for me to know that there is no longer an expiration date on my marriage. Now, she’s the one who needs to know.
Mirabeth exits the bathroom just as I enter, and she ducks around me without a glance, her face red and raw after scrubbing off her makeup. Wearing one of my thick sweatpants, the drawstrings are double and triple-knotted, cinched tight around her waist.
Dammit, I was really hoping to get a repeat performance of her knee on the vanity.
Double-dammit that she dives into bed and whips the comforter up over her head, scooting so close to the breakfast bar wall that she’s plastered her length against it.
She’s still pissed at me, I see, pretending to be asleep when I finish getting myself ready for bed and climb in beside her.
Cuddling her, I bend my knees behind hers and snake my arm around her waist. Any attempts at conversation are met with more and more unconvincing snoring, her body rigid and tense when I lightly stroke my fingertips along her belly beneath her shirt.
I finally get the hint—she’s not open to any discussion about our future.
Not tonight. So I give up, for now, since she needs her rest. I kiss the back of her neck while Merlin curls into a ball on my pillow above my head.
Nuzzling my face into Mirabeth’s hair, I breathe in her sugary scent, like I will every night from now on, and murmur, “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Except, we never do.
And it’s not for lack of trying.
After a brutal workout, one week later—anything to take my mind off Mirabeth, if even for a moment—and taking a long shower, I pick up the driftwood that Sam had left over from an old project and let me take home.
I grab my new whittling knife and hover at Mirabeth’s shoulder where she’s sitting at her drafting table.
“Want to sit outside and watch the sunset with me?” I ask.
“You know I’m on a deadline,” she says quietly, slumped low in her chair as she moves her pen across her tablet, working on the portrait I’ve commissioned for my parents’ anniversary.
Mirabeth is so talented, bringing the portrait to life.
I can guarantee my mom and possibly even my dad will be moved to tears when they see it.
“Just for a few minutes?” Something cold settles in my bones when she goes stock still, tensing after I slip my fingers through the back of her hair, and I shakily pull my hand away, my heart lodged in my throat.
“Not tonight.”
“Tomorrow then?”
“Maybe,” she says with a shrug, but that’s what she said the last four times I’ve asked.
I took things too far that night we went to Big Hart’s dance hall.
The old, feisty Mirabeth is gone, and in her place is this new, quiet Mirabeth who can hardly look at me.
I’m only allowed to touch her when we’re in bed at night, though not in the way she used to let me.
Long gone are the days when she would curl into my side while we watched the sun dip behind the horizon, then stroke my hair with my head on her lap as we watched TV.
Sex has been completely off the table. Even if she did allow it, I wouldn’t want to with her being so closed off to me, emotionally.
Mirabeth is much like how Andrew had been—introverted and reserved when upset.
My brother would isolate himself when working through something big internally.
From my experience living with him, I know that if I keep trying to force the issue with Mirabeth, she’ll only shut down on me further, and I don’t want to repeat past mistakes by imposing my will.
So after continuing to hover for only a minute longer, hoping Mirabeth will change her mind and join me, I leave her be and take my sorry ass outside.
Where once the beauty of watching the last of the sun casting vibrant hues of purples and reds would bring me to tears, it’s the thought that I may have irrevocably broken our marriage with my selfishness that does so now.