Chapter Thirty-Five
THIRTY-FIVE
MAVEN
Remembering how cryptic Ronan was about having someone watching the house, I told Ezra I’d meet him at the restaurant. It’s better this way, anyway, because it feels like less of a date if he doesn’t pick me up.
I know he agreed to the whole we’ll-just-be-friends thing, but you don’t drive seven hours to see a friend who recently broke up with you, even if they did get fired from their job.
The math isn’t mathing.
This feels more like an errant knight galloping in on his white horse thinking he’ll save the day. If that’s the case, this meal is about to be very fucking depressing.
He’s waiting for me inside the door of the Italian restaurant. Hoping this place doesn’t have any large blocks of cement intent on falling onto my head, I greet him with a wave. The hostess guides us to our table, then leaves after taking our drink orders.
I say, “I’d like to ask you a question, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind. What is it?”
“Why didn’t you mention the staff meeting when we spoke on the phone?”
He takes the linen napkin from the table and drapes it across his lap, then straightens his plate until the pattern around the edges lines up with his cutlery.
“I thought you already knew. It never occurred to me that Luce wouldn’t have told you first. But you sounded so strange, so unsettled, I made the decision to take today off and drive up here to see you.”
Glancing up from his plate, he meets my eyes. “You seemed like you could use a friend.”
There’s that word again. It’s possible he’s a bit confused about the definition.
“That was really thoughtful of you.”
“Were you able to get in touch with Luce?”
I shake my head. “I left a voicemail. Email, too. I don’t know if she’ll call me back. I have a feeling I’ll either be dealing with HR or legal.”
His eyes darken. “It’s shitty the way they did this. You’re such a valuable member of the team.”
“That’s kind of you to say. I still can’t wrap my head around it.”
“Have you given any thought to what you’ll do next?”
My chuckle is humorless. “It’s a little soon to make plans. I’m going to concentrate on the martini I’ve got coming. That’s about as far as my brain will take me. These past few weeks have been crazy. I can’t seem to find my footing. Every time I turn around, a new disaster awaits.”
“It’s understandable that you’re upset. You’ve had a lot of upheaval to deal with.”
By the tender look in his eye, I can tell he’s adding our breakup into the mix. Uncomfortable, I shift in my seat and pray for that martini to arrive.
Fortunately, the wait is short. The drink is cold, bracing, and delicious. I sip it, surprised to see Ezra guzzling his glass of red wine. He’s never been much of a drinker.
“You’re nervous,” I note, watching him.
He pushes his glasses up his nose and laughs. “I forgot how intimidating you are one-on-one.”
“Ezra, this is just my face. I can’t help that it scares people.”
It doesn’t scare Ronan one bit, but I’m not thinking about him.
“It’s not that you’re scary, just intense.”
When I lift an eyebrow, he admits, “Okay, you’re scary, too. But in a good way. It keeps people on their toes.”
How nice it must be to have a face that doesn’t make people want to run away screaming. I try on a smile, but judging by Ezra’s expression, it’s not having the intended effect.
When I stop smiling, he seems relieved.
“Your hair is nice like that. I haven’t seen you wear it loose. And the roots are interesting.”
That’s a polite way of saying weird.
He didn’t know I’m a natural redhead because every other part of me is waxed or shaved into an inch of its existence. And I dye my eyebrows so they’re dark to match my hair.
Erasing the past is a big commitment.
“Thank you.”
We sit in a silence that’s uncomfortably loud, avoiding each other’s eyes while he guzzles the rest of his wine and motions to the waitress for another. I decide this is as good a time as any to ask his opinion.
Removing the claw from my handbag, I set it on the tablecloth and push it toward him. “What do you make of this?”
He leans over and squints at it but doesn’t touch it. “Is it real?”
“I don’t know. Considering you’re the primate specialist, I thought I’d ask. I’ve never seen a claw this size before.”
He picks it up and turns it over in his hands, examining it closely. Then he shakes his head. “This isn’t a claw.”
That surprises me. “What do you mean?”
He holds up the vicious-looking crescent. “It’s a talon.”
As soon as he says the word, I see it. Talons typically belong to predators that stab to kill their food, like birds of prey. But whatever bird grew that talon would have to be the size of a gorilla.
“Any guesses what animal it came from?”
He studies it thoughtfully, then shakes his head.
“The closest match is the talon of a harpy eagle, a huge raptor native to the rainforests of South America. But even those aren’t as big as the bird that lost this.
Assuming it’s real, that is. I doubt so, considering the lack of texture and striations. It’s too perfect. Where’d you find it?”
He hands it back to me and eagerly accepts the glass of wine the waitress has just arrived with.
I tuck the talon back into my purse and shrug. “On a walk.”
We order food and enjoy a pleasant, unremarkable meal. I finish my martini, and Ezra has two more glasses of wine. By the time we’re done eating, his cheeks are splotchy, his eyes are glassy, and he’s laughing too loud at things that aren’t funny.
He’s drunk.
Silly of me that I thought this week couldn’t get any worse.
When the check comes, he insists on paying. Then he blows out a hard breath and stands abruptly, pulling at his collar. “Can we go outside? I need some fresh air.”
Out on the sidewalk, he’s jittery. When I tell him I should drive him back to the inn in his car, he insists he’s fine.
“You don’t seem fine enough to drive without committing a felony.”
“I’m just nervous. I … I have something I want to ask you. Here, come around the corner. I don’t want to do this standing on the sidewalk.”
Mystified by his odd behavior, I watch him lurch around the side of the building and disappear into the alley.
I look up and down the street. There are very few people out, only an old couple walking arm in arm on the opposite side of the street and a woman window-shopping a block down. The streetlights are on, the town is descending into darkness, and everything is status quo.
Why is he acting so strangely?
I walk to the alley and find Ezra pacing in front of an overflowing dumpster, wringing his hands. He stops and looks up at me.
“Ezra, are you okay?”
“Yes.”
I step into the alley, avoiding the slimy river of black water snaking down the middle of the cobblestones, and meet him by the dumpster. I’m half expecting someone with a mask and gun to leap out of it and drag me into a nearby van because that’s the kind of month I’m having.
Instead, Ezra smooths his hands down the lapels of his blazer, shifts his weight from foot to foot, takes a breath, then blurts, “I think we should get married.”
Oh Lord. I honestly would have preferred the kidnapping.
“Well. That’s, ah … that’s a surprise.”
He steps closer, nodding. “I know. Allow me to outline my thought process.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“I know you don’t love me,” he interrupts.
“If I’m being honest, I don’t know that I love you, either.
You’re just so … you. But we’re the right age, and we’re so compatible, and I’ve run the numbers, May.
The odds of either of us finding anyone more suitable for a partner are over a million to one. ”
I cannot believe this. The first time I get a marriage proposal, it’s in a dark alley in front of a stinking mound of trash by a drunk scientist who had to run the numbers first.
“That’s certainly a compelling argument.”
Entirely missing my sarcastic tone, he nods again, eagerly.
“I think so, too! But wait, there’s more.”
This can’t be happening. I’m living in an infomercial. He’s about to pull out a set of knives from under his blazer and tell me what a great bargain I’ll be getting if I marry him, because these come with the deal. And they’re self-sharpening.
“I don’t need to hear more.”
“Please, just let me finish.”
He staggers around me so I have to turn to look at him pace in front of the entrance to the alley where we came in. He’s so wired, he can’t stand still, but he’s too tipsy and keeps wobbling.
“I’ve thought it all through. I know you need your space, and I enjoy my privacy, too, so we can have a special arrangement if you want.
We can each live in our separate places, leading our separate lives, and see each other on the weekends.
Of course, if you want to live with me, that would be okay, too. Either way, I’ll pay for everything.”
He shoots me a pitying glance. “Especially now that you’re unemployed, you might want to take advantage of the cost savings.”
I’ve never heard anything more calculated or less appealing. It proves how little he knows me that he’d think this was a good approach. Dumbfounded, I stare at him as he continues.
“I know how independent you are, but Bea needs a father. And, if I may be so bold, you’re not getting any younger.”
“I’m not even thirty!”
“Yet your fertility has already precipitously declined. Ninety percent of your eggs are already gone. In a few short years, you’ll be barren.”
“Who said anything about having babies, for fuck’s sake?”
Surprised, he blinks. “Isn’t that what every woman wants?”
I’m beginning to wonder what his relationship with his mother is like.
“No, we want love and respect and a partner who isn’t a complete asshole. And even that seems to be asking too much.”
He examines my expression for a beat before saying, “Are you menstruating? You seem awfully emotional.”
Glowering at him, I snap, “Ezra, please be careful. Your nose is still straight. It might not be much longer.”
He pulls up short and gazes at me with that pitying look again.
“Here’s my final point. Do you really think you could ever find anyone better than me?”
That stings. It was meant to. He takes obvious pleasure in the pained look on my face. The corners of his mouth turn up into a cruel smile. Then his gaze shifts to a point over my head, and his smile dies a quick death.
He stiffens. His face turns white. His mouth contorts, and he emits a small, choked scream.
Stumbling backward, he trips and falls flat on his ass. Quickly scrambling to his feet, he sprints away down the street, never looking back.
Heart thudding, I turn and peer over my shoulder.
There’s nothing there.
The alleyway is empty.