Chapter 45
chapter forty-five
Audrey
Today's vocabulary word: roots
Brecken's message came through while I drove home after the ferry.
Brecken: I have some meetings in Boston on Wednesday of this week. If you're planning to eat dinner that day, do you have any interest in doing it with me?
I wanted to give him credit for calling his shots before shooting them.
There was something easy about that—predictable, even.
But I'd grown up with a megalomaniac who had both the knack for making outrageous demands sound like simple requests and all the right tools to guarantee compliance.
And then I'd married a man who did the same thing but with a hard twist of degradation.
I knew better than to trust first impressions.
I didn't cancel at the last minute. I'd wanted to.
I'd written and deleted a dozen texts throughout the day.
And Bagel expressed strongly negative feelings when he noticed me fussing with my hair and putting on out-of-the-house clothes.
He responded to this by gathering all the shoes he could find and hiding them in his crate.
I had to leave the house barefoot, shoes smuggled out in my purse.
I met Brecken at a small Spanish café I liked on an odd corner in Brighton, a local place I'd suggested knowing it wouldn't show up on any best-of lists.
It could be counted on for outstanding patatas bravas and comically bad service.
If there was one thing I knew to flip a narcissist's switch, it was waiting an hour for another round of drinks or never getting that extra napkin.
The service lived up to my expectations but Brecken didn't flip. When he realized his place setting came short a fork, he just snagged a set from a nearby table. When our wineglasses ran dry, he walked up to the bar and asked for a bottle. Corked it himself. And he really liked the patatas.
We talked about the basic things. Where we'd gone to school, the people we knew. Restaurants we liked and places we wanted to visit. Spanish food and wine carried the evening on its back.
I smiled without forcing it and asked questions I actually wanted answers to.
It was comfortable in a plain, hollow way.
As I sat there, nodding along with his story about a chicken shop he loved but that never stayed in the same location for more than a few months, this overly plucked civility started to look a lot like closing the garage door with the car running inside.
Brecken seemed, at least on the surface, to be a decent guy. As much as anyone who hoarded wealth and hung around with backroom power brokers like my father could be.
He was, however, gently determined to nail down another date and kinda-sorta float a prenup in my direction if my reading between the lines could be trusted.
He liked New York and wanted me to like New York too, and offered to make some calls to find me a teaching job there if I wanted one. His tone made it clear that he didn't know why I'd want that but he'd go along with it. He was cool like that.
There was a vacation to some fancy island resort coming up on his calendar. I was welcome to join. He had a condo—I was certain it was a penthouse the size of a Costco—but he was in the market for something different. If I wanted to help with his search, he'd be happy for it.
Life with Brecken would be fine. Polite conversation and lukewarm affection. A partnership more in function than connection. There were worse things than the starved pantomime of having it all.
I let him give me a ride home. I knew it didn't matter but it occurred to me that I'd never scream at Brecken in the rain. Probably no lizards perched on motel curtains either.
When the driver came to a stop outside my house, Brecken's poker face failed him. He blinked at my small one-level ranch with its cracked walkway and slightly overgrown grass.
I swallowed a laugh. It was nice to see something rattle that chill demeanor.
"Let me walk you to the door," he said, swinging a glance up and down the street like we were in a war-ravaged neighborhood and not the sleepy Boston suburb of Norwood.
Little did he know, raccoons were the cause of most of the lawlessness around here and they had no compunction about chucking black walnuts at his head if he got in their way. Ask me how I knew.
He settled a hand on my lower back and one on my elbow as we traversed the walkway, the cement topsy-turvy from the roots of an old cherry blossom tree that made the first two weeks of May my favorite days of the entire year.
Bagel started howling as we approached. We shared a smile over that.
"Thank you for dinner," I said, hooking a thumb toward the door. "I should really get in there. He's been in the crate for a few hours now."
"Yeah, of course." His hand didn't release my elbow. It wasn't unpleasant in any way but it said something he hadn't enunciated yet. After a beat, he said, "This might be very forward but—"
Bagel launched into a longer, deeper howl. It was something like a soulful crooning, an old song that awakened his kin. Other dogs in the neighborhood joined in, barking, yipping, howling.
Brecken laughed to himself, shook his head like he couldn't believe a barking chain was drowning him out. "This might be forward but I think we could be good together. You make me feel like I can be honest without worrying that you'll sell something I say to a podcast."
I knew I ought to laugh but I didn't.
"Perhaps it's become apparent to you that I'm looking for a companion," he went on.
"I want someone who folds into my life, even if we're mostly separate day-to-day.
I think we could do that for each other but I need you to consider whether that would work for you.
I'd prefer you to live in New York, at least most of the year, but I'd understand if you wanted time to ease into that. "
I listened as Bagel shifted into low, mournful howls.
He was right; it was unacceptable for me not to include him in the conversation.
Especially after an offer like Brecken's.
I'd say I was blindsided by it but only in that he didn't wait until tomorrow to spring it on me.
He could've ended the evening on a mild note instead of launching into terms and conditions.
"You're sweet," I said to him. "I have a lot going on right now so I'm not in the best spot to make big decisions. School is starting up in a month and I'm elbow-deep in preparing for that. Plus I have everything going on with Bagel." To his furrowed brow, I pointed to the door. "The beagle."
"We have great bagels in New York," he said.
I almost lost my polite facade at the pointlessness of that comment but managed to say, "I'd love some time to think."
All I needed was to make it look like I'd considered his offer. And to get his hand off my elbow before the feral part of my brain took over.
"I completely understand. The last thing I'd want would be for you to make a snap decision."
He released my elbow—thank god—and held his arms open, moving in for a hug I hadn't expected. I knew I wasn't in danger but that didn't stop my body from dumping buckets of adrenaline into my system.
"Thank you again for dinner, Brecken. I hope you have an easy trip back to the city."
He leaned in to press a kiss to my cheek, and seemed to enjoy it about as much as I did. Cold sweat bloomed on my chest.
"I'll be in touch," he called as he picked his way down the walkway. Like it was a literal minefield.
I turned the handle but waited for the driver to pull away to step inside.
I needed to know they were gone before turning my back.
I knew I was spiraling into hypervigilance when I flipped the deadbolt but I also knew it would pass.
I just needed to breathe through it and remind myself this was my home, I was safe here, and no one could take it away from me.
I rushed to Bagel's crate before even turning on the lights. He bounded out, running in circles and whining his outrage at being left here all alone. "I know, I know," I repeated. "It was terrible of me to leave you. Never again, friend. Never, ever."
He followed from a careful distance as I flipped on the lights in the kitchen and living room. I'd need some tea to settle down and I had time to mix up some bread dough for—
The doorbell rang and my entire nervous system jolted at once.
Bagel rushed to the door, sniffing and yipping, but it took me a beat to get moving. I shot a text to Jamie, telling her to call me in three minutes if I didn't get back to her before then. She, of course, responded with WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING ARE YOU OKAY WHAT'S GOING ON?!?!?
I glanced through the peephole but it was old and rusty, and the lighting out there was more back alley, less front door.
I knew it was Brecken. Either he'd come back with another anemic offer—separate penthouses!
vacations on different private islands!—or he was here to nudge me toward whatever plan he'd already drafted for our life.
Or I'd completely misread him and he was going to scream me into a corner until he got his way.
A hand hooked in Bagel's collar, I edged the door open. But I didn't find Brecken waiting on the other side.
I found Jude with a small child sobbing on his shoulder and a thunderous glare in his eyes. I stumbled back, too blindsided to notice Bagel behind me.
As I lost my balance, Jude's hand shot out, his grip closing around my wrist and holding me steady.
And then he barked, "Who the fuck was that?"