Chapter Nine
Sophie sat on Tom’s couch, eating pizza and watching The Great British Bake Off , which for some reason was called The Great British Baking Show here.
Tom was at work, but Marisa was watching with her, though she also had Sophie’s phone, and her attention was mostly on the video from the previous night. She puffed out her cheeks. ‘Holy shit. Watching you two.’ She fanned her face with her piece of pizza, which didn’t so much fan as flop.
Sophie made a noncommittal noise.
‘Interesting,’ Marisa said, dragging the word out. ‘You disagree? Because I’m sensing a story here.’
Sophie had also watched the video, obviously, in order to edit and post it. The process had been difficult for her as she’d tried to decide what any of it meant. Mike had held her close, his hands possessive, but that was also a requirement of the dance. He’d looked at her – how had he looked at her? Hungrily? Or was that just what she’d wanted to see?
After the divorce . . . well. She didn’t trust herself to assess such situations any more. After all, she’d been surprised by Andrew’s cheating. Then she’d had to face that she’d been ignoring the very real fact that it had been a sad, miserable kind of marriage at the end. It was so obvious now. If she’d been able to miss all that , then who was she to judge any of Mike’s actions properly?
He’d been interested enough to kiss her, and while the kiss had been scorching, maybe he was just a good kisser? Chemistry didn’t necessarily mean compatibility. Ultimately, he’d been the one to stop. Which was his prerogative. She certainly didn’t want him to do anything he didn’t want to do.
That being said, she wasn’t sure if she could have put on the brakes herself. It had been intoxicating, and she was mortified by the idea that he hadn’t felt the same. The evening had left her with a strange mixture of desire and shame that she didn’t care for, and underneath that a little bit of hurt as well. It was an off-putting emotional cocktail and she was cutting herself off. No more of that, thank you very much.
‘That’s a whole lot of thinking going on there.’ Marisa took another bite of her pizza, her eyes narrowing. ‘You know I’ve got all day, right? I can wear you down slowly over time.’ She made a face. ‘Normally I wouldn’t press you. None of my business, right?’ She slumped heavily into her seat, an annoyed cast to her features. ‘It’s just – have you ever been so sick of your own bullshit? I know I need to process everything. I know I need to deal with the trauma, and that takes time, but I’m so exhausted by everything being about me.’ She reached for another slice of pizza, her hand hovering in indecision. ‘So for the love of god, Sophie, let me wallow in your drama for a minute. Forget that I’m engaged to your son. We’re just two women sharing hot goss. Spill the tea. I’ve seen how much of it you drink. You should be full of the stuff, so share .’
Sophie really didn’t feel like talking about it – her insides felt raw . But she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take care of Marisa a little. She was also starting to understand what Marisa meant by being so sick of her own bullshit. ‘Fine. I’ll talk about it if you eat another slice of pizza.’
‘Blackmail, Sophie? Really?’ Marisa selected another piece. ‘You’re ruthless.’
Sophie grabbed her own slice. ‘I’d apologize, but I’m not really sorry.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, I respect it,’ Marisa said, taking a big bite. ‘I’m a big fan of women speaking up for what they want.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And now that I’ve held up my end of the deal . . .’
Sophie sighed, setting her pizza back onto her plate. ‘We kissed.’ Kiss was such an oddly simple word for a complicated thing, glossing easily over what was sometimes such an impactful action.
Marisa’s eyes widened. ‘Ohhhh. This is even better than I’d hoped.’ She tipped her head to the side, examining Sophie. ‘Kissing usually doesn’t lead to that face, though. That’s an unhappy face. Was it bad? Dead fish bad, or plumber going after a blocked drain bad? Terrible breath?’ She scrunched her nose. ‘I’d always hoped older men would be better at this sort of thing. Surely they must learn as they go. You’ve extinguished a great hope that I held dear, Sophie. He’s so hot, too. I had higher hopes for Michael.’
Sophie looked at her, exasperated. ‘Do you want to actually hear about it, or spin a ton of conjecture first?’
‘Conjecture,’ Marisa said instantly. ‘That’s the fun bit. Then I want reality. But I’m done now, so carry on.’
‘The kiss was . . .’ Sophie struggled for a word to describe it. How to convey the chemistry of it, how good it had felt, and how thinking of it now made her want to cry? In fact, she’d wanted to cry the second he’d stopped. She made a helpless noise, her hands fluttering at her sides.
‘Oh,’ Marisa said, her tone knowing. ‘It was really good , wasn’t it? One of those knee-weakening, fairy tale kinds of kisses that make you feel like they should be illegal. Panty-melting.’
Sophie made a noise like the saddest balloon with a slow leak.
‘Those are good kisses,’ Marisa said. ‘And since we’re pretending we’re two friends, I will admit that those kinds of kisses are why I’m engaged.’
‘Really don’t want to think about that,’ Sophie said. ‘But also happy for you.’
‘Okay, so if Michael laid one on you that unleashed a sexy kraken—’
‘I do not understand that statement at all.’
Marisa batted this away with one hand. ‘There’s an 80s movie, my mom loved it. Greek mythology. We’ll watch it next, because I think you’ll love it. Let’s focus. If it was that kind of kiss, why the sad face?’ Her lip curled. ‘Please do not tell me it made you nostalgic for your ex. I’d like to put Andrew into some kind of wicker man.’
Sophie tapped her fingers on her plate. ‘Seems . . . extreme.’
Marisa shrugged. ‘Lots of weird leftover hormones right now, plus I do not like what that man did to you and Tom. If we were on the Titanic right now and it was sinking, I’d rather drop an empty lifeboat into the ocean than let him get into it.’
‘Wow,’ Sophie said. ‘I’m honestly a little impressed with your level of spite right now.’
‘I don’t like it when someone hurts the people I love,’ Marisa said simply. ‘And that includes myself. You and Tom should try it. Be less forgiving to those that hurt your loved ones, and that list should start with yourself.’
Sophie digested this quietly for a moment. ‘I think you might have something there.’
‘I’m wise beyond my years,’ Marisa said dryly. ‘Now focus.’
‘Right. Well, the good news is that it didn’t make me miss the Wicker Man,’ Sophie said. ‘Bad news is Mike shut it down pretty quickly. Done, over, got me into a Lyft, dropped me at my door.’
Marisa groaned, throwing back her head. ‘Noooooo. Mike, you’re killing me, buddy. Please tell me he didn’t apologize for kissing you.’
‘He did. Very “so sorry, that shouldn’t have happened” kind of nonsense.’
‘Uggggghhhhh.’ Marisa shoved the last of her pizza into her mouth, chewing angrily. ‘Why are men? Why? ’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ Marisa said. ‘That’s shitty. And . . .’ She eyed Sophie, like she wasn’t sure how the next bit would be taken. ‘Probably felt extra terrible, after what the Wicker Man did to you?’
‘ Yes ,’ Sophie said, with more force than she’d intended. ‘Thank you – you get it!’
‘Rejection squared,’ Marisa said. ‘It becomes exponential when they’re back to back like that.’
‘It wouldn’t be so bad,’ Sophie admitted, ‘if we hadn’t been having so much fun. Honestly, yesterday . . . I don’t know when I last laughed like that, except when I’m with Edie.’
‘Edie’s a good friend,’ Marisa said with a nod. ‘The kind you could have fun with even if you’re stuck somewhere really terrible.’
‘Yes,’ Sophie said, ‘she is. But last night . . . I had such a good time dancing, then dinner at the park, with the river and the lights and the carousel. It was honestly magical.’
Marisa nodded solemnly. ‘And then Mike had to shit all over it.’
‘There has to be a nicer way to say that,’ Sophie said. ‘But yes.’
‘Nicer, perhaps, but you can’t argue with the accuracy. So what are you going to do now?’ Marisa asked. ‘Are you going to see him again?’
Sophie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. He said the offer was open if I needed any help with my blog, but I’m not sure I want to court that kind of trouble.’
Marisa nibbled a fresh slice of pizza. ‘I completely understand why you’d be hesitant.’
‘I think for now I’m just going to concentrate on why I’m here – to be with you and Tom. To help. And my job. The things that make me happy. I really don’t need a romantic relationship adding a layer of complexity right now.’
Marisa sighed. ‘I was really hoping you’d at least get some good, sweaty sex out of it. I can’t imagine the Wicker Man being anything but a selfish ass in bed.’
‘Thank you,’ Sophie said. ‘I think. I’m choosing to take that statement as one of being hopeful about my future happiness.’
‘That’s how it was meant,’ Marisa said, picking up the remote. ‘Now, how do you feel about mechanical owls?’
They were just at the scene where the temple was falling apart when there was a knock at the door. Sophie had given up working, cuddling down into some blankets on the couch with Marisa. Neither of them were expecting anyone.
Marisa paused the film, getting up to check the peephole. ‘Well, that’s interesting.’
‘Who is it?’ Sophie asked.
Marisa looked back at her. ‘Mike is at the door. He does seem to be bearing gifts. What would you like me to do?’
She was very tempted to tell him to go away. She really did not need more drama in her life from a man. ‘I’m not sure. Andrew—’
‘In this apartment he is now and forever the Wicker Man,’ Marisa said firmly.
‘Fine, the Wicker Man has given me plenty of drama this past year or so. I’m not sure if I want any more. Still, Mike isn’t Andrew and it doesn’t seem entirely fair to be equating them.’
One of Marisa’s brows went up. ‘Who said we need to be fair? We get to decide who we keep in our lives. There’s no guaranteed second chances. It’s not like you signed a contract. If he’s adding too much, he’s adding too much, full stop.’
Sophie got up from the couch and hugged Marisa fiercely. ‘Have I told you recently how much I adore you?’
‘Four times yesterday and twice this morning,’ Marisa said. ‘But I’m always accepting accolades.’
Sophie sighed. ‘How does he look? Sad? Uncomfortable?’
‘He looks like he’s about to tell someone he accidentally killed their goldfish.’
‘Oddly specific, but you do paint a picture.’ Sophie straightened. ‘Okay, you can answer it.’
Marisa waved her back before she cracked open the door. ‘Mr Tremblay. What are you doing here?’ She paused. ‘Also, I find it suspicious that you knew which apartment was ours.’
‘I stopped by Sophie’s apartment to give her something – she wasn’t there, so I texted Tom. I hope that’s okay. Is she here?’
‘She might be,’ Marisa said. ‘But then again, she might not be. I find that it entirely depends on your intentions.’
Sophie could almost feel Michael’s wince through the door; even though she couldn’t actually see him, she still had a sense that he felt bad. Andrew had never liked getting his nose rubbed in it when he’d messed up, often getting nastier and lashing out in consequence. He’d eventually apologize by bringing her a bouquet of roses – which she didn’t actually care for – and never quite saying he was sorry.
Normally she didn’t like people feeling upset or uncomfortable and would often leap forward to close the gap and smooth over the problem. But today . . . today she felt like seeing how this played out. If Mike stomped and pouted, their conversation would be short and final. Same if he was rude to Marisa, because her almost-daughter was right. She was under no obligation to put up with any of it.
The other side of the door was quiet for a long moment. ‘My intentions are to check on Sophie and to issue an apology for some of my behaviour.’
‘Okay,’ Marisa said. ‘Hold on.’ She shut the door. ‘What do we think?’
Sophie considered for a moment. ‘How sincere do you think he was being?’
Marisa tilted her head, thinking. ‘He seemed honestly contrite and miserable, but maybe he’s a good actor?’
Sophie shook her head. ‘He can be a closed book, but I’ve never had the feeling he would pretend like that.’
‘Trust your gut, then,’ Marisa said. ‘What do you want to do?’
Sophie sighed. ‘My gut has been notoriously untrustworthy, but I guess I’ll talk to him.’
Marisa didn’t question her, she simply opened the door and ushered Mike in. He was dressed casually today, in a T-shirt and shorts, but he didn’t look well. Oh, he was as handsome as ever, but Sophie got the distinct sense that he’d slept poorly and wasn’t feeling great, which – and she felt bad about this – had the odd effect of making her feel better.
‘Hello,’ Sophie said. ‘What are you doing here?’
Mike stared at her for a second before dropping his eyes and swallowing hard, his hands fussing with the wrapped package he was holding. ‘I wanted to talk about last night.’ His gaze flicked to Marisa. ‘I recognize that this is your home and a bit awkward, but could we have a moment?’
Marisa’s eyes narrowed. She spun around slowly towards Sophie. ‘Do you want a moment?’
Sophie couldn’t help but smile. ‘Yes, please, if you don’t mind.’
‘Fine,’ Marisa said. She pointed at her eyes, then V’d those fingers back at Mike. ‘But I’m in the next room. I hear raised voices? I will chase your ass out with a broom.’
‘Understandable,’ Mike said.
Marisa glared at him for another moment, then swept out of the room.
After a long moment of silence, Mike cleared his throat. ‘She’s terrifying.’
‘I like her,’ Sophie said stiffly.
Mike smiled a little at her defensive tone. ‘Me too. She reminds me of my daughter, who is also terrifying.’
Unsure what else to do, Sophie stared at him, her arms crossed.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘Can we sit?’
For a second, she considered arguing, but then she softened and waved a hand to the couch. After they’d both settled, he watched her for a moment. ‘I had a speech,’ he finally said. ‘A long one. Very grovelly.’
‘Can’t wait to hear it.’
‘I think it would test your patience,’ Mike admitted. ‘I’ve been told, repeatedly, that I was an arsehole. Mostly by myself, but also by outside interested parties.’
She wasn’t going to argue with him about that, but she also wasn’t sure what to say. She hadn’t realized how ingrained she’d become to Andrew’s way of arguing, his methods of fighting, until just now. Mike wasn’t red-faced, his words weren’t biting. In fact, he didn’t seem angry at all.
‘I find I agree with their assessments.’ He fidgeted with the package in his hands. ‘Last night – I had a great time.’
‘Me too,’ Sophie said quietly. ‘Until the end.’
Mike winced. ‘That’s on me, you understand? You didn’t do anything wrong. You were wonderful. I was a mess.’ He frowned thoughtfully down at the package. ‘I am a mess. I’m very sorry my behaviour hurt you. Can you forgive me?’
Sophie pursed her lips, watching him. He did seem honestly contrite. Still . . . ‘When you say, “your behaviour”, are you still referring to the kiss, or after?’
‘After,’ Mike said firmly. ‘Only after.’
Sophie nodded, her throat tight. ‘While I would never, ever ask you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with, I neither want, nor need, another man causing havoc in my life.’
Mike swallowed. ‘Fair enough. What about a friend?’ His voice quietened. ‘I really did have a good time yesterday. I’d like – if you’re amendable – I’d . . .’ He gusted out a breath and shook his head, before turning his gaze on her. ‘What would you like? Do you even want to spend time with me after last night?’
Sophie blinked at him. What did she want? She wasn’t used to being asked that. Andrew had always barrelled forward, assuming he knew what she wanted or that she would want the same thing as him. If she was honest with herself, she wanted another kiss, but was too raw to consider it. ‘I think . . .’ she said slowly, ‘that having a friend here would be a good thing.’
He nodded sharply. ‘Then that’s what we’ll be.’
Sophie couldn’t detect any dismay in him at her choice, but she didn’t detect any relief, either. He was frustratingly difficult to read. For herself, she felt an odd mix of both, and couldn’t quite tell how she felt about the decision. Still, she forced herself to smile. ‘Friends.’
He held out the package, his manner deliberately casual. ‘I got you a little something.’
Sophie couldn’t hold back her smile. She adored presents, and the sad fact was, she rarely got them any more from anyone except her son and Marisa on special occasions, and Edie. Inside the parcel was a very nice journal, the cover bound in the Starry Night print, a subtle nod to the way they’d met. There was also a very nice pen.
Mike frowned at the gift. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I’m feeling like even more of a muppet. I just thought – you said you made lists of your ideas. For work. I use these same journals for my work, and they’re very good.’ He grimaced. ‘Should have got flowers . . .’
The journal prismed in her vision as her eyes welled up. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. ‘I love it.’
He gave a startled laugh and hugged her back. ‘I’m so glad. Thought it had gone pear-shaped again.’
‘No,’ Sophie said, giving him another squeeze and then letting him go. ‘It’s perfect.’
And that was the worst of it – it really was , the gift beautiful and thoughtful at the same time. Which was fine. Great, actually. That just meant he’d be the perfect friend. Which was exactly what she needed. Nothing else.
Despite how firmly she said this to herself, she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it.