Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jules
I stare at the birthday cake as if mind power alone will make the blasted thing rise. “No, no, no.” I stomp my foot. “This is a disaster!”
Claire rubs my shoulders. “It’s fine.”
I fold my arms around my waist so I don’t throttle my best friend. “It’s not. The slab should be three times that height. I must have forgotten to add the raising agent.”
“No one will know if you smother it in icing.”
My mother-in-law will. She’s probably preparing her scorecard now, ready to mark me as a fail—terrible cook, hopeless house cleaner, incompetent mother and wife.
Claire pours two glasses of sparkling wine. “Have a drink. You’re getting overanxious.”
I tip the glass to my lips. The bubbles skate down my throat and pool in my stomach in a comforting fizz. “I wanted to make Mick’s fortieth birthday special, and now I’ve ruined it.” I swipe at the tears staining my cheeks.
Claire wraps her arms around me in a bear hug. “Hey, what’s really going on?”
I slump on a bar stool at the island bench, my fingers trembling. “I had another job rejection. ”
“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry.” She hugs me to the point of suffocation.
I shake her off. “I’m fine. It’s just that Mick’s mother will cast judgement on me tonight like she always does, and my ego is too fragile for her barbed comments.”
Claire adjusts her stance and punches her hand out as if she’s holding a sword. “I’ll run interference.”
I laugh at her silly antics. As much as I love my bestie, there’s no winning against the mother-in-law from hell.
“Nah. Just forget about her.” And I’ll forget about the stupid universities that won’t give me a chance.
I raise my wrist and admire the tattoo. Now, that’s something I could control. Riley was so excited when Mick and I showed her our matching ink. When she asked us if she could have one, we blurted ‘No’ in perfect, unrehearsed unison. As Riley’s bottom lip quivered, we promised her we’d talk about it when she was eighteen.
Claire traces the outline at a respectful distance because it’s still quite tender. “I told Jake we should get something similar.”
Woah! If it wasn’t for the cheeky glint in my bestie’s eyes, I’d think she was serious. “What did he say?”
She dips her finger into the leftover cream and licks it. “He went whiter than the filling in your cake and then mumbled, ‘Sure, if that’s what you want’.” Claire doubles over laughing. I join in.
She’s such a tease. Poor Jake must have had a mini heart attack. Ink covers his torso and upper arms, but he adores Claire’s creamy skin and wouldn’t dream of marking it. And neither would Claire. Whereas Mick and I couldn’t be happier with our matching infinity symbols. In fact, I’m already contemplating a second, more private tattoo. Just for us.
Despite the disastrous start to my baking, I soon have enchiladas cooking in the oven, taquitos ready to deep fry, and all the ingredients for tacos sliced and diced by the time the guests have all arrived.
Mick strolls in wearing a blue polo shirt and jeans, his ink proudly on display. He circles my waist with his arms and nuzzles my hair. “Smells good.”
I lean against him, enjoying the firmness of his chest on my back, his crotch brushing my arse. “Me or the food?”
He grips my hips and spins me around. “Both.” He kisses my nose. “Thanks for talking me into the party.”
“You only turn forty once.”
He leans his forehead against mine. “Are you okay with being married to an old codger?”
I pinch his lean abs. “You don’t feel too old to me.”
He slaps my butt and lifts me onto the counter like I weigh nothing. “I’ll show you just how young I still am later.”
“No, no. My eyes. My ears.” Claire laughs from the doorway.
I snatch up a roll of paper towel and throw it at her. “Very funny.”
She ducks out of the way, and it hits Ryan in the nose.
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” I push on Mick’s chest. He steps back to let me slide to my feet.
Ryan rubs his face and chuckles. “It’s okay. I’ve been pelted with worse.”
“Thanks for coming, mate.” Mick shakes his hand.
“My pleasure. Although, you didn’t tell me I should wear protective headgear.”
Claire snorts. I give her a shot of my middle finger.
“Jules.” Mick lifts an eyebrow.
I widen my eyes at him. “Yes, Mick?”
He grins and pecks my cheek. “Come on, Ryan. You’ve met Jules’ friend, Claire.” Claire waves and curtsies. “I’ll introduce you to the rest of the group. They’re out the back. ”
Claire picks up the roll of paper towel and places it on the bench. “That was fun. What other games have you got planned?”
“You’re not funny.”
“Yes, I am.”
I hand her a bowl of salad. “Make yourself useful and take this outside.”
“Love you, too.”
I pinch her butt and am rewarded with a glare and a wink as she walks away. Warmth that has nothing to do with the oven radiates in my chest. My mother-in-law might be a miserable old biddy, but she’s only one person. I’m surrounded by friends. By love. And this is going to be the best fucking birthday party ever.
By nine pm, everyone’s mellowed out with full bellies and a few glasses of wine or beer. Mick’s the only adult who’s abstained, sipping sparkling mineral water like it’s the finest whisky. The men are playing cricket in the backyard with Oscar and Riley while the dogs run interference. And by dogs, I mean Zola and Greg’s dog, Silas. Claire’s new rescue, Ruby, sits with the women, peering down her elegant, bitza nose at the shenanigans in the yard. On her, the expression is adorable, on my mother-in-law, not so much.
Mick’s always been a loner, so when I suggested a party, his answer was a big ‘no’. He finally relented when I agreed to keep it small—our parents, Jake and Claire, and Ryan, the only friend from the tax office he ever mentions. Somewhere along the line, Greg and Emily were invited as well.
So, where are the rest of our friends? The ones married couples make together. We’ve drifted away from them over the last year. My unhappiness has had me spurning everyone. That’s not me, and it needs to change .
“You okay, hun?” Claire’s hand on my arm snaps me out of my musings.
“Yeah.”
Mick hits a ball straight at Greg’s groin. Greg lands on the ground with a thump, the ball dropping beside him. “Fu … Fudge!”
Mick sprints down the homemade pitch, high-fiving Riley at the other end of the crease. The grin on his face is one I don’t see often enough. It makes him look ten years younger.
I slide out of my chair. “I’ll bring out the tea and coffee.”
Dirty dishes litter the bench. I tidy them, stacking what I can fit into the dishwasher and piling the rest in the sink. I pause as the sound of angry whispers drifts down the hallway.
“I wish he’d never married that woman. He deserves better.” Mick’s mum’s words pepper my heart with the precision of bullets.
“Enough, Kathy. The boy’s happy. That’s all that matters.”
Stephen sounds so much like his son.
“Did you see the bedrooms? There are clothes on the floor, and the master bed isn’t even made.”
Steam rises, and I clench my fingers around the bench top. Has she been peeking in our rooms? And not that it’s any of her business, but Mick and I snuck in a quickie before everyone arrived. Hence, the rumpled sheets.
She turns the corner. I pop a hand on my hip, tilt my head and muster a saccharine voice. “Everything okay, Kathy?”
She glances behind her. Stephen comes into view. He has the good grace to appear embarrassed. But Mick’s mother lifts her chin. “Yes, dear. But it’s time for us to go.”
“It is?” Stephen’s gaze darts to me and then back to his wife.
Kathy puts a well-manicured hand to her forehead. “I have a headache coming on.” Of course, she does. Liar. “We’ll say goodbye to Mick. ”
I just nod and watch her walk out with that stuck up head held high. Her husband flashes an expression of apology. I give him a tight smile. It’s not his fault his wife’s a cow. I’ll never be worthy enough for Mick in her eyes. But I’m trying to be a decent wife and mother. Kathy has no right to judge me. No right at all.
Ryan walks in, rubbing his face. “Fantastic party, Jules.”
It’ll be even better now my miserable mother-in-law is leaving. “Thanks.” I gasp at the dark red mark on his cheekbone. “What happened?”
“I had no idea cops could be so competitive. You wouldn’t have some frozen peas?”
“Sure.” I pull a packet out of the freezer and hand it to him.
He sits on a chair and presses it to his cheek. “Mick’s having a great time.”
“Yeah, he is. It’s good to see him relax and have fun.”
“The team at the office are jealous he got a gig working so closely with the police. Some of the younger guys were all over him last week, trying to get details even though they know he can’t talk about it.”
I wipe the sink and benches, more so to keep myself busy than because they need it. My mother-in-law’s powdery perfume lingers, and with it, her toxicity. “He was at the tax office?”
Ryan winces and adjusts his hold on the frozen peas. “Yeah. We had a strategy session and team lunch on Tuesday, and Mick was told he’d better turn up or else. I think the boss is regretting approving his secondment.”
“Why?”
“He’s worried Mick will get too comfortable.” Ryan hands me the soggy bag of peas. “Thanks. Hopefully, that’s enough to reduce the bruising. I need to go back out there and show those cops that accountants are just as tough.”
I pop the packet into the freezer. Ryan’s comments circle in my head like a pack of piranhas searching for unsuspecting prey to strip to the bone. I’m not surprised Mick’s boss is worried. Mick’s the happiest I’ve seen him since he started working alongside the police. Yet he shuts down whenever I bring up his time undercover. Maybe it’s the wine muddling my brain, but something doesn’t add up.
The man himself appears in the doorway. “Why are you hiding in here?”
I trace the ink on my wrist with my thumb. A promise of forever. A promise of unity. No lies. “The kitchen won’t clean itself.”
He walks towards me and cups my jaw. “Is everything okay?”
I wrap my arms around his neck. I’m doing it again. Creating doubts where there are none. If Mick’s happier these days, that’s all that matters. The past is irrelevant.
I peck him on the lips and wriggle away. “Everything’s perfect.” My hand hovers near a bottle of shiraz on the counter. I should make a coffee. But it’s a party. One more drink won’t hurt. I pour a glass and link my arm through Mick’s. “Come on. You and Ryan need to beat Jake and Greg or we’ll never hear the end of it.”