Chapter 14 #2
“Winston,” I call. “Come.”
He trots into the kitchen and looks around, expecting a treat for his obedience.
Good, he’s learning. I reach into the container we keep on the counter and grab one for him.
He happily lies on the kitchen floor and chomps on it, and I walk over to the sink to rinse my hands.
When the water shuts off, Sierra is saying, “It doesn’t mean you’re cursed. It’s just bad weather and shit luck.”
She’s shrugged out of her coat and boots and is carrying her shopping bag back to her bedroom when she repeats, “It’s not the freaking curse.
” I miss the next thing she says while she’s in her bedroom, but then she comes back down the hall.
“But your flight isn’t delayed or canceled, right?
” There’s a pause, and then, “Okay, that’s good.
So just try to get some sleep tonight. And if you have any delays or anything tomorrow, just call me.
If I arrive before you, no big deal.” She listens as she comes into the kitchen and winks at me when she grabs a slice of red pepper I’ve just cut, mouthing thanks as she walks away.
As she walks away, hips swaying like they always do, it’s impossible not to focus on her ass in those jeans. I almost don’t know what I’m going to do when I don’t get to see her every day. Shit. Where did that thought come from?
“Okay, text me when you get on the plane in the morning. And just try to relax tonight, okay? Tell Joe I said hi, and that he’s right!” She makes big smooching kissing sounds that have me turning away and adjusting myself.
“What’s going on?” I ask when she takes a seat on one of the barstools at the peninsula.
“Ugh,” she groans. “It’s so stupid I don’t even want to say.”
“Come on, just tell me. It can’t be that stupid.”
She throws her head back with a laugh. “Oh, it is.”
“Let me be the judge.” I turn up the heat on the frying pan and throw the chunks of raw chicken onto the hot oil.
“Okay,” she says, her voice laced with sarcasm. “So my entire family believes that we’re cursed.”
“Cursed how?” I ask as I tilt the pan back and forth over the heat to coat the chicken in the oil.
“No woman in my family has been married as far back as anyone can remember.”
“But the men have?” I ask.
“There are no men in my family. Lemieux women only have girls, and they never marry.”
“But . . .” I stumble after that word because I don’t know what should follow it. I glance over at her and she smirks.
“See? Crazy.”
“So what you’re saying is that, for generations, women in your family have only had daughters and never gotten married?”
“That’s correct,” she says, her lips settling into a grim line.
“And why is that a curse?”
“Because it hasn’t been a choice. In every single instance, the women in my family have gotten pregnant before marriage, and the man has left them.
Even Lydia. She was engaged and got pregnant before they got married, and her fiancé disappeared.
Like legit just didn’t come home one day and she never heard from him again. ”
“Holy shit. That’s terrible. Do you think something happened to him?” I ask as I flip the chicken in the pan, letting it brown on both sides.
“Honestly, Sydney and I think he got tired of Lydia’s shit and left.
I know that sounds terrible to say, but she’s extremely difficult.
Nothing he ever did was good enough. She bitched at him all the time.
He was a pretty simple guy, I think he just got fed up and was too chickenshit to tell her he was leaving. ”
“So, what does this have to do with the phone call? Was that Sydney?”
“Yeah. She and Joe were going to get married at the courthouse today before they head to Vegas tomorrow. That way, she wouldn’t have to worry about something going wrong once they got there, and she’d just be able to enjoy her ceremony and celebration.
It was my idea. And now I feel terrible, because they had a huge blizzard in Boston last night and today everything was shut down.
So they couldn’t get married, and now she thinks it’s the curse and is worried that something’s going to happen to derail the Vegas plans.
” The words tumble out of her mouth at high speed and she pauses to take a deep breath.
“Right now her flight tomorrow is still showing up as on time, but given that no planes flew into Logan Airport today, she’s worried that there won’t be a plane for her flight and they’ll have a delay or cancelation. ”
“As someone who has dealt with their fair share of weather-related travel delays, I can say that while that does sometimes happen, it’s more common that they take the planes that were grounded there during the storm and use those so that future travel isn’t affected.
So there’s probably a plane at the airport that maybe was supposed to go to Las Vegas today that’ll go tomorrow instead.
And it’ll go with tomorrow’s passengers on it, and they’ll rebook today’s passengers on new flights. ”
“Hold on,” she says, “let me tell Sydney that.” Her thumbs fly over her phone as I toss the vegetables into the pan and add the seasonings, stirring them around so everything’s well coated before I add the wine and chicken broth.
“Okay,” Sierra says. “Sydney says thanks for that info. She seems like she’s calmed down a bit. ”
“I hope I’m right,” I tell her. “But even if her flight is delayed, that doesn’t mean she won’t get to Vegas and get married. It’s just an inconvenience. Right?”
“I hope so.” Sierra sighs. “But the thing is, even though neither Sydney nor I have ever really believed that this ‘curse’”—she uses air quotes with that word—“is real, bad shit does happen to relationships in my family. Sydney’s got to be thinking about how Lydia’s fiancé left her, mine cheated on me, and now here she is running off to Vegas a few days after getting engaged to try to prevent anything bad from happening and there’s this storm that’s throwing everything off. ”
“Wait.” The word comes out of my mouth slowly as I think about how I want to say this. “Do you think that Peter cheating on you has something to do with that curse?” I keep my eyes focused on the box of pasta I’m opening so she can’t read anything into the look on my face.
“I don’t know. It didn’t really cross my mind until my mother insisted it was bound to happen because Lemieux women don’t get married.”
“Your mother justified him cheating on you because of this curse?” Who the hell says something like that to their daughter, especially when she’s hurting? And as far as I know, the last time she saw her mom was before Jackson’s wedding, only days after Peter cheated on her.
“Yep,” she says, and I catch the sadness on her face as she looks down.
I pour the pasta into the pot of boiling water, give it a stir, then walk over to the peninsula.
I keep the cabinets between us because I know that if I walked to the other side I’d wrap her in my arms and then there’s no telling what would happen.
Do it and find out, my inner demon yells at me.
But I can’t. She’s hurting, and I don’t take advantage of women like that.
“Listen,” I say, spreading my arms on the countertop and leaning toward her.
“It sounds like the real issue here is that Lemieux women—Sydney excluded, hopefully—have a knack for picking assholes. I’m sorry that Peter hurt you,” I say, and I reach across the counter and tilt her chin up so I can see her face.
Those big brown eyes are glassy as she stares up at me.
“But that has nothing to do with you or how amazing you are. That’s on him.
And one day, he’ll probably regret it. But even if he doesn’t, I hope you realize that you’re better off without him and that eventually you’ll find someone who’s right for you. ”
Her eyes soften as she gives me a small smile. “I hope you’re right.” Then she tilts her head to the side and mutters something that sounds a whole lot like, “And hopefully he’ll know his way around the female body.”
I pull my hand back from her chin, my eyebrows dipping as I take in what I think she’s just suggested.
She looks away and mumbles, “Sorry, that’s something I’ve said to my girlfriends, didn’t mean for it to slip out just now.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t normally discuss my pathetic sex life with my guy friends.”
Well, this is taking an interesting turn. “If he was so bad in bed,” I say, and she groans and covers her face with both hands, “why were you going to marry him?”
“Because other than that, he was a good partner. Or at least, I thought he was.” She takes her hands away from her face and I move back to the stove to stir the pasta and the chicken and vegetables in the sauce.
“I could be wildly off base here,” I say as I start pulling the chicken out of the sauce and putting it on a plate to shred, “but isn’t sexual compatibility a prerequisite for a serious relationship?”
She pauses before responding. “Please, share all your wisdom about serious relationships.” A deep thread of sarcasm strings the words together.
“Fair point,” I say, not looking at her as I start shredding the chicken.
Sierra doesn’t know about Helen, she can’t understand the heartbreak I felt.
Helen’s words, in particular, still sting.
How could I ever be serious about a guy who’s so decidedly not serious?
She let me know that I wasn’t the kind of guy you headed toward forever with, and in a way, I guess she did me a favor.
Instead of letting myself fall for anyone else, I’ve spent my twenties just enjoying life, being exactly the kind of guy she thought I was in the first place.
“Except I have to think that if I were ever to get into a serious relationship”—I glance over at her and she’s watching me intently—“the sex would have to be amazing.” I string the word “have” out like it’s one extraordinarily long syllable.
Her cheeks flush slightly. “What if the girl you fall in love with isn’t great in bed?” she asks.
“Then I’d teach her.”