21
Valerie drops me off at Anders’s right as the sun begins to set. I wave, open the door, and head up the stairs.
“Wait,” she calls to me.
I turn and she jogs over, remaining on the bottom step. “What’s up?”
“Two things,” she says, hands on her hips. “First, thanks for defending Olive. And me.”
“Truly, no thanks necessary.”
“I know you mean that, which leads me to my second point,” she says, and I raise my brows when she struggles to speak, switching between hitting her nails together and twisting her hair. “Look, I don’t have a lot of friends. And the ones I do have, well, you can see they’re not the best.”
I purse my lips. “Well, Jennifer seems okay.”
She snorts, then nods. “She can be. Anyway, my point is, you’ve already been a good friend to me, better than what I’m used to. I know you’re Anders’s girlfriend, but I meant it back there. If you want to be a bridesmaid, I’d have you. If you want.”
My smile forms instantly. “If I want?”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine, I want you to be one. Now, will you agree? Asking is so humiliating.”
“I’d love to,” I answer.
She fights it, but a smile plays on her lips. “Great, because I already bought your dress—dress number thirteen.”
“I thought you didn’t like that one.”
“For Cierra,” she says, “but you look beautiful in it. So, it’s yours.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“For what?” Valerie asks back. “You’re the one doing me a favor.”
“For trusting me,” I say.
“Oh, don’t get all sentimental on me.” Valerie steps away. “I’ll text you more details. Just know I’m forcing you into more wedding planning. You can’t take it back.”
“I won’t,” I say, and wave her off.
I keep waving at her until she drives away, then turn to the door. When I reach for the doorknob, I pause, my smile slipping away.
For a moment, no, for hours, I hadn’t thought about ruining Valerie’s marriage. I was totally immersed in dress shopping, in hyping up Valerie, reassuring Olive, and trying not to strangle the girls when I felt they weren’t doing the same.
I’d done such a good job at this, at being good to Valerie in general, that she invited me to be a part of her wedding party.
For Valerie, I’ve become someone she values enough to call a friend, to be a part of what she thinks is the biggest moment of her life.
But for me, this is all a means to an end.
This is exactly what I’m supposed to do, worm my way into her life. The more involved I am, the easier it will be to wreck from within. This is my job.
But now, it feels like there are shards of rock floating around the pit of my stomach.
This has never happened. No matter how rough it was, getting involved in someone’s relationship, ruining a pairing, I’ve never felt this . . . guilt before, clawing into every organ in my body and pulling them down.
My own fault. I’m getting too emotionally attached. I’ve never stuck around to see the wreckage left over. I didn’t care, because it wasn’t my job to care.
But I care now.
That’s the difference between this job and the others. In this one, I’ve fallen for Olive, and Bethany, and Valerie.
And most of all, Anders.
It’s a disservice to him, not focusing correctly, doing what he hired me to do. Because we are employer and client. I need to get my head on straight. I can’t afford to slip up here. Because I care and I want Valerie to be with someone perfect for her.
Because I care about myself and my life, and I need the money for Save a Paw, and I need the money to move for Taina’s marriage, I need this to go well.
No more distractions. No more flirting with Anders outside of the facade. No stolen touches, no wandering glances, nothing romantic, no messy lines.
Maybe I skipped over these boundaries for Olive, but I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop myself from watching out for her. It’s the caretaker in me. And she’s so sweet and smart. So bright eyed and curious and endearing.
And I hate bullies.
But that’s the last time. That’s where I draw the line.
From now on, it’s about the job, and the job alone.
I take a fortifying breath and let myself in. I kick off my shoes beside Anders’s and pause.
How nice would it be to always see them beside each other like this?
I turn around, walk out, then step back in.
There. Fresh start. Starting now.
When I walk through the hall that spits me out to the kitchen, Anders is there cutting up an avocado. I don’t make a sound with my bare feet, but he looks up as soon as I step in.
“You’re back,” he says, pushing a plate toward me as I join him.
“Smells good in here,” I comment.
“Hopefully it tastes as good too,” he says, dropping slices of avocado on a plate of rice, beans, and tofu. “I read a recipe on how to make Puerto Rican rice and beans. If it’s horrible, then we can order out.”
“Are you kidding me?” I snap. I need to go outside and let myself back in again.
“Um, no?” He does his cute little head-cock thing. “If you don’t want to try, there are plenty of delivery options.”
“I’m not hungry,” I snap again, though my heart threatens to burst from its cage. It’s like it and my brain can’t get on the same page, and the contradicting emotions are going to drive me insane. “I mean, I don’t feel that well.”
“Did I get you sick?” He immediately approaches me, hand on my forehead. “You don’t feel warm. What’s wrong?”
Out of all the things my brain can think of, I say, “I just got my period.”
“Oh.” He blinks, then recovers instantly. “Can I get you anything? I can go to the store.”
“Nope.” I step away from him. “I’m all prepared. I’m just going to shower and go to sleep, okay?”
“Lucinda—”
“Good night!”
I practically fling myself into my room. No, the guest room. Not my—nothing here is my anything. It’s something I repeat when I shower, washing the day away, a needed reminder.
It was way too easy to fall for everyone involved in this, but I should have been better at keeping a distance. Of course, I know that my situation is difficult. I am in a very emotional stage of my life, and I have a lot on the line. Can I keep blaming myself for making very human errors?
Yes, but all I can think about is the way Anders says he hates the way I speak about myself—a sentiment now that’s not only helping me be easy on myself, but driving me up the wall that he would be so kind to me.
When I exit the bathroom, Anders is hunched over the bedside table. When he rights himself, he drops the heating pad he plugged in on the side of the bed.
Are you kidding me?
“Hey.” He notices me and gestures to a bottle of pain medicine on the table. “These should help with the pain. Val left them here a while ago. Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
“I’m sure,” I say, heading for the bed. I immediately pull the sheets to my chest. “I just want to sleep.”
“Okay,” he says, then pauses by my feet. “Is there a reason you won’t look me in the eyes?”
“Maybe I’m too busy focusing on my uterus being ripped apart?” I counter.
He blows out a breath, paces by the foot of the bed, until I say, “Is something wrong?”
“Not wrong,” he says.
“Well, that sounded like a lie.”
He chuckles. “If you’re still feeling bad tomorrow, let me know.”
“Tell me now, Anders,” I say, since it’s clear he’s waiting to ask something.
“With Valerie planning on getting married and everything,” he says, “my father wants us all to have dinner together. He wants to sit down with John and the rest of us tomorrow. Valerie mentioned you to him, and he asked if you’d join.”
“Ah,” I say. A very different request from usual. One that sends an uncomfortable array of nerves through me. “When’s the last time you had a meal with him?”
“Me?” He makes a face as he thinks back. “Not for a couple of years now. Valerie, though, a couple of months ago. She has a bit of a soft spot for him. Keeps hoping he’s developed the emotions a father should have.”
Instantly, I feel this protectiveness start to flood me. I want to go, be a support system for Anders, be ready to step in if he hurts Valerie’s feelings.
But that has nothing to do with wrecking Valerie’s wedding, and is exactly the kind of blurred line Anders and I have been dancing along.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Truly, I am. “But my period is the worst on the second day. I usually just take some medicine and sleep the entire time.”
He nods. “Okay, no worries, of course.” He moves toward the door. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
“Anders—”
“Sleep well,” he says, and I feel like the worst person on the planet.
Anders has repeatedly shown up for me, outside of the job, without question. I know that. But if I don’t draw a line now, neither of us ever will.
I don’t get more than an hour of sleep.
The next morning, Anders comes in with more medicine and water and asks if I’m feeling any better.
I’m so emotional about abandoning him when he needs me that when I say “No,” he presses a kiss on my forehead and returns with some soup and crackers and Vicks, which he rubs into the heels of my feet.
I very nearly say, I’m feeling better, I’ll join for dinner.
Even if he isn’t mentioning it—of course it’s not like him to say anything—I know this meeting will be hard.
To have to sit around someone who is supposed to love you no matter what but you only see once a year.
I know he’d like support. I want him to have it.
But I keep my mouth shut.
I don’t sleep the whole time he’s away, and at night, I shut my eyes, knowing he would peek into my room to see if I was okay. I hear his footsteps, feel his fingers as he brushes my hair from my face, then drops something weighted on my stomach.
When I hear the door click shut, I see he’s placed the heating pad back on my belly.
And I feel like the worst person in the world.