Chapter 36
I thought about my words to Trista all the way back to my apartment. Was I the kind of friend who was loyal and trusting? I liked to think so, but it was rather humbling to realize I’d somehow inspired such loyalty from Havisham and Salcedo.
But could I trust myself to know if they were true friends? Could I trust that part of me that said Malone was different, that he might be the unicorn of a man I’d been searching for?
It would figure that I’d find a good man, only to have him not want the same kind of relationship I did.
What was I even doing with my life? Messing around with Malone as though we were going to ride off into the sunset together someday?
He’d never promised anything serious. I’d thought I was the kind of person who could hit it and quit it, but apparently, I had feelings after all.
I was being ridiculous to think that heterochromia and having read a popular book meant anything.
Who knew if his favorite shape was a star, and I was pretty sure he’d never kissed me under a blue moon, but none of that was important.
It was silly, the ramblings of a grown woman referring to something a fictional child had said in a movie.
Heck, Havisham had met her cowboy, but he was neither a billionaire nor a philanthropist.
So far as you know.
The whole day had left me thirsty, cranky, and completely disillusioned with humanity.
As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw a moving van backed up to our breezeway, and my heart lodged firmly in my throat.
I rubbed my breastbone.
If it hurt this much to see the moving van, how much more would it hurt when he actually left?
A clean break. Yeah. I needed to make a clean break of it.
After a couple of deep breaths, I walked up to his door and knocked.
“There you are!” he said as he pulled me close for a kiss. “What took you so long?”
“I had to make another stop after the tag office.”
He grimaced. “As if the tag office isn’t bad enough. But don’t you worry. We are celebrating tonight. You got the title, and thanks to you, I had a major breakthrough. Let me open this bottle, and I’ll let you pick the pizza.”
“Malone—”
He opened the fridge and took out a champagne bottle, talking as he unwrapped it and took off the cage. “Finally, finally. I found that last puzzle piece, and you know, it was your puzzle piece that helped me figure it out—”
“Malone—”
“At first, I was thinking Wyoming or the Caymans, but . . .” Here he paused to pop the cork.
“Liechtenstein! Mountains. For some reason the mountain on the puzzle piece reminded me of Liechtenstein. And there is no way he would’ve figured that out on his own.
But do you know who does know about Liechtenstein?
Selena! All thanks to you! You weren’t kidding when you said you’d do something worse than punch her.
I’d say going to jail for helping Blake embezzle money is going to be a whole lot worse. ”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Malone.”
He paused, and something about my expression made him frown. “Yes?”
“I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Since when has champagne ever not been a good idea?”
“No, us.”
My heart pounded against my chest as though trying to tell me to stop talking. Malone remained frozen. Champagne flowed into the sink before he absently sat the whole bottle in there, wisps of carbonation rising from the top. “Can I ask what brought about this change of heart?”
“No reason,” I whispered, my past and my present colliding in ways I didn’t like.
“Oh, there’s gotta be a reason.”
I forced myself back into the present. “No, my ex and I used to call it ‘No Reason Champagne.’ I do have reasons, very good ones.”
“Please tell me it’s not to get back together with him.”
“No! Why does everyone think I would do that?”
“Because, I don’t know, you were with him for a reason.”
“I don’t remember what it was at this point. No, the moving van. You’re moving.”
“Not today! That’s for Mrs. Q. Her daughter finally talked her into moving into a place where she won’t have to climb the stairs.”
Ah, that.
“No, but someday you will move, Malone. Unless . . .”
I gave him space to talk about a branch office, as he’d considered for Selena. Instead, he said, “Unless what?”
“Nothing.”
“Well,” he said, “they do make phones and planes and such. I don’t love the idea of long distance, but—”
“Is that really what you want to do?”
“No.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Then what are we doing here?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You tell me.”
I needed him to say it first. Why couldn’t he understand that I needed him to say it first? Every time I’d put myself out on that limb in the past, someone had sawed it off and let me fall.
Well, not Havisham or Salcedo.
Have you really known them long enough that you can guarantee they won’t do something similar someday?
Damn, today had done a number on me. I was hungry and dehydrated and confused and disheartened and—
Malone became blurry in front of me, and I felt the first dull stab of a migraine behind my left eye.
Ugh. Of course—I’d spent all that time in the car, then dealt with Ken, then visited the tag office, and then gone to Trista’s house, where she didn’t offer me so much as a glass of water.
“I can’t do this right now,” I said, holding a hand over my left eye. “I gotta go lie down.”
Malone’s expression changed to one of concern. “Are you okay?”
“Migraine. Stress. And I didn’t drink enough water today.” Now my vision blurred and filled with black globs. Malone’s head seemed to be a foot away from the rest of his body.
“What do you need?”
“I have meds in my apartment. Hopefully, that and a nap will do the trick,” I said, turning to go.
“You can stay here. Let me play nursemaid.” The hope in his voice tugged at the heartstrings that only a month ago I would’ve sworn I didn’t have.
Tempting. Too tempting.
“No thanks. I can handle it.”
“But you’ll call me if it gets worse?”
“Yeah,” I said, almost irritated by how much he cared. How dare he pretend he cared that much about a headache when he wouldn’t take the first step to suggesting something more in our relationship?
That’s not fair, Stella. He said there were planes and phones.
Yeah, but then he admitted he didn’t want to do long-distance.
I made my way across the breezeway, fumbling with the lock because I couldn’t see straight to insert the key. BB meowed at me, and I had to take short, careful steps to make sure I didn’t step on her because the black blobs in my vision were growing larger and taking on a sort of technicolor aura.
In mere minutes, the pain would begin in earnest.
After popping an Imitrex, I stumbled into the bathroom and wet a washrag to put over my eyes, then trudged to the bedroom, kicking off my pants and wriggling free from my bra before slipping into bed.
BB jumped up with a little trill and circled around my pillow before curling up beside my head. I didn’t have the energy to move her.
She began to purr, and it did feel slightly better.
Enough for me to wonder about Malone. He was really going to make me say it first, wasn’t he?
I couldn’t. No way. Never once had I been the first person in a relationship to say “I love you,” and I had no intention of starting now. Not when my track record was abysmal.
The one time I’d declared my affection first was the one time I’d tried to make someone stay by declaring my love. Instead, I’d ruined everything—
No, absolutely not going back down that particular stretch of memory lane.
Oh, hell. Why not reevaluate that night while you’re already in pain?
My career in karmic facilitation might have started at age six, but I achieved peak pettiness at the age of nine. And that pettiness brought my entire world crashing down.
Mom and Dad had always been on-again, off-again.
When you get pregnant at the age of sixteen, you aren’t exactly mature—and girls tend to mature faster than boys, so that should give you a good idea of how immature my father still was.
We lived in an old, cramped house in Austell, one that wasn’t particularly well maintained.
My father had plenty of time on his hands for home maintenance, but he hadn’t had the will since losing his job at the Lakewood Assembly Plant.
Mom worked two jobs. We pretended to be a happy family whenever company was around, but they argued long and late into the night, and my father often smelled of body odor and beer.
Every now and then, he’d feel fatherly and talk to me about football or baseball. Every six months or so, he’d think to take me out for ice cream. But usually, he napped, drank beer, went to play poker with the guys, or, and this was his favorite pastime, he would sneak out to a strip club.
One summer afternoon, my mother made the mistake of leaving a wad of cash on a kitchen counter. She’d just gotten back from her second job, waitressing, and she was too exhausted to think straight. She trudged down the hall, leaving the odor of burned coffee and bacon grease in her wake.
Five minutes after the creak of the bedsprings indicated my mother had flopped onto the bed, my father was at that kitchen counter thumbing through her cash.
“Where are you going, Daddy?”
“Uh, to the bank.”
My eyes narrowed. “The last time you said you were going to the bank, you went to watch women dance. That’s what Nana said.”
“Well, you shouldn’t eavesdrop. And don’t believe everything your nana says,” he said as he placed the money in his pocket.
“You shouldn’t steal Momma’s money. She worked hard for that.”
He muttered something about getting his rocks off, but that wasn’t an expression I understood yet. I only knew it had something to do with seeing the women dance and take off their clothes, which was something Momma had whispered to Nana when she thought I wasn’t listening.