Chapter 18
My bathroom is hot in the mornings, the sun beaming directly through the window. My hair dryer makes it even more so.
The clatter is so loud that I hear it even with my hair dryer going. I turn it off and listen for another sound. The seconds tick by.
When I hear the sound again, it squeezes a shriek out of me. I rush to The Hole and stick my head under the sheet.
“Stuff is here. I’m taking off work today to try and finish bringing down the wall and get started building.
You’ve got an hour before you leave for work if you want to help,” Jack says, taking in my wet poof of hair with a dispassionate expression.
He’s sweating, sporting a Mets cap, jeans, and a blue T-shirt. Lick him. Run your hands up his chest.
No, brain. Must. Keep. Away. From. This. Man. That is the only way to survive now.
His sofa has been pulled back from the wall, and a pile of two-by-fours and tools have taken their place. It’s only seven a.m.
“You’re not serious.”
“You said you wanted it done sooner rather than later.”
“I need to get ready for work. I’m still a mess.”
“You look like you always do.” His tone makes me want to leap through The Hole and wrap my hands around his throat. I realize I haven’t covered up my hickey yet when his gaze snags on my neck, but if anything, the reminder of our stupidity makes his expression grow frostier.
“You can’t take down this wall just yet. What if I bring a guy home?” I have no plans to bring any guys back to my place. It’s a taunt. I want it to sting, like Yelena stung me.
“By the time that happens, this thing will probably be fixed. And if not, I can make myself scarce.”
Absolutely zero fucks detected.
I start to pull my head back when he calls out, “Wait.”
My pulse skips, and he pulls something from his pocket, holding it out to me. I reach for it: the receipt for the supplies.
“I’m going to need to make a drywall run at some point. And then the molding and whatnot, too, so that’s not everything you’ll owe me, but I figured you’d want to start tallying it up.”
I wish there was a way to slam a flap of fabric in your wake. He starts up his vacuum as I stomp away.
My phone rings before I can reach my bathroom. Margie. She never calls. And never reaches out this early.
“Um. Hello?”
“You back?”
“Yeah, I didn’t stay long. Came back Monday afternoon.” I rub at my temple. “Need to fill you in on the stupidity.”
“I’ll need details later, but first, did I leave a script at your place? The one I was reading the other night? I can’t find it anywhere.” She of the forever-deadpan delivery sounds borderline frantic over the phone. “It’s Lucas’s copy, and I need to return it.”
“I’m not sure.” I look around. “Wait, yes. It’s on my counter.”
“Oh, thank God. Okay, I’m going to swing by and pick it up after you get out of work.”
“I can bring—”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t want it traveling after the heart attack I had trying to figure out where I left it. We’ll meet at La’s, grab a bite, you can fill me in on mom drama, and I’ll walk over with you.”
My call waiting beeps and my pulse spikes. Mom. My ribs draw together, bracing. One wrong word and I won’t be able to defuse this bomb.
“Talk about timing. All right, see you later,” I tell Margie. I inhale deeply, steel myself for the conversation, and click over. “Hi, Mom.” I set her on speaker and head into my bathroom, fiddling with my foundation.
“Oh, you answered finally! I still can’t believe you left without saying goodbye.”
“I texted you when I left. It’s not like we didn’t communicate. And you texted back. I would’ve said bye if you were home, but when I got back from that setup with Brian you foisted on me, you were out.”
“I called you. When you were on the bus, after you got home, all day yesterday.”
I pivot away from my bathroom and head instead to the kitchen. More coffee is required for this conversation.
Mom makes a disapproving noise when I remain silent and then changes the subject. “You’re going to need to come down the night before the baby shower. I convinced Katie and her mom to have it in my backyard. You know how nice it is for entertaining back there. You’re going to help me decorate.”
My eyes sting. A party I never agreed to attend, for people I barely know, is one I need to show up for the night before to decorate because I’m now somehow co-hosting?
After being manipulated into almost-viewing a home I didn’t want to buy and maneuvered into a coffee date with a guy I didn’t want to spend time with.
“I can’t, Mom. I told you I’d check if I can even make it that weekend…” My finger hovers over the end button.
“Of course you can come! Brian will be there. He said you two had a blast. Don’t be—”
“The guy, Mom.” I have to raise my voice to be heard. It startles her quiet. “I’m back with the guy I told you about.” I want to throat-punch my psyche and its sick sense of humor when Jack immediately springs to mind.
There’s a pause and then, “Oh?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The less she knows, the less I’ll have to remember when I tell her my fake relationship is over.
“I think you’d like him. He’s real honest.” What other adjectives describe Dad on Opposite Day?
Or describe Jack on any normal day? I think of his work, his caring.
“Nice. Just a really kind and honorable guy.” I close my eyes.
“I’m kind of crazy about him.” The last bit comes out as a lament.
“When did you make up? You just got back—”
“We met up when I got back.” The image of Jack with Yelena hanging on his shoulder makes me want to break my mug on my counter. “And things just kind of fell back into place. I’m supposed to meet him after work for dinner.” I wrinkle my nose, shame pooling in my belly. Liar, liar.
“Is it really all that serious? Because Brian—”
“We’ve been seeing each other for a few months. It’s getting to be serious, yeah, but… We’ll see!” I sound as upbeat and chipper as a ray of sunshine shoved into a rainbow shoved into a puppy’s ass. A joy turducken.
“Okay… Brian will be devastated, but… Don’t let me keep you.” She sounds strangely subdued. I have to force myself not to dwell on it. I’ve spent far too many nights dissecting her moods or words like they were science-class frogs.
“I hope you’re not wearing anything black. It doesn’t suit your coloring. No man will find you attractive if you remind him of a struck match, Penelope.”
“Nope, I’m good. Talk to you later,” I say, watching with a frown as the sheet covering The Hole billows slightly.
I hang up and slump on my kitchen stool.
Now to decide how long to keep a fake significant other around before telling Mom it’s over.
Maybe I draw it out for an age and then on the way to introduce him to her, I show up in tattered clothes, mascara running, screaming about how the love of my life was nabbed in the middle of the street by an unknown enemy and pressed into service in Her Majesty’s navy.
He’s doomed to pursue pirates on the high seas, but one day he seizes an opportunity to join the pirates, trying with all his might to find his way back to me—only to discover me at the altar about to exchange vows with his biggest rival.
I gust out a sigh. Pirate Duke is so hot.
The memory of a hand skimming my silk-covered breast and a mouth on my neck in a closet on a different waterborne vessel blazes through my mind.
I slowly release a breath, fighting the wildfire that streaks up my spine.
Do you really like Jack, though? Maybe it was just proximity to a decent-looking male.
Forget about the fact that you reacted to Brian like you would a bowl of oatmeal.
Jack sucks. He doesn’t deserve sexy gymnastics with you.
He deserves a kick to the head. And this violent sentiment has absolutely nothing to do with his little tête-à-tête with his appraiser.
Maybe he was just having her finish the appraisal?
I snort and pick up my coffee mug. With all that cleavage?
I hear Jack’s vacuum going, and then, as quickly as it flared, the wellspring of denial and annoyance runs dry. I like that menace more than I can say.