Chapter 50
Chapter Fifty
Hayden
Three weeks later…
“Did you move all the stuff around in the kitchen drawers?”
Hearing Cara’s voice behind me makes me smile, even though she sounds thoroughly exasperated with me. I turn to face her, doing my best not to look smug. “I reorganized the drawers in a more logical way as a favor to my mother-in-law.”
She laughs. “You are so full of shit right now.”
“Tell me the way I have the utensils and cutlery doesn’t make more sense.”
“It’s not about making sense and you know it. You would never do this to your mother’s kitchen.” She arches her eyebrow, waiting, but I keep my mouth shut because I don’t want to admit I wouldn’t dare move a single spoon in Colleen Reilly’s kitchen. “This game you’re playing needs to stop.”
“What game is that?”
“The game where you’re behaving like the worst roommate ever in an effort to get Gin to move out faster.”
“Is it working?”
“You’re not funny.”
“Not always, but you should hear me after a few drinks. I’m hilarious. And I think it’s starting to work. I’m pretty sure people across town could hear her yelling about that plastic bag of old twist ties she was saving.“
It’s not working fast enough, though. It’s been three weeks since I showed up on their doorstep with my bag and my dog, unofficially moving in, and we’ve fallen into a routine.
I leave for Boston on Sunday night, spend four days in the office, and then return Thursday night to work remotely and torment Gin Gamble.
While she fought me at first, Cara finally agreed to scheduling appointments only for the days I’m in Boston and I pay her the difference as a retainer for Penny.
It looks better for our marriage and, as a bonus, I get to spend a lot of time with Cara.
But it’s exhausting and the sooner Gin surrenders, the better.
“I understand what you’re trying to do, Hayden, but maybe you could take it down a notch. Or maybe you could give us all a break and claim you have a work crisis that can only be dealt with from Boston and requires you to work next weekend.”
“And take the pressure off just as she’s nearing her breaking point?”
“You’re assuming that reaching her breaking point means moving out, and not clocking you with a cast iron skillet.” She snorts. “Me joining her in tragic widowhood, the two of us pining away in this decaying house together, might hold some romantic appeal for her.”
“I wish you two would stop talking about killing me.”
“Maybe stop rearranging the kitchen drawers.” She sighs. “I did notice she’s engaging more when I show her potential properties, though.”
“See? It’s working.”
“I know. It’s just… It’s a lot. And I’m hungry, so put on your best fake happy face and let’s go eat. Dinner’s on the table.”
Penny follows us into the kitchen, and she starts to head for her bowls, which are near the back door. But Gin’s in her path, so she turns back and goes all the way around the table to get to them.
Of course Gin notices. “Your dog isn’t very friendly.”
“Penny doesn’t really like people, except for me.” I pause, just for a beat. “And my wife.”
“My daughter has a name,” Gin snaps.
I’m about to say yes, her name is Cara Reilly when the woman in question catches my eye and gives me a pleading look behind her mother’s back. My goal here is to nudge Gin out the door, not make Cara throw herself off the roof, so I let it go for now. I can play nice for her sake.
Then I sit down and get my first look at tonight’s meal, which puts a serious hurt on my good intentions.
I stare down at the plate, the lump of elbow macaroni, mayonnaise, tuna and peas killing my appetite.
Tuna casserole was a constant staple in the Reilly household after my dad died.
Money had always been tight, and it got tighter.
Overwhelmed by grief and stress, Colleen had understandably done the bare minimum for a while.
And just looking at the casserole on my plate brings me back to those dark days.
Was that Gin’s intention? Had she somehow guessed the Reilly family had lived on food that was cheap, easy and could be stretched to cover multiple meals? It’s exactly the kind of thing Gin would do in an attempt to subtly remind me of my place in her world.
Anger boils up, threatening to make me forget I’d just decided to give them a break and play nice. I look at her, a comment about bringing a personal chef with me next week forming.
Gin’s back is rigid. Her jaw’s clenched. She’s clutching her fork and her eyes are on her plate as she pokes at the casserole.
I recognize that body language, maybe because my mother looked the same for a long time after my dad died. A woman who feels beaten and is clinging to her tattered pride with everything left in her. In my peripheral vision, I see Cara, looking much the same, and my heart breaks a little.
I scoop up a forkful of the tuna casserole and shove it in my mouth. The texture turns my stomach, but I know it’s only the taste and feel triggering memories of the hardest time of my life. I shove back the emotions, swallow and then wipe my mouth with the napkin.
“This is very good, Gin,” I say, and it’s not totally a lie. As the dish goes, hers isn’t horrible. “We used to eat it as a kid, but I haven’t had it in a long time. It brings back memories.”
Not good memories, but it’s worth the half-lie when she relaxes slightly and even gives me a weak smile. The true reward is the warmth in Cara’s eyes when she gives me a genuine one.
I eat the entire plateful of tuna casserole, an excruciating experience made worse by the awkward silence around the table. Every time I glance at Penny, who’s curled up in the corner, she gives me a questioning look. Can we go home now?
When the meal is finally over, Gin leaves us to clean up, claiming she’s going for a walk. I glance at Penny when she says the w-a-l-k word, but my dog immediately closes her eyes and pretends to be asleep.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I tell Cara when we’re about halfway through doing the dishes—with me washing this time because I put everything away in the wrong place last time I dried. “Maybe you’re right about a little break.”
“What happened to not letting up when she’s close to cracking?” Cara holds up her hand. “Not that I’m disagreeing. Just wondering what changed your mind?”
“I’m afraid you’re close to cracking, and that’s not what I want. Maybe it’s time to shift strategies. I can spend a little time away. Things calm down a little. And maybe I can make her like me. That might be easier than driving her out.”
Cara’s laugh doesn’t bode well for the plan. “I’m not sure what it would take to make my mother like you, but it’ll be more than being a good sport about the tuna casserole.”
“Hey, I made you like me,” I tease.
Her smile slips away. “But I never hated you. I was hurt by you and angry with you, but I never hated you.”
Again I feel the urge to tell her the truth about homecoming night, and again I tamp it down.
Since I can’t say that, I’m not sure what to say, so I bring it back to the conversation at hand.
“Either way, I think a break from the stress would be good for everybody. Instead of coming back Thursday night, we’ll say a situation came up and I have to work the weekend. ”
“You know, Penny could stay here with me.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Not a chance. I know she loves you, but I wouldn’t be able to function that long without her.”
“It actually is a good thing you addressed custody of her in the prenup. I’d probably fight for her.”
I laugh because I prefer playful Cara to stressed out Cara, but the mention of the prenup is like a blow to the gut.
It’s too easy sometimes to forget this isn’t real—that Cara isn’t my forever wife, and that the time we spend together is just a means to an end. And maybe giving Gin’s nerves a break isn’t the only reason some time apart is a good idea.
Even though I’ll miss Cara, I clearly need some time in Boston, reminding myself of what my actual life looks like.