Chapter Fifteen Bailey #3
She checked her phone and saw she had a message from Mac Maker.
He was going to be in town and wanted to know if she was around to meet up.
Bailey paused. The thought of a night with Mac felt like a shot of warmth in her stomach.
A sexy bar, a martini in a cold glass, perfume, music, and flirting, and the feel of someone different.
Bailey wanted to see Mac so much her throat had started to catch.
But she and Van were sleeping in the same bed every night, they were taking turns making coffee and playing with Dylan and letting one another know when they were jumping in the shower.
It was sweet. She was also ridiculously, insanely grateful for Van’s help.
He could be annoying as fuck—lecturing about all the delivery boxes that arrived each afternoon, reading her unwelcome articles on the chemicals found in Diet Coke, deciding to make his own baby food when the pouches they sold at the grocery store were two dollars each.
And she annoyed him too. Sometimes, just to amuse herself, Bailey would talk about things she knew would bother him, like the trend of brides trashing their wedding dresses, the healing power of crystals, the virtues of cosmetic injections, and then, just when she sensed he was about to melt down, she would take off her shirt or start kissing his ear and peace would be restored in the kingdom.
She texted Mac and said she was sorry to miss him.
“Bailey?” Van came into the bedroom holding a pile of catalogs. “Do you need any of these? I’m just trying to clear up some space on the desk.”
“Yeah, let me hang on to those.” Dylan had slowed down, and she scooped him over her shoulder to burp him in one practiced motion.
“What are you shopping for? Do you really need more stuff?”
“I don’t know, it’s just—” Bailey brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I’m just looking at them. I just like flipping through catalogs to relax.”
“Shopping for the sake of shopping?” Van wrinkled his brow as though she were perusing photos of sexually transmitted diseases.
“Looking at nice things? It’s enjoyable. Like going to a museum while sitting in your own house.”
“I mean,” Van hedged. “That would be if you were looking at Rembrandts or Renoirs in an art book. Not…” Van flipped to a random page of an athleisurewear catalog. “ ‘A street-to-studio bodysuit with inner shelf bra.’ ”
“Van.” Bailey frowned. “Just because you can wear the same four shirts every day of your life doesn’t mean I can.”
“You could if you wanted to,” Van countered.
“Absolutely not. Women can’t do that.”
“Bailey, if you repeated the same outfit three times a week literally nobody on Planet Earth would notice or care.”
“Do you really think that? You think I’d be as successful if I stopped spending money on clothes and hair and makeup?”
“I think it’s a capitalist loop,” said Van. “Culture has reinforced the patriarchy with beauty standards. Women spend all this money buying dresses from Zara and lipstick from Sephora and then it all ends up in a landfill. It’s bad for women and it’s bad for the Earth.”
“Thank you for explaining the patriarchy to me, Van,” said Bailey sarcastically.
“I’m just saying that you have a choice here, Bailey. You don’t have to participate. My mother doesn’t shop or wear makeup.”
“Um, your mother does wear makeup.” Bailey looked at Van in disbelief.
“I don’t think so.” Van shook his head. “Not like you.”
“Like me. Wow.” Bailey paused. She’d always sort of suspected that Van thought she was a superficial idiot, but he’d never said so outright. “There have been studies about this,” Bailey said. “Women who wear makeup make more money. Life goes better for women willing to play the game.”
“But every woman who plays the game makes it worse for the next generation.” Van gestured with the catalog. “When you buy a—a—‘street-to-studio bodysuit’—you are upholding the beauty standard, you’re supporting the patriarchy, you’re supporting capitalism.”
“Jesus, Van.”
“I’m just—”
“Goddamn it, Van!” Bailey snatched the catalog out of his hand in frustration. “I can do whatever I want! I get to decide! Not you!” Dylan startled and began to cry.
“Okay,” Van relented. “I’m sorry. I get it. You’re just already so beautiful.”
“I know.” Bailey sighed, shushing Dylan and patting him on the back, the fight gone out of her.
It wasn’t Van’s fault. They were just spending so much time in close quarters.
And Van was so different from her disgusting brothers-in-law.
He didn’t love her for the well-groomed package.
Or at least he didn’t think he did. Maybe he missed stupid Caroline and her nerd glasses.
Dylan calmed and his little body relaxed. Bailey chose the path of peace. “Hey, take this guy.” Van nodded and reached for Dylan, carefully lifting him from Bailey’s lap and quietly carrying him off to his crib.
Maybe Bailey made a mistake asking Van to move in. Maybe she thought she wanted a boyfriend when really all she’d needed was an au pair and a housekeeper. She clicked back into the text chain with Mac Maker and sent him a quick note.
Hey, I actually think I might be around to meet up.