Unconditional Page 5
His face tensed in a pained smile as he tried to pry my fingers loose. “Yes, we do.”
My dad leaned on his elbows and stared at Thomas. “Meg tells me you’re painting in the house.”
Thomas slid a glance to me. “Yes. We’re…uh…painting the…”
“Spare room,” I added.
My mother smiled. “Are you getting a nursery ready, I hope?”
“Pass the vegetables, please?” I asked.
“You like the ravioli, as I recall. Here, have some.” Thomas spooned two toasted raviolis onto my plate and covered them with rich marinara.
My stomach recoiled. “Thanks. I prefer the vegetables.”
“Since when?” He stared at me.
I reached across him and picked up the platter of breaded veggies. “Does it matter? What are you, the veggie police?”
My father cleared his throat. “Thomas, I was telling Meg what a great car that BMW is. I might look into buying one when we get back to Tampa.”
The appetizers made the rounds, with my mother commenting on the quality of each dish and waving the waiter over to ask if she could get the spinach-artichoke dip recipe.
Two servers delivered the rest of our food. With everyone occupied, I breathed a sigh of relief. No one in my family talks and eats at the same time. But, apparently, Francisco never learned that rule. He went on and on with ‘Thomas and I, this, and Thomas and I, that’. When he stretched back and rested his arm across Thomas’s shoulders, I knew I had to do something. I reached up behind Thomas and pinched Francisco’s wrist.
Francisco yelped and jerked his hand away, looking at me like a wounded puppy. “What did you do that for?”
Everyone at the table, and at three tables around us, stared at me.
I tried to look surprised. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Thomas pressed a palm to Francisco’s leg, and made eye contact with him. They apparently shared a silent gay language only the two of them understood, because Francisco apologized and shook his wrist to rid it of a ‘cramp’.
My eyes were locked on Thomas’s hand resting on Francisco’s doughy thigh. I thought gay men took better care of themselves. Francisco could star in biscuit commercials. Which probably explains why dough boy passed on dessert, which made me look really bad when I ordered the chocolate torte. But I was, after all, eating for two.
When the waiter delivered the check, my father whipped out his credit card. “You kids keep your money. This is on me and your mother.”
“No, Daddy. Thomas and I will take care of this. Just our way of welcoming you for your visit. Right, Thomas?” I reached for the leather folder holding the bill and slid it to Thomas. “I don’t have my card with me. Use yours, please, sweetie.”
He glanced at the bill and his mouth tightened. But he didn’t argue.
I watched him as he calculated the tip. “Be generous, honey. The waiter was so great.”
While we waited for the valet to bring the car, my mother announced a brilliant idea. “Megan, you can go home with Thomas. Your father and I will bring your car over tomorrow.”
I panicked. “No, Mom. That’s not a good idea. Maybe Thomas has… Uh, he and Francisco probably have to work late tonight.” The grease from the breaded fried vegetables coagulated in my intestines. I pleaded with Thomas with my eyes, but he seemed to have forgotten our silent language.
“Not at all.” Thomas smiled as he put an arm around me. “I’m ready to go home. How about you, Meg?”
Touché. I would have killed him on the spot, but that would have been a dead giveaway that things between us were not quite right. “Okay. But I’ll pick my car up tomorrow.”
Playing his part to the hilt, Thomas squeezed my shoulder. “You don’t mind if we give Francisco a lift, do you?”
“Mind? No, of course not. I’d be happy to give him a lift.” On the end of my foot with a steel-toed boot.
Everyone kissed everyone goodnight—except for me, Thomas and Francisco. Audrey shot me a sympathetic look, and I shrugged.
“We’ll see you both tomorrow,” my mother said.
I elbowed Thomas, who got my message. “I’m sorry, Pauline. I have to return to Atlanta early tomorrow morning. But it was nice to see you.”
I watched my family drive off in my car. The valet returned with the black Porsche Cayenne. Thomas helped me into the back seat, and then climbed in beside me.
“You can sit up front. And I need to be dropped off at Nikki’s. I’ll give you the directions.” I knew he wanted to talk, and I had no desire to serve as a captive audience. I was also about to spew an assortment of Italian food all over the interior of the immaculately clean vehicle.
“So, how was my performance?” Thomas asked with a smile.
“Which one? You’ve taken on a few new roles lately.”
Thomas’s smile faded. “We need to talk, Meg.”
“Not here. Not now.” I turned my gaze to the back of Francisco’s perfectly trimmed, blond-highlighted head.
“Where and when?” Thomas pressed.
“Come to my office Tuesday after seven. I won’t have any appointments. We can talk there. Just you and me, though.” I locked a burning stare onto the back of Francisco’s head. He shifted and patted his hair into place.
Thomas nodded. “Okay.”
I wished I would puke. But I couldn’t. My dinner sat there in my stomach, gurgling like Mount St. Helens.
Francisco pulled into traffic. “Where am I going?”
To hell in a handbasket? “The South Side.”
Chapter Ten
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around?” Nikki hovered at my office door.
“I’m sure.”
“Well, if you need to decompress afterward, stop by my place.”
“Thanks, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. Thomas and I are both adults.”
She shook her head. “You’re giving him too much credit.” She pushed off from the door frame. “I’m outta here, then.”
I finished my notes and locked up the files, then stood outside the office, staring into the darkening parking lot. My heart stuttered when Thomas pulled a champagne colored Porsche Cayenne, a twin of Francisco’s SUV, into the empty spot beside my BMW. Well, there went my hopes for a champagne Lexus. He even stole the color from me.
He opened the glass door and stepped inside. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic.”
“It’s okay.” When he passed, his aftershave sent a bolt of memory through me. “Go on back to my office. I’ll be there in a minute. I want to lock up.” He headed down the hall. I locked the door and stood for a moment to still my shaking hands.
Thomas seated himself on the loveseat. I took the comfortable chair. If I sat in my leather swivel chair, I feared I’d slip into therapist mode. My comfort zone.
He studied the framed art on the walls. “You’ve done a nice job with this place. It’s…calming.”
I wish. I had rehearsed our conversation ten times that day, but when I looked at him, my script blurred. I could not stop the quiver of my chin or the overflow of traitorous tears that ran hot down my cheeks.
Thomas covered my hand with his. “Hey. You okay?”
I shook my head and hiccupped. This was definitely not how I’d practiced this encounter.
Thomas leaned across me to snatch a few tissues from the box on the table. I resisted the urge to lay my head against his chest, nestle into that spot on his shoulder that fit me perfectly. Instead, I accepted the wad of tissues he pressed into my hand, and blew my nose.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do this. I hate what this is doing to you.”
Then don’t do it.
He gazed at me, his brown eyes glistening. “There’s so much I want to say, but… I don’t know what’s right and what will set you off.”
What will set me off? “It’s a little late to worry about that, don’t you think?”
“How do we do this? You tell me. You’re the professional.”
He leaned forward and folded me into his arms. He had the good sense not to speak, but held me while I soaked his shirt with tears and snot.
I pressed my cheek into his chest and sniffled. “I love you. I know you don’t want to hear that, but I can’t help it. I can’t be objective about this.”
His hand traced soothing circles on my back. “I love you, too.”
I looked up into his face. “If you’re bi-sexual, doesn’t that mean you can choose?”
“I wish it was that simple. But can you honestly say you’d ever trust me, Meg? That you wouldn’t always wonder? God, you have no idea how I wish things could be different. You don’t know how hard I tried.”
“It was that hard to love me?” I drew back and met his eyes.
“No. It’s that hard to let you go.”
A tear slipped over the fine dark lashes of his lower lid. I reached out and wiped the moisture away with my thumb, then cupped his cheek roughened by a day’s beard growth. I considered telling him about the baby, but it wasn’t the right time. I didn’t want it to seem that I was using the pregnancy to force Thomas into an even more difficult decision. I’d never know if he stayed with me because he loved me and wanted to make our marriage work or if it was because of the baby. And I still hadn’t figured out how to explain my deliberate decision to stop birth control.
He took my hand and kissed the palm. “I’ll always love you.”
“You mean the way we both promised in our marriage vows? Thomas, I’ve loved you pretty much without question or doubt. And I’ve trusted you with everything, with my life.” With my heart.
I knit my eyebrows together, then asked the one question that had plagued me for weeks. “When we made love, how did you…? Uh...you seemed turned on. I mean, you were able to…”
He grinned and flushed. “There is such a thing as an automatic response to stimulation.”
“It was just sex, then? Mechanical? Had nothing to do with me as a woman?” I was having a hard time wrapping my mind around the idea that our lovemaking was nothing more than a physical function.
“Not just sex. Meg, it wasn’t just sex.” His cell phone went off, and he frowned at it before silencing it.
“You can take that call if you need to. We’re finished.”
“But we haven’t resolved anything.”
As if splitting property would ‘resolve’ everything. I tugged a tissue from the box and wiped my eyes. “I have.” I stood, hoping he would take the hint to also stand and leave. “I finally get it. Our marriage is over. You’re ready to move on with… To move on. And I have to find a way to do the same. You shouldn’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“But we need to talk about things.”
“I don’t. I don’t want any of our things. Our attorneys can work out the details for the divorce. Turns out it costs me more to do it this way. With you.” I led him down the hall and unlocked the door for him to exit.
He grasped my elbow. “I know you’re tired of hearing me say I’m sorry, so I won’t.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “More than anything, I want you to be happy.”
I took a few steps back. “You have a hell of a way of showing it. Do you even hear the words coming out of your mouth?”
Then he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. The tenderness nearly unraveled me, and I bit my lip as I closed the door behind him.
~ * ~
“Nikki, can you reschedule my afternoon appointments?” I asked through the intercom.
She appeared at my open door. “Sure. Why?”
“Because I need to be somewhere else this afternoon.” Anywhere else. “And you really can respond on the intercom, you know.”
“It’s so impersonal, though. It’s not like I can’t walk the ten feet to your door.”
I stood and stretched.
Nikki stared at my mid-section. “Man. You’re getting a baby bump.”
I stared down, my fingers on my abdomen. “Really? Nah, it’s too early.”
“Just a little. You’re what, two months along?”
“Eight weeks and four days.” I smoothed my sweater down over my belly. I was sure we were both imagining the slight swell. “Probably Audrey’s cooking.”
“If you weren’t flat as a pancake to begin with, it wouldn’t be noticeable. Soon it’ll be hard to hide.”
I sighed. “I know. I’m going to have to tell Thomas.”
“You didn’t tell him last night?”
“It wasn’t the right time. I don’t want him to stay with me because of the baby. And, to be honest, I’m not exactly sure what Thomas wants.”
“He probably wants to be friends so he can pat himself on the back for not having walked away from you completely,” she said, her eyes still fixed on my belly.
“Yo. Nikki. I’m up here.” I snapped my fingers.
“Sorry. I’m fascinated by this whole baby-growing thing.”
“I don’t know how to be Thomas’s friend. When I think of him with Francisco, my mind goes crazy with images of the two of them together sexually, doing disgusting things to one another.”
“It’s not disgusting to them. Sex between a man and a woman can look disgusting.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“I didn’t know I had to choose. But…yours…of course. I’m just saying, maybe there’s a way to get past all of this and let Thomas be a father to the baby.”
I didn’t answer, my mind already on to another thought. “Do you think there’s any truth to the studies that say homosexuality is genetic, inherited?”
“Is that what you’re worried about?”
“I’m not worried, just wondering. What if my baby grows up to be gay?”
“What if he grows up to be a Republican?”
“Your point?”
“You’re gonna love this baby, no matter what. You already do.”
“How do you know?”
She laughed. “It’s obvious. You walk around with a goofy smile on your face. You stare down and rub your belly when you think no one’s looking, and you whisper to the baby. You are so in love.”
She was right. I may have had nothing good to say about my baby’s father, but I loved the baby. That little shadow growing inside me. “I’m going apartment hunting this weekend. Want to come along?” I asked.
“I thought you’d stay with your sister until you have the baby.”
“She’s driving me crazy. I can’t even pick up a newspaper without her ripping it out of my hands and ordering me to sit down.”
“That’s sweet.”
“It’s insane. Pioneer women worked in the fields until the baby popped out. They kissed it on the head, nursed it, and then went back to work with the baby swaddled to their backs. Audrey seems to think I’m an invalid all of a sudden.”
“Where are you looking for a place?”
“I don’t know. Some place safe and not too far from the city. I thought I’d go online tonight and check listings. Maybe look for a small house.”
Nikki furrowed her eyebrows. “What are you planning to do for furniture?”
“Glad you brought that up. Are you still seeing that wrestler? I’m moving a few things this weekend, and I’ll need help.”
~ * ~
Audrey paced at the window, stopping on each return pass to peer between the closed blinds.
“Aud, they’re not coming home. Will you please relax? Come here and help me with this chair.” I half lifted, half slid the glider rocker toward the door.
“You shouldn’t be lifting this stuff. Here, I can get it.” Audrey jerked the rocker out of my hands. The glider slid back and cracked into her shin. “Ouch.” She lowered the chair and rubbed her leg.
“Are you okay?”
She winced and massaged the dented, but unbroken flesh. “I’m okay. Meg, are yo
u sure this is a good idea?”
“What? Stealing my own furniture?”
Nikki and Chico eased the dismantled double bed from the guest room down the stairs. I didn’t want the bed Thomas and I had shared in the event he had very likely also shared it with Francisco. I held the front door open and they navigated the steps, depositing the box spring in the back of Chico’s oversized pickup truck. Nikki was much stronger than she looked. I was impressed.
Audrey dragged the rocking chair to the front door where it awaited Chico’s muscle.
Nikki came back inside, brushing her palms together. “Okay, we got the bed, the chest of drawers, and the night stand. Chico’s loading the rocker, and there’s still a little room in the truck. What else?”
I pointed. “The coffee table, end tables, and lamps. Will they fit?”
Nikki grinned. “We’ll make them fit. The lamps can go in the back of Audrey’s car.”
“Audrey?” I did a three-sixty in the middle of the much-more-spacious living room. “Where’d she go?”
Nikki shrugged and picked up one of the end tables.
I found Audrey in the kitchen, sorting pots and pans. “You’re going to need cookware, and dishes.”
Way to go, Sis. Take initiative. “I’m buying new dishes. But be sure to take the black pots with the glass lids. That’s the Rachael Ray collection I bought last year. I’ll be in the basement.”
I opened the door to the basement and flipped on the light. A musty damp smell hit my nose as I descended the steps into the unfinished cave-like cement-block cellar. Turning this dark, damp space into a game room had been the plan for next year. I wondered if Thomas would still do it. And what games he would play down here.
Water puddled in the far corner, and I thought I should tell Thomas about the leak. Then I determined he could find it on his own. I tugged on a box marked ‘Meg.’ Should I leave the box behind as a reminder to Francisco that this was once ‘my’ place? I pulled the box out from the shelf and lifted the lid. Old college text books. Why did I keep these? I replaced the lid and slid the container back into its place.
What I found inside the unlabeled box leveled me. This box held memories—the garter Thomas had removed from my thigh at our wedding reception, a stack of letters I had written to him, one every day, while he was in Atlanta for two weeks of job training just a month after we married, ticket stubs from the off-Broadway production we went to see for our first date. A Broadway show. That should have been a clue.