An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses) (7 page)

He shakes his head, helps me into the tub, and then he starts the water in the shower. "However," he says before he steps in, "if you have any desire for a twosome 
after
your bath, I am your man."

Yes, you are.

I 
have to admit the Christmas tree in the living room is the most beautiful one I've ever seen. Aza and I bought a smaller one for the great room and decorated it with the ornaments I bought last year. Jalal says he loves that tree best of all. The whole house looks so gorgeous it makes me feel like crying. If only it snowed in Coelho.

Shopping is almost easy this year. Jalal's finally accepted his family's rule of no gifts for adults, though he makes an exception for his adult nephews and nieces, but since even his youngest nephew is now eleven, he sees the practicality of giving them all gift cards. Despite the rule, when we fly up to Seattle after Christmas, he'll bring gifts for his parents. And I've already shopped for Jennie and Eduardo. Adam is too young to appreciate the holiday, and he has everything a toddler could want, but still, it's Christmas. I want him to have what I don't—wonderful childhood memories.

Trying to think of gifts for Jalal is almost impossible. When you know the person has money to buy whatever they want, it certainly takes some of the pleasure out of gifting. But I guess that's not the point. You give them what you want them to have. I want Jalal to love the real me. How do I give him that?

Jalal's relationship with Judith and Hank picked up where it left off, except now it's me, not Meredith by his side. I've learned a lot about his previous life here by listening closely when we're with them. When he and Judith talked about how many parties they'd each thrown during previous holidays—pre-Christmas, Christmas, post-Christmas, New Year's, post-New Year's—I panicked, afraid he'd expect to do that this year. I should have known he'd be more considerate. After all, I'm seven months pregnant, as he reminds me every two seconds.

Jalal tells me this will be a quiet Christmas season. We'll attend only one pre-Christmas party, at Judith's; have our family Christmas with Aza, her kids, and Jennie and Eduardo; and then, two days later, we're off to Seattle. That's about as much quiet as I can handle.

"You must be joking," Jalal says. He's looking at the shoes I'm trying to wiggle my swollen feet into.

"These shoes are beautiful."

"And you are seven months pregnant. Six-inch heels are a hazard."

"They aren't six-inch heels. I can walk perfectly fine." That, I realize as soon as my feet are wedged in them, is a lie. I wobble to the bed and sit down to pry them off. "I hate being short."

"Since when?"

"I hate my big fat feet."

Jalal kneels and lifts one foot to kiss it. "Your puffy little feet are adorable. But we should watch your salt intake."

I kick him with my other puffy little foot. "I hate this dress. Why did I let Aza talk me into buying this shiny thing? I look like a ham wrapped in foil." Jalal tries, without success, to hide his amusement, which only makes me more irritable.

"You look beautiful." He gets up and slips on his jacket. "I will have to stay close by your side all night to run interference."

"Don't be ridiculous. None of yours and Judith's friends will even notice me."

"How could they not, a foil-wrapped ham of your size?"

A six-inch heel makes a hefty dent in the wall when your target ducks. Jalal's brows are raised nearly to his hairline when he looks from the wall to me. "I'm not going," I say. "I don't think Kristen is ready to handle Adam by herself."

He lowers his brows and just
looks
at me in that maddening way of his.

"I'm sorry, Jalal. I'm fat and I'm in a crappy mood. Just go with Aza."

"Adam is asleep and will stay asleep until morning, as he has done almost every other night for months. But if—for some bizarre reason—he wakes up and is traumatized by our absence, we will be five minutes from home. Kristen has my number on speed dial and my phone will be in my pocket the whole evening. And you are not fat; you are pregnant."

He said all that in a calm voice, but I've heard that voice before and I know it's just an inch from anger. He thinks I'm being unreasonable and overprotective again. But that's not why I don't want to go. "What will your friends think of me?"

Jalal's face softens into a smile. He pulls me to my feet and looks into my eyes. "They will think you are beautiful and charming and I am a very lucky man."

That's bull, but I smile back because he's trying to make me feel better. I'm a poor substitute for Meredith is what his friends will really think. I waddle toward my closet. "The least you can do is help me find shoes to go with this dress."

"Indeed, you grumpy little ham."

Even the low-heeled sandals I'm wearing prove too much for my back, and after twenty minutes of standing by Jalal's side as he catches up with old friends, I kick them off, which means I now feel like I'm standing elbow-height to everyone else. I don't say much more than
nice to meet you
, but no one seems to notice. This is the first time I've seen Jalal work a party. He's a natural. Everyone seems to like him. I'm not jealous. I'm in awe. I'll never learn how to be charming like that. I don't think I have the patience for it.

When I tell that to Aza, as we're sitting on a couch in a quiet corner, she laughs and says, "So all those years you waited tables and chatted with your customers you were sincere?"

"That's different."

"No, not really. Oh, he's genuinely interested in
some
of these people. He's just being polite to the rest."

"Well, that's something else I never learned—manners."

"Yes, it's disgusting that you eat soup with your hands."

We're laughing when Jalal walks over and extends his phone to me screen first. It's a text from Kristen—
all good
. "Can I get you something?" he asks as he pockets his phone.

"You can hoist me up. I need to pee."

When I come back into the room, a man is sitting next to Aza and she seems to be enjoying his attention, so I look for Jalal. He's in a group, of course. I scan the rest of the room. I'm the only one alone. I head for the bar hell-bent on a glass of wine, but when I get there guilt requests a Pellegrino. I take it to a comfy nest of a chair in the corner where I can watch the whole party play out in front of me. It's research.

Judith joins me about ten minutes later. "I've been looking for you," she says. "Why are you hiding?"

"I'm just resting."

She perches on the arm of my chair and gestures with a sweep of her hand. "So, what do you think of the Coelho upper crust?"

"They're just people."

"Exactly. And if you keep that in mind, you'll stay sane."

"That sounds like a lesson hard learned."

"Indeed, as your husband would say. I'll tell you about it sometime, but right now I need to mingle. When you're rested, come find me, I want to show you off."

"As what?"

"A satisfied client, of course."

"Oh. Then help me up."

It doesn't take a genius to see right away that Judith's
satisfied client
thing was a ploy to introduce me to the younger crowd here, which means I'm only ten years younger than the women in this group. After introductions, Judith flutters off to make her rounds as perfect hostess. While these five women smile and ask me polite questions, I feel ridiculous, like someone's patronized kid sister.

"When's your due date?"

"February twenty-second."

"Where do you have your gift registry?"

"Well, I—"

"Oh, do it at
Les Bébés
, they have gorgeous imported items."

"Okay."

"Aren't you the one I've seen driving that adorable pink Jeep around town?"

"Guilty."

And on and on. My answers are almost automatic because I'm preoccupied with taking note of their clothes, hair, nails, their posture—not one of them is barefoot. They modulate their voices perfectly; their laughter is like music. I'm so glad I've kept my mouth shut most of the night. No one would have spoken a word to me if I wasn't Jalal's wife.

I want to go home.

Seconds later, as if she too has the gift of telepathy, Aza rescues me by saying Kristen is on the phone. "I lied," she whispers as we walk away. "You looked so uncomfortable. I thought you'd welcome an excuse to get away."

"Bless you."

"Really though, I've met a couple of them before and they seemed nice. Some of them are mothers of young children, like you."

"They may be mothers, but they're not like me."

Aza laughs. "You say the funniest things."

She delivers me to Jalal and returns to her mysterious man on the couch. Jalal holds me close with a hand at my waist and continues his conversation with Hank and another man for a few minutes. I half-listen as they discuss something about mutual funds. Shoeless or not, my back aches. And I'm sleepy.

With a jerk, I open my eyes to the three men grinning at me. Oh my god. I drifted off. Jalal's arm is now around my shoulders, and he says, "I think we should find your shoes before our coach turns back into a pumpkin."

I try to apologize, but Hank waves it off. "Don't give it a thought. Get along home to your bed, little mama."

Aza's new admirer—"Paul Franklin … nice to meet you"—offers to drive her home, so she stays behind. As Jalal helps me into the car, I wonder if his abundant social graces are enough to cancel out my bumbling introduction to the Coelho social scene.

Ryan and Jason, on winter break, drove up from school to be here for our Christmas celebration yesterday. Adam is in heaven with three of his grown-up cousins here to play with him. I admit I followed their every move at first. I mean, the guys aren't familiar with our routines and rules like Kristen is. But I've relaxed. They're in the yard playing Adam's favorite chasing game now, and I'm watching through the window.

"Renee," Jalal says.

"Mm-hmm?"

"Renee."

I turn away from the window. "I just wondered what they were doing now."

"And two minutes ago and two minutes before that."

He's right, of course, but at least I'm inside the house, so that's an improvement. Little steps.

"You can bring him in for lunch and his nap in a few minutes, and after he falls asleep, I would like to take you out for lunch. Just the two of us."

"What's the occasion?"

"Nostalgia," he says. "I miss us. It feels like the action has been non-stop since we moved in. Tonight Aza and Paul will be here while the next generation parties in her apartment, and tomorrow afternoon we fly up to visit the multitude known as the rest of my family. I need a little quiet."

Just as he says the last word, the gang troops in chanting, "We want food."

I give Jalal a quick kiss. "It's a date."

This is a new restaurant to me, but then I haven't been to many in Coelho. Judith always picks the French restaurant when she invites me to lunch. Jalal doesn't like that one. He says the food isn't good, but I know from Judith that he met Meredith there, so I suspect that's the real reason we never go to Pain sur la Table. I compete with her enough, so I'm all for finding a new special place with him. I don't think this one will be it, though. He frowned at the presentation of the appetizer, and after two bites of the salad he slipped on his full critical face. I wonder how often I fail to notice him looking at me like that when I don't live up to his expectations.

"Adam went down for his nap quickly," he says.

"They really tired him out."

"He loves the attention."

"Like his father?" He watches the wine as he swirls it in his glass, so I assume he's ignoring my comment, but then he narrows his eyes at me.

"Is that a slam?" he asks.

"No. Everyone likes you … and they should."

When the entrees arrive, I wait for Jalal's reaction. He tastes a scallop, utters a sound of pleasant surprise and forks another bite. I'm glad for the interruption of our conversation. I don't really want to know what his friends think of me. I almost wish he could get back into his old social circle without me.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

"No. Why?"

"Are you going to eat? It might be better than you expect. Mine is."

We eat in silence for a few minutes. He relents and pours me an inch more wine. "After the holidays," he says, "we have invitations to honor."

"Invitations?"

"For dinner."

"With who?"

"Some of the people you met at Judith's party."

"Oh."

"Your enthusiasm astounds."

"Sorry. That's nice. Great." I drink the wine. "I'll keep my shoes on."

Jalal laughs. I wish I could.

Kristen and the guys were busy with their party preparations most of the afternoon, so Adam got my full attention while Jalal and Azadeh cooked dinner. She chose the menu to impress Paul, who she's been out with three times since Judith's party. We talked to him only briefly when he came to pick up Aza one of those times, so tonight's our first chance to get to know him. He's kept us laughing since we sat down. If Paul realizes how closely Jalal is scrutinizing him, he doesn't show it. I'm happy for Aza.

During a lull in the conversation, Aza finally takes her eyes off Paul and says, "Renee, you know you said I should go back to school?"

"You should."

"Well, I am. I only signed up for one class because I don't know how much help you'll need after the baby's born."

"You never discussed this with me," Jalal says.

"Because you would have discouraged me."

"I would not. I told you to do it years ago."

"You told me to finish my general studies."

Listening between the lines, I'm pretty sure I know how she's going to reply when I ask, "So what class are you taking?"

She hesitates. "Creative writing," she says and then points at Jalal, "and don't you say a word."

It's obvious by the way Jalal shifts his jaw that she called him out, but he pretends innocence. "What did
I
do?"