Cheating on Myself (19 page)

“Who’s Tara Gayle? Your ex-wife? Did she make the list twice?”

“High school girlfriend. She really messed me up.”

“More than your wife?”

“That’s a tough call. One messed with me as an adult, one fucked me up as a vulnerable, stupid teenager. But you’ll notice they’re both at the top of my list, so each was traumatic in one way or another.”

“You seem to have an issue with the women in your life,” I teased, hoping he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. “Maybe you have a tendency to choose bad ones?”

“Maybe so,” he said with an adorably crooked, cocky smile. He studied me in the dim light of the Mexican restaurant, and it took every bit of willpower to keep me from reaching over to wipe off the dab of sour cream stuck just under his lower lip. “We’ll see how this goes. Here’s what I’m hoping: I’m hoping
I
make your list instead of
you
making it onto mine. That would be a better way for all of this to work out, wouldn’t it?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“
So do you really like him?” Anders asked, reminding me, as he always did, of a very good girlfriend rather than the straight man he claimed to be. “Are you going to sleep with him to find out if he’s a little less childish and immature when he’s in bed?”

I slapped my roommate hard on the shoulder, despite the fact that he’d gone out in the sub-zero temperatures to bring us fresh baguettes and steaming lattes from our neighborhood bakery before I woke up. I had discovered there were a few perks of having a roommate who wasn’t Erik. Anders couldn’t make coffee, but he was kind enough to go out and get it for us. Buying it fresh each morning kept the house from reeking like a coffee shop, so I was finding I didn’t miss Erik’s morning brew. For some reason, even my panties had smelled like roasted coffee when I’d lived at Erik’s. Coffee crept into the pores of a house and stunk it up, but my own house smelled like lemon fragrance sticks instead.

“I do like him, but he’s just so different from—well, different from Erik. I don’t really know what to make of him.”

“Did he kiss you?”

“No,” I thought back to the end of the date the night before, and how Joe had just promised to pick me up at one on Sunday afternoon for the hash. Then he’d given me one of his smirking grins, told me he’d had a fun time, and politely waited in his car at the curb to make sure I made it inside my front door. All signs of a decent date, but there had been nothing physical, nothing even remotely related to physicality. “I can’t figure out what he thinks about me,” I said. “Cat said he was this huge player, but I don’t get the sense that he’s trying to mack on me—”

“Mack on?” Anders cut me off, laughing hysterically. “When was the last time you talked about guys and hooking up?”

“So my slang is off,” I waved my hand in the air, baguette held high and proud. “At least I’m trying! Anyway, I don’t feel like he’s trying to be super pervy with me or anything.”

“What a glowing recommendation. ‘He’s not trying to be pervy?’ Does he seem like the kind of guy who might be pervy? Because I think we should talk, if that’s the direction you’re headed.”

“No, he seems really nice. Kind of commitment-phobic, but very fun. A good fling.”

“Except there’s no macking,” Anders cracked himself up. “Isn’t it a little tough to have a fling if there isn’t any macking?”

“You suck.” My cell phone started to ring, and I reached over him to grab it. “What I’m saying is, there’s potential, but I’m not sure yet.” I peeked at the caller ID before answering. Cat. I had been avoiding Cat all week, ever since I’d flinged—flung?—with her brother on Monday. I didn’t want to talk to her, after getting the third degree from Laurel the afternoon it had happened. I never thought I’d be in a position where I had to avoid one of my best friends.

“Hey, Cat,” I said, trying to act cool. “How’s Er—I mean, how’s everything?” God, I was not cool.

“Hi, Auntie Stella,” Pippa’s voice shouted through the phone. “Can you come for dinner tonight?”

“Oh, hi, Pip,” I said, missing her desperately.

“Can you?”

“Sure, Pippa, I can come over for dinner. Does your mom know you’re inviting me?”

“Yeah, Mom knows. She said I could invite you. She told me to tell you it’s a party. Will you be my date?”

“Absolutely. Can I talk to your mom?”

Cat breathed, “Hey, Stell,” into the phone, and I heard her dictating instructions to the au pair and her daughters in the background. For someone who didn’t work, had live-in help, and a weekly housekeeper, Cat seemed awfully stressed all the time. I imagined half her life was spent managing Laurel’s whims and wonderings. “You’re sure you’re cool with this?” she asked, sounding hurried and harried. “The girls have been asking to see you all week. I wouldn’t ask, but—”

“It’s fine. Great. I miss them, Cat. It will be good to see you, too.”

She paused. “Okay. Six, okay? We’re eating early so we can get the girls fed and put them in front of a movie. You can hang out as long as you want, ’kay?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

“You rock. Bring a bottle of wine if you want, but you can just bring yourself if that’s easier.”

“I’ll see you tonight—and I’m on the wine.”

“Later, babe.”

“Later,” I said to a dead phone. I turned to Anders and said, “I’m not sure where this thing—or whatever it is—with Joe the singer is going, but my, oh my, is he hot. So I’m not saying never. I’m just saying, I’m still treading lightly.”

“But if he macks on you, you’ll be up for it?”

I stood up and made my way to the shower. “Mack away,” I said, acting like it was such an easy thing to say. But even as I thought about kissing Joe, I was thinking about Erik and how it had felt to touch him again on Monday. Why was it so hard to just let go?

* * *

When I arrived at Cat’s house later that night, I ran into the girls’ au pair, Aurelie, outside in the driveway. She had been dispatched to fetch a box of Annie’s shells and cheese, since Pippa was apparently refusing to eat the spaghetti Bolognese Cat had prepared. I let myself inside assuming everything would be so frantic, no one would hear the bell.

As I pulled off my shoes and placed them neatly on the shoe rack near the front door, I should have realized it was far too loud for a regular Saturday night at Cat and Trav’s house. I should have noticed the spare adult voices, and should certainly have recognized all of them. But I guess I just wasn’t paying close enough attention, because when I walked through the dining room and toward the large, Italian-style kitchen, I was shocked to see Erik standing at the stove, his back to me.

I paused in the doorway, tucking into the shadowy space between the dining room and the kitchen’s pantry area, and surveyed the scene. Erik was stirring something, and was wearing his classic chinos with a striped blue and white shirt that he was convinced gave him an edge. Really, it just looked like a heaping portion of Gap stirred into a side of Banana Republic, but that was thrilling for Erik. The buttons were in unconventional locations on the sleeves, allowing him to roll them up to three-quarter-length and strike a casual-yet-chic pose.

As I stared at him wearing his marketing uniform, I couldn’t help but notice his arms looked more cut and his rear end looked the teensiest bit more tempting than it ever had before. I’d never been tempted to squeeze it, but I suddenly wanted to stride right over there and give it a little rub. I bit my lip, realizing I was thinking about Erik-from-Monday instead of Erik-from-the-last-twelve-years, and I hated how I’d started to replace my old memories with a better, fresher option. He was not one morning of sex. He was years worth of regret and lost independence. I broke up with him. It wasn’t a hasty decision. There were reasons, and I was finally almost able to recognize myself—digging out from under years of someone else’s dreams—emerging from beneath an easily-influenced shell.

He wasn’t cute.

He wasn’t spontaneous, or passionate, or, for that matter, really all that fun.

He made me believe my life was as good as it was ever going to get.

But because he belonged in the family I wanted to continue to be a part of, I would have to learn to coexist with him without it being weird. I knew I was going to have to talk to him about what had happened on Monday, and then I simply needed to move on. Because he was the same tight-assed, self-centered, stuck-in-a-rut ex boyfriend I’d left months before—and I needed to remember we were over. For good.

I stepped into the kitchen. Pippa noticed me first and came charging over to say hello. I bent down to give her a hug, and Heidi yelled out, “Stay away from Pip, Stella. She’s pukey.”

But I had already squeezed her and had her tipped halfway upside down when I heard a disconcerting gurgle. Suddenly, I felt a drizzle of something warm hit the back of my neck, and felt wet stickiness seeping down my shoulder and soaking through my shirt.

“Sorry,” Pippa said when I had her upright again. She grinned apologetically, then chirped, “I feel better.”

“Oh, Stella, I’m so sorry,” Cat said, rushing over. “This started about half and hour ago—I thought it was something she ate, but I called a couple of the other moms and found out there’s a bug going around this weekend. She feels fine otherwise, but it has been hurl, hurl, hurl for the last half hour. We have a towel set up for her over there in the corner. She’s supposed to go there if she feels any more coming on.”

I reached up and felt my neck, which was covered in a thin, hot, runny goo. My shirt was stuck to my back and I could smell the putrid acidity of booze-free puke wafting around me.

“S’okay,” I muttered, trying to put on a brave face for Pippa’s sake. I could see why the girl didn’t want to eat spaghetti Bolognese—I could only imagine what that would look like coming back up. Of course, little macaroni shells wouldn’t be much better, but at least she wanted to eat something. “It will wash out.”

Erik walked over and dabbed at my neck with a damp kitchen towel. He gave me a timid smile, and I did my best to shoot a casual, hey-you grin back at him. But there was something about the tenderness and generosity of wiping vomit from my neck that made my stomach twist, and not in a sick sort of way. Seeing him again, up close, in familiar surroundings, made me want him. I wanted to touch him and feel that comfort and security in the way he touched me again.

I grabbed the towel from his hand and muttered, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He walked to the sink to wash his hands, and I could see him watching me as everyone bustled around me cleaning remnants of Pippa’s puke from the floor. In my attempt to avoid his gaze, I looked around the kitchen, and only then did I notice Laurel and Peter were sitting on bar stools at the kitchen island, watching everything with great interest.

“Hello, Laurel,” I said, trying to hide my surprise. What I’d mistakenly thought was a quiet night at home with Cat, the girls, and Travis had turned into a full-family affair. “Hi, Peter.”

They both raised their wine glasses at me and muttered their hellos.

“Would you like a glass of wine, dear?” Laurel said, pushing a bottle of Malbec toward me. It was one of my favorites, a variety I hadn’t had in quite some time—since I’d left Erik’s probably. “You look like you could use a glass or two of wine.” She laughed, and waved her hand in front of her nose. “Perhaps it would be nice for all of us if you could find a fresh shirt first?”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” I said, only then remembering the two bottles of wine I’d brought. A Cabernet and a Tempranillo—two of the new wines Anders had been educating me on. “I’ll change, and then I think I’ll open one of these.”

Erik looked at the wines, and hastily said, “I’d like to try one. I never have anything other than Malbec. I’d like to give the Tempranillo a try.” He was obviously waiting for me to notice his big, rebellious wine moment. Erik took the wine bottles from my hand and set them on the counter. “Let me help you clean up first.”

The last thing I wanted was for him to come upstairs with me to clean up. But I also knew we needed to talk, and I didn’t want to sit through an entire dinner without having talked to him about what had happened on Monday. It was awkward, I was dwelling on it, he was probably embarrassed about it… we had to talk.

“Okay, that would be great. Cat, can I use any towel from the linen closet?”

“Of course, of course,” she muttered, pulling a loaf of burning bread from the oven. “Take your time. Dinner is a shit-show. We might be ordering in.” She bustled around the kitchen, and Travis helpfully followed behind her swatting at her butt with a kitchen towel every time she bent over. “I’ve royally fucked this up. Shit! Sorry, girls. You didn’t hear that.”

Erik and I walked upstairs in silence, and I tried hard to think about Joe, the cute guy Lily had introduced me to from legal, anything to keep me distracted from thoughts of Erik, his office, and Monday. Finally, when we got upstairs, he followed me into the bathroom and I turned to him. “I’m really sorry about what happened on Monday. It was a mistake.”

He looked at me, and I could see frustration, disappointment, and hurt in his eyes. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he said. “Monday was amazing.”

“It was amazing, but it was a mistake. We’re not getting back together, and how are either of us supposed to move on when we do something stupid like that?” I began to unbutton my shirt, momentarily forgetting I didn’t do that in front of Erik anymore. I paused, and opted against buttoning up the two buttons that were already open. “I have to get this shirt off. Can you give me a sec?”

Erik paused, his eyes glancing briefly toward my nearly-exposed chest, but then he stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. As I pulled my shirt off, I looked at myself in the huge mirror that lined one whole wall of Cat’s guest bathroom. I could tell the water aerobics were starting to melt away some of the weight I’d gained after the yoga accident. I’d sworn off scales years ago, gauging my weight only by the fit of my jeans and the feel of my bras. I was never going to be a rail, like Lily, or have a boyish figure, like Cat, but I was back to feeling and looking pretty good for me.