The Ground Rules: Undone (27 page)

We pretend it didn’t happen. There was no Weston — no confrontation, sobbing embraces, glares and cries of sorrow. It simply didn’t happen.

After the Weston fiasco (which didn’t really happen), Gabe goes out for a run and a trip to the grocery store around the corner. He picks up a bunch of stuff, including my favorite snacks: dill pickle chips, chocolate chip cookies (the chewy soft kind) and lemonade.

“You want me to get fat, don’t you?” I joke. “Is that your master plan?”

“I can’t lie.” He laughs. “I’ve always liked a little extra meat on the bones.”

I smile up at him, removing the contents from the thin plastic bags and setting them carefully in the cupboard.

“I got you these too,” he says handing me a mixed bunch of colorful flowers — pink carnations, mixed with a few small irises and daisies. My face lights up at the sight of them.

God, the man is
killing
me. He’s being
so
sweet, and I feel so guilty.

“Thank you,” I say with a kiss on his cheek. I notice he smells good this morning — very good — the familiar body wash fills my nostrils. “I’ll put them in my grandmother’s vase.”

He smiles. “I’ll take care of breakfast.”

Everything is just rosy when the girls wake up to their dad’s famous pancakes, complete with strawberries and whipped cream smiley faces.

“I might take an extra week off work,” Gabe tells me over eggs and pancakes. “There’s only a week left before school. I thought it would be nice to spend some quality family time together.”

My spirits instantly lift. “Are you sure you can get away with that?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, it’s slow right now. Summer, you know. It’s no big deal.”

“I would love that.”

“Can we go to the city, to the aquarium?” Chloe ventures.

“Yay,” Claire cheers. “We could go to the zoo again.”

“Well, today is McDonalds and the park. Maybe we’ll go to the one with the splash pad.”

If I surround myself with my family, and keep busy, maybe I’ll stop thinking about Oliver. If I put on a smile, maybe it will come naturally. Perhaps I can be happy again, if I try very hard.

I may not be perfectly happy but my stomach sure is post Coke, Big Mac and fries. Gabe sits beside me on the bench, his long legs stretched out. He shoots me a smile here and there, but doesn’t say much. He looks as gorgeous as ever, in his white tee and loose linen shorts, his hair in need of a haircut, a bohemian necklace hanging off his neck. But when he smiles at me, it isn’t that old familiar playful, impish smile — that ‘panty-snatcher’ smile. No, this smile is soft and sweet. It’s more of an ‘I want to take care of you’ smile.

An
‘I love you’
smile.

I take his hand in mine, lace my fingers with his. The gesture surprises him, and even me. He looks at me cautiously and smiles again.

We don’t say a word. We simply sit there, watching our girls as they splash around under the fountains in their matching blue polka-dot bathing suits.

This is happiness.

It wasn’t so hard to find again, after all. It was there all along. I simply chose not to see it.

Gwen pops by later in the afternoon. Greg is working this week and she’s a little bored. She looks as fabulous as always in a tangerine summer romper with a cream-colored gold-accented belt and wedged sandals, her toes painted a matching coral.

“So what does Manny have on the menu tonight?” she asks, all smiles.

I bring my finger to my lips, shushing her. The last thing I need is Gabe finding out I had a personal chef. He would never let me live it down.

“I let him go,” I tell her. “Didn’t really need his services anymore. Who cares what I eat now, right?”

“Damn,” she says, her perfectly groomed brows furrowed. “I’m going to miss that little French hottie.”

I laugh. “Uh-huh…”

“You know…because of the delicious food and all.”

“Riiiight,” I tease.

“Aren’t you going to miss those adorable tiny bowls of mousse?”

“I will,” I admit. “You know how I like tiny things.”

She smiles with a head-to-toe sweep of Gabe who’s just bounded down the stairs. “Apparently not with everything.”

I glare at her with a huge grin.

“Hi Gwen,” Gabe says, completely clueless. “How are you?”

She shrugs. “I’ve had better days. I just lost my very cute and talented personal chef.”

He cocks a brow. “Wow, didn’t realize you had your own chef. You sure are living the life.”

“I try,” she says with a tilt of her head.

“Well, tonight you’re going to have to make due with Gabe’s spaghetti and meatballs,” I tell her.

She winces. “Is it edible?”

I laugh. “Yes. It better be. He won’t let me cook.”

“Hold on to that one,” she says. “Hold on tight.”

We have a wonderful dinner together, talking about anything and everything. I almost forget about the whole drama. Both Gwen and I are impressed with Gabe’s spaghetti, which is amazing. It’s his mom’s recipe. I know how his mother loves to cook and I know she’s taught him a thing or two. I suppose he simply chose not to practice his skills before.

I like this new Gabe.

I’m in the middle of a book when Gabe knocks at my (our) bedroom door. The book in question is a little spicy. I know I really shouldn’t be reading these kinds of novels in my present state of abstinence. He shoots me an adorable off-kilter smile. He’s shirtless again. This somehow bothers me now. He always walks around the house shirtless, especially in the summer months. This is nothing new. I’ve never really paid attention before, but for some reason, I notice now. I really notice; the tanned inked skin, the gorgeous shoulders, the sculpted six-pack, the V shape of his lower abs. I notice it all.

Put on a shirt.

I sit up straight, keeping the book wide open on my lap. I don’t want him to see what I’m reading. “Um…yes, Gabe?”

My heart actually starts to beat a little faster as he steps into our bedroom, taking in his surroundings like he’s never been in here before. “I wanted to give you something,” he tells me with a smile.

“Sure,” I say, curious.

He sits at the edge of the bed and pulls two small pieces of paper from his pocket. “I wanted to do something nice for you,” he tells me as he hands them to me.

They’re adorable homemade coupons: one for a ‘Foot Massage’ and one for a ‘Back Massage’.

I smile. “Wow, you haven’t given me one of these in a while.”

“I know. It’s been too long.”

Why is he being so good to me? After everything I’ve done?
He has always followed the rules, but I didn’t. I got emotionally involved, and deep down, I always knew I would. Yet, despite knowing this, I still chose to fall into this arrangement, and I betrayed my husband knowingly. The last thing I deserve is a foot massage.

I bite my lip. “You don’t need to do this. I know you’re just trying to make me feel better, but I’m fine. I promise.”

He shakes his head. “You know you want it,” he teases with a playful smile.

He’s right. I do. The idea of a massage sounds real good right now.

Damn.

A huge smile stretches wide across my face. “So, when can I cash these in?”

He smiles, a hint of playfulness. “Whenever you want. The spa is open.”

I cock a brow. “Uh-huh.”

He laughs. “I swear. I’ll be strictly professional. My hands will not wander.”

Pity.

“Not sure I can trust you, Mister,” I say, trying to pretend I’m not affected.

“I swear.”

I look at him and, then…I
really
look at him, down to the gold speckles of his eyes.

“What?” he says.

“Why are you doing all this? Why are you being so nice to me? After all I’ve put you through?”

He puts his hand softly on my knee. I catch my breath at the feel of his touch. He hasn’t touched me in ages. He’s been very careful thus far. “Because I love you.”

I smile at him, not saying a word, wanting him to take me in his arms.

He fixes me with emotion. His face falls as he tells me, “I know I didn’t love you right, Ella.”

The admission brings out something in me. I bite back the lump in my throat, confused. “What do you mean?”

He pulls his gaze away from mine. “While we were apart, I thought about us a lot,” he says, “about what happened between us…this whole Weston-Bridget thing.”

I nod and take his hand in mine.

“I’ve tried to figure out where we went wrong, and why we did it…” he trails off and looks at me again. “Why would any happily married couple, why would anyone in their right mind? I think we were bored. We wanted an adventure. We wanted excitement.”

I pull a lock of my hair, wondering about that too. “I was shocked when you were willing to go for it,” I tell him. “I didn’t quite get it. I know Bridget is gorgeous, but I was shocked you were willing to let another man have me.”

He fixes me, his eyes intense. “It wasn’t just about Bridget, you know. It was about you too. I knew you wanted him. And I knew you’d never had the chance to be with anyone other than me, and I wanted to give you that.”

I smile at him. “You’re crazy.”

He shakes his head. “God, I know that…
now
,” he says. “The truth is,” he goes on with an unfading intensity in his eyes. “I never imagined you could fall for him.”

I squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“He seemed so cold to me, so uptight,” he says. “I thought he’d be horrible in the sack, you’d get it out of your system, and come right back to me and I’d get to have a little fun with Bridget once or twice. Because as much as I like to flirt, I’ve never stepped out on you, Ella. Not once. I figured we’d both get to sow our wild oats, and then get back to our perfect little life.”

I feel nauseous at the thought of him and Bridget.

“And I thought our marriage was strong enough to survive anything,” he adds, not quite looking at me. “I took it for granted. I was foolish.”

My eyes are wet when I tell him, “Me too. I was even more stupid than you, Gabe.”

I think about the whole sordid affair: the first meeting, the first date and how amazing Gabe looked in his dark striped shirt he wore just for Bridget. Why didn’t I put an end to it right then? That night at the Planetarium and how he drove me crazy with jealousy, and the breakup. And the day he told me he was willing to do it all over again.

“But why would you be willing do it all over again?” I ask, desperately wanting to know. “After we had all broken up the first time?”

He looks up at me. “You need to understand,” he says, his eyes dark and so sad. “I didn’t
realize
you had fallen for him, until later.”

“When did you realize?” I ask knowing I went to great lengths to hide my feelings from my husband, to shelter him. Through all the ups and downs, I never let my feelings show. I always wore a smile, and a look of nonchalance, just as he did. And I wonder if he had been pretending too.

“The first time I worried was when I found that email in your jewelry box,” he starts. “But you convinced me you didn’t love him that night. And I figured you kept that email in your box because he had said you were beautiful in it. And I know you don’t always think you are beautiful, no matter how many times I tell you.

“And then,” he goes on. “When he broke things off, you seemed pretty upset but I thought, of course, you’d be. I was pissed off too. They were kind of assholes about it. I felt like a pair of worn shoes thrown to the curb. The way they went about it…they were so fucking brazen.”

“When did you know?” I ask again.

“Then, we went to Hawaii together, and you guys barely spoke to each other, so I thought maybe I was imagining the whole thing. And when you told me about New York, I figured it’s be okay just for one night.” He pauses for a second and then turns from me. “But then, when you came back, you weren’t the same. I don’t know what it was, but I knew something had changed. And then when he sent you that doll house on your birthday, the expression on your face said it all. And I knew it wasn’t just about the doll house.”

I bite my lip thinking back to that day. I had tried so hard not to let my feelings show. But I should have known Gabe would see right through me. “I’m so sorry, Gabe. I’m sorry for being so weak. I’m just as bad as my mother.”

He makes my heart jump when he grabs my chin and pulls me to him. “No, you’re not. Don’t you
ever
say that.” He releases me slowly. “I’m the one who should be sorry, Ella.”

“Why?”

“For taking you for granted,” he says. “I should have treasured you, should have helped more around the house, with the kids, cooked more. You work too. It shouldn’t be all on your shoulders.”

I nod, not able to say a thing.

“I should have taken you more places, bought you nice things.”

I take his other hand and squeeze it. “No, Gabe. I don’t need stuff.”

He tears his hand from mine and trails it along the side of my face. “And I should have made love to you, instead of always being so…”

I like how close he is, the proximity arouses me; his smell, his warm breath on my cheeks. “But you know I like our sex life, Gabe.”