The Kiss Test (26 page)

“Thank goodness, I didn’t crumple the dress up on the floor when I got home last night.” I punched the keypad on my cell phone to listen to my next voice mail message. I was quite the popular gal today, it appeared. “Margo? It’s Mary Ballard. It’s a boy! Baldy Jr. Well, not really, but it’s just too cute to not call him that anyway.” I smiled at the joy in my renter’s voice. A baby. Holding Denise’s baby was an experience…one I never expected to have. It was nice, I had to admit. Mary continued, so my thoughts didn’t drift long. “Anyway, the baby was actually born a couple weeks ago…and Baldy and I decided to move in with my folks in Trenton. They have a great house, in a nice neighborhood. Lots of room for us. We figure if we stay with them for a while, we can save up for a place of our own, you know? So, anyway, I wanted to let you know we’d moved out of the apartment. We’ll see you when you get back to return the keys. Talk to you soon!”

Well, another obstacle to regaining my old life had cleared up. I had my apartment back. I wouldn’t cramp Chris’s style anymore by sacking out on his couch.

I forced a smile I didn’t feel.

A soft breeze blew in the open window of the guest room, with it the gentle scent of the flowers my mom had placed on my bedside table. A sense of peace settled over me. I’d survived being honest with my mother. For the first time in nearly two decades, I talked to her like a daughter to a mother rather than like adversary to enemy. It had been good. Chris had been right.

Had my mother been right? Was I free of relationships now because something was meant to happen between Chris and me? All those years I pushed away guy after guy, while keeping Chris in my life…was it meant to be something more than just friendship? And, if this was true, would Chris recognize it?

Pushing my worries out of my head, I made the necessary phone calls. Arrangements were made with the Ballards for getting my keys back, and I spoke with Jim Friend at WOLD, setting up an interview for when I got home. He’d spoken to Joe Looney, my ex-boss, and he’d provided Jim with tapes of my WKUP show, which he’d listened to and enjoyed. I might be just the morning girl they needed, he told me.
There could definitely be worse things than playing Elvis for a living,
I thought.

I crossed my fingers things would keep going my way. I was tired of my life sucking. There was only one more thing to deal with.

Fisting my hand into my stomach over the navy sheath I’d slipped over my head, I glared furiously into the full-length mirror. Knots gripped my stomach and I hadn’t even made a real decision yet. Should I or shouldn’t I risk telling Chris how I felt about him? Why was the decision so damn hard?

“It’s just Chris, dammit. The same Chris who smacked Billy Workman for snapping your first bra. The same Chris who buys you beer when you’re pissed off at life. The same Chris who irritates you with bad Elvis jokes. Get a grip on yourself,” I snapped at the butterflies in my belly.

Maybe more mascara would help. It seemed to help normal women. I gave my lashes a few more strokes, fussed with my hair some more. I could really have used that makeup lady from Dillard’s about now. I smoothed the imaginary wrinkles from my dress. Finally, with a stomp of my foot, I turned away from the traitorous mirror. “This is stupid. I’ve never fussed for anyone, and I’m not starting now.”

I distracted myself putting last-minute items into my suitcases. Chris and I were heading home tomorrow morning. The more direct route this time, no touring, no Elvis. Satisfied everything was packed, except what I had on and what I’d wear tomorrow, I set my Elvis bobblehead on top of the bag, so I could return him to his rightful place on the dashboard of the Jeep for the trip home.

I checked my watch. Chris would be here in less than forty-five minutes. I had to make a final decision.

To tell him, or not to tell him. That was the question.

Eeny, meeny, miney, moe.

Or should I just let well enough alone and not risk losing my best friend in the whole wide world, because I went all girly on him and fell at his feet like all the other women in the world?

It was all too much to think about. Swiping my matching purse from the bed—thank God for my mother’s foresight to realize I wouldn’t have a purse to match a fancy dress—I headed for the front of the house to wait for Chris.

In the hallway, I nearly plowed into Sam. “Oh! I didn’t know anyone was here.”

Sam shrugged and licked Chunky Monkey off her spoon before stabbing it back into the pint. “It’s a big house.” She tipped the ice-cream carton toward me with raised brows.

I shook my head. “I’m going out.”

“With Chris?” She followed me through the house.

“Yeah. We’re going for dinner.”

“Somewhere fancy, it looks like.”

“I’m not sure. I mean, yeah, fancy, but I’m not sure where.” I blinked and waved my hand in a dismissive gesture that reminded me of my mother. She did it all the time. So did I. Guess there was more of a connection between us than I’d thought all these years. Made me kind of sad to be going home to Manhattan before Quinn and my mom got back from their honeymoon. Maybe I’d visit more often.

The door into the garden opened and my brother wandered in.

“Hi, Rob.”

I turned to Sam, surprised at the tone of her voice. She hid the Chunky Monkey behind her, her shoulders thrown back, and she looked almost…shy. In the past week, I’d come to know Quinn’s kids, and shy did not describe any of them.

Rob glanced up, appearing startled to see the two of us, as if he expected to be alone in the house, too. He was used to being alone in New York, so it was probably hard to get used to having other people around. “Hey,” he said by way of greeting, and continued past us toward the kitchen. Sam followed and, since I didn’t have to be anywhere for a while, I did, too.

“Chunky Monkey?” Sam held the carton out to Rob, who smiled broadly and, astonishingly, took it from her. When he took a bite from the spoon Sam had been using, I nearly had to stick my arms out to catch her when she swayed.

Well, well. Wasn’t this an interesting development? My geeky brother had a very cute girl crushing all over him.

“Thanks,” Rob said, around his mouth full of ice cream. “My favorite.”

“Really?” Sam bounced on her toes like a ten-year-old. “Mine, too.”

“Really?” Rob turned to retrieve a couple of mugs from the cupboard and proceeded to divide the ice cream into them. As an afterthought he asked me if I was interested. “Sis?”

I shook my head. “I’m going out.”

“With Chris,” Sam supplied.

I blushed. Why the hell did I blush? For crying out loud, Chris was my best friend. No news to Rob, last time I checked. So why this sudden sense of guilt? I distracted myself with a glass of water to soothe my curiously dry throat and dehydration that probably explained my fluttery stomach.

“Chris, huh?” Rob handed a mug of Ben & Jerry’s to Sam. “You guys ever going to have sex and get it over with?”

I sprayed water all over the kitchen floor. “What?” I choked out, as Sam dived for a dish cloth.

“God, I may be far-sighted, but I’m not blind.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I accepted the dish towel from Sam and dabbed at the water spots on my dress, praying they’d dry in the next fifteen minutes, because I didn’t have anything else to wear.

“I’m talking about you and Chris. The sexual tension rolls off you two in waves.”

I froze, stunned. “You know, sexual tension isn’t like the radiation coming from your computer screen, so I’m not sure you’d recognize it if it bit you in the ass.”

Rob shook his head at Sam. “Dressed up so pretty and ruining it with foul language.”

Sam giggled and I stared at the two of them. “There isn’t anything between Chris and me. We’re just friends.”

Rob ignored me and addressed Sam instead. “You know, Margo stole my best friend from me when I was eleven.”

“I did not!” I shot back, ready to defend my actions, until I noticed the twinkle in his eye. He stared at Sam like she was the best thing he’d seen since Linux.

“Yes, she did. I tried to seduce him away from her with video games, but, nope, he only had eyes for her, even before she developed a figure.” My brother turned to eye me from head to toe.

“Knock it off,” I snapped. “Don’t listen to him, Sam. He’s obviously delusional.”

“By the time she had boobs, Chris would barely speak to me.” He shrugged his shoulders and sighed with mock sadness. “Go figure.”

“Geez.” I rolled my eyes and turned to leave the room, as it was nearing eight o’clock.

“You are so psychotic, Rob.”

At that moment the doorbell rang, and my stomach jumped despite the fact it was only Chris.

As I reached for the doorknob, Rob finished his speech. “If they’d just sleep together, they’d either get it out of their systems or see that they belong together.”

Shit. We’d already slept together. And I, personally, was no closer to the answer to either of those questions than I had been before.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I think so. You were right about being honest with her. We ironed out a lot of things.”

“What changed?”

I shrugged. “I probably won’t hang up the phone on her any more. And I most likely won’t give her a bad time about being married so many times. Quinn’s a good guy. Maybe she did it right this time. But living cross country, I won’t have much chance to develop a relationship with her.” I pushed my chicken around on my plate and thought about leaving tomorrow.

“Do you regret going home?”

I glanced sharply at Chris, feeling like he was reading my mind. “I don’t know. It’s nice here. I’d have liked to try surfing. Maybe do some running on Manhattan Beach.” I shrugged.

“But the city is home. My friends are all there. I’ll just come back and visit.”

“You could do that.” Chris seemed distracted. He, too, pushed his food around his plate, not really eating much.

“Oh! Hey!” I grabbed one of Chris’s hands in my excitement. “I forgot to tell you, we’ve been so busy the last two days. Your ‘honesty is the best policy’ thing really worked. I’ve got an interview!”

“Really?”

I nodded excitedly. “Yeah. With an oldies station. Nancy Noble was okay with my unemployment and called WOLD in Manhattan, and the GM there called and asked me to come talk to him as soon as we get back.”

“Wow. That’s…great. Congratulations.” Chris’s lack of enthusiasm made me pause.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He reached for his glass again, found it empty and gestured to the waiter to bring him another. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have believed the unflappable Christopher Treem was…well, flapped.

“Oh, and also, the Ballards had their baby,” I continued, deciding Chris must be tired from all the wedding and business activities of the past week. “They moved out of my apartment.” I explained about them moving in with Mary’s parents, leaving my apartment free again. “I’ll be out of your hair.” I gave a little sigh of relief. “God. I finally feel like my life is getting back on track. Everything’s coming together. A new job, my apartment back.”

“Sure,” Chris snapped, his jaw clenched so tightly it was obvious, even to me on the other side of the table. “Now all you need is a new boyfriend.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “A new…boyfriend?”

“Sure,” he repeated. “Isn’t that the only thing missing from your formerly perfect life?”

“Maybe. But maybe that part wasn’t so important after all.” Squirming under Chris’s sudden intense scrutiny, I gestured at his plate. “Is the chicken good?”

Snapping out of his funk, Chris nodded, reaching for a bite and offering it to me on his fork. I tentatively reached out and took the chicken in my mouth, catching my breath. Not at the taste of the food—which could have been cardboard for all I noticed—but because of how intimate the gesture felt. Intimate like the way Rob had eaten ice cream from Sam’s spoon back at the house.

I realized in a flash, I wanted it to happen again. I wanted to stand at Chris’s stove and taste spaghetti sauce from the same spoon. I wanted to sip wine from the same glass. I wanted to take a bite of his pepperoni pizza when I’d ordered garlic chicken. I wanted Chris to feed me chunks of pineapple and let me suck the juice from his fingers. I wanted to share with Chris more than I’d ever shared with anyone before.

I wanted to share my life.

My mom thought my independence was a virtue. Was it also a curse? Not letting anyone close had made me feel safe from hurt. But right now, the idea of going back to the way things were between Chris and I hurt more anything I’d ever imagined. Maybe I should follow my mother’s advice and take a chance, with my life, and with my heart.

I sucked in a deep breath and opened my mouth to finally be honest with him—

“Margo, I need to talk to you,” Chris blurted out, suddenly laying down his utensils and turning his full attention on me.

I nearly choked on the unsaid words lodged in my throat.
Okay,
I thought.
He just bought me a little time.
I’d let him talk and then tell him how I felt.
Everything
I felt. “Okay,” I said, forking a green bean into my mouth. “Shoot.”

Chris closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. Whatever he had to say was serious.

I set my fork aside and swallowed. “What is it?”

“You know I’ve had a lot of business meetings the past week.”

I nodded, relaxing a bit. It obviously wasn’t something horrible. I sipped my wine and waited for him to continue.

“Well, Chip and I have a lot of plans for the store. We’ve expanded as much as we can in Manhattan and have been looking for other avenues.”

“Growth is good.”

“Right.” Chris nodded, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Growth is good. And sometimes growth can’t be accomplished without big changes.”

“Makes sense. So what were your meetings about?”

Chris took another deep breath and blew it out. “We’re opening a new store. Near Manhattan Beach.”

I frowned. “Manhattan Beach…California?”

Chris nodded. “We finalized the deal the day of the wedding. We’ll be opening in a few months.”

“Wow,” I said. “That
is
a big change. Having stores clear across the country from each other.” Suddenly something dawned on me. “Who’s going to run the West Coast store?”

Silence stretched taut between us, the only sound being the soft clinking of silverware and glasses around the restaurant.

I blinked, a sense of foreboding clutching at me. “Who, Chris?”

“Me.”

With one word, my life shattered.