The Pre-Nup (8 page)

“I’ll swing by around three-thirty. You know you can’t wait.” Jen closed her eyes and pretended to meditate.
“Ommm…”

Ellie laughed and surrendered to the inevitable. “Bring on the walnuts and the downward-facing dog. Are you sure you’ll have time, though? I know you have to work, and with the new P.R. push—”

Jen stopped smiling. “I can take some time off.”

“So you keep telling us.”

“No, I mean it.” Jen’s voice rose. “I know everyone likes to tease me, but it’s not funny anymore. I’m not just some soulless workaholic. I have needs, I have feelings—”

Ellie squinted at her. “What’s going on with you?”

Jen hesitated, then whispered, “Can you keep a secret?

“Oh, please, no more secrets.” Ellie recoiled in horror.

“Well then, can you do me a favor?”

“That I can do. Anything. You name it.”

“I need the number for your marriage therapist,” Jen said. “Or I’m going to have a few pre-nup problems of my own.”

Mara
Chapter
8

D
on’t freak out,” said a familiar voice when Mara opened the front door to her town house.

She jumped and dropped her keys with a clatter. “Holy crap, Josh, don’t
do
that!”

“Sorry. I was trying not to startle you.”

“Too late.” She clutched her chest. “You didn’t happen to bring a defibrillator, did you?”

He was standing in front of the glass doors that overlooked the golf course, which was dark and empty at this hour. “We need to talk.”

“I’m all talked out.” She deposited her handbag on the chair next to the door and tossed her keys into the little silver bowl on the hall table. “And I’ve had more than enough drama for one night. How’d you get in here, anyway?”

“You gave me a set of keys,” Josh reminded her. “When you moved in.”

“Well, how’d you get past the guard at the front gate?”

“I waved and said hi. They recognize me.”

“I told the home-owners’ association president that security in this community was a joke.” Mara strode toward the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. “I’ll take my keys back now, thank you very much.”

Josh shifted his weight and ignored her demand. “Look. I didn’t mean to spring the new version of the pre-nup on you at the jewelers’. If you hadn’t found it in my pocket—”

She rounded on her heel and started pacing a tight, straight line between the kitchen sink and the refrigerator. “Don’t give me that. Why would you carry it around in your pocket if you didn’t want me to find it?”

“How was I supposed to know you’d pat me down like a customs officer looking for contraband?”

“You
wanted
me to find it,” Mara accused, her boot heels clicking on the Saltillo tiles. “You
wanted
to hurt me.”

Josh studied her face. “And did I? Hurt you?”

“Aha!” Mara jabbed her index finger toward him. “So you admit it.”

“We’re not in court, Mara. And we’re supposed to be on the same team. You shouldn’t be trying to win.”

“Bullshit,” she retorted. “One party always wins when it comes to legal contracts.”

Josh made himself comfortable on her cushy leather club chair and stretched his long, thin legs out in front of him. “I know you’re still angry. But I’m pretty mad myself.”

“Well, I guess that leaves us at an impasse,” she replied with a flippancy she didn’t really feel. “And what on earth do you have to be mad about? You’re the one who started this! All I asked for was a bare-bones, cut-and-dried, totally fair pre-nup.”

“There’s no such thing as a totally fair pre-nup.” He switched on the lamp next to his chair. “You just said so yourself. One party always wins, which by definition means the other party loses.”

“Well…” She sputtered for a few seconds, then yanked open the fridge and scanned the shelves as if the answer to this dilemma could be found in the crisper. “Perhaps I overstated the case.”

“No, I think you summed it up perfectly.” Josh waited until she turned toward him, then looked her in the eyes. “I love you. I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you. But you have to trust me.”

Mara slouched over the breakfast bar and braced her hands on the counter. “I do trust you. Or, at least, I did.”

“Then act like it,” he said softly. “Give me a sign of good faith.”

“Says the man who insisted on a snarkily worded clause about how much joint property I have to forfeit if I start dallying with the pool boy.”

“No, I’m the man who didn’t want a pre-nup in the first place,” Josh corrected her.

“Which I still don’t get. Honestly, what’s the big deal?” She pounded the counter in frustration. “It’s just a minor legal formality.”

“In case we get divorced.”

Mara recommenced pacing. “Having a pre-nup does not mean we’re going to get divorced.”

“It means you’ve thought about it, though. Extensively.”

She shook her head. “I’ve just seen too many cases where people didn’t bother to communicate about what they wanted and what they deserved until it was too late. And then things get messy, Josh. And vicious. And litigious.”

“And this is what you’re focusing on while we’re planning our wedding,” Josh said dryly. “Our messy, vicious, litigious divorce.”

“You know what I think?” she challenged. “This pre-nup isn’t what you’re really upset about.”

“Uh, yeah, it is.”

“No, this is about what happened in San Diego. Still. You say you’ve forgiven me, but you haven’t. You say you trust me, but you don’t.”

“
You
don’t trust
me,
” he countered.

“How can I?” She leaned back against the cold refrigerator door. “When you want to litigate my loyalty?”

“You’re right.” He gave a quick nod. “We’ve reached an impasse.”

Mara was terrified that she knew what he was going to say next, but she didn’t interject. He was going to leave her and she wasn’t going to stop him, because what rational argument could she make in her own defense?

He took a deep, purposeful breath and she steeled herself for the worst. But then he said, “Let’s scrap the pre-nup, get married like normal people, and just take our chances. What do you say?”

The nape of her neck beaded with sweat until a veritable tributary river system of perspiration soaked her back.

He sat up straighter, looking energized. “We don’t need a legal contract to keep us together.”

“No,” she said slowly. “We don’t.”

“What? What is that look about?”

“It’s just…” She laced her fingers together. “Why bother with a marriage license at all, then?”

His whole body went rigid. “Do you really think a marriage license is the same as a pre-nup? Or is this your way of telling me you don’t want to get married anymore?”

“I do want to get married. But I need a safety net.”

“Marriage doesn’t come with a safety net. Sorry. I stand by my offer: I’ll scrap the cheating clause if you scrap the rest of the pre-nup.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I wish it were that simple, but…”

“But what?” Josh crossed his arms, mirroring her defensive posture.

“But things happen. I mean, look at Ellie. She thought she and Michael would be together forever.”

“You’re not Ellie. I’m not Michael.”

“I realize that, but do you see where I’m going with this?”

“All I see is that you sabotage us every chance you get.”

She gasped. “How can you say that? I have never—”

“Let me finish.” He set his jaw. “Whenever I try to take things to the next level, you kick and scream and do something guaranteed to push me away. You were sabotaging us in San Diego, and you’re sabotaging us now with this pre-nup.”

Mara didn’t say anything.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do,” Josh said. “I’m not a masochist. I’m not a doormat.”

She reached out for him and murmured, “I love you.”

He didn’t take her hand. “It’s decision time, Mara. Say what you mean and mean what you say. Do you really want our marriage to be based on a bunch of conditions starting with ‘hereto’ and ‘whereas’?”

Her hands remained outstretched. “I will never, ever cheat on you again. You have to believe that by now.”

“According to you, it doesn’t matter what I believe.” He fished her house keys out of his pocket and plunked them down on the counter. “It’s about what we put in writing. If you get to protect yourself, so do I.”

Jen
Chapter
9

S
o tell us.” Chelsea Kincaid, the perky, Permatanned host of
Up with the Sun, Phoenix!
flashed her dazzling white smile and settled back into her interview chair. “How does a local woman like you build her own nutrition empire before the age of…how old
are
you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Jen tried to laugh this off. “A lady never reveals her weight or age.”

“But you look so young,” Chelsea exclaimed. “You look like you’re barely out of college. And certainly, you’ve got nothing to play coy about in the weight department. Come on, let us in on some of your secrets.”

Jen smiled, took a deep breath, and reminded herself to speak clearly and slowly, just like she’d practiced with Deb, the publicist she’d hired to help springboard her company’s profile from local to national. “Balance and variety,” she said into the TV camera. “That’s the key to health, inside and outside. Eat a variety of whole, unprocessed foods and challenge your body by changing up your workouts. Don’t be afraid to try something new.” Deb had coached her to turn all her interview responses into a pitch for her product. “In fact, I came up with the idea for Noda one day while I was rock climbing in Sedona.”

Chelsea played along with the segue and held up a bottle of Jen’s energy drink. “Noda: the antisoda. Love it! So you came up with the idea on a cliff?”

Jen forced herself to relax and let her guard down a bit. “Well, I wasn’t always so health-conscious. Back in college, I developed what would probably qualify as a clinical dependency on diet cola.”

“A caffeine junkie!” Chelsea bobbed her head. “I can relate!”

“I knew all the chemicals were bad for me, but I just couldn’t kick the habit. I swear, diet cola is more addictive than nicotine! And I had lots of friends in the same boat. We drank six cans a day, some of us, and every time we tried to quit, we’d get horrific withdrawal symptoms: headaches, irritability, the shakes.”

“That’s what I’m like when I don’t get my morning coffee!” Chelsea laughed.

“I majored in nutrition, and I spent a few years working as a personal trainer. I would tell my clients to cut the caffeine and preservatives out of their diets, but I wasn’t practicing what I preached.” She leaned in, as if confiding in Chelsea. “I’d exercise and eat tofu ’til the cows came home, but soda was my dirty little secret.”

“So what finally pushed you over the edge?”

“Well…” Jen waited a beat, trying to decide if she should continue with this story. “I was camping in Sedona with an old boyfriend, and he bet me that I couldn’t make it through the weekend without diet soda. We were out in the middle of nowhere, so I couldn’t cheat. After about thirty-six hours, I freaked out—I was in serious withdrawal but I refused to let him win the bet. So I dragged him back down the mountain to a health food store and started messing around with seltzer water and all kinds of roots and herbs.” She grinned. “The early versions of Noda tasted, to put it mildly, not good.”

“But the finished product is delish!” Chelsea hoisted up the bottle again for the camera. “I tried it before the show and I have to tell you, I am amazed! It really does taste like cola. You’d never guess it’s good for you!”

“Thank you.” Jen felt her cheeks flush. “It took me about two years to get the formula just right.”

“And did your boyfriend help you test all the failed prototypes?”

“No; he broke up with me. But it all worked out for the best,” she said quickly, “because it freed up lots of time for me to work. I tinkered with the recipe on my own for a while, then finally brought in a pair of food chemists to help me refine the flavor and make sure it could withstand packaging and shipping.”

“Well, you did an excellent job,” Chelsea gushed. “This caffeine addict gives you two thumbs up! And Noda is currently available at health food stores all over Phoenix.”

“Right now, we only distribute locally, but we’re hoping to take Noda nationwide in the next few years.” Jen tried to convey both ambition and modesty. “It’s definitely a product whose time has come.”

“A real lifesaver for those of us who are getting off-track with our New Year’s resolutions,” Chelsea said.

The producer started making “wrap-it-up” gestures behind the cameras, but Chelsea wasn’t quite ready to cut to commercial. She consulted her interview note cards and said, “Now, your husband is also your business partner, correct?”

“Um,” Jen hedged, “he was one of my first major supporters, both financially and emotionally. Chelsea, thank you so much for having me—”

Chelsea leaned into Jen’s personal space. “How does he feel about representing a product that you and an ex-boyfriend came up with?”

Jen glanced desperately at the producer, who indicated with a curt nod that she should answer the question. “Well, he…My husband doesn’t actually
represent
Noda. He’s more of a silent partner.”

“So your ex-boyfriend’s loss was his gain?”

“Um.”
Shouldn’t we have cut to a word from our freaking sponsor like thirty seconds ago?
“I suppose you could say that.”

“Wow, he must be really secure.” Chelsea laughed. “My husband would flip out if I built an empire from a bet with one of my exes.”

Jen didn’t know where to look. “He’s always been very supportive.”

“A match made in health food heaven!” Chelsea ex-claimed. “Noda, people! It’s going to be the next huge thing. Look for it at your local supermarket.”

“Oh!” Jen popped her head back up. “And we have a website: www dot No—”

“Too late,” the producer announced. “We’ve already gone to break.”

“Oh.” She reminded herself to stay positive, focused, and low-maintenance.
Be a delight to work with,
her publicist had instructed.
Always leave the door open for them to invite you back.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Jen called to Chelsea, who had whipped out a compact mirror and was touching up her lipstick. “I really appreciate the opportunity to come on the show.”

“Mm-hmm.” Chelsea finished up with the lipstick and bared her teeth to check for smudges. “Good luck with everything, Jess.”

“Thanks. But actually, my name’s—”

“Next guest!” the producer bellowed, and a skinny, wild-eyed woman dressed in head-to-toe sequins and carrying a Chihuahua swept in from the green room. “Ninety seconds!”

“Follow me,” ordered a production assistant with headphones and a clipboard. “You did great. Here’s the exit. Bye, Jess.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jen was still wandering around the TV station parking lot in a daze, clutching her keys in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

Wait. What kind of car do I drive, again?

There was a reason why she’d majored in nutrition instead of communications. One unexpected interview question and she’d completely lost her composure. And
Up with the Sun, Phoenix!
wasn’t exactly hard-hitting investigative journalism. If she couldn’t even hack the local morning shows, how did she expect to land a spot on
Today
or
Good Morning America
?

She probably should not have recounted the details of the Sedona bet on live television. She
definitely
shouldn’t have implied that Eric was anything less than a full partner in Noda. Deb insisted that a happily married, health-conscious couple made for a better marketing image than an “obsessive” single woman.

Her marriage had become a marketing tool. And Jen was increasingly terrified that image was all that remained of the relationship.

When she and Eric had first announced their engagement almost six years ago, one of Jen’s aunts had sidled up to her at a family dinner and whispered that sometimes being married was lonelier than being single. At the time, Jen dismissed this as sour grapes from a disenchanted divorcee, but lately, she had started to understand what her aunt had meant.

Eric had been her best friend when she walked down the aisle. Emphasis on
friend.
The grand passion and raging chemistry she’d experienced with Patrick wasn’t there, but grand passion had broken her heart and raging chemistry had left her with third-degree burns. Eric had been there for her when her spirit bottomed out, and she concluded that the steady, subdued love she shared with him was a healthier alternative to all the Sturm und Drang with Patrick.

Except now she and Eric weren’t best friends anymore. They were kind of like roommates. Cordial, considerate, painstakingly polite roommates who hadn’t had sex in…God, how long
had
it been?

Jen wandered up and down the aisles of cars until she located her black sedan. She slid into the driver’s seat, flipped open her phone, and dialed Eric. This time she’d get it right. This time she’d find a way to share all the fear and hope ricocheting around in her heart and—

“Hello?” Her husband sounded completely unenthused to hear from her.

“Hi, hon.” She tried to compensate for him by oozing positivity. “I just finished with
Up with the Sun, Phoenix!
and I wanted to check in.”

“Mmm.” He stifled a yawn. “How’d that go?”

She frowned. He could at least pretend to care. “It started off okay, but I definitely need more media training.”

“I’m sure you were fine.”

She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “Don’t you want to know what went wrong? The interviewer started asking all these personal questions about you and how our partnership works.”

“Into the minefield,” he deadpanned.

“I told her that you’re totally supportive and secure and my dream man.”

“So basically, you lied?”

“Oh, that’s nice.” She gave up on positivity. “You know what? I have to go. Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

“Wait, wait. Don’t hang up. I’m sorry.” He sounded gruff and uncertain. “And I appreciate your saying that I’m your dream man.”

“I wasn’t just saying it,” she insisted.

He paused, then changed the subject. “Hey, did you get the package I sent?”

And that’s when she realized the date: Next week would be their fifth anniversary. She had completely forgotten. But she knew that when she returned to the house, something truly spectacular awaited her. Eric outdid himself every year with extravagant gifts of jewelry. He didn’t believe in practical gifts like vacuum cleaners or new tires. “Weddings are romantic, and anniversaries should be, too,” he’d announced after their first year together. “You’ll always be my bride.”

From
you’ll always be my bride
to
basically, you lied
in just under five years. Jen shuddered to imagine what he might come up with by their tenth anniversary.

“Check the front porch when you get home,” Eric continued. “I overnighted a box from the hotel yesterday. Call me when you open it, okay? It’s valuable and I want to make sure it didn’t get damaged during shipping.”

“I will. Honey, you’re always so sweet.”

“What?” His voice faded into a cacophony of blaring horns and rumbling bus engines. “I just stepped out of the cab and I’m on my way into a meeting, so—”

“I’ll call you when I get home,” Jen yelled into her phone. “And, hey! Happy early anniv—”

Click. His end of the connection went dead.

Okay. So maybe they had a little work to do in the communication department. But Jen was nothing if not focused. She would redirect some of her energy and drive toward resurrecting her marriage. By this time next year, they’d be past this rough patch and happier than ever. And in the meantime, she had a lavish gift waiting for her at home. What a guy.

“What the hell?” she muttered as she dug a plastic-encased baseball out of the express delivery box. Jen squinted at the signature scribbled under the ball’s red stitching.

Then she spied the note nestled underneath a layer of white packing peanuts:

J—

Finally found a genuine Reggie Jackson for my collection. Please put in my office. See you soon.

—E

And that was it. She sifted through the layers of packaging at the bottom of the box, but there was no anniversary card, and definitely no jewelry.