Текст книги "Doing It for Love"

Автор книги: Cassie Mae

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter 21

We raisin-branned each other.

We are raisin bran.

Landon is out, snoring so loudly I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t banged on the walls. His butt is to me, my butt is to him, and I’m satisfied physically. I’m tired and gooey, and there’s a sleepy grin on my face.

But we are not kissing. We are not cuddling. We aren’t setting up for another round or giving in to each other.

We are raisin bran.

And what is most devastating about that is…I don’t even care.

–

“I love you, sweet fiancée of mine.” Landon gives me a big kiss on the lips, then grabs his jacket, his coffee, and his keys before heading out the door. It’s the first time he’s smiled before work in weeks.

As soon as he’s gone, I grapple to the side of the bed and pull up my laptop. Hurdle time now that I can look at it without turning into something that crawled out of the seventh circle of hell.

Dress Hurdle is done. I guess. I mean, I liked the one I ended up putting a deposit on, but I was a little blinded by THE dress. Maybe I’ll go try it on again now that I’m more relaxed.

Okay…one Hurdle sort of down.

Landon’s phone buzzes from his nightstand, and I reach over and answer it before I can register that it said “Mom.”

“Hell…Oh…I mean…hi!” Oy. Face meet palm.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Lord help me. “Yeah. Sorry, Landon just left for work. He must’ve forgotten his cell.”

She makes a noise like I’m stupid for stating the obvious. I control my defenses and try to go for calm and cool. And like she doesn’t make me feel like a tiny field mouse standing in front of a feral cat.

“Anything I can help you with, Julie?” Oh, I hope I got her name right.

“Just let him know I called.” Then her voice drops and I swear I hear her call me a bitch. A bitch! I’m being polite, damn it.

I grit my teeth and say, “Sure.” Then hang up and mutter, “I didn’t want to talk to you anyway. Evil wench.”

Hurdle “make in-laws love like tolerate me” is now so high it’s practically a pole vault.

I switch from my list to my bank account. Landon said that even with the cut hours he’s still getting his Christmas bonus, and when I see that it’s been deposited I get to my feet, jump on the bed, and slam my head on the ceiling.

Serious bruised brain, but hell yes! There’s our honeymoon money. I quickly stick it into savings and mentally forbid Landon or myself to use it for anything but that.

Now I’m on a high—despite the throbbing in my crown—so I roll out of bed and into my cleaning clothes and switch the music to loud-as-allowed Hanson. I don’t work until noon, so I’ve got all morning to scrub and surprise Landon with already made dinner for when he gets home.

We’ve got one stick of butter, about a quarter gallon of milk, and a half brick of cheese in the fridge. Mac and cheese is getting old, but it’s helping us get by without diving into the honeymoon fund.

I set everything on the counter, grate the cheese, and start the water boiling. Every “mmmbop!” from my music player I wiggle my ass and press the cheese down on the grater. After I set the bowl of cheese and the butter down on the counter between the stove and the fridge, I reach up for the giant tin of macaroni we keep on top of the freezer.

And it happens in a flash of macaroni and butter. The tin slips through my fingers, slamming into the bowl on the counter, into the stick of butter, then rolls to the floor and the lid pops off. I jump back with a yelp and watch the only food we have in the house scatter across the tile.

“No no no no no no,” I say in a panic. The water continues to boil on the stove, the boy band mix keeps playing in the background…as if the whole entire world didn’t crash with the macaroni. But my stomach crumples, my heart dumps to my butt, and my knees drop to the floor as if my entire world had just crashed.

I try to scrounge up the raw noodles, but the butter has made most of them gooey, and every piece of fuzz and dirt on my kitchen floor clings to the macaroni. Skating across the tile on all fours, I try to find any of it that isn’t ruined, but my vision is blurring as my eyes water. And I keep thinking how we still have a week and half till payday, and now that I’ve transferred Landon’s bonus into savings, we have $19.28 in checking and we need gas in the car.

We were set. We were scraping by, but now we’re not even that. And I have to use the honeymoon money. No way around it. Will we ever be able to just save?

With my heart heavy in my throat, eyes finally so blurry there’s no point in searching for non-germy food, I sit back on my butt. My back slams against the oven door, and I cover my face and cry. I cry so hard I can’t breathe. I can’t stop crying and I know it’s stupid and we have money but we don’t at the same time, and something always comes up and I feel so clumsy and hopeless that we can’t have even a day without something going to shit.

A click registers in my ears and I drop my hands.

“Hey, I forgot my phone.” Landon hurries through the door, and he makes it down the hallway before he backs up, brow furrowed as he sees me in the middle of butter, cheese, and raw noodles.

“I…I spilled,” I tell him.

Another fit of sobs rip through me, and I want to smack myself for reacting this way. Landon cautiously steps into the kitchen and turns off the stove. He slides down next to me, resting his feet against the cupboard under the sink.

“It’s no use crying over spilled…macaroni.”

“Nice try.”

He gives me his sort-of-a-smile and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “What’s going on?”

My nose pushes into his jacket, my hair gets stuck to the scruff on his chin, and every stroke of his fingers through my hair somehow makes the whole situation worse rather than better.

“It’s the only food we have left till payday.”

His body tenses under me, and I wish I could turn back time and make sure he grabbed his phone this morning so he didn’t have to witness my complete breakdown.

“Can we…” He clears his throat. “Do we have any savings?”

“It’s all for the honeymoon. I just transferred your bonus money.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make it up.”

“How?” I lift my head, looking into his gray hopeful eyes—and I’m at a total loss. “Your hours are restricted. I’m maxed out on overtime. I’m trying so hard, and I don’t know what else to do. We’re going to starve till payday, and even then I’ll only be able to buy Top Ramen and chicken noodle soup, and what if I spill those, too? We’re going to lose our honeymoon money and I never see you, and when I do, we go at each other’s throats, and I’m just not sure how we’re ever going to make it married if we can’t even do the engagement right, because it seems like everything was great before you proposed and then suddenly the money vacuums sucked us dry and I just want so much for you to get what you want in life, but how can we do that if we can’t afford it? I mean, you can’t get a second job because of your movies, and I want that for you. I’m just…how…how…how do people do it? How do they build a life? How do they have kids? Go on vacations? Take time off? Move into houses? Money just…it just sucks.”

The corner of Landon’s lip twitches, and I deflate against him and pinch his belly button. “You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing.” He picks my chin up. “You’re right. Money sucks. But we’ve been here before, and we get through it. We always do. You’re the master of savings. So yeah, we don’t have the money for Sundance right now—”

“Bahamas.”

He grins. “But we will. Food kind of takes precedence, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but…we’ll never get to buy the things we want. It’s always something.”

“Of course it is. We’re normal people. Shit happens, and we work our asses off, and we eat mac and cheese and never fill the gas tank up all the way and go on cheap dates.”

“Or no dates,” I tease, and he drops his jaw in mock shock. It’s true, though. I don’t remember the last time he took me out, and I don’t count the engagement party. Though maybe I should.

Landon sticks a piece of cheese to some butter spread across my forehead. And he kisses me. Kisses me soft and sweet, and I lied before…he’s making it better. Much, much better.

“We’ll be okay,” he says. Butter from my skin has transferred to his, so I reach around to the drawer behind me and pull out a washrag.

“Okay,” I say, wiping the butter off. “Even if we don’t go on a honeymoon.”

“Oh we’re going.”

“Make sure you pack a bathing suit.”

“You pack your coat.” He brings my ring up to his lips. “You know, we never talked about what’ll happen if we make it.”

“If neither of us gives in?”

He nods.

“I suppose…” I say, tapping his knuckles. “We could flip a coin.”

“Buy the tickets at the airport? Hope for a flight?”

“Why not?” I grin. Spontaneity is what I really want for our marriage anyway.

“Sounds like a plan.” He kisses my hand again. “I don’t want to leave you, but…”

“Work, I know.”

“Be happy.”

“I’ll try.”

“And I’ll pick up something on my way home. Not takeout,” he specifies when I give him a look. “Groceries that’ll last us till payday.”

“Keep it under fifty bucks.”

He nods and wipes my forehead before he places a kiss there. And even though we both know he needs to get his butt out of here, that I need to transfer money, we sit in the macaroni and hold each other for a few more minutes.

Chapter 22

I jam my feet under Landon’s butt on the couch, and I see goose bumps prickle up and down his legs. I have to warm my toes before I stick them in my boots and head to work for twelve hours. After spilling the macaroni last week and the following Thanksgiving meal was a dainty Top Ramen spread, I’ve picked up extra shifts left and right.

“Damn, woman,” Landon says, adjusting his baseball cap before running his hand under the bottom of my pants and up my leg.

“I’m cold.”

“You’re always cold.” He pinches the skin by my ankle. “And you’re furry.”

“It’s No-shave-ember. And it’s not like I have any hot dates to impress.” I wink, and he wrinkles his nose at me.

“You sound like my sister.”

“Oh, reminds me,” I say, sitting up and wrapping my arms around my knees. “Your mom called.”

“Okay.”

“Did you ask her about the flowers and tuxes?”

He purses his lips and shakes his head. “Uh…not yet.”

“Kind of need you to.”

“I know.”

I tilt my head to the side and watch as he toys with the hem of my pants. “Is that okay…?” I ask, worried that I’ve struck a nerve without meaning to.

He blows out a breath. “Yeah, it’s just…can we swing it?”

“Swing what?”

“The cost of the tuxes and flowers.”

I want to snort, but I hold it back. But seriously, I just had a major money breakdown in the kitchen last week.

“Not really. Do you think she’ll say no?”

“It’s not that. I just…I haven’t asked for anything from them since I left home. And I really don’t want to.”

His gray eyes move to mine, and I give him a small grin.

“It’s okay to ask for help.”

“I haven’t needed to. I shouldn’t need to. We should be able to handle all this shit ourselves. That’s why you moved up here to New York, right? To be on your own.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Same here. We’re old enough, and we should take care of the things we need without running to our parents.”

“Landon,” I say, tucking my arm through his. “It’s our wedding, not our rent.”

He takes a deep breath and holds it, and I wonder if I need to be the one calling Mr. and Mrs. Wangford about all the expenses. Mr. Wangford will probably be my best bet.

“You’re right. Sorry,” Landon says, surprising me out of my in-law calling plans. “I’ll talk to them.”

“Thank you.”

He nods, then shuffles off the couch and grabs his empty mug off the coffee table. And even though he agreed with me, it still feels like he’s ready to argue.

DECEMBER

“Get up!”

“Ugnnn…”

“Up, up, up.”

I kick at the hands on my feet, then turn over in the bed. “Sleep. I need sleep.”

The sheets get ripped off my body.

“We’re going out.”

“Out?” I open one sleepy eye and look at crazy-ass Landon, who is way too awake for this late. Okay, it’s only nine, but after my long shift it feels like midnight.

“It occurred to me the other day that I haven’t taken my girl out since she became my fiancée. It must be rectified immediately.”

I snort into my pillow.

“You’re laughing because I said the word ‘rectify,’ aren’t you?”

“After a double shift I’m allowed to be as immature as I want.”

He grabs my arm and pulls till I’m forced to a sitting position. “Get dressed.”

“In what?”

“Something warm.”

“Coffee…” The word isn’t even all the way out before he puts a to-go cup in my hand. Then he throws me a victorious grin along with my bright red coat. “You have twenty minutes.”

I go to lie back down, but he takes the comforter, the pillows, and the sheet and walks out of the room, tripping over the lagging material. If it wasn’t freezing, I probably would go right back to bed.

–

Landon gets so frustrated with my slow pace from the front door to the car that he picks me up and carries me across the salted asphalt. Sleepy and uncoordinated are not good combos in the winter. Cautious or carried is the only way I’m getting to the car without breaking something.

I finish my coffee just as Landon pulls up to the train station. He’s had a brightly lit smile on his face the entire drive, and now the fizzy caffeine bubbles are starting to take effect, making me feel just as excited for who knows what the hell he has planned for us.

He pays for our tickets, and I don’t say anything about the money, but I know he knows I’m thinking about it, because he squeezes my hand twice and says, “I’m keeping it cheap, I promise.” And it sucks that we have to think about that just to go out for a night, but I squeeze his hand back once to let him know that cheap or expensive, I just want to be with him.

“What are we going to do?” I ask, trying to stifle a yawn. He adjusts his arm so I can rest on his chest.

“Look at lights. Wander around. Talk.”

“Mmm…”

“I’m not sorry I woke you up for it.”

I poke his ribs. “My hum was not a bad hum. It sounds fun. What should we talk about?”

“Anything. Everything.”

“How’s The Walking Stiff coming along?”

His lip quirks up at the side, and he kisses me long and sweet against my forehead. A forehead kiss. I love those things.

“It’s about twenty percent edited. I have to do a couple reshoots…but I should get a second opinion on some scenes. An unbiased one,” he adds when he sees me open my mouth to volunteer. “There are days when I hate it, that I feel like I wasted the grant money and everyone’s time, and there are days I feel like a frickin’ genius, and I can’t believe I directed something so funny.”

“What I saw was funny.”

“I know. I can hear your laughter on some of the takes.” He reaches up and tucks my hair into my beanie, lingering a little near the fabric, and my breath catches a tiny bit. Sweet damn, these butterflies. They feel like the new-relationship ones, but…somehow, better.

“I really thought when you said ‘zombie movie’ that it was a hard-core horror. And Jace’s wardrobe and the stuff you had in props…” I shiver, and he laughs.

“Maybe down the road…but if I’m going to make a name for myself, I want to start out with comedy.”

“Why?”

“I want…” he starts, then his eyebrows pull in as a set look of determination takes over. “I want to make people smile. I want to tell an epic story…with laughter. I want to change the way people view the world. I want life to stop being so damn dramatic all the time. I want…what are you doing?”

I grin from behind my phone. “Recording this for your Oscar speech. Creating funny stuff looks like serious work.”

He pushes my hand away and attacks my neck with playful nibbles. I’m giggling so loud and laughing so hard I have to shove him away as soon as the train stops to race to the bathroom.

The light snow trickling down across New York City looks like a postcard. It’s freezing, though, so I tuck into Landon’s warmth and we cuddle-walk up the street toward Times Square.

“Oy, my feet,” I joke only about ten steps into our walk.

“I’m not carrying you.”

“But I worked sooo hard today.”

“Not doing it. Every time you piggyback you pinch my nipples.”

“I won’t this time.”

“We’re going to invest in some fireproof pants for you.”

“You’re wearing this big-ass coat! There’s no way I’d even get a good hold.”

“Fine, hop on.”

I squeal in victory and lunge on Landon’s back, swinging my legs and tasting the snow dropping from the skies. I feel young and light, with not a care in the world.

And I pinch his nipples.

“Damn you, woman!”

He bounces me up and down, doing the running bull so my boobs knock into his back. We have to stop, though, when he hits a particularly icy patch of sidewalk and we fall to our asses. Then we rub out the bruises, walking like an elderly couple to a street stand of cheap hot chocolates, then to the tourist attraction that is Times Square.

Landon’s fingers are cold around mine, but he never lets go to put them in his pocket. Like new-relationship hand-holding.

“Do you want to direct on Broadway someday?” I ask, nodding to the ticket booths and the giant billboards of the shows.

“Nah…I’m set on getting my ass to LA.”

“Ah…where the sun still shines in the winter.” I sigh. “I can’t wait to go with you.”

“After school, right?”

I take a deep sip of the hot chocolate, keeping my eyes on the bright lights of the city. “Actually…I don’t think I’ll go back.”

He hesitates a moment. “Liz, we can take out another loan. You don’t have to keep putting it off because of the money.”

“It’s not that.” Or just that. I lean back, letting my head rest on his chest while his arms wrap from behind me. The heat from his hot-chocolate cup warms my hip. “I just…I think you’re right.”

“About what?”

“I’m a flake.”

He pauses again, then turns me around, eyebrows bunched together. “I’ve never called you a flake.”

I tilt my head to the side. “You said I get excited about things, then change my mind the next day.”

His eyes widen and his mouth drops open the slightest bit. “Liz, you are passionate about so many things. Just because some don’t stick doesn’t mean you’re a flake.”

“What the hell am I passionate about?”

“Me.”

I snort, because I knew that was coming. He grins and wipes a snowflake from my cheek. “You’re passionate about that vampire show.”

“I hardly think that counts. I’m just saying I have no clue what I want to do with my life. I’m not like you and didn’t know when I was twelve. Still trying to figure it out, because I flake out on everything I start.”

“Bullshit.”

I jerk back. “You callin’ me a liar?”

“I’m calling you out. You keep every promise you make. You have a detailed list for every major task. You work double shifts and keep the apartment clean. You know I wouldn’t last a day without you. There’d be socks everywhere.”

“I bet there’s a pair of socks on the living room floor as we speak,” I say, and he gives me an “oops” look, and I shake my head. “Landon!”

“You see! You keep me in line.”

“Obviously not well enough.”

“Okay, then. You don’t know what you want to do. But say you had to choose right now. No takebacks, can’t question the decision tomorrow, first thing that jumps into your head.”

It happens so quick it’s like it was already there, waiting for someone to force me to make the decision. What I want to do maybe looks like an easy way out, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels so satisfyingly right. And surprises the heck out of me, considering how relieved I was when…

“You know…when I was fifteen in my career class, they asked me probably about a million times where I saw myself in five years. And I always had these big dreams of being an actress or becoming famous or just being someone. I had a list of Hurdles for those dreams. Get into NYU, take advanced theater classes, study Broadway. And then…well, you came along.”

“Wow. Here I am, being encouraging, and you say I destroyed your dreams.”

“You shush and let me finish.” I tap a finger to his lips. “It’s good that you came along, because I realized I don’t actually want all those things. If I was to answer the same five-year question now, I’d say all I see in my future, all I want in my future, is a family.”

He smiles, pulls my hips into his, and locks his hands behind my back. “So…that’s what you want to do. You want to do me.”

“Over and over till there are tons of little Landons and Lizzies running around.”

He’s still smiling, but he tries to clear his throat as if he’s choking. I laugh and help ease his mind.

“Not right now. But that is what I want to do in life. I want to be a mom. I want to stay home with my kids and watch them learn to walk and to talk and to dance. I want to make them SpaghettiOs and clean up SpaghettiOs and celebrate the day they discover they can fit certain objects up their noses. I can’t wait to watch all their soccer games or school plays—”

“You want to be a soccer mom, huh?” Landon says with a grin.

“Yes. And I want to drive a minivan and give my kids juice pouches. I want a house with a backyard and a swing set or tree house like the one at your parents’, and I want to teach them how to ride bikes and swim and to look both ways and I know it pays nothing and I should really have a backup plan in the meantime or for when it does happen and I get bored or something when the kids are older and in school or with friends or what-have-you. But if I could only choose one thing and one thing only…being a mom? Well, that’s what I’d pick with no second thought.”

He’s quiet. He’s quiet for so long I wonder if I even said anything out loud, but then he picks me up, spins me around, and smiles at me like I’ve dropped from Heaven itself.

“I’m gonna help you get to your dream, Tumbles. Even if it takes a lot of practice.”

“I see lots and lots of practice in our five-year plan.”

He laughs and gives me a sloppy kiss on the mouth before lifting my arm straight in the air with his. “This woman wants to have my babies!” he shouts for all of New York City to hear. People clap and whistle and holler, and I tug my beanie over my blushing face. Of course, Landon pulls it off and kisses me deep and long and with so much heat and happiness I feel like I’m lifted out of my shoes and soaring up to the snowy skies.

He pulls back, keeping my face locked in his hands, and whispers to me like it’s a secret, “Now we run out of here like we’re off to make sweet passionate love and make all these people jealous!” And I’m tugged to the nearest cab, laughing and not giving a single care about the fare as Landon tells the driver to take us to Rockefeller Center. While we sit in horrendous traffic we talk about our future as if it doesn’t scare us, as if everything we want together is completely within reach, and I believe it. I believe it all…that this man will be an amazing husband and father and I even see myself doing all the things I told him. It’s exciting, and we can’t stop hugging and kissing and holding hands and doing all the things we seemed to skip over when we got together. The little things I thought we never would experience again after we transformed from dessert into vegetables seem suddenly so big now that sex is off the table.

The tree is beautiful, and Landon tries to take a picture with his phone so it looks like he’s holding the tree in his hand, but every shot looks ridiculous. I post the pictures anyway, and our friends assist in giving us a scavenger hunt of things to take pictures with. On our walk back to Times Square, Landon finds a Santa to sit on. (He asks for a candy cane, which he gets, but the thing is so bendy and moist like it’s been waiting in Santa’s pocket for years. I tell Landon to throw it away, but he saves it for our collage wall.) I get a picture with the Naked Cowboy, and since I have no money to pay for a tip, he says he’ll let me have a free one if I give him a kiss. Landon promptly hands him our last five and rushes me out of there.

The train ride back to Long Island is full of kisses and snuggles, and Landon hums off-tune as I doze in his lap. Even though I’m exhausted, I sort of want the train to turn back around so I can relive this night one more time.

I fall asleep on the car ride home. It’s not the full sleep, but enough to not want to move even when the car is in park. Landon’s light touch caresses the skin along my hip as he unbuckles me.

“Ugnnnn…”

“Don’t whine,” he whispers against my cheek. “I’ll carry you, lazy girl.”

It’s a slow and cautious journey across the parking lot, one where Landon curses when he slips on yet another patch of ice. I somewhat jerk out of the sleepy trance I’m in and accidentally grab his face, leaving a scratch mark along his left cheek. More curses follow, but he never sets me down, even after getting inside. My butt hits the mattress and he sort of falls on top of me. Sleepy laughter flies from my lips and he catches it with kisses.

“Let’s get you in your jammies,” he says.

“I want to wear one of your shirts.”

“You can wear the Batman.”

“I want to wear the Jack one.”

“No.”

“But it smells like you.”

“It’s the only one you haven’t put boob marks in.”

“Can I have the Bazinga one?”

“If I can cop a feel while putting it on you.”

I raise my arms over my head and let him undress and re-dress me, giggling when he squeezes my boob as he slips his shirt over my chest. He tucks me in and kisses my forehead.

“Good night.”

“You’re not coming to bed?”

“I’m not tired.”

I frown, and he tugs on my bottom lip.

“I love you.”

“Why?” I ask, eyes drifting closed already.

“Because I can’t picture a life without you,” he whispers so low I barely catch it. “I don’t want to.”

I smile as much as I can with how sleepy I am. He didn’t even rehearse that one.

His lips graze my forehead. “Why do you love me?”

“Because you say things like that.”

“Wow. My answer was so much better than yours.”

I playfully bat at him, and then return his sweet kiss to my lips.

“Landon?”

“Yes, Lizzie?”

“Thank you for waking me up. That was…” I start drifting when I can’t find the word to do the night justice. So I just mumble, “I love you so much.”

He squeezes my hand. “You’re welcome.”

And I fall into perfect dreams of Landon kissing me in the snowfall under the New York City lights, me in my wedding gown and him in his tux. Even in my sleep, the angel butterflies celebrate for the day that we get to do it for real.