Текст книги "Every Wrong Reason"

Автор книги: Rachel Higginson

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Or at least I thought so.

I took my time upstairs, fiddling with my long dark hair. It was naturally curly, not like Kara’s wild hair, but there were some definite volume issues I had to work out on a daily basis. I usually wore it down to work or partially back, but nothing felt better than at the end of the day when I could throw it up on top of my head in a messy bun.

I was pretty sure that would be what heaven felt like. Like a thousand years of messy buns.

I stared at myself in the mirror for long minutes after that. I looked at my dark brown eyes and the light smattering of freckles that dotted my nose and cheeks. I tried to rub away the barely there crow’s feet that had started to crease next to my eyes and the smile lines I knew would only worsen.

Thirty.

I would be thirty-one soon.

And this was the moment in my life I had finally realized I was getting old. If not old, then older.

I thought back to when I first met Nick and how I had imagined my life at thirty.

This was not it.

I had not planned on getting divorced.

I had not planned to live in a tiny house on the edge of the city.

I had not planned to feel this much stress or this much emptiness.

Once upon a time, thirty had felt like I would finally have made it.

It had felt like a destination.

Like a good destination.

It wasn’t fair of me to ask Nick to change his expectations if I wasn’t willing to change mine. Was my life so bad?

Apart from the divorce, was it really such a terrible thing I didn’t have the perfect house, the perfect job, the perfect two-point-five kids?

My hands settled on my abdomen and I felt a stinging pain lance across my soul.

Some things were okay. I loved this house. There were days that I even loved my job. And if I didn’t love it, at least I felt fulfilled by it.

But there were things I wanted too, things that weren’t terrible to want, things that were worth being disappointed with.

My marriage for instance.

My lack of kids.

This shattering of my heart and spirit.

I needed to do something. I needed to fix this hole inside of me and figure out what else I could have in life that would replace these things.

Or at least I needed to heal and move on.

I needed to change my expectations… my dreams. I needed to find new ones.

I needed to find something else to hope and wish for.

Unable to look at myself for a second longer, I turned away from the mirror and made my way back downstairs. My stomach grumbled loudly and I was happy to feel hunger again.

Ruby’s had been the catalyst yesterday. I had been able to eat ever since and my body thanked me for finally getting some nourishment.

Nick was just finishing up with the sink when I walked into the kitchen. He’d removed his oxford and stripped down to the black undershirt he wore beneath it.

I swallowed convulsively.

That was just not fair.

I had to invest millions of dollars in antiaging creams and worry about my boobs trying to high five my bellybutton. And he turned thirty and looked like that. Like thirty was the best thing that ever happened to his face.

And womankind.

Men were the worst.

He turned around with a half-smile tilting his lips. “When I was out in the garage, I checked out your car. When’s the last time you had the oil changed?”

I swallowed again, but for completely different reasons. “The oil?” Oops. He was going to be so pissed. “I think it was probably last month.”

He raised his eyebrows in challenge. “Last month?”

“Maybe it was the month before that…?”

“Or maybe it was when I changed it last spring?”

I pressed my lips together and tried not to look guilty. “Is it bad?”

He let out a patient sigh. I expected him to lecture me or rip into me about how I break everything I touch, but he didn’t. Instead, he put his wrench down and said, “Do you want me to change it while I’m here?”

“No, that’s okay,” I rushed to say. “I can take it in tomorrow.”

“Take it in where?”

I hoped he didn’t notice the weighted pause while I struggled to come up with, “The… oil change place.”

“The oil change place?”

I cleared my throat. “Sure. The place… with all the oil.”

“How about I just do it now, so you don’t have to figure out where the place with all the oil is.”

I blinked rapidly and tried to figure out how to get out of this. I couldn’t let him change my oil. The sink was one thing. His name was on the mortgage so he had a vested interest in the house not falling apart. But my car was something else. It was my responsibility. He had forfeited his right to help when he moved out.

Why did we get married so young? I should know how to do these stupid things on my own!

Except I moved straight from a college dorm into an apartment with him and I had never learned how to be a grown up on my own. Nick had always taken care of everything.

He’d always taken care of me.

“Let me do it, Kate. I’ll feel better and your car will feel better.”

I looked at the counter where he’d set his ice cream bowl while he worked on the sink. “Then let me at least order dinner. As a thank you.”

His blue eyes lit up with something I couldn’t describe. Happiness? Satisfaction?

Hunger?

“Really?” He was hesitant, but I could tell he was interested.

“We’re both hungry, right? Consider it a thank you for keeping me from falling into disrepair.”

His mouth spread in a wide smile. “Alright, yeah. That sounds good.”

“Pizza?

“You pick. I’ll be happy with whatever.”

“Okay, sure. You change my oil. I’ll get us dinner.”

“Sounds good.”

“Sounds good.”

He walked out of the kitchen and my stomach ignited with nerves.

What had I just done?

Chapter Nine

16. He’s a bad habit I can’t shake.

I waited to order the pizza until Nick came in from the garage. In the meantime, I had cut up some cheese and laid it on a plate with crackers. I didn’t have much for food, but I always had cheese and crackers.

I survived on cheese and crackers.

Good cheese, though, like white cheddar and smoked Gouda. Not Kraft Singles– much to Nick’s dismay.

He grabbed a few slices from the plate and smiled at me. “This is nice.”

“I figured you’d be starving by now.”

He nodded his head and took another slice of pepper jack. “Do you mind if I shower before we eat?”

I ignored everything that buzzed through me. A thousand emotions mingled together and made me hot and cold all at the same time. I was frustrated with him for spending so much time over here, mad that he even stopped by, hurt from our past, heartbroken from our present, but something else too. Something I couldn’t name.

Something I wouldn’t name.

I swallowed thickly and jerked my chin. “Do you still have some clothes here?”

Nick’s cerulean eyes swept over me, “I’m sure I can find something.”

My thoughts continued to tangle together and suddenly my heart took off in a gallop. I cleared my dry throat and said, “I’ll order the pizza.”

He took a step closer to me, resting his hands on the kitchen island. We were only separated by the plate that held my silly little appetizer. His voice dipped low when he asked, “Know what you’re getting?”

Was this a test? Nick and I could never agree on pizza. We liked different things. For instance, Nick loved olives more than anything and I could not stand them. I loved tomatoes on everything and Nick would not touch a tomato, raw or cooked. It had never made sense to me because he was fine with tomato sauce, just not tomatoes in their natural form. This was a quirk I had never had patience with. And in return, he couldn’t stand my dislike of olives.

It seemed so childish now… now that we weren’t in the heat of the moment or dealing with each other’s obnoxious idiosyncrasies every day. But during our marriage these small things could cause hours of fighting and ruin entire evenings.

I lifted my gaze from where I’d been staring at my fidgeting hands and looked at Nick just a foot away from me. Had I really decided to torture him over tomatoes?

Had I really wanted to emotionally punish him because he wanted olives on our shared pizza?

Oh, my god, was I the most immature person in the entire universe???

He leaned in and I caught his familiar scent. He smelled like sweat from working outside, like the car grease and grime, like his cologne that I could pick out of a lineup and like him… like that rich, manly scent that was only him.

It was the smell that I had woken up to for seven years, the one that pulled me in when we were standing or sitting far apart, the one that still lingered in my closet and in my sheets, the one, that even now, could sink into my skin and make my body come alive with something hot and sweet.

“What are you thinking about, Kate?” His voice was nothing more than a gruff whisper. I felt the heat of his body as he stood close to me… closer than we had been in months.

“That fighting over tomatoes and olives is really stupid,” I confessed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t let that go.”

He caught my gaze with eyes so intense I felt them blaze through me, felt their heat touch my skin and grip metaphysical pieces of me. “I’m sorry too.”

And he meant it. I felt the depth of his feeling, the truth of his apology. I knew, without a doubt, that he saw what I saw too, that he realized his mistakes like I had realized mine.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was a stupid fight to begin with. Immature, petty, trivial… and yet his apology hit me like an earthquake. I took a step back and sucked in a steadying breath.

It was like his words had lifted me off my feet and moved me halfway around the world. Or maybe they took me to a different world entirely. A world that wasn’t tied down to points that needed to be proved or stupid convictions that couldn’t be swayed.

His small apology was profound.

And too late.

Why couldn’t we have done this years ago? Or just one year ago? Even six months ago?

Nick’s deep voice pulled me out of my whirling thoughts, “If you want tomatoes, Kate… get tomatoes.”

I stood up straighter and made a decision. “I’m just going to get two mediums,” I told him. “I’ll get the one you like and I’ll get the one I like, then we’ll both be happy.”

His smile was sad when he said, “Why didn’t we think of this before?”

I didn’t want to answer that. I didn’t want to admit that I had been too stubborn to give into him, that I thought I had some philosophical point to prove by making him like tomatoes.

God, this was beyond a doubt, the dumbest thing we had ever fought over.

“Go take a shower,” I told him. “I’ll take care of the pizza.”

He tapped the counter with his knuckles and then disappeared into the house. My house. I listened to his footsteps on the stairs and stood there silently while I tried to piece myself back together.

When I heard his footsteps again on the stairs, I jumped into action and pulled out my phone. I hadn’t heard the shower yet, but he was going to think there was something wrong with me if I couldn’t even make the call.

After I had made our order at our favorite pizza spot and hung up the phone, I realized Nick had started his shower in the guest bathroom.

I didn’t know what to think about that. It shocked the hell out of me.

I had expected him to use our shower… er the master bedroom shower, because, well, because that was the obvious choice. But it was sort of endearing that he’d used the other one. It made me feel respected in a strange way… It made me feel like he took my privacy into consideration and our divorce with care.

Or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe he couldn’t stomach being in the same place we had shared daily… laughed in… fought in… made love in.

He reappeared in the kitchen with wet hair and an old t-shirt that was nearly see-through from wear. His athletic shorts were from his college track days and they were a little short for his current style. They showed off his muscled thighs, his dark hair that curled from his hips to his ankles.

His body was insane. It had always been like this. From the first day I met him.

If attraction were everything, we never would have had a problem.

He caught me staring and warned, “Don’t laugh at me. They’re all I could dig up.”

“I wouldn’t laugh at you,” I promised. “I might laugh at your shorty-shorts. But don’t take it personally.”

His bark of laughter was unexpected and I couldn’t help but smile. “Did you call for the pizza?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it should be here in twenty minutes or so.”

“Do you… do you want to watch something while we’re waiting?”

I chewed on my bottom lip to keep from agreeing, but my head nodded anyway.

One corner of his mouth curled in a crooked smile, “Good. Jared doesn’t have cable and I’ve missed our shows.”

Before I could respond to that or remind him that they were no longer our shows, he turned around and headed for the living room. I picked up the plate of cheese and followed after him.

I felt surreal as we walked into the living room; it was almost an out of body experience. I was too nervous about the situation, too wired. This was my ex-husband. Or, soon to be anyway. Why were we hanging out?

Why were we being nice to each other?

Why were things finally coming together for us?

Maybe we really were better friends. Maybe we had to get out of our marriage in order to appreciate the other person for who he or she was.

Our living room wasn’t large. Nick’s huge TV hung on one wall with our entertainment console situated beneath. The TV was too big for the room and I had always told him that. But boys and their toys and all that. Especially electronics. There had been no talking him out of it.

I had been in charge of decorating the other half. We had a long, comfy gray couch against the opposite wall that was flanked by two mustard-colored wing-backed chairs. It looked really cute, but to be honest, the wing-backed chairs weren’t really comfortable so we never used them.

A coffee table sat in front of the couch, low and practical. I had rescued it from Goodwill and Nick had refinished it for me and painted it gray. It was my favorite piece on the main floor.

Both of us settled on the couch, as far from each other as we could. Nick assumed control of the remote, which was fine with me because I was having trouble concentrating and I would have been useless to pick something out.

I still couldn’t believe this was happening. I was spending my Friday night hanging out with my ex-husband.

Nick pushed buttons that took him to the DVR list and I held my breath. This was a secret I didn’t want him to know. This was a part of our separation that was so silly and unexplainable that I actually felt ashamed.

“You haven’t watched any of these?” The yellow cursor highlighted one of the shows we always watched together… one of the shows I couldn’t bring myself to watch without him. “Or this one?” He continued to flip through the DVR while I shrunk into myself, unable to meet his eye or offer an explanation. Finally, I felt his gaze on me. The intensity of his stare burned into my skin, leaving permanent scars and disfigurement of my soul. “Kate, why didn’t you watch any of these? What were you waiting for?”

For you to come back, my mind whispered.

“I haven’t had time,” I said instead. “I’ve been really busy. It’s been a really hard school year. And I-” The doorbell rang, saving me from rambling more excuses.

I jumped up from the couch and practically ran for the door. I swung it open, surprising the poor delivery guy on the other side.

He laughed nervously and mumbled, “Whoa.”

I closed my eyes for a brief second and desperately tried to pull myself together. “Hi. Sorry.”

“You ordered pizza?” he asked needlessly. He opened his red warming case and showed me the two medium pizzas and order of breadsticks. “Twenty-three, thirty-eight.”

“Oh, right.” In my flight to get to the front door, I forgot to grab my purse. “Hold on a sec.”

“I got it,” Nick said from behind me. He reached around my waist, grazing my side as he went and handed the guy some cash. “That’s all yours.” I could hear the polite smile in Nick’s voice as I stood there frozen and confused.

The guy held the pizzas out to me and I jerked forward, taking them awkwardly. “Thanks,” I mumbled, but he was already headed back to his car.

I stepped back in the house and whirled around. “I thought I owed you dinner. You know, for helping me around the house.”

He tugged on his earlobe and wouldn’t quite meet my eyes when he said, “Yeah, well you can pay me back a different day. The pizza is my treat.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say. Nothing. There was nothing in my brain.

“It’s just pizza, Kate.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He barely acknowledged it. “I’ll grab plates. You take all that to the couch.”

“Okay.”

I moved robotically through the living room and set the pizzas on the coffee table. I’d ordered him his meat lovers with extra mushrooms and olives. I’d gotten a supreme pizza for myself– no olives or mushrooms, extra tomatoes. I set the breadsticks in the middle.

I had just sat down when he came back holding plates, napkins and two bottles of beer. “Is this okay?” He lifted the beer in my direction.

“It’s fine.” I didn’t honestly know if drinking around Nick was the best idea tonight, but surely one beer wouldn’t hurt. Maybe it would relax me. I desperately needed something to take this sharp edge off.

He handed me my beer and a plate with a smile, then plopped down in his seat, a little closer to me than the first time. I took a breath and ordered my mind to stop reading into every little thing. It was so stupid.

I was so stupid.

“Nice,” he grinned at his pizza. “Why didn’t we think of this forever ago?”

I scooted forward, a little closer to him too, but just so I could reach the food. “I think I was trying to make a point. It’s dumb, right?”

He gave me a sideways look and a crooked smile. “I can’t confirm that it’s dumb because then I’d have to admit to being dumb too. I have too much ego for that.”

I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling, but he elbowed me in the side and I let it go, grinning at him and shaking my head. “We can be idiots.”

I thought he would laugh or smile or do anything but sober up completely and stare at me with that hot, penetrating emotion that seemed to follow him around everywhere tonight. “We can be,” he said in a low voice.

I turned back to the TV and took a big bite of pizza. Why did he make me so nervous tonight? Why did his words feel so ominous?

He picked one of our shows to watch, one that we were super far behind in since we’d spent so many months not watching it and we dug into our pizza.

We didn’t talk much as the show went on, just mostly ate in silence.

At some point I realized he didn’t have a date with someone else tonight. My insane jealous was for nothing. I decided to ignore the intense relief that flooded my body from head to toe.

I tried to tamp my relief by reminding myself that he would eventually start dating.

I would have to face it eventually.

Eventually.

But not tonight.

“Another one?” he asked as that show ended and he grabbed another piece of pizza.

“Sure,” I whispered.

Late evening turned into night as we spent another hour quiet and involved in our show. Occasionally he would make a comment or I would gasp in surprise, but mostly our interaction dealt with the pizza that was slowly disappearing in front of us.

After another show, he paused the TV to use the restroom and grab another beer. When he came back into the room, he flicked the lights off and settled in the middle of the couch without asking permission or checking to see if it was okay.

I didn’t know why, but I didn’t object or even make a comment.

After the next episode had ended, he said, “You know, if you’re not watching this without me, we should probably watch another one. Just in case, we don’t get to find out what happens.”

“That’s a good point,” I conceded.

He turned his head toward me and captured my gaze. For a minute, we just stared at each other. Nothing was said. Nothing was thought. I wasn’t even sure I took a breath.

I wasn’t sure I could have taken a breath if I tried.

He leaned over, bringing his body closer to mine. We had somehow managed to scoot closer and closer during the night. Now, I could feel the warmth of his body. Sometimes if he moved, his leg would press into mine for just a brief moment or his elbow would graze my arm.

I could smell him again.

And it was intoxicating.

I licked my dry lips and tried to find sanity… rationalization. I tried to remember our divorce or what had led up to it. I tried to argue my way out of this craziness I’d walked into willingly.

“Kate,” he whispered and his voice went straight to my heart, straight to my core.

Afraid of this moment, of our truce, of every single thing about him, I turned back to the TV and gave it my attention. Or at least pretended to.

I couldn’t see anything in front of me or comprehend what was going on. But I couldn’t face whatever it was that Nick wanted to say. I couldn’t stare at him for a second longer and not lose myself completely.

He seemed to realize that I had shut down because he turned back to the show without another word.

In fact, we didn’t speak to each other again for the rest of the night.

I had been planning to ask him to leave after the next show, but there was a cliffhanger and I was desperate to find out what happened. The show kept going and going, we hadn’t watched it all summer and there were plenty of episodes to catch up on. Finally, I could focus on what was happening and not the man sitting next to me that I couldn’t untangle myself from.

But my mind was never far from him.

And apparently my body wasn’t either.

I must have fallen asleep at some point because one second I had been blinking slowly, trying to stay involved with the plot, the next I felt fingers threading through my hair, brushing gently behind my ear.

I inhaled a deep sigh at the caress, the luxurious feeling of being touched after not being touched for so long. Then I realized those fingers belonged to Nick. I realized I had stretched out on the couch and laid my head in his lap. I realized his other hand had settled on my waist and slipped beneath my shirt to press against the curve of my side.

I steadied out my breathing and tried not to move. I couldn’t let him know I was awake. I couldn’t let him know I didn’t want to confront him about this.

I was a coward.

I was weak.

I was so frustratingly confused.

He shifted on the couch and I faked a sleepy stretch. His body stiffened beneath mine and I couldn’t tell if it was because he knew I was faking or he was embarrassed at getting caught.

I kept my eyes closed and refused to open them. I would claim to be asleep until the end of my life. This was something I was willing to commit perjury over in front of a jury of my peers. You know, if I ever had to swear to this in court. I would never let him know I woke up.

Finally, after endless moments, after I realized the TV wasn’t on anymore and we were sitting in the complete dark, he gently lifted me and stood up. I felt his presence as he hovered over me. I couldn’t have guessed what he was thinking or doing or not doing.

He was, maybe for the first time since we first met, a complete and complex mystery to me.

Just when I thought he would finally leave, he bent over and pressed a warm, familiar kiss to my temple.

A whimper escaped my lips and my eyes squeezed tighter, giving me away, but still I refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge what had just happened between us.

He left a moment later. I heard his bare feet on the wood floor, his movements as he slipped into his shoes and gathered up his clothes, I heard the front door open, then close and his key as he locked the door behind him.

I didn’t move the entire time.

I didn’t move from the couch for the rest of the night.