That Wild Player, page 15
He continues like he hasn’t heard. “Why should you have to waste your evenings with men who are dishonorable enough to cheat on their wives? Not even my parents during the worst phase of their marriage cheated on each other.”
“It isn’t a waste of time. It’s called work, and I’m helping their wives.”
“I hate them seeing you in some hot, skintight dress.”
Well, well. Finally, the real reason. “Burkas aren’t really effective in my line of work. What’s next, Cave Man? No going out without a chaperone?” I say, teasingly.
He shrugs. “I can be your chaperone.”
“Ah-hahahaha. You’d be the worst chaperone ever, since you wouldn’t be all that interested in keeping me untouched while out and about.”
“The point is to keep other guys’ paws off you. Not mine.”
“Your jealousy is adorable, but unless you’re going to let me do the same to you, nope.”
“I wouldn’t mind at all. Please do.” He grins.
And play up to his fantasy of a crazy, jealous girlfriend? Ha. “I’ll pass on the chaperone thing. Both chaperone things. And sadly, I do have to work, unlike you who are retired.”
“I’m not retired.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You aren’t working.”
“Only because I haven’t found what I want to tackle next.” He finishes his bagel. “We should go out tonight. You like steak, right?”
“Of course.”
“Great. We could try Sam’s Steaks…unless you prefer someplace else.”
I remember Sam’s. “Oh, I’d love to go there. Matt and Jan went there on opening night, and Jan said it was fabulous.”
“Perfect. We can go this evening,” CJ says decisively.
“Don’t you need a reservation?”
“Already got one.”
“How? The waitlist is, like, three weeks long.”
“I’m one of the three investors, so Sam gives me a table whenever I ask. Unless there’s a private party.”
I clap. “Sounds fabulous…but if you can get a table anytime you want, can we move it to tomorrow? I have to work today.”
CJ makes a face. “You mean the honeypot thing?”
“Yeah.”
“You see how this silly job is interfering with our plans? If you quit and I paid you for the lost—”
Before he can say more, I raise a hand. “If you pay me in return for me going out with you and sleeping with you, that would make me a ‘hot hooker,’ for real.”
“Couples do it all the time. Guys pay for the girls when she’s out of work or whatever, and vice versa.”
“Engaged or married couples, sure. We don’t even live together yet.”
CJ blinks once, then gives me the strangest look like I just said something he can never unhear…except I don’t understand what could be so objectionable about what I said.
“Jesus, Michelle,” he says finally. “Stop trying to force it.”
“Force what? You’re the one trying to tell me to quit my part-time job.”
He scowls. “I already made it crystal clear.”
“Made what crystal clear?”
“That this is just…sex and that’s where it ends. We aren’t living together. There will never be an engagement or marriage between us. Ever.”
My jaw drops. “Seriously? So you offered to pay me to quit my part-time job…for what? Because you want convenient access to a living, breathing sex doll?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Actually, I don’t. I can’t read your mind.” I put the tray to the side and get out of bed, no longer interested in food or the conversation. “You know what? I’m going to shower. You should just go home. You know, to your place. The one that we’re never going to share.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Michelle
This is just sex.
Those four words keep ringing in my ears as I study the twenty-ninth pair of shoes for the afternoon. Jan already picked out her white slippers, but Sammi and I need shoes to go with our maid of honor dresses. The dresses are soft lavender with cute straps and flower accents. And they’re gorgeous. It’s fallen on me, as the one with the best fashion sense, to find shoes that will complete the ensemble.
“How about these?” I show them a pair of pink stilettos.
“They should work,” Jan says. “In fact, they’ll be perfect.”
Sammi nods. “Totally cute. And we always look great in heels.”
That’s true. And the shoes are dreamy, with a lovely satiny sheen. But I put them back on the shelf.
“Not quite right,” I say.
“You sure?” Jan asks hesitantly.
“Very.”
Sammi blinks. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Everything.” I’m not just thinking about how hot I’m going to look in them. I’m also thinking about how CJ will react to seeing me in them. And I don’t want to buy anything that makes me think about CJ.
Just sex, indeed. “You know what? I don’t think I like anything here. Maybe we should just order online.”
Jan and Sammi exchange a glance, then look at me like I just told them I like to sleep with bedbugs.
“What?”
“You feeling all right?” Sammi asks. “You never leave a store without buying something.”
“That’s not true! I don’t buy anything if nothing looks good.”
“Except at least half the stuff you tried on looked fabulous,” Jan says.
Sammi nods. “You legit can’t find a single pair of shoes you like in this entire mall? Come on.”
“Why don’t we get some carbs and talk about it?” Jan suggests.
“You have a dress fitting in two weeks,” I point out. I know I’m being difficult, but I don’t want to talk.
“I’ll be fine. Carbs are our friends. Great, lovely friends who can help you feel nine billion times better.”
So we find a café with a couple of empty tables. I order a cinnamon bun and an iced latte. I suck down half the latte—to offset the sleep I lost because of CJ this morning—and devour almost all the cinnamon bun. Now my friends are looking at me like I’m about to go Hulk Smash any second.
“Don’t worry. The carbs are helping,” I say, my voice flatter than I’d like.
“Michelle… What’s going on?” Jan asks.
“I hate him,” I say. “He’s officially ruined retail therapy for me. I wanted to buy three pairs of shoes and at least two sets of lingerie. Instead, I’m left with a lousy latte and a bun.” The plastic cup’s sweating, now having more ice than coffee. And my plate has nothing but crumbs.
“Who?” Sammi asks.
“CJ.” My hand clenches around my fork.
“What happened? I thought you guys were getting along great,” Jan says.
So I tell them about the morning, leaving nothing out.
“Breakfast in bed doesn’t sound like ‘just sex’ to me,” Sammi says. “If he’s doing that and saying what he said, he’s seriously giving mixed signals.”
“I know, right? I mean, he even defended me against Izzy the Bitch,” I say. “If it’s just sex, why bother?”
“Maybe he’s one of those guys who can put on a show as long as he’s getting what he wants.”
“Obviously, including getting me to quit my honeypot gig. As if!”
“Would you quit if you guys got serious?” Sammi asks. “Because I can sort of understand his objections.”
“If we were super serious, maybe. But the job pays well, and…” I sigh. “It’s not just that. I want to show Mom that I don’t need to be a high-powered lawyer like she is in order to be happy…and financially secure. I make more than she did when she first got out of school, if you put together Sweet Darlings and working for Dick.”
Sammi shoves a forkful of mousse into her mouth. “Mm. Good point.” She understands the desire to make my own mark and measure up. She grew up with three high-achieving older brothers who never showed her any mercy.
“But at the end of the day, it’s just sex. He won’t even consider living together. Like, ever.”
“What’s his deal?” Jan grouses. “Does he have an ex who ran off with his dad and broke his heart or something?”
Sammi licks her fork thoroughly. “That’s the plot from The Billionaire’s Deceitful Pregnant Virgin Mistress.”
“Really?” I start Googling.
“I made it up,” Sammi says. “But it sounds pretty good, doesn’t it? And it fits because CJ really is a billionaire. And all he needs is a magina woman who can fix him.” She frowns. “That’s supposed to be you.”
“I thought maginas worked instantly,” Jan says. “The moment they have sex, actually.”
“Well, I already did that,” I say automatically, then want to smack myself in the face. Why am I humoring Jan and Sammi’s insanity? “Besides, that’s not how real life works, besties.” Someone needs to be the voice of reason here. “Maginas don’t exist any more than magic penises do.”
Sammi taps her lip. “I don’t know… Luke’s dick is up there in amazeballness.”
I make a face. “TMI.” Much as I love her, she can sometimes overshare.
“Wasn’t CJ good?” Sammi asks.
“Yes. Pretty damn smooth, too.” I scowl, remembering what he said last night. “He even told me he made a list of all the ways we can have sex. Like, a thousand line items. We crossed the first one off last night, according to him.”
“What the hell.” Jan pulls back. “That does sound kind of long-term.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” I start shredding a napkin because I need something to do with my hands. “I don’t care about his money or looks or connections or anything. All I want is a happy, middle-class life with a guy who loves me the way I am. Not some asshole who’s going to pay his girlfriend to quit her job because it inconveniences his sex life. Wait, I’m not even a girlfriend. You have more than just sex with a girlfriend. I’m a, I don’t know…some kind of constantly inflated sex doll.”
Sammi scoffs. “What you are is a total babe. And CJ’s going to totally regret saying what he said to you.”
“How do you know?”
She spreads her hands. “The Michelle Experience, of course. He’s had it. He can’t go back.”
I’m not convinced. “Or…he’s just another LSAT.”
“Another what?” Jan says.
“You know, the standardized test. I couldn’t crack it, no matter how many prep courses I took. So why even bother at this point?” I sound bitter. I can’t help it. I’m feeling bitter because I thought CJ was different. But he’s not. Okay, fine, so he can give me orgasms. So what? Everything else about him is trick questions, making me think one thing when the true answer is something else entirely.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Michelle
If I didn’t have to work today, I would have gone for some wine with Jan and Sammi. Instead, I’m in my hottest magenta scoop-neck top and black micromini skirt and heels. I already nabbed the Cheater of the Day. I should feel like the Queen of the World. But instead, I feel like a Bottom Feeder of the Dead Sea or something.
It isn’t that I did a horrible job. It’s just that…the sense of accomplishment is accompanied by this weird grossness, like plunging my hand into a toilet bowl to save my favorite ring or something like that.
I’m going to puke if I keep thinking like this.
Evidence of the Cheater of the Day’s infidelity-seeking ways safely tucked in my purse, I leave the hotel bar. As I reach the swanky marble and crystal lobby, I see a familiar couple. Actually, only one person is familiar—Dad, dressed dashingly in a formal white shirt with the collar undone and sleeves rolled up, and black slacks that fit him just right. I haven’t seen him looking this well put-together in a long time. The woman is a redhead I’ve never seen, but she’s pretty in a trashy way—too much skin showing, a high, tittering laugh, and exaggerated swaying and clinging that could put a squid to shame.
I blink rapidly and shake my head, just in case. I’m mildly sleep-deprived and sort of tired. I could be seeing things.
But no. Dad is laughing and humoring the girl, his arm around her bare shoulders, his fingers stroking her naked skin. I can blink and pray and hope all I want, but there’s no way his gestures can be seen as anything but sexual.
Finally, I can’t help myself. I step up to them and say, “Dad?”
He swivels his head in my direction. His eyes widen, then he jerks his arm away from the woman. “Oh. Michelle! What are you doing here?”
“Working. What are you doing here?” I give the woman who’s clinging to him a meaningful look.
“I have a night out.” He clears his throat.
“Who’s this?” the woman asks.
“My daughter, Michelle. Michelle, this is Joely.”
The redhead perks up and thrusts a hand my way. I look at it with mild disgust. Who the hell knows where Joely the Jolly Homewrecker’s hands have been?
The minute the thought crosses my mind, I feel nauseated, and I wish I could un-think what I just thought. What I needed to have this morning was the flu. Then I could have stayed home and missed this whole disgusting affair.
“How long has this been going on?” I ask Dad.
“Come on, don’t be like that. It isn’t a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? Are you kidding?” My voice grows shrill toward the end of the second question.
“Joely, could you give us a moment?” Dad says, apologetically, like he’s genuinely sorry as hell his daughter is causing a scene. It wouldn’t surprise me if he starts calling me “crazy” to placate Joely.
The woman steps away so Dad and I are no longer in hearing range unless we raise our voices. I don’t know about Dad, but I can’t guarantee I’ll keep mine down. My fingers are shaking, and I feel like my insides are a huge mass of Jell-O.
“How long has this been going on?” I ask again.
“Twenty years. Like I said, it isn’t a big deal.”
My jaw drops. “You’ve been with that woman for twenty years, and it isn’t a big deal?”
“What? Joely? No, no, I’ve only been seeing her for a year,” he explains, like that makes everything better.
I feel like my head is about to explode. “Does Mom know?”
“Of course.”
What the hell? “You guys have an open marriage or something?”
“What?” He blinks. “No. I don’t know. Your mom isn’t seeing anybody…I don’t think.”
“So…just you? Well, that’s convenient.”
“Your mother doesn’t mind.”
“Is that what she said or is that what you think?”
“Michelle, honey, she knows. She’s known since the beginning. If she weren’t okay with the idea, she’s had plenty of chances to tell me.”
My eyes go to the lobby’s burgundy carpet, the chandelier, anywhere but his face. “Why don’t you just divorce her? That way at least you won’t be cheating.”
“Divorce?” His tone suggests I’ve lost my mind. “Why? It’s better for us to stay married. We share the same values, the same moral compass. We’re compatible…enjoy each other’s company…”
Maybe I’ve just lost the ability to comprehend English, because what he’s saying doesn’t make any sense. People who like each other and share all that don’t cheat.
Do they?
“Okay, I can’t… I gotta go,” I say, taking a step back.
“Honey, I know it’s a little bit of a shock. But don’t be judgmental. That’s not like you. You were always such an open-minded child.”
“No, no, no.” Then I say something—I’m not even sure what—and flee the lobby.
Once I’m back in my Accord, I flex my hands around the steering wheel and breathe in and out, the sound harsh and horrible in the confines of my car.
I simply can’t wrap my mind around the whole thing. My parents have—had?—an ideal life, the kind I’ve always aspired to.
There has to be some kind of a mistake. It can’t be the way Dad said. He had to be confused. Maybe that Joely woman put some kind of drug in his drink.
Suddenly, my throat is full of a rising, sour tang. I open the door and lean out just in time to empty my guts. My face is hot, my eyes burning. After a while, I reach over into the glove compartment and grab some tissues to wipe the wetness on my cheeks and mouth.
I stay hunched over, panting, feeling ill, hoping no one will come by and see me. This isn’t helping. There has to be a mistake. I must’ve misheard…misunderstood.
Breathing hard, I finally sit up and turn on the engine. I need some answers.
Chapter Thirty
Michelle
Relief courses through me when I spot Mom’s Lexus in the driveway. I can’t believe I didn’t think to call or text to make sure she was home.
I park alongside and go into the house. “Mom!”
“Michelle, what’s wrong?” Mom comes out of her office. It used to be a den until she converted it. She’s in wine-colored silk pajamas, her hair loose. Her face is scrubbed of makeup, but she still looks amazing for her age.
Now that we’re face to face, I can’t seem to get any words out. What if she doesn’t know, despite what Dad said? Hearing the news will crush her, won’t it?
On the other hand…she needs to know. Dad said it’s been going on for twenty years, almost the entirety of their marriage.
“Why don’t we sit down?” I say, doing my best to keep my voice level.
“All right, dear.” She gives me a long look. “Did Alexandra fire you?”
“What?”
“Not that there’s any need to cry over it. It’s no great loss—that job of yours. I know you love it, but loving it doesn’t mean it’s right for you.”
Oh my God. “Mom, just…sit down. Please.” I put my hands on her shoulders and physically push her into an armchair. Once she’s there, I take the love seat.
Okay, now… How to begin? My part-time gig only prepared me for what to do when I catch someone cheating, not how to share the news with the other party.
“Honey, what is it? I have a deposition to review.”
“It isn’t a waste of time. It’s called work, and I’m helping their wives.”
“I hate them seeing you in some hot, skintight dress.”
Well, well. Finally, the real reason. “Burkas aren’t really effective in my line of work. What’s next, Cave Man? No going out without a chaperone?” I say, teasingly.
He shrugs. “I can be your chaperone.”
“Ah-hahahaha. You’d be the worst chaperone ever, since you wouldn’t be all that interested in keeping me untouched while out and about.”
“The point is to keep other guys’ paws off you. Not mine.”
“Your jealousy is adorable, but unless you’re going to let me do the same to you, nope.”
“I wouldn’t mind at all. Please do.” He grins.
And play up to his fantasy of a crazy, jealous girlfriend? Ha. “I’ll pass on the chaperone thing. Both chaperone things. And sadly, I do have to work, unlike you who are retired.”
“I’m not retired.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You aren’t working.”
“Only because I haven’t found what I want to tackle next.” He finishes his bagel. “We should go out tonight. You like steak, right?”
“Of course.”
“Great. We could try Sam’s Steaks…unless you prefer someplace else.”
I remember Sam’s. “Oh, I’d love to go there. Matt and Jan went there on opening night, and Jan said it was fabulous.”
“Perfect. We can go this evening,” CJ says decisively.
“Don’t you need a reservation?”
“Already got one.”
“How? The waitlist is, like, three weeks long.”
“I’m one of the three investors, so Sam gives me a table whenever I ask. Unless there’s a private party.”
I clap. “Sounds fabulous…but if you can get a table anytime you want, can we move it to tomorrow? I have to work today.”
CJ makes a face. “You mean the honeypot thing?”
“Yeah.”
“You see how this silly job is interfering with our plans? If you quit and I paid you for the lost—”
Before he can say more, I raise a hand. “If you pay me in return for me going out with you and sleeping with you, that would make me a ‘hot hooker,’ for real.”
“Couples do it all the time. Guys pay for the girls when she’s out of work or whatever, and vice versa.”
“Engaged or married couples, sure. We don’t even live together yet.”
CJ blinks once, then gives me the strangest look like I just said something he can never unhear…except I don’t understand what could be so objectionable about what I said.
“Jesus, Michelle,” he says finally. “Stop trying to force it.”
“Force what? You’re the one trying to tell me to quit my part-time job.”
He scowls. “I already made it crystal clear.”
“Made what crystal clear?”
“That this is just…sex and that’s where it ends. We aren’t living together. There will never be an engagement or marriage between us. Ever.”
My jaw drops. “Seriously? So you offered to pay me to quit my part-time job…for what? Because you want convenient access to a living, breathing sex doll?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Actually, I don’t. I can’t read your mind.” I put the tray to the side and get out of bed, no longer interested in food or the conversation. “You know what? I’m going to shower. You should just go home. You know, to your place. The one that we’re never going to share.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Michelle
This is just sex.
Those four words keep ringing in my ears as I study the twenty-ninth pair of shoes for the afternoon. Jan already picked out her white slippers, but Sammi and I need shoes to go with our maid of honor dresses. The dresses are soft lavender with cute straps and flower accents. And they’re gorgeous. It’s fallen on me, as the one with the best fashion sense, to find shoes that will complete the ensemble.
“How about these?” I show them a pair of pink stilettos.
“They should work,” Jan says. “In fact, they’ll be perfect.”
Sammi nods. “Totally cute. And we always look great in heels.”
That’s true. And the shoes are dreamy, with a lovely satiny sheen. But I put them back on the shelf.
“Not quite right,” I say.
“You sure?” Jan asks hesitantly.
“Very.”
Sammi blinks. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Everything.” I’m not just thinking about how hot I’m going to look in them. I’m also thinking about how CJ will react to seeing me in them. And I don’t want to buy anything that makes me think about CJ.
Just sex, indeed. “You know what? I don’t think I like anything here. Maybe we should just order online.”
Jan and Sammi exchange a glance, then look at me like I just told them I like to sleep with bedbugs.
“What?”
“You feeling all right?” Sammi asks. “You never leave a store without buying something.”
“That’s not true! I don’t buy anything if nothing looks good.”
“Except at least half the stuff you tried on looked fabulous,” Jan says.
Sammi nods. “You legit can’t find a single pair of shoes you like in this entire mall? Come on.”
“Why don’t we get some carbs and talk about it?” Jan suggests.
“You have a dress fitting in two weeks,” I point out. I know I’m being difficult, but I don’t want to talk.
“I’ll be fine. Carbs are our friends. Great, lovely friends who can help you feel nine billion times better.”
So we find a café with a couple of empty tables. I order a cinnamon bun and an iced latte. I suck down half the latte—to offset the sleep I lost because of CJ this morning—and devour almost all the cinnamon bun. Now my friends are looking at me like I’m about to go Hulk Smash any second.
“Don’t worry. The carbs are helping,” I say, my voice flatter than I’d like.
“Michelle… What’s going on?” Jan asks.
“I hate him,” I say. “He’s officially ruined retail therapy for me. I wanted to buy three pairs of shoes and at least two sets of lingerie. Instead, I’m left with a lousy latte and a bun.” The plastic cup’s sweating, now having more ice than coffee. And my plate has nothing but crumbs.
“Who?” Sammi asks.
“CJ.” My hand clenches around my fork.
“What happened? I thought you guys were getting along great,” Jan says.
So I tell them about the morning, leaving nothing out.
“Breakfast in bed doesn’t sound like ‘just sex’ to me,” Sammi says. “If he’s doing that and saying what he said, he’s seriously giving mixed signals.”
“I know, right? I mean, he even defended me against Izzy the Bitch,” I say. “If it’s just sex, why bother?”
“Maybe he’s one of those guys who can put on a show as long as he’s getting what he wants.”
“Obviously, including getting me to quit my honeypot gig. As if!”
“Would you quit if you guys got serious?” Sammi asks. “Because I can sort of understand his objections.”
“If we were super serious, maybe. But the job pays well, and…” I sigh. “It’s not just that. I want to show Mom that I don’t need to be a high-powered lawyer like she is in order to be happy…and financially secure. I make more than she did when she first got out of school, if you put together Sweet Darlings and working for Dick.”
Sammi shoves a forkful of mousse into her mouth. “Mm. Good point.” She understands the desire to make my own mark and measure up. She grew up with three high-achieving older brothers who never showed her any mercy.
“But at the end of the day, it’s just sex. He won’t even consider living together. Like, ever.”
“What’s his deal?” Jan grouses. “Does he have an ex who ran off with his dad and broke his heart or something?”
Sammi licks her fork thoroughly. “That’s the plot from The Billionaire’s Deceitful Pregnant Virgin Mistress.”
“Really?” I start Googling.
“I made it up,” Sammi says. “But it sounds pretty good, doesn’t it? And it fits because CJ really is a billionaire. And all he needs is a magina woman who can fix him.” She frowns. “That’s supposed to be you.”
“I thought maginas worked instantly,” Jan says. “The moment they have sex, actually.”
“Well, I already did that,” I say automatically, then want to smack myself in the face. Why am I humoring Jan and Sammi’s insanity? “Besides, that’s not how real life works, besties.” Someone needs to be the voice of reason here. “Maginas don’t exist any more than magic penises do.”
Sammi taps her lip. “I don’t know… Luke’s dick is up there in amazeballness.”
I make a face. “TMI.” Much as I love her, she can sometimes overshare.
“Wasn’t CJ good?” Sammi asks.
“Yes. Pretty damn smooth, too.” I scowl, remembering what he said last night. “He even told me he made a list of all the ways we can have sex. Like, a thousand line items. We crossed the first one off last night, according to him.”
“What the hell.” Jan pulls back. “That does sound kind of long-term.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” I start shredding a napkin because I need something to do with my hands. “I don’t care about his money or looks or connections or anything. All I want is a happy, middle-class life with a guy who loves me the way I am. Not some asshole who’s going to pay his girlfriend to quit her job because it inconveniences his sex life. Wait, I’m not even a girlfriend. You have more than just sex with a girlfriend. I’m a, I don’t know…some kind of constantly inflated sex doll.”
Sammi scoffs. “What you are is a total babe. And CJ’s going to totally regret saying what he said to you.”
“How do you know?”
She spreads her hands. “The Michelle Experience, of course. He’s had it. He can’t go back.”
I’m not convinced. “Or…he’s just another LSAT.”
“Another what?” Jan says.
“You know, the standardized test. I couldn’t crack it, no matter how many prep courses I took. So why even bother at this point?” I sound bitter. I can’t help it. I’m feeling bitter because I thought CJ was different. But he’s not. Okay, fine, so he can give me orgasms. So what? Everything else about him is trick questions, making me think one thing when the true answer is something else entirely.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Michelle
If I didn’t have to work today, I would have gone for some wine with Jan and Sammi. Instead, I’m in my hottest magenta scoop-neck top and black micromini skirt and heels. I already nabbed the Cheater of the Day. I should feel like the Queen of the World. But instead, I feel like a Bottom Feeder of the Dead Sea or something.
It isn’t that I did a horrible job. It’s just that…the sense of accomplishment is accompanied by this weird grossness, like plunging my hand into a toilet bowl to save my favorite ring or something like that.
I’m going to puke if I keep thinking like this.
Evidence of the Cheater of the Day’s infidelity-seeking ways safely tucked in my purse, I leave the hotel bar. As I reach the swanky marble and crystal lobby, I see a familiar couple. Actually, only one person is familiar—Dad, dressed dashingly in a formal white shirt with the collar undone and sleeves rolled up, and black slacks that fit him just right. I haven’t seen him looking this well put-together in a long time. The woman is a redhead I’ve never seen, but she’s pretty in a trashy way—too much skin showing, a high, tittering laugh, and exaggerated swaying and clinging that could put a squid to shame.
I blink rapidly and shake my head, just in case. I’m mildly sleep-deprived and sort of tired. I could be seeing things.
But no. Dad is laughing and humoring the girl, his arm around her bare shoulders, his fingers stroking her naked skin. I can blink and pray and hope all I want, but there’s no way his gestures can be seen as anything but sexual.
Finally, I can’t help myself. I step up to them and say, “Dad?”
He swivels his head in my direction. His eyes widen, then he jerks his arm away from the woman. “Oh. Michelle! What are you doing here?”
“Working. What are you doing here?” I give the woman who’s clinging to him a meaningful look.
“I have a night out.” He clears his throat.
“Who’s this?” the woman asks.
“My daughter, Michelle. Michelle, this is Joely.”
The redhead perks up and thrusts a hand my way. I look at it with mild disgust. Who the hell knows where Joely the Jolly Homewrecker’s hands have been?
The minute the thought crosses my mind, I feel nauseated, and I wish I could un-think what I just thought. What I needed to have this morning was the flu. Then I could have stayed home and missed this whole disgusting affair.
“How long has this been going on?” I ask Dad.
“Come on, don’t be like that. It isn’t a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? Are you kidding?” My voice grows shrill toward the end of the second question.
“Joely, could you give us a moment?” Dad says, apologetically, like he’s genuinely sorry as hell his daughter is causing a scene. It wouldn’t surprise me if he starts calling me “crazy” to placate Joely.
The woman steps away so Dad and I are no longer in hearing range unless we raise our voices. I don’t know about Dad, but I can’t guarantee I’ll keep mine down. My fingers are shaking, and I feel like my insides are a huge mass of Jell-O.
“How long has this been going on?” I ask again.
“Twenty years. Like I said, it isn’t a big deal.”
My jaw drops. “You’ve been with that woman for twenty years, and it isn’t a big deal?”
“What? Joely? No, no, I’ve only been seeing her for a year,” he explains, like that makes everything better.
I feel like my head is about to explode. “Does Mom know?”
“Of course.”
What the hell? “You guys have an open marriage or something?”
“What?” He blinks. “No. I don’t know. Your mom isn’t seeing anybody…I don’t think.”
“So…just you? Well, that’s convenient.”
“Your mother doesn’t mind.”
“Is that what she said or is that what you think?”
“Michelle, honey, she knows. She’s known since the beginning. If she weren’t okay with the idea, she’s had plenty of chances to tell me.”
My eyes go to the lobby’s burgundy carpet, the chandelier, anywhere but his face. “Why don’t you just divorce her? That way at least you won’t be cheating.”
“Divorce?” His tone suggests I’ve lost my mind. “Why? It’s better for us to stay married. We share the same values, the same moral compass. We’re compatible…enjoy each other’s company…”
Maybe I’ve just lost the ability to comprehend English, because what he’s saying doesn’t make any sense. People who like each other and share all that don’t cheat.
Do they?
“Okay, I can’t… I gotta go,” I say, taking a step back.
“Honey, I know it’s a little bit of a shock. But don’t be judgmental. That’s not like you. You were always such an open-minded child.”
“No, no, no.” Then I say something—I’m not even sure what—and flee the lobby.
Once I’m back in my Accord, I flex my hands around the steering wheel and breathe in and out, the sound harsh and horrible in the confines of my car.
I simply can’t wrap my mind around the whole thing. My parents have—had?—an ideal life, the kind I’ve always aspired to.
There has to be some kind of a mistake. It can’t be the way Dad said. He had to be confused. Maybe that Joely woman put some kind of drug in his drink.
Suddenly, my throat is full of a rising, sour tang. I open the door and lean out just in time to empty my guts. My face is hot, my eyes burning. After a while, I reach over into the glove compartment and grab some tissues to wipe the wetness on my cheeks and mouth.
I stay hunched over, panting, feeling ill, hoping no one will come by and see me. This isn’t helping. There has to be a mistake. I must’ve misheard…misunderstood.
Breathing hard, I finally sit up and turn on the engine. I need some answers.
Chapter Thirty
Michelle
Relief courses through me when I spot Mom’s Lexus in the driveway. I can’t believe I didn’t think to call or text to make sure she was home.
I park alongside and go into the house. “Mom!”
“Michelle, what’s wrong?” Mom comes out of her office. It used to be a den until she converted it. She’s in wine-colored silk pajamas, her hair loose. Her face is scrubbed of makeup, but she still looks amazing for her age.
Now that we’re face to face, I can’t seem to get any words out. What if she doesn’t know, despite what Dad said? Hearing the news will crush her, won’t it?
On the other hand…she needs to know. Dad said it’s been going on for twenty years, almost the entirety of their marriage.
“Why don’t we sit down?” I say, doing my best to keep my voice level.
“All right, dear.” She gives me a long look. “Did Alexandra fire you?”
“What?”
“Not that there’s any need to cry over it. It’s no great loss—that job of yours. I know you love it, but loving it doesn’t mean it’s right for you.”
Oh my God. “Mom, just…sit down. Please.” I put my hands on her shoulders and physically push her into an armchair. Once she’s there, I take the love seat.
Okay, now… How to begin? My part-time gig only prepared me for what to do when I catch someone cheating, not how to share the news with the other party.
“Honey, what is it? I have a deposition to review.”
