Text from Sophia to Mimi:
I can’t believe you’re still mad . . .
I can’t believe you can’t believe I’m still mad.
I’m sorry, okay? Again! How many times can I say I’m sorry?
Once more should do it.
OK. I. Am. Sorry. I. Ruined. Your. Christmas. Party.
Forgiven. Now you want to tell me what that was all about?
I don’t know.
Oh, I know, and I know you know; I just want to hear you say it.
I’m taking back my apology . . .
Can’t. How’s the professor?
Now you’re asking for it.
Snicker.
Text from Simon to Neil:
You wanna go bike riding tomorrow?
Can’t we just hold hands and skip?
Dude.
Can’t. Working. Speaking of, you’ve been home awhile now. When are you heading back out on the road?
Taking a bit of a break
Come on, really, when are you heading back out?
No really, I’m taking some time off.
Huh.
Just huh. Anyway, can’t tomorrow; but how ’bout this weekend?
Done. You wanna text the idiot or should I?
I’ll do it. Blow me.
See ya.
Text from Mimi to Caroline:
Can you do the diner Saturday morning?
Yes, if you can do early. I need to work afterward.
How about 7:30?
Perfect.
Holy shit, Caroline, I was kidding.
Oh, when were you thinking?
9?
I’ve got meetings in the afternoon. Did I tell you I just picked up a new job in Sausalito? Someone walked by the Claremont the other day, liked what she saw, came by the office, and BAM I’m doing a remodel over here.
Wow, my girl is going for Designer of the Year!
No kidding. Okay, breakfast. How about we say 8:15, in the middle?
Wow, okay, I’ll see if I can get Soph up that early. She still owes me from the party.
She really does; the throwing of food is never okay.
They’re both so stupid! Ryan said that Neil’s tried to call her again, but she just won’t budge.
Maybe it’s time to sit this one out. I mean, what are the odds that 3 best friends and 3 best friends would all magically meet, fuck, and live happily ever after?
Pfft, true. What a romance novel that would make. But 2 out of 3 isn’t bad. And I still think they’re gonna get back together . . .
You old softie.
You guys want to see a movie next weekend? Or is Simon out of town?
Oh no. He’s here. He’s very much here.
???
Forget it. We’ll see. Gotta get back to work.
Portion of an e-mail from Jillian to Caroline:
. . . So it looks like we’ll be heading over to Spain sooner than we thought. I have an old friend from college who’s renovating an estate just outside of Nerja. Isn’t that where you and Simon stayed? And how is he? Benjamin said he’s not traveling as much?
I spoke to the accountant; he’s sending me everything FedEx for year-end taxes. Looks like you’ve kept up on everything really well. I did notice, however, that you need to be itemizing your meals when you’re out with clients—we need the actual receipt with the items ordered, not just the cc receipt. I can have him show you some examples if that’s easier? Let me know, and I’ll have it sent over.
Sounds like your Christmas was interesting, Vienna was enchanting! What a wonderful city to spend the holidays in.
I scrolled through that e-mail once more, then thought back to the conversation we had right before Christmas. She’d said they were going to Munich for the holidays, I was sure of it. She’d mentioned Benjamin’s friends and everything. But now she said they were in Vienna?
Something stinks in Vienna.
I put my phone away as I walked toward the hotel site. I was meeting with Camden’s assistant to make the final decision about some light fixtures in the bar downstairs. Taking advantage of the natural light, and being aware of the sometimes very foggy mornings, I had designed a space that could transition from a place to share a quiet drink in the afternoon or even a business meeting, to something infinitely more sexy at nighttime.
I tried to focus on the meeting at hand, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on. When Jillian first left, she was in almost constant contact—as much as a newlywed could be. But as the weeks went by, turning into months, the e-mails and phone calls had lessened significantly. Initially, I was so busy I didn’t realize how those phone calls were beginning to dwindle. Once the holidays were in full swing and we went back east for the reunion, I was in control enough to not need the calls, but that wasn’t really the point.
And when was she coming home? There seemed to be no end in sight. I needed to have a come-to-Jesus meeting with Jillian, but I wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. And I was positive that she had told me she was going to Munich . . .
“Caroline? You been waiting long?” A voice broke me out of my head. Camden’s assistant, looking at me expectantly.
“Sorry, no, not at all. Ready to get started?” I asked, and plastered on a smile.
• • •
That night when I got home, Simon was there and had made spaghetti and meatballs. Of course he was. Home, I mean.
“It’s shocking, how much I need balls right now,” I quipped, sitting at the table in my jacket and scarf, my knife and fork pointed up.
“I had a feeling. I found this great Italian market this morning on my bike ride, and they’re one of the only places I’ve ever found stateside that will grind the pork, veal, and beef together,” he said, pouring me a glass of red and putting the pasta into the boiling water. “Makes for a more tender ball,” he said, deadpan.
“So that’s your secret,” I said, sipping the wine. The night was chilly, but inside it was cozy and warm. A fire was ablaze in the living room, its light bouncing off the window wall. Clive was curled into a ball inside the cat condo that Simon had bought for him. Orange carpet, multileveled with a scratching post and a bouncy ball on top of the entire thing, it was hideous. I’d told him Clive would never go for something so garish, so obviously cat, but he fucking loved it.
My boys had a simpatico thing going on. They certainly spent enough time together . . .
There it was again. That corner of something I kept running into my head; the very edge of something cooking in there. It disappeared when Simon set down the salad, then kissed me stupid.
“How’d the meeting go about the bar?” he asked.
He’d been listening the night before when I told him what I had going on today.
“Good, though I was a little distracted. I got an e-mail from Jillian.”
“How’re they doing? I haven’t heard from Benjamin for a while, but we’re talking next week about some investments.”
“Is he still managing everything for you?”
“He’s got someone on them more day to day while he’s gone, but he’s keeping his eye on it too. She say when they’re coming home?”
“No, and that’s the thing. Every time I try to bring it up, she changes the subject,” I said, chewing on a piece of escarole I stole from the salad bowl. Lemon and mustard vinaigrette. Nice.
“Benjamin too. I figured with their honeymoon and all, they’re having too much fun to think about coming home.”
“Must be nice to have zero responsibilities,” I muttered, bumping into that corner again.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he chided, tossing the pasta with tongs. “You want to shred that cheese?”
“I would say that.” I grabbed the cheese and began to shred. “I don’t know; maybe I’ll say something to the girls tomorrow, see what they think.”
“The girls?”
“Yeah, breakfast at the diner? I haven’t seen them for a while,” I said, still shredding. He mumbled something under his breath about me being gone again, but I ignored it. “And another thing—when we talked before Christmas, she told me they were going to Munich for Christmas. But I got an e-mail from her today that said they were in Vienna.”
“I think I heard Vienna. At least that’s what Benjamin said.”
“I know she said Munich; she said it was because Benjamin had friends there.” I continued to shred.
“Benjamin has friends everywhere,” he said, testing the pasta and calling it good.
“The point isn’t whether or not he has friends there. The point is I know what I heard,” I said, shredding furiously.
“Is it at all possible, and I’m just asking here,” he said, tossing the pasta with a little bit of the sauce and then pouring it all into a bowl, “that you didn’t hear her correctly?”
“No.” I shredded.
“Not at all possible?” he asked, setting the bowl down on the table and then going back for the meatballs. “No chance in the slightest.”
“Of course there’s a chance,” I said through gritted teeth. “I just know what I heard.”
“Well then, ask her. That’ll solve it, won’t it? Better than shredding your fingernails into that bowl,” he replied calmly, covering my hand with his and stopping me right before I did that very thing.
I looked down. I’d shredded the entire wedge.
“I can’t ask her, she’s depending on me,” I said, releasing the shredder and heading for the sink to wash my hands.
“She is, but she’s also your friend. If there’s a problem, she’d want to know about it, don’t you think?” he asked, pulling out my chair for me.
“She’s my friend, but she’s my boss first. And yes, I should probably talk to her,” I replied, sitting down and smiling briefly when he placed a kiss on my shoulder before sitting down across from me. “Dammit, I hate when you’re right.”
“That’s a lot of hating, then. I had no idea,” he teased, passing me the bowl with several pounds of grated Parmesan.
I took the bowl, and then showed him a particular finger.
For the record, they were amazing balls.
• • •
“Whole wheat pancakes, blueberry sauce, and a side of turkey sausage, please.”
“Egg white omelette with ham and green onions and a cup of berries, please.”
“Scrambled eggs, hash browns with no butter, rye toast. And could I also please get a grapefruit half?”
We sat at our regular table at the diner, Sophia and Mimi nursing extra big cups of coffee.
“Thanks for coming so early. I know you both like to sleep in on Saturdays,” I said, sipping on my own extra big cup. I had an art installation being set up today, and I knew it was going to be a day for extra caffeine.
“How’s it going over at the hotel? Think you’ll be able to slow down a bit when that’s all complete?” Mimi asked.
“Not likely. We’ve slowed down on some of our residential design to take on this project, but once that’s done, we’ve got clients who have literally put their remodels on hold a few months in order to work with us,” I said proudly. “But some of that depends on Jillian.”
“Still no word on when she’s coming back?”
“Nope, but let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about your wedding—how’s the planning coming?” I asked, changing the subject smoothly. I hadn’t made any progress on what I was going to say to Jillian about everything, unsure how to broach the subject, so I was eager to think about something else.
I could tell you Mimi had begun planning her wedding the day Ryan put a two-karat solitaire on her finger, but that would be a lie. She’d been planning it since she knew what a wedding was. She had notebooks and binders full of tear sheets that she’d been collecting over the years. Table settings, flowers, dresses, linens—you name it, she had it in a binder. Ryan didn’t ask any questions or make a single suggestion; he just sat back and let the Mimi Train run.
“It was so great seeing Jillian’s wedding, and how she planned. It gave me so many ideas, and really helped me to focus in on what I want and what I don’t want. If you’ll look here on page seventeen—”
She had a binder out on the table.
“—you can see how I’ll be capturing the light of the chapel to accentuate not only the soft pastel pinks and peaches of the flowers, but also to set off the natural golden tone of my skin.”
“Well, sure, but that depends on the time of day,” Sophia said, casting a mischievous look my way.
Mimi flipped her binder. “Based on the sun’s position in the sky that week, I’ve timed the ceremony to reflect as much light into the church as possible.” She pointed to a sun chart.
“Oh my God, I was kidding,” Sophia said, turning the binder around to see. “This is impressive, woman.”
“Thank you. You’ll also be glad to know that I took into account your skin tone and Caroline’s when I chose your dresses.”
“Our dresses? You chose our dresses?” Sophia asked.
“Hold up, you haven’t even officially asked us yet! Don’t you think you better choose us before you choose the dresses?” I snorted, passing the butter as the plates were set down.
“Please, like I need to ask. Obviously you’re both bridesmaids,” she scoffed, cutting her sausage into quarter-inch slices and centering them on either side of the plate.
“Well, obviously,” I mimicked, laughing at her when she looked up in surprise. “Of course we’ll be your bridesmaids.”
“Makes sense, since Simon and Neil will be groomsmen. And I see that look on your face, Sophia,” she said, not looking up but anticipating her reaction. “He’s in the wedding and that’s final. And there will be no throwing of food.”
I muffled a laugh into my napkin.
“Make sure Simon knows the date. I don’t want him missing the wedding week because he’s off taking pictures of zebras in Australia,” Mimi continued, pointing her knife at me.
“Zebras are in Africa. Kangaroos are in Australia,” Sophia interjected.
“Australia, Africa, I don’t care if he’s in Akron—just make sure he’ll be home,” she said, crossing something off in her bridal planner.
“Oh, he’ll be home. Don’t worry about that,” I muttered. Before she could say anything else, I brandished my own knife. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you using phrases like wedding week. It’s a wedding day, Miss Thing.”
“I have so much planned for this wedding that I need an entire week, and Ryan says I can. And don’t think I didn’t notice you snarking under your breath about Simon being home. What’s going on?” she asked.
“There’s nothing going on. He’s just taking some time off, that’s all.”
They both looked at me.
“What? You’re always saying he’s never home—well, he’s home now.”
They both still looked at me. I looked back.
“It’s great. Really. Great.”
One more moment of silence, then we all returned to our plates.
“So Ryan found out that there’s a group interested in sponsoring a chapter of his charity in San Diego,” Mimi offered, and the news portion of our breakfast began.
“There’s a new krav maga studio opening up down the street, and I’m thinking of taking it. As long as I can protect my hands,” Sophia remarked.
“Clive has finally figured out that the cat that’s running back and forth outside the window wall and anticipating his every move is his own reflection,” I said.
We chewed.
“I think I finally talked Ryan into taking ballroom dancing lessons for the wedding. We get to learn how to tango!”
“I heard from Professor Bernard Fitzsimmons; he and Polly just moved in together.”
“I think Jillian is lying to me about something.”
Forks clattered.
“Wait, what?” Mimi asked as Sophia looked at me in confusion.
“I can’t explain it. I just think something’s going on and she’s not telling me.” As soon as I said it out loud, I was even more convinced. “I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s up.”
They listened as I told them about everything that had been going on: the phone calls, the non–phone calls, the e-mails, everything. I sat back and waited for them to see it, to agree with me.
“You’re basing this all on the fact that she might have said Munich when she meant Vienna?” Sophia asked, shaking a sugar packet.
“No. I mean, partly, but—I don’t know, I just feel like something’s off,” I insisted, not understanding why no one else was seeing it too.
“She’s on her honeymoon. If I was riding that Benjamin train every night, you can be damn sure I’d be forgetful. Mmm, you think he likes it dirty? Do you think he likes it when—”
“Good Lord, Mimi!”
“Jesus Christ, woman!”
We stared at Mimi. To be fair, we’d all fantasized about it. But we never discussed it.
She had the decency to blush into her sausage circles.
“Anyway, no, it’s not just mixing up the names of the cities. She was supposed to be gone awhile, but this is almost getting ridiculous. And she hardly ever checks in anymore—”
Mimi laughed. “How could she check in, when she’s too busy checking out Benjamin in one of those tiny little European bathing suits? I bet they do it in—”
“Enough!” I said, slamming my hand down and making the silverware bounce. “I don’t have time for this; I’m trying to tell you that—forget it. You know what? I need to get to work,” I snapped, throwing a twenty down on the table and getting up.
“Are you really leaving?” Sophia asked as I put my coat on.
“Yes, I’m really leaving. I have to go receive an art installation for the hotel in Sausalito!”
I slammed out of the restaurant, my heart pounding. I was so mad, and I had gotten there so fast. Dammit.
I went back inside to where they were still sitting, wide-eyed. “Thank you very much for asking me to be a bridesmaid; that was really very sweet.” Then I left again.
I got into Jillian’s Mercedes and drove back across the bridge to wait for my art installation. Which never showed up.
Hey, art installation? Suck my dick.
• • •
That night, I was frustrated beyond belief that I’d wasted an entire morning and the better part of the afternoon when my free time was at a premium. Waiting around for the artwork after repeated calls to the delivery service, which just kept telling me it was “in transit,” just further irritated my already foul mood. I felt frazzled, so I decided to tune out and get turned on. I wasn’t going to think about work anymore.
I found Simon in the kitchen, looking through Chinese take-out menus. He asked me if I wanted to just stay in tonight and pig out on pot stickers. It was exactly what I needed and I told him so.
I needed to relax. Everyone else got free time, I was going to get some too.
After pot sticking, we retreated to the hot tub. Simon turned on some Count Basie and we hurried down the chilly path. Sitting under a blanket of stars, I leaned back into the bubbly water with a glass of wine and tried to relax. I tried to let go of the unease I’d been feeling about Jillian, my stress about work, and the mini fight I’d had with Mimi and Sophia that morning.
I’d texted both of them with apologies that were met with an “Oh please, it’s fine” and “You’re an asshole but I love you anyway.”
“You seem quiet tonight,” Simon remarked, his strong arms curved behind him on the edge of the hot tub. A wet Wallbanger was something that can never be described. But I will try.
It was . . . Oh, hell, it was really good.
“I’m relaxing, can’t you tell?” I replied, making a great show of settling back and letting out a contented sigh.
“That’s good. You need to relax more, if you ask me.” He tilted his face toward the sky, throwing his jaw, and his stubble, into stark relief against the cold night.
As I admired him, I noticed his jaw was not only strong, it was tense. “You okay?”
“Never better,” he replied as he breathed out heavily.
Had I been ignoring Simon? Surely not; how could anyone ignore someone this good looking? But just to be sure . . .
Feeling a spark below, I pushed across the water to his side, sitting on his lap. His hands wrapped around my waist, fingers tangling into the edges of my bikini bottom. “You remember the first time we hot tubbed, Wallbanger?”
“I do. You were quite randy,” he remembered, the hint of a smirk appearing.
“I really was. You were hot to trot as well, as I recall.” I rolled my eyes. And my hips. Which did not go unnoticed. “Until you put the brakes on my advances.”
“You will never know how hard that was.”
“Oh I know how hard that was.” I laughed as he thrust up against me. I turned around, sitting with my back to his chest, and looked out across the bay, the lights from the city sparkling on the water. From this vantage point, I could see the town below, its own light reflecting in the waves. It was so peaceful over here, I’d miss it when we moved back to the city full-time.
A moment of tension crept in, but I shook it away. I breathed deep, inhaling the scent of laurel and pine, the saltiness of the sea air that was always in the background. He pushed my hair off my shoulders, leaving a trail of warm wet kisses behind. Passion was one thing, but that quiet comfort of unhurried touching?
It was really good.
“This is nice.” I sighed, leaning back against him.
“I agree,” he murmured into my skin, his hands beginning to roam across my belly.
“I meant being out here in Sausalito.” I laughed, shivering as his mouth dipped into the hollow between my shoulder and ear.
“I know what you meant, and I agree,” he answered, nibbling me like an ear of corn. “I didn’t think I would, but I really like it over here. It’s homey.”
I squealed, his touch causing me to break out into gooseflesh. “Who you callin’ homey?” I giggled.
“Shush, I’m seducing you,” he instructed, raising my arm and kissing the length of it like a villain in an old-timey cartoon. “You’ll soon be putty in my hands; I’ll be able to have my wicked way with you.”
“Then by all means, continue.” I fell back against him, doing my putty imitation.
“Wow, you’re easy.”
“You’re just now figuring this out?” I laughed, bouncing on his lap, splashing water all around.
His response was dunking me under the water. I came up spitting and sputtering. While I was grumbling and wiping my face off, I felt him tugging at my bikini top.
I feigned a look of surprise. “Now look what you did.”
“I’m looking.” And then he was touching. And then he was doing other things to me. Wanton naked licking loving sucking biting thrusting things.
It was really good.
