2 Months 'Til Mrs. (2 'Til Series) (28 page)

“Whatever you
want
to do.”

“I’m giving up
everything,
Fynn. Starting over completely.
Don’t you get it?”

“Yeah, I get it,” he said sharply, his eyes piercing
right through her.

“I’m taking on a daughter—someone else’s daughter! I
don’t know what I’m doing. And you know that Renée isn’t happy with it,” she
noted plainly, bringing the argument around to his side to attempt to make this
his fault, too, forcing him to tell her the truth.

“What are you talking about?”

“You said she was mad… on the phone the other day.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes. When you were driving back from Iowa.”

He looked perplexed.

“You said we had to talk, that she was mad about—”         

“When I lost my connection?”

She nodded curtly.

“I was saying that she was sure Cara drove
you
mad,
because Cara wouldn’t stop driving
her
mad about all the fun she had.”

“Oh….” Catherine pulled back, totally confused.

“That’s what this is about? You’ve been angry about
that all week? Making up some argument against
us
because of
that?
”
Fynn challenged.

“I—”

“Why wouldn’t you just say something?”

“I didn’t know what to say. This whole situation is
just plain weird. I mean, if Cara’s mom doesn’t approve—”

“First of all, Renée doesn’t decide who I marry. And
if she doesn’t think I can make the right choice in a wife, then maybe I’m not
the right choice as a father.” And with that he finally dropped his bag, both
hands free.

Catherine’s heart retreated to her chest, relief
flushing through her system. She wanted to melt into his arms and forget the
whole crazy conversation she’d started in the first place.

“But if you feel like you don’t want this,” he
cautioned, offering her the space and the rope to hang herself. “This is a
package deal. Me, Cara, Nekoyah. If you’re unsure….”

“I just—”

“I need to know now. I’m not putting Cara through a
wedding just to have it all fall apart. It’s not fair.”

“I—” But she didn’t know what to say. Of course she
knew marriage was supposed to be forever, but to have him say—to put it this
way—

“Well?” he prompted.

“I don’t even know who I am in Nekoyah,” she admitted.
“Moving there…. It’s not like I can just buy a truck and take up working at the
diner with Mel.”

“Of course not, Mel would never hire you,” he said,
completely flat.

She searched his face for the joke, but it wasn’t
there. He was shutting her out. She reached for his hand. It was cold to the
touch, and right then she just wanted to warm it up, warm him up, suck all the
words she’d put out there back inside where they belonged—a bunch of ridiculous
fears that didn’t matter because she would have
him
. That was what she
wanted. Maybe she didn’t necessarily want Nekoyah specifically, but she wanted
him
.
Couldn’t they figure out the rest from there?

She felt his other hand clasp around hers suddenly,
and the warmth in their touch generated quickly. They were so good together.

“Do you want to get married?”

“Yes,” she said, stricken. “Of course.”

“To me?” He was gravely serious—too serious.

“Fynn—”

“It’s a simple question. Does
this
make you
happy?” He motioned between them.

“What if living in New York makes me happy?” she
asked, skirting his question.

“Then live here,” he said, dropping her hands, putting
his own in his pockets. “Seems pretty simple to me.” He sounded relieved, like
the argument or disagreement or whatever had pushed them to the cusp of—
gulp
—being
over, was settled.

“So you wouldn’t mind living—”

He shook his head, resolve strong. “Without me. I
can’t do that to Cara. You know that Nekoyah is the best thing for her.”

“But New York is—”

“The best for you,” he finished for her. “I
understand. Hey, Cat, we missed it by that much.” He held up pinched fingers.

She felt her heart bottom out.

Tuesday, February 8
^th

She was wrong before;
this
was the worst
Tuesday on record, without question. She’d called in sick yesterday so she
could spend the day on the couch with Ben & Jerry and the Keebler elves.
Then Chester Cheetah made an appearance and she took him to bed with her,
waking this morning to find herself cuddling the empty bag of Cheetos to her
chest like he was the love of her life now.

I can’t believe he left and I’ll never hear from
him again.
Not that there was anything more to say. What’s over is… over. They
hadn’t been living together, so there was no dividing of stuff. He could keep
what little she’d left behind in the dresser drawer at his place—or donate
it—or toss it—or
burn
it. And she had nothing of his at all—except an
old high school T-shirt that was so soft and worn and perfect that she’d lived in
it for the past three days and had no intention of giving it back to him even
if he asked for it. Not that he would ever speak to her again.

She looked around her desk, wondering where to begin.
She had been working like a short-timer for months. Focused on her love life
instead of her livelihood. And then the wedding had overtaken work
and
love.
She’d lost focus. But she was here to stay now. Time to buckle down. A new
start—

“Catherine, I would like a word with you in my
office,” boss-lady Lillian said brusquely, leaning around the cubicle wall like
she had to hold on in order to pull herself out of the jet stream of success long
enough to chat with an underling.

“Uh—certainly,” Catherine said, completely
uncertainly. “When exactly? Do you mean now?”

But Lillian was already gone, sucked down the corridor
of power.

“What did you do?” Tara said breathlessly, arriving
just under the wire and throwing herself down in her chair, yanking off her hat
and gloves and scarf at the same time.

“I don’t know.” Catherine was stunned, pretty certain
that just because she had no option but to stay that she was about to be fired.
Karma.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” she hissed. “I know exactly
what you did.”

“Why don’t you tell
me
then?” She wondered if
she’d mixed up some files on Friday when she was trying to catch up with her
backlog. Maybe she’d shipped some documents to the wrong clients.

“Smartass,” Tara growled.

“Lillian wants to talk to me. You’re bitching me out.
What happened? I wasn’t even here yesterday, remember?”

“I’m not talking about work.”

“Then what the hell are you talking about?”

Tara stared her down. “I talked to Vinnie.” 

Catherine felt her stomach flip and roll unpleasantly.
She’d called Vinnie first thing Saturday morning. Canceled everything. Certainty
born of anger and frustration and everything that had kept her up all night
after Fynn left. At 9:13 he walked out of her life. She’d watched from the
window as he got in a cab. He never even looked up. Never looked back. And
twelve bitter hours later she voiced the words: “Vinnie, the wedding’s off.” It
was the right thing to do. The whole idea had been crazy from the beginning.
Their meeting—their relationship—their proposal—their wedding. Too spontaneous
and fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants to actually work. But as the weekend wore on
she didn’t feel so certain. She felt alone. Nobody called. Everyone probably
thought she was with Fynn, and Fynn probably didn’t care where she was. And
when she started rooting around for something to fill the hole that was ripped
open inside her, she saw her wedding dress hanging there in the pantry as a
talisman against the junk food demons, and she broke down completely—

“When were you planning to share your little secret? Or
were you just going to keep wearing that?” Tara pointed disgustedly at the
lying diamond on Catherine’s hand. “Pretend that all’s good and let us show up
at the wedding only to wonder where the bride and groom are.”

“God, can’t anyone keep anything to themselves
anymore?” Catherine grumbled under her breath. No one she surrounded herself
with these days could be trusted, not her friends or family or her friggin’
wedding planner—who just so happened to be her friend’s family member.
Figures.

“Cat, do you realize what you’ve done?”

“Saved myself from a divorce and the pesky division of
assets?” she quipped, trying not to break down right here and now in the office.
It was bad enough that people could certainly overhear their conversation, but
to show weakness? Let them think she was okay—fine—good—
relieved
that
her whole future had fallen apart. She was a take-charge gal who couldn’t be
held back in a marriage. She was a New York City chick with a career and goals
and a life to live!

“If we’re going to fix this, we need Georgia,” Tara
said definitively.

“Oh my God, you didn’t tell her did you?” Catherine
gasped. “If you told her, she’ll have told Lacey, and of course Lacey will have
shared it with my mom, and that will be the nail in the coffin of my
daughterhood,” she babbled, eyeing the clock. “My mom should be calling any
minute—”

“I didn’t tell Georgia—
yet
.”

Catherine beamed at her with relief.

“I wanted first crack at kicking your ass,” Tara
snapped, wiping the smile right off her face. “I
knew
I shouldn’t leave
you alone for a minute. Not until after the wedding.”

“Then why did you?” she mocked in a
nanny-nanny-boo-boo, take-that tone, like she could pin all this on her.

“Because I thought I could still have a life and be
friends with you at the same time. My cousin’s christening was this weekend. I couldn’t
tell them I’d have to miss it because I was busy babysitting a
thirty-four-year-old bitch with commitment phobia.”

Catherine’s mouth dropped open in indignation.

“Don’t give me that look. It’s true. It just took
longer with this one. I thought we were on the home stretch. But then I ran
into Vinnie at the church.”

“How many freaking cousins do you have?” she lashed in
frustration, beginning to wonder if everyone was related to Tara in some way.

“A lot.” Tara shrugged like it was to be expected. “Now
explain to me what happened so we can figure out how to fix it.”

But before she could force the words out of her mouth,
a message popped up on Catherine’s computer screen: I’m waiting.

Lillian.

*****

“Where are you?” Tara demanded through the phone. “You
left for Lillian’s office so long ago I was afraid she ate you up and spit you
out and had your remains wheelbarrowed off the premises.”

“I’m out. To Lunch,” Catherine said, spacey after what
had just happened.

“You’ve been gone for hours. What about your job?”

“Lillian took me.”

“Swanky,” Tara mocked. “I guess you’re not fired then.
Not standing on the George Washington, staring into the water below, trying to
decide whether you have anything left to live for,” she said bitterly, as if
that was exactly what she’d hoped to hear.

“I got promoted.” She was still in shock. Lillian’s
little talk had been a performance review. It seems that her work over the past
several months was much more efficient and definitive and sharp. It turned out
not giving a flying fuck about her job and living for weekends had made her
better
at it. At least Lillian was impressed. She wanted to make her a divisional
account manager—more responsibility, more pay, even some travel.

“Promoted?” Tara choked on the word.

Catherine nodded her head even though she wasn’t there
to see it.

“Is boss-lady there with you? Put her on the phone,”
Tara said firmly.

“She left. Had a meeting or something. Told me to give
her my answer by the end of the week.”

“So you didn’t take it?” The relief in her voice was obvious.

“I could hardly say
anything
let alone yes. I
wasn’t angling for a promotion…. But now it seems like kismet or serendipity or
something.”

Wednesday, February 9
^th

Catherine opened her apartment door to find the most
somber surprise party ever. At least that was what first came to mind. Her
friends…
and
Lacey
, standing around her coffee table, stone-faced.
No jolly hollering of Surprise! No noisemakers or hats. No banner emblazoned
with “Congrats on Your Very Important Promotion.” And it wasn’t her birthday
either.
Is this a surprise wedding shower?
She gulped.
My
bachelorette party?

“We need to fix this,” Georgia said, coming toward her
like a nurse approaching a patient—a mental patient.

“You said you didn’t tell her!” Catherine squealed.

“After I heard the megalomaniac with the ‘promotion’ I
knew you were about to do something stupid to compound your stupidity,” Tara
charged.

“An intervention!” Catherine exclaimed. “You’re
staging an intervention in my living room!” She knew she never should have
given her friends keys to her apartment. This was exactly the type of thing
that corrupted trust.

“Cat, we love you,” Georgia said softly, reaching for
her.

So help me, if she pets me like I’m some goddamn
scared kitten I will scream intruder and have them all locked up.

“Then why is
she
here,” Catherine said, gesturing
at Lacey.

“She’s here because she’s part of your family and she
wants to help,” Georgia said in a placating tone reserved for the unstable.

“Yeah, right,” she humphed.
She’s here because you
two are inseparable friends and I’m your charity case to pity and fix.
But
then she turned her laser-sharp focus on Tara. “So this is why you had nothing
to say to me all day. I thought you were jealous of my promotion—not that you
deserve one,” she said snarkily. “I can’t believe you were busy plotting behind
my back!” She was pissed as hell and not willing to take it anymore. Her eyes
swept the room, looking for the rest of the busybodies who wanted to “fix”
her—sure that her mother and her first grade teacher, Mrs. Davis, were likely
hiding in the shadows, waiting to pounce with their two cents worth of wisdom.
And what about Drew? She was probably live on speaker phone this very minute. A
bridal party standoff with an unwanted cling-on—
Lacey
Stemple
.

“Cat, we want to help,” Georgia offered. Obviously she
had made herself leader of this ambush.

“I can’t believe you’d come here like this. It’s
my
life.
I
get to choose how to live it.” Smacking her chest forcefully to
make her point, right over top of her surprisingly still-beating heart that at
times over the past few days she’d been sure would just give out on her.

“We just want to
understand
,” Georgia pleaded.
“You seemed so happy with Fynn. Did something happen? Did he do something un—”

“Did he screw some Nekoyan skank?” Tara asked.

“No,” Catherine countered quickly.

“Did he screw anyone else?”

“Of course not.”

“Is it drugs? Is he an alcoholic? Abusive?” Tara asked
in quick succession, covering all legitimate bases for a sudden breakup.

“It’s nothing like that. He’s… pretty much perfect
that way,” she admitted.

“By all means, I can see your problem with him,” Tara
said facetiously.

“What happened?” Georgia asked earnestly, giving Tara
a look of warning not to scare off the crazy lady with any sudden noises or
movements.

“It’s everything,” Catherine blurted.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tara exclaimed,
ignoring Georgia, unwilling to coddle or be diplomatic.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” she said righteously.

“You throw away a perfectly fine man and try to tell
me that nothing is wrong with you?” Tara threw up her hands in disgust. “I
guess I’m trying to work the wrong side here. Maybe I should hop a plane to
Fynn and comfort him in his time of need instead of trying to straighten
you
out—”

“Don’t even joke like that,” Catherine said grimly.

“You don’t own him. He’s a free agent. And I like his
whole sexy Minnesota vibe. I could make him feel all better—”

“Not helping,” Georgia growled, stepping between them
before Catherine could lunge, which was probably a good idea considering at
that very moment she was discovering her inner
Springer
—imagining all
the ways she could throttle her friend, tossing chairs and pulling hair and—

“I’m just trying to get her to
feel
something,”
Tara leveled.

“I feel plenty,” Catherine admitted. “I feel alone and
sad and angry and—” That’s when she noticed her wedding dress had been brought
out to say its silent piece in all this, too. “—and fat,” she added, resigned.
The beautiful flowing fabric was like her kryptonite.

“Maybe you should crawl on your knees to Nekoyah and
apologize to Fynn. That will help with your little weight problem,” Tara offered.

“She’s not fat. She looks terrific,” Lacey noted,
squeezing into the conversation.

“Tell that to the dress,” Tara said wryly.

“Why do you have to say stuff like that?” Georgia
asked. “Is it some kind of disorder? Were you born without a filter?”

“I tell it like I—”

“Because it doesn’t fit,” Catherine wailed suddenly.
“I should have known that everything was doomed when even my perfect dress
didn’t fit—how could my perfect marriage ever fit?”