2 Months 'Til Mrs. (2 'Til Series) (29 page)

Take the Cake

Thursday, February 10
^th

A sixteen-hour whirlwind of wine and
whine
—crying,
sobbing, weeping, bawling, even occasional howling—had led her here: tens of
thousands of feet in the air, absolute certainty that Fynn was the one—the
only
one
for her.

Female roundtable consensus? She’d been a total idiot.
Again. Twice within the year that had hardly even gotten started yet. Yes, she
finally came clean about the
other
dumping somewhere between bottles
three and four—like coming clean to your lawyers so they could build the best
defense. Both marrieds agreed that wedding stress absolved her of
some
of her guilt in this case. Temporary insanity was a valid plea for a bride—heck,
Lacey admitted she’d considered wringing Connor’s neck or putting a pillow over
his face in his sleep over his lack of interest or assistance planning
their
wedding. But dumping? That was going too far.

Catherine was now a repeat offender. A chronic dumper.
That meant that drastic relationship-saving measures were in order, which
explained the plane…. Georgia:
You have to go to him. Tell him what you told
us. He loves you. He’ll understand.
Lacey:
You guys are perfect
together. Besides, I need you to get married and have kids to take the edge off
with your parents. Your mother is smothering us with her grandmothering
(Lacey might just be human after all). Tara:
Go screw his eyeballs out. Make
him forget his name. If you can do that, he’ll forget everything. There’s your
happily ever after, bee-atch.
Of course Tara also believed it should be a
skydiving plane so she could parachute right into Fynn’s arms—a death-defying
act to make up for a relationship-defying act. Tit for tat.

Needless to say, she was flying commercial.

Catherine squirmed in her seat, trying to steady her
resolve, while Tara slept soundly next to her, snoring lightly, the rest of the
unencumbered. She was chaperone by default. Someone had to be there as moral
support and cattle prod to force her through her apology tour that would
hopefully win her back her Mrs.-to-be title. Unfortunately her other someone
was a nursing mother with too much baggage. And Lacey had agreed to run
interference in Chesterton in case Connor or Mom or anyone else in the family,
or friends of the family, started asking questions. Catherine hoped that hard-ass-bitch
exterior would come in handy.

It had been almost a week and she’d had no contact
with Fynn. She was terrified that this time he really had moved forward, and if
he had moved on or otherwise refused to take her back then she would certainly end
up an old maid… because Joel Fynn Trager had ruined her for other men. He was
steady, strong, loving, sexy, gorgeous, funny… and accommodating. Who else
would have willingly put up with her this long? Or found her endearing when she
was actually clumsy and awkward? … So what that he hadn’t come to New York to
see her hardly ever in all these months! He had come without question when she
asked. And offered to come when she couldn’t make it out to see him. And came
on his own when he thought she needed him—but she’d kicked him in the gut
rather than hugging him.
What’s wrong with me?

And further, Nekoyah was permanent for him and
therefore anyone with him. He’d never hidden that from her. Everything about
how she’d acted up until this point had said she was on board. To turn around
now and act like it was crazy of him to think she should move to Minnesota was
unfair…. And all because she was afraid to say goodbye to over a decade worth
of her existence—a largely sorry, passionless existence that she wouldn’t trade
for anything because eventually it led her to him. It had served her well, but
she definitely didn’t need it around anymore.

When the plane touched down she became even more
uneasy. “Is the air thinner here?” she asked Tara as they disembarked. But it
wasn’t Tara. It was a complete stranger who looked at her like she’d just asked
what planet they’d landed on. She swirled her head in every direction, unable
to find her supposed friend who had obviously forgotten what her job was and
was off doing what Tara did best—being oblivious.

She slipped into the strong current of passengers arriving
in Minneapolis/St. Paul as a way to force herself forward since she didn’t have
Tara to propel her along—
fat lot of good she is
. As she approached the
car rental agencies, she saw the TruAuto sign and her heart began palpitating
like she was about to take on public speaking rather than simply ask for a car
to rent.

“Can I help you?”

Catherine found herself face-to-face with the same
woman who had greeted her last spring when she first started down the road that
led her to Fynn. Maybe being here right now, speaking to Deanne, was fate.
Maybe this was all part of the universe’s grand plan for her. Maybe her whole
freak-out about the wedding, ridiculous and humiliating at it was, was actually
part of her spiritual path…. Or maybe she was in fact certifiable.

“Ma’am?”

And there it was; that ugly word that always followed
her throughout Minnesota. Only now it felt oddly like home to her.

“Yes, Deanne. I was looking to rent a car.”

“I can certainly help you with that,” she said, none
the wiser that she had dealt with this particular “ma’am” before. “Business or
pleasure?”

“Business,” Catherine said with a smirk, remembering
the exchange like it was yesterday—last time she was embarking on a mission to
reclaim a piece of her past, this time a mission to reclaim her future.

“And your name is?” Deanne asked, hands poised over
her keyboard.

“Actually, I don’t have a reservation. I was hoping to
rent on the fly.”

“Well, I’m not sure what we have available. There are
a lot of events taking place around the city….” she said, scrolling down her
screen.

“I’m sure there are,” Catherine agreed, a queer smile
on her face to be up against the same rental odds.

“She’d love your little beeber car,” Tara added
helpfully, appearing from out of nowhere with a candy bar in hand that
Catherine feared she may have swiped off of someone unwitting.

Deanne looked to Catherine questioningly, as if
awaiting a translation, or some kind of sign that she needed to call security
to take the strange woman away.

“She means a Smart car,” she said with a grimace.

“Oh, yes, we do have our Smart e-drive available. Here
at TruAuto we pride ourselves—”

“Great. It makes my friend here feel like a giant among
men,” Tara interrupted her sales pitch, slumping over and slinging an arm
around Catherine’s shoulders to accentuate how short she was.

“Now, you do understand that you will need to charge
it if you go—”

“Oh, I know,” Catherine assured her.

Tara reached for the GPS.

“I don’t need Glenda telling me what to do,” Catherine
said quickly. “I’ve been here, like, goshmillion times.” A nervous giggle
bubbled up and escaped.

“Glenda? You named the GPS?”

Catherine wouldn’t dignify that with a response. The
first time she came here she’d been all alone. There was nothing odd about
becoming attached to a friendly voice while she was in a strange place.

“Whether you need directions or not, I’m turning Glenda
on.
” Tara caressed the plastic unit. “You like that, Glenda? Or do you like
it rough,” she said silkily.

“You’re sick.”

Tara chuckled, entering Nekoyah on the keyboard. “You
just keep your eyes on the road and head in the game. You have some groveling,
pleading, begging… and maybe some sucking or blowing to do if you get my
drift.”

“Eew.”

“Come on. Lighten up.”

“How the hell am I supposed to lighten up?” Catherine
practically screeched. “And why the hell did you make me rent this thing
again?” she demanded while she was at it, sick of being herself and watching everyone
pass by her literally and figuratively.

“This, my dear,” Tara said, opening the glove
compartment and rifling around, “is the way back into that fine man’s pants.”

“Not everything is about sex, Tara. I am trying to get
back into his
heart
.”

“Dealing with men is like endovascular surgery. You
can go in through the groin and reach just about anywhere you want from there.”

“Again,
eew
.”

“I’m just sayin’.” Tara shrugged, like it was useless
to fight the truth.

They drove in silence for a while, Catherine
tightening her grip on the wheel with each mile she got closer to her
destination.
What if he isn’t even there?
she worried.
Where else
would he be?
Catherine Marie reasoned, the same definitive certainty she had
about everything.
Wasn’t that the crux of her argument, though—that he
was all about Nekoyah?
Of course he’ll be there…
.
Which was
almost as scary as him
not
being there.

“Exit in five hundred feet,” Glenda piped up suddenly.

Catherine stayed in the middle lane.

“Exit now,” she reminded her.

“Shut the hell up, Glenda,” Catherine hissed.

“Do it, Cat,” Tara commanded out of a doze.

She kept driving.

“Recalculating your route,” Glenda said brightly,
unperturbed by Catherine’s willful disobedience.

Tara was not as forgiving. “Where are you going, Cat?”
she demanded. “You can’t avoid talking to him. I’ll drag you there by your hair
if I have to.”

“Glenda’s way is a pain in the ass. I’m going the way
Fynn does.”

“You better not be shitting me.”

“I’m not,” she lied. Truth was she’d frozen when she
saw the exit. Terror-stricken about what awaited her on the other end of this
ride. For better or worse her uncertainty would be gone. She looked to the
sparkling diamond on her hand, wondering if this was the last she would see
it—if the whole reason she forgot to hand it over to him the other night was so
she would have
to contact him again even if she didn’t come to her
senses. But she
had
come to her senses and she wanted to keep it.

Tara watched her every move thereafter and wasn’t
satisfied until she saw they had indeed reached Main Street, Nekoyah—thanks to
Glenda, who had a head for such things.

“Is it time for a Chinese fire drill?” Tara asked. They
were stopped at a red light halfway through the quaint old part of town.

“Excuse me?”

“Do we need to swap? You look like you’re about to
bolt or be sick. Either way, I can chauffer.”

“I’m fine,” Catherine said, gritting her teeth because
she wasn’t fine… not at all.

“Whoa,” Tara whistled as they pulled away from the
light and she turned to look behind them. “People are lining the streets.
Something’s up.”

“They are not.” Catherine waved her off. But she
glanced in the rearview mirror anyway, unable to see anything but the grill of
a truck reflected there.”

“I’m telling you, they’re watching us.”

“Hysterical,” she snorted, though it was so completely
not.

“Either they think we are the clown car at the start
of the circus caravan, or you’re the mean dragon lady who dumped their prime
Nekoyan man and they’re preparing for a lynching,” Tara offered unhelpfully.

Catherine swallowed back a dose of bile-flavored
angst. “Let’s hope it’s the circus.”

*****

When they reached Fynn’s driveway they found the gate
closed up tight. “I guess he isn’t home,” Catherine announced, pulling a U-turn
in the middle of the street. “It was worth a try.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Tara grabbed the wheel and wrenched
it toward the side of the road, forcing Catherine to hit the brakes or hit the
fence. “He doesn’t keep a lock on that thing. Just open it up and drive right
in.”

“That would be trespassing,” she pointed out
certainly. “If there is one thing he hates probably even more than me, it’s
trespassing.”

“And if there is one thing that you do best… it’s
trespassing,” Tara noted, which was true considering that was how she got to him
in the first place.

“I just think that maybe we should go get a bite to
eat and come back later,” Catherine said, meek and mealy.

“I’m fine. I had a snack at the airport, remember?” She
whipped a Snickers wrapper out of her pocket to prove it.

“Well,
I’m
hungry then.”

“You are not. Now
go
.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Catherine mumbled
as she got out of the car and opened the gate, prepared to blame every move she
made on Tara when the cops asked—a victim of Stockholm syndrome doing her captor’s
bidding.

She got back in and drove through.

“Stop right here,” Tara commanded.

“Why?”

“We have to close the gate. If he isn’t here, you
don’t want him to come home and think someone is here waiting to ambush him.”

“But I am.”

“He doesn’t need any warning. I’ll go close us in.”

Catherine waited impatiently, pattering her hands on
the wheel and shifting in her seat, until a tap on the glass startled her and
she turned to see Tara’s leering face. She rolled down the window.

“Got antsies in your panties?” Tara taunted. “You
might want to get those checked.”

“That was so funny I forgot to laugh,” she said, a
schoolyard zinger she thought entirely apropos for the moment. “Get in the
car.”

“Oh no.” Tara backed away. “I’m not coming.”

“What?” Catherine exclaimed.

“I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“But you’re already in the middle of this.”

“I’m just here to make sure you don’t try to escape
before you do what you came here to do. I’ll stand guard.”

“But what if he comes home and sees you? Then he’ll
know something is up.”

“I’ll hide. I’m a master of disguise.”

“You?” Catherine blurted.

“I can blend in,” Tara said, disbelief that anyone
would question that.

Catherine looked her up and down—shocking pink fake-fur
coat, safety-orange scarf, and fuzzy teal hat and mittens to top off the winter
ensemble. She could maybe blend in to a gumball machine.

“Just go. If it gets past an hour and nothing is
happening here, I’ll figure he was home and you’re tied up in a good way,” she
said devilishly. “I’ll call Drew to pick me up.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Go get your man back.”