An Ex to Grind (34 page)

Back at the Heartbreak Hotel, I sobbed as I watched the news and sobbed as I ate baked beans out of the can and sobbed as I tried to find my resume and realized I'd never written one. I'd never had to. I'd been recruited by Pierce, Shelley and Steinberg straight out of business school, thanks to the jock clients I'd been able to bring with me through my connection to Dan. It had been my employer for my entire adult life. Where else would I go? Plenty of places, I thought as the tears kept coming. I'll find a new company and make new memories there—a company that will offer me a wonderful, stimulating, well-paying job. But what company will hire me once they hear I've been dumped by Pierce, Shelley?

Pierce, Shelley.

Sob sob sob.

I tried to think of other occupations I might investigate once I stopped crying. I did have an MBA. That had to count for something. Maybe I'd take the CPA exam and become an accountant.

An accountant.

Sob sob sob.

Or maybe I'd abandon my business expertise altogether and explore my creative side. I could design jewelry or knit trendy wool scarves or maybe even become a painter like Evan.

Evan.

Sob sob sob.

Maybe he's home tonight, I thought as I opened another box of Kleenex and blew my nose. And maybe he's calmed down since I last saw him. Maybe he'll listen to my tales of woe and offer some comfort, understanding, and advice. He'd referred to me as his damsel in distress, hadn't he? Well, I'd been mighty distressed for days.

I grabbed the Kleenex and my keys and trudged down the hall to his apartment. I was poised to ring the bell when I heard noises from inside. Somebody moving something? Dragging something along the floor? Rearranging furniture?

I rang the bell. When Evan didn't answer right away, I nearly lost my nerve and left, but I rang it again.

"Coming!" he yelled, sounding out of breath.

I waited another second or two, and then he opened the door.

He looked very surprised to see me. Or did he look surprised to see my red, swollen eyes and red, blotchy skin and red, swollen nose?

"Are you all right?" he said, studying my distorted features. "I mean, no one died or anything?"

"Buster has a faulty heart valve," I said. "He gave us quite a scare, but he'll be okay."

"You must be relieved." He exhaled heavily. "Sorry you had to go through that."

"Me too."

His hair had fallen across his forehead, and his face, as well as his T-shirt, were stained with perspiration. Clearly I had caught him in the middle of strenuous activity. He hadn't been painting, that much was clear.

"Can I come in?" I said. "I know I'm not your favorite person lately, but I really need someone to talk to."

"About Buster or lover boy?" he asked with a weary sigh.

"Lover boy," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. I was so choked up it was hard to speak.

"What have you done now? Talked him into walking down the aisle a second time?"

His question triggered another round of sobs. "Yes," I said. "With
her
."

Evan rolled his eyes, opened the door wider, and pulled me inside. Apparently, he had thawed toward me. At least, enough to tolerate my presence. "The place is a mess, but the couch is safe. Have a seat."

"Thanks." As I sat I looked around his apartment and saw that there were a half-dozen cartons scattered around the room; some were sealed with packing tape and labeled in black marker, others still open. "What's with all the boxes?"

"Let's hear your story first. Can I get you something to drink? Something nonalcoholic, hopefully? I'm not interested in a replay of last time."

"No. I'm fine. Well, I'm not fine, obviously."

"Not with that face. I thought you said you never cry."

"I never did. But now Dan's marrying Leah. Next month. On top of that, my boss fired me, and my best friend isn't speaking to me."

He perched himself on the arm of the sofa. "So I'm your last shot at human contact?"

"Possibly."

"Okay, let's go back to lover boy. You told him you were still hot for him and he's marrying the girlfriend anyway?"

"I never told him. He dropped his bombshell first. There wasn't much point in revealing my innermost feelings after that."

"Not necessarily. Maybe he'd change his mind if he knew how you felt."

I shook my head. "He's crazy about her, Evan. Crazy enough to give up the alimony by marrying her."

He applauded. "Good for him. At least one of you has ethics."

"I deserve that, but it hurts. It hurts so damn much."

More tears. Tears on my face. Tears on my clothes. Tears on Evan's sofa, which was upholstered just like mine—in a fabric that was about as soft and comfy as steel wool.

"All right. All right. We get the point that you're upset," he said, then slid down next to me and put his arm around me. "So your plan ran amok, huh?"

"Big-time," I said, tilting my head back so it rested on him. "Dan's with Leah and I don't have a job and my life is one stupid suck-ass pit."

"Is that a technical term?"

"No." I turned and buried my face in his arm. There was more sobbing and choking and snarking, and most of it landed on his T-shirt.

"Look, I was serious about telling Traffic how you feel," he said, stroking my hair. "Maybe Leah's just a rebound thing. He might call off the wedding if you're honest with him for a change."

"I can't tell him about Desiree and the matchmaking."

"Why not?"

"You just said it yourself. He's got ethics. He'd never speak to me again.
You
didn't speak to me again after I told you about it."

"I'm here now, aren't I?"

I managed a smile. "And I'm very grateful."

I reached out to touch his face, but he stood up suddenly and began to stretch the muscles in his neck. "I think I pulled something," he said. "Must have been all the lifting."

"That's right, you never said. What are the boxes for?"

"Some are going into storage. Some I'm taking with me."

"Where?" I couldn't disguise my alarm. I didn't want Evan to move out of the Heartbreak Hotel in the worst way. Who would walk me around the neighborhood and show me where to eat the best pastrami? Who would surprise me with toys for Buster? Who would be there to set me straight?

"Now that the terms of the divorce are final, I'm heading down to the Bahamas."

"To paint?"

"And for some peace and quiet. I rented a bungalow in the Abacos on a month-to-month basis. No phone. No computer. Just the sound of the waves. There's nothing keeping me here at the moment, so it seemed like a good time to do it."

Tears again. Lots and lots of tears. "But you can't go. You can't."

He put his hands on his hips and looked at me. "And why's that?"

"Because you rescue me when I forget my key or spring a leak in my garbage bag or need a home-cooked meal."

"Hire yourself a nanny."

"But most of all," I said, ignoring his sarcasm, "you put up with me when I vent about Dan. You listen. You get me, Evan. I don't have to pretend with you."

He laughed ruefully. "Oh, I get you. But here's the thing: I'm kind of sick of hearing about Dan. And I'm not really interested in being your shoulder to cry on. What I want—wanted—was for us to start a relationship of our own, but you were too hung up on your ex to even think of me in those terms. So I'm off. Out of here. Gone."

What could I say? Or do? As much as I cared about Evan—as much as I was attracted to Evan—I wasn't ready for a new relationship. He was right: I
was
stuck in the old one.

"Maybe someday the fog will clear and you'll get your priorities straight," he said as he resumed packing. That made three people to harp on my priorities. A consensus. "You're just clinging to the past because it's familiar. You do have a fondness for security, Melanie."

"You think that's what this is about?" I said. "That I want Dan because he's familiar?"

"Could be. The devil you know, and all that. Remember my painting of Buster?"

"How could I forget it?"

"When you saw it, you said it was realistic; that he sticks his toe in the water, then runs for dry land. Maybe you stick your toe in the water and run too. Maybe you think it's safer on solid ground. But there's no such thing as 'safe.' I once told you that."

I shrugged. "I hear you and you're very wise, but it doesn't feel like I'm clinging to safety. It feels like I still love Dan."

"Well." He walked back over to the sofa and offered me his hand. I took it and he pulled me up to him. We stood face-to-face, our bodies so close I could smell his sweat, spot the tiny hole in his shirt, make out the pulse that was beating on the side of his neck. "Then you should tell the guy that. Don't hold anything back. Let him see you in all your misery, although I'd probably do something about the red nose if I were you. I've got white paint over there. It's waterproof, and you're welcome to use it."

"I wish you weren't going," I said, on the verge of another crying jag. "The Bahamas is a long way from New York."

"Nah. Only three hours."

"Can I visit? I won't have to worry about Pierce, Shelley giving me vacation time."

"Let's not be in touch," said Evan. "Not if you're still—"

Instead of finishing the sentence, he looked at me for a beat, then leaned in and kissed me on the mouth. It was the kiss we'd never managed to share until then, and it caught me utterly off guard. Or was it the exquisite sensations it set off that surprised me? Stirred me? All I know is that Evan Gillespie packed plenty of passion into that kiss, and I responded in kind, and my legs nearly buckled from the force of it.

"There," he said when he broke away. "I didn't want to leave town without doing that, Melanie."

"You know," I said, trying to catch my breath, regain my equilibrium, "all my friends call me Mel. The friends I have left, anyway."

"I'm interested in being more than your friend, in case I didn't make that plain."

Before I could respond, he put his arm around my waist and walked me to the door. "I do have one question before we call it a night," he said when we got to the threshold.

"I've already told you all my secrets," I said. "That's what's so amazing. You've seen the real me and you kissed me in spite of it."

"What a guy, huh? And they say chivalry isn't dead."

"That's funny. I said the exact same thing the night we met."

"What same thing?"

" 'And they say chivalry isn't dead.' You came to Patty's to replace the detergent she'd lent you. I had no idea you'd turn out to be the most chivalrous man I've ever known."

"Flattery won't get you anywhere. I still have to pack."

"Okay," I said, wishing he didn't. "But you said you had a question. Ask away."

"It's about the first time you were here for dinner. Your cell phone rang, you had a quick conversation, and then you left to go help some elderly woman."

"I remember."

"So does this woman really exist, or were you just blowing me off so you could go work with your coconspirators on the Dan plan?"

"Both," I said and gave him the whole story of my relationship with Mrs. Thornberg, including how much I'd grown to like her. "I actually enjoy being with her now, taking care of her, easing her loneliness, letting her ease mine. Does that mean there's hope for me and my priorities?"

"There's always hope."

He kissed me lightly, barely brushing my cheek with his lips, and sent me home.