Better (Too Good series) (9 page)

“Do you make it a habit of dating your students?” the dean asked.

“No, sir. This is the only time.”

“And what made her so special? More importantly, why would you take the risk? Why not wait until she graduated?”

Mark pushed a hand nervously through his hair. “I tried. I really did. But her loneliness. My loneliness. I just couldn’t.”

Dean Bertelli eyed him curiously. “Did you adjust her grades?”

“No.”

“Did you give her preferential treatment?”

“I helped her with homework. I tutored her. But I tutored other students, too.”

The dean sighed.

“And you’re marrying this girl?”

“I’ll be with Cadence for the rest of my life.”

Mark wasn’t quite sure, but he thought he saw a faint smile playing on the dean’s lips. Before exiting his office, Mark glimpsed a photo on the desk. It was the dean and his wife. And she looked significantly younger than him.

“What are you grinning about?”
Drew asked, and Mark snapped his head up. She eyed him curiously, then grinned back. He didn’t like it.

“I’ve no idea,” he said quickly. “Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve gotta get going.” He hastily cleaned the board then walked with
Drew to the door.

“No worries
. I’ve got stuff to do. Just wanted to pop by and introduce myself. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

He hoped not. “Yep.”

He locked his door. She sauntered over to her room. She walked like that just for him, hoping he was watching. Tight-fitting pencil skirt. Heels. She was good. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t interested.

He smiled thinking of the girl waiting for him at home. He could see her now: sprawled on the couch. One of her half-filled glasses of soda on the coffee table. Another on the end table. They drove him crazy, but at the moment he didn’t care. He’d have her just the way
she was. Silly. Sweet. Messy.

Trusting.

“I believe you,” he heard her say that moment he knelt before her, ready to kiss her feet. Ready to do whatever she asked. Ready to love her unconditionally and forever.

He couldn’t stop at the grocery store. He had to go home. He had to look at her. Only for a few minutes. Then he’d go back out. But she was more important than mangoes and chili peppers. She was more important than anything else in his l
ife, and he had to see her face—fill up on her—before he could continue with his day. He did this often, but she only caught him staring once. And she never said anything about it, like she knew why he had to do it. She simply smiled, inviting his continued gaze. She understood the need and gave it her silent blessing.

Mark strolled through the apartment observing the little messes here and there: clothes flung over the living room furniture. Stacks of unorganized papers on the floor and tables. Glasses with half-finished soda in random spots. He peeked into the bathroom and groaned. Toiletries. Everywhere. He’d forgotten about women’s toiletries, or maybe it was just that Andy kept hers organized and generally out of sight. Not Cadence. There were bottles all over the place, crowding the sink
, stacked on top the toilet tank, lining the ledge of the garden tub.

“What the hell?” Mark said to himself. He rubbed his face then set to work clearing the countertop.

Cadence popped into the bathroom and scanned the sink.

“Where’s my brush?” she asked.

“I put it away.”

“Oh. Thanks. I was gonna do that,” she said, opening the top drawer. She searched around. “Where?”

“The other drawer,” Mark said, eyeing her.

She pushed the drawer in, and he caught it before it fully shut. He pulled it back out.

“Umm, those nail clippers belong in that basket. See? You moved them while you were looking for your brush.” He paused. “And you didn’t put them back.”

Cadence looked up at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Seriously.”

She made a dramatic show of picking up the clippers and holding them up to his face before dropping
them in the appropriate basket. “Better?”

“Almost,” Mark r
eplied.
Shouldn’t have given me an opening
, he thought. “Where do these things go?” He waved his hand over her toiletries.

“Right where they are.”

“No. There’s not enough room for all these bottles on the sink.”

“Then I guess they can go under the sink.”

“So why don’t you put them under the sink?” he asked.

“Because it’s not
a big deal,” Cadence replied. “And there’s not much room under there anyway.”

“There’s plenty,” Mark replied. He took Cadence’s
hand and pulled her into the living room. “I don’t get this.”

“Get what?”

“This,” he said, waving his hands around. “Look at this place.”

“I’ve been working a lot this week, Mark. I was planning on cleaning tomorrow.”

“You’re not getting it, Cadence,” Mark replied. He paused and took a deep breath. And then he walked over to an end table. He picked up a glass. “I love you, okay? Now explain to me what this is.”

Cadence bristled. “A glass.”

“Uh huh. And where does it go?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“I’m not trying to be an asshole. I’m trying to understand why you can’t ever finish a drink, take the glass to the sink, and rinse it out.”

“Are we seriously gonna do this?”

Mark held out the glass to her. “Please look at this glass, Cadence. You fill it up to the brim, you drink half, and then you just set it wherever. I need to understand why you do this because it’s driving me crazy.”

“So what? I’m a slob?”

Mark blinked.

“What the hell?!”

“I didn’t say ‘slob’. You did. And I don’t think you’re a slob. I do think you’re messy, though.”

“Because I don’t have my stuff in nice neat places like you? I’m not freaking OCD, okay? Get off my back about it.”

“I don’t need you to be OCD, Cadence. I need you to rinse your fucking glasses out.”

“What. The. Fuck? Did you just say ‘fuck’ to me?”

“I can’t live like this. Shit everywhere. I mean, what’s a bra doing in the dining room?”

“You took it off me!”
Cadence shouted.

Mark thought for a moment. “Oh
, wait. Okay, yeah. You’re right. Forget the bra. But what about that stack of shit over there?”

“That ‘shit’ is my clothes. And I don’t have any place to put them!”

“I have closets, Cadence.”

“In the guest bedroom! I don’t wanna hang my clothes there!”

“Why?”

“Because!”

“Please give me more than that,” Mark said.

“Because if I hang them there it’s like I’m only here temporarily!” Cadence said.

Silence.

Cadence walked over to Mark
.

“Give me that,” she snapped,
snatching the glass from his hand. She walked to the kitchen.

He stood in the living room listening as she washed all the dirty dishes
. When the water stopped running, he waited for her to emerge. But she didn’t, and so he went to her.

She was squatting on the floor wiping the cabinet fronts.

“Cadence, what are you doing?” Mark asked. He couldn’t hide the grin and was glad she wasn’t looking at him.

“What does it look like? I’m cleaning,” she said. She continued scrubbing as she watched hi
m in her periphery. He approached her and knelt beside her.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said gently. He
reached for the dishrag, and she reared back. Apparently the argument wasn’t over.

“I’m sick to death of feeling like this isn’t my house!”
she screamed. She stood up and threw the dirty dishrag at him. It smacked him in the forehead.

“
Really?”

“I know I’m unorganized, okay? I know my clothes are everywhere! I realize I always pour too much in my glasses! I
don’t mean to! I don’t know how to live in your ultra clean, orderly apartment, Mark! Okay? And frankly, I think it’s a little weird. You being so clean. Like, fucking chill the fuck out and just put something where it doesn’t belong!”

She stormed out of the kitchen. Mark hesitated before following her.

He found her in the bathroom tossing bottles under the sink.

“This is your house, too,” he said.

“No, it’s not.”

“It is, Cadence.”

She paused and looked him in the face. “This has
never
been my house. This is your house with your sink and your bed and your towels and your plates and your glasses and your closets and—”

“Stop.”

“It’s true! I don’t know where I belong! I don’t know where my stuff’s supposed to go!”

“Anywhere
.”

“Don’t do that
. You know you don’t mean it.”

“I do. I mean it. And I’m sorry for
getting pissed about the glasses. I am.”

Cadence shrugged. She sat silent for a moment, battling what she knew she needed to do. He was right about the glasses. She knew it. But she was pissed off and didn’t want to concede.

“I’m sorry I leave glasses lying around!” she snapped.

“Wow.”

“What?” she demanded.

“That was the worst-sounding apology ever,” he said.

“You’re right. I’m not sorry. Not yet anyway.” She threw another bottle under the sink.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Mark replied. He grabbed her hands. “Stop. Just stop, please. And listen to me. You’re right. I haven’t made room for you here. And I’m sorry for that. You shouldn’t have to use the guest bedroom closet. You’re not a guest. You’re my girlfriend, and you live with me now, and that makes all of this yours.”

Cadence nodded. “But it still feels like it’s only yours.”

Mark thought for a moment.
“I have an idea.”

***

Cadence checked her bank account balance on her phone.

“So what do you think?” Mark asked.

“No more than two hundred, and I really shouldn’t be spending that,” she replied.

“You’re forgetting I’ve got coupons,” Mark said, holding them up.

He called all of his female friends and asked if they had Bed Bath and Beyond coupons they were willing to part with. Most said no at first until he explained his situation with Cadence. Then they all felt sorry for her and arranged times for him to pick up the coupons. He ended up with thirty.

“You can make
200 dollars go a long way,” he said.

She grinned and looked at her list. “Kitchen gadgets.”

“I don’t have enough?” Mark asked, walking beside her as she pushed the cart.

“You’re missing a few things,” she replied.

He smirked but said nothing. The girl didn’t even cook. What would she know about kitchen gadgets?

Cadence reached for a silicone brush. “I thought we needed a new one of these.”

He thought for a moment. The only brush he owned was wooden, stained, and disgusting. She was right. They needed a new one.

“Perfect,” he said.

“And this.” Cadence pointed to a spin bowl meant for drying lettuce.

Mark hid his grin. “You’re right. Much eas
ier than manually drying it.”

She placed it in the cart and moved on.

“I want new bedding,” she said.

“Well, there’s your
200 bucks right there,” he replied.

“I’m okay with that if you are.”

“It’s your money.”

“Yeah, and it’s your bed, too,” she said. “I want to get something we both like. It’s
our
bed.”

“So you want my input?”

“For this, yes.”

Cadence froze when she rounded the corner of the bedding section.

Her mother. Just yards away debating between two comforters.

The ache was instantaneous. She felt it tingle in her fingertips and nose. Her instinct was to run, throw herself on her mother, and crush her in a hug. As though Mrs. Miller could sense this, she turned around slowly, locked eyes with her daughter, and stared.

“Mommy,” Cadence mouthed. She felt the brimming tears, hovering, longing to spill forth. “Please,” she choked out.

Her mother dropped t
he comforter sets and ran to her daughter. She wrapped her up, holding her harder than she meant to, inhaling the strawberry scent of Cadence’s hair.

“Mom!” Cadence wailed into her mother’s shirtfront. “Where have you been?!”

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Miller whispered, her eyes streaming. “I’m sorry.”

“Where have you been?!” The tears leaked—one right after the other—soaking her mother
. She wanted her to feel it, ache for those tears, that pain of separation and despair.

Mark backed away to give them their space
. It wasn’t his place to step in, but he would if Mrs. Miller said or did anything hurtful. He was resentful of her for going along with Mr. Miller’s insane plan to disown Cadence, and he couldn’t understand how a mother would even allow it. Maybe she didn’t have the backbone. Maybe she, too, was scared of him. Everyone in the whole damn world seemed to be scared of Mr. Miller. The anger in Mark’s heart intensified. He wasn’t sure he wanted Mrs. Miller to touch his girlfriend after all.

“I was wrong,” Mrs. Miller said, pulling away from Cadence and looking her in the eyes. “I was wrong to stay away. Your father . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“He can’t tell you what to do!” Cadence cried.

Mrs. Miller averted her eyes. “I’m not strong like you, honey.”

“I needed you,” Cadence said. “And you weren’t there. You’re my mother!”

“I know,” Mrs. Miller replied. “I’m still your mother.”

“Are you?” Cadence wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.

“Always.”

“Then why won’t you come and see me?”

Mrs. Miller breathed in deeply. “I have to be respectful of your father.”

Cadence’s eyes went wide. Mark narrowed his and decided now was the appropriate time to intervene.

“What?” Cadence breathed.

Mrs. Miller tried to explain. “He’s the head of our household, Cadence. I can’t go against his wishes.”

Cadence’s mouth dropped open.

“That . . . that’s his role in our house. He’s the head. I-I’m being obedient.” She sounded like she wasn’t altogether sure she believed it.