She should probably kick him for that, but decides not to. In truth, she finds it flattering.
* * *
The first thing Anya learned about her husband during those long summer nights of casual sex and partying was this: Zac is not a man of subtle emotions, and he was not built for subterfuge. If he feels a thing, the whole world knows it. His joy lights up the room, gives you a contact high. His unhappiness is a pebble in your shoe—impossible to ignore, unpleasant at times and downright painful to endure at others. Everything leaks out in some form or another.
Cal, however, is the opposite. After the talk in the kitchen with Zac, Anya starts watching him more carefully. She isn’t too hard on herself for misreading him, even if it’s gone on for three years. Cal’s got the Good Midwestern Boy act down pat.
She wonders what he’s like when he’s alone. He could be exactly the same. He could be entirely different. The point is that she doesn’t know.
After weeks of watching, Anya has come to only one conclusion: if Zac emits everything, bright like a star, Cal is a black hole from which nothing escapes.
* * *
She means to put it aside. She really does.
They can always go pick someone up in a club for Zac’s birthday. Depending on who it is, Zac will either watch or join. Or maybe they’ll do something else entirely. It’s not like the sex isn’t great when it’s only the two of them. He might want her to fuck him; pegging is a special occasion thing, because it’s kind of a production, but he likes it a lot, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t turn her on. Zac’s loud and boisterous and pushy in bed except when he has something in his ass, and then he gets quiet and trembles and makes these soft, broken little gasps. She puts her fingers inside him sometimes when she’s blowing him, but nothing tears him down to the foundations like her sliding into him with a strap-on, fucking him as hard as she can.
That’s the one thing he doesn’t let anyone else do, no matter who joins them. The other men might fuck her if she chooses, but they never fuck Zac.
She doesn’t mind it in the least. She likes that there’s something that’s hers only.
But the point is that she’s not, like, invested in the idea of inviting Cal into their bed. She’s not going to push. If anything, it’s a bit of a relief that it won’t be Cal. There’s a weight to the idea of him that no one else has, a weight that intimidates her, though she’ll never admit it.
* * *
On Friday night, Anya makes a veritable vat of her low-calorie beef bourguignon so there will be plenty of leftovers, and the kitchen smells rich and warm by the time the doorbell rings.
Zac is slumped at the breakfast bar fiddling on his phone, but he jumps up at the sound, bouncing like his legs have turned to pogo sticks, as if he didn’t see Cal a few hours ago. They recorded a rough cut of the first song from the new album this week, and it seems like every other word out of his mouth is about work. It’s all Cal this and Cal that, and Can Cal come over for dinner? I have a few things I want to go over with him and this way he won’t be miserable that he has to talk on the phone like a normal person.
She agreed, mostly to make Zac happy, but also a little because she’s curious to observe Cal for a bit, now that she knows he has hidden depths.
Zac kisses Anya on the cheek, telling her, “You smell good,” before turning to go answer the door.
“He used to use his key before I came along, didn’t he?” she asks, before he can leave.
Zac winces. “Yes?”
“More of the patented Cal Keller respect program, I suppose.”
Zac drums his fingers on his belly for a second. “The stew smells delicious.”
“Oh, go away, you jerk.”
He grins at her as he leaves, and a moment later, she can hear them talking in the entryway about something that happened at the studio earlier, their voices deep and soft, and Zac laughs at whatever Cal says.
She opens a bottle of wine and makes a pitcher of ice water with lemon. She hesitates, wondering if she should offer something else to drink. She’s not sure what Cal will prefer. He’s come over for dinner dozens of times, and he’s expressed so few opinions that she’s still not sure of his preferences. She only knew about his dislike for green peppers because Zac mentioned it.
That might be the most Cal thing about Cal—that she’s been the wife of the most important person in his life for almost three years now, and no matter the overtures she makes (and there have been more than a few over that span of time) they remain merely acquaintances.
It occurs to her that maybe he simply doesn’t like her.
It’s possible. She’s strong-willed and direct. She’s gotten a lot of flak about that over the years, starting in her modeling days, and continuing into the present; there’s nothing that society hates worse than a woman who dismisses the importance of others’ approval. She curses, she drinks and she smokes pot (not lately, of course, because she was carrying and then breastfeeding PJ, although if there’s ever been a daily activity that called for chemical relaxation on a regular basis, it’s motherhood). She speaks her mind and argues, she gets angry when she wants to, she’s fucked a lot of men, and on a couple of occasions, she didn’t even know their names. She’s fine with these things, but more than a few people have turned their noses up at her over the years.
Never mind that she doesn’t do a damn thing that her husband doesn’t do, and there have been whole magazine spreads about how great he is, praising his raw, masculine strength and his creative “passions.” She rolls her eyes at the thought. She doesn’t expect people to let her get away with bad behavior, but there’s a difference between bad behavior and unladylike behavior, and while she doesn’t mind being called out for the first, anyone who has a problem with the second can choke on it.
She can see how someone like Cal, someone with a wholesome, old-fashioned way of viewing the world, would find her lacking.
But at the same time, it doesn’t really fit. He’s never been anything but perfectly gracious with her. From the first time they met, not a single one of his smiles has ever struck her as forced, and he doesn’t avoid her, doesn’t look for opportunities to see Zac in her absence. He’s told her more than once that he can see how much happier Zac is now that she’s in his life, that he’s glad that Zac has her, and he legitimately seems to mean it.
No. She knows she can be divisive, but whatever this thing with Cal is, this barrier between them, it isn’t that he disapproves of her.
When PJ coughs up, she soothes him and wipes up the drool, because if there’s anything she is sure of with Cal, it’s that he’ll instantly make a beeline for the baby when he comes in. And she’s not disappointed. He barely waits for her nod when he asks, “Can I?” before he’s picking up PJ’s heavy, squishy body and tucking him close. He whispers things to the baby before pressing a loud kiss to his fat little cheek, making him gurgle a laugh. PJ adores Cal, and proves it by yanking on his hair. Cal’s enough of a sucker that he doesn’t even wince. He just gently eases the tiny fist away.