As for Greg’s fling, it lasted all of two weeks after I’d thrown him out and before he got the call that the band was hitting the road. Shelby, the girl he left behind, showed up at our apartment a few weeks after that, looking for him. We shared some Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, cursed him, and then burned the last of the stuff he’d left in our apartment. It was wonderfully therapeutic, and I still get Christmas cards from Shelby, who went on to marry a firefighter and now has twin baby boys.
After a very stern lecture from Sophie, where she basically told me to ignore the BD, I sat on the text message from Greg all morning. Did I want to see him? Kind of, sort of. It had always bothered me that we’d never made up like Jeremy and I had. Of course, I had no interest in making up quite like that, but still, it would be nice to be able to call the BD my friend again. I blamed the pleaser in me.
By midafternoon on Sunday, having heard nothing from Nick, I answered Greg’s text. I kept it brief, said I’d love to see him if it worked out, and that I hoped he was enjoying the glorious weather in Phoenix. Since I was from New England, it was practically mandatory that I mention the weather.
His response came back like he’d been sitting on his phone just waiting to hear from me. I didn’t really think that but was flattered nonetheless. After a flurry of back-and-forth messages, we agreed he’d come to my place that evening and I’d cook dinner. He said he’d missed my fettuccine Alfredo. See? It really is my signature dish.
I took a shower, scrubbed all thoughts of Nick, or at least I tried to, from my mind. It was clear he was still angry about Lexi, and as much as I hated it, I had to respect his boundaries and give him time.
The gala was in two weeks, and I’d been hoping that I could convince him to go. I wanted him to be there for his sister on her big night. Heck, I wanted him to be there for me as it was my night, too, in a lesser but still really important way.
For the thousandth time, I stared up at his house. The curtains were drawn again. Had I actually managed to get him to let in the light? At the moment, I felt as if I had just moved in and was befuddled by the old codger in the big house. I thought about the moment I realized Nick was my landlord and then remembered how it felt to have him make love to me and hold me all night long. I wanted to cry with frustration but I didn’t.
Instead, I dried my hair and put on some makeup. I didn’t want the BD to think I’d gone completely to seed. Then I assessed my wardrobe. What was a woman supposed to wear when entertaining an ex-husband she hadn’t seen in a couple of years? I needed to look good but not too good. I didn’t want to give out any mixed signals here. Despite the good times between me and Greg, I had no wish to rekindle anything. I had learned my lesson with Jeremy.
Besides, despite my cavalier attitude with Soph, I was crazy in love with Nick. And even though I was the only one who’d said it, I really thought he might love me, too. Otherwise why would he get so mad when I was trying to help? The man had built a fortress around his heart if ever I’d seen one.
The evenings were getting warmer so I opted for my favorite snap front denim dress with my leopard print ankle boots. Nothing says sassy like a leopard print boot. I kept my hair loose, my makeup light, and my jewelry minimum.
I texted Greg the code to get through the gate, and then I sat down to do some work while I waited. I had several other projects I was working on aside from Lexi’s, and I didn’t want to fall behind just because the gala was so all-consuming. The Schneider Pretzel people had been ecstatic about their redesigned logo so at least I could scratch that one off my list.
While I worked, I tried not to think about Nick. It was impossible. In the time we’d been together, he’d permeated every square foot of my apartment. The kitchen where he’d stood drinking his morning coffee, the couch where we’d snuggled while watching old movies, the bedroom where . . . I shook my head . . . best not go there.
There was nothing in this guest house that didn’t bear an imprint of Nick in some way. I realized if he couldn’t forgive me, I was going to have to move. The sooner the better. Maybe I’d put some feelers out at work to see who knew of a place that was available. I hadn’t brought that much stuff with me; surely it wouldn’t be that hard to move. I glanced at the French door that was open just a crack. I wondered what Sir would make of my departure. Could I take him with me? The thought of never seeing his inquisitive little face again about did me in.
My eyes watered up, but my therapeutic cry sesh was interrupted by the sound of someone at the door. “Annabelle!” Knock, knock, knock. “It’s me, Greg.”
I sat up straight and swiped at my eyes, which were damp. Just like that, my tears evaporated because the BD was here, and I was not about to have my ex-husband find me in such a state over a man and a cat.
I took a deep breath and told myself to get it together. I fluffed my hair and smoothed my skirt and then I hurried across the living room to answer the door.
I pulled it open and there he was. With his thick black hair falling in waves just past his shoulders, his beat-up black leather jacket, worn jeans, and biker boots, he looked exactly as I remembered him.
“Hi, Greg,” I said.
He shook his head. “What sort of lame-ass greeting is that? Come in for the real thing.” He opened his arms wide and I stepped in for a hug. This was one of his genuine talents. He was an excellent hugger. He managed to make you feel safe and secure without squishing you and he never held on overlong.
He let me go, and I glanced past him at the Harley parked in front of my house. “Yours?”
“Rental,” he said. “I’m just in town to visit my dad.”
“Carl’s living here?”
“In Sun City.” Greg nodded. “We had a week in between gigs so I drove here from California to see him. He said to say hi, by the way.”
“Did he?” Carl had never liked me. He felt I wasn’t sexy enough to keep Greg interested, which he told me the very first time I met him, and it was galling to have him proven right two years later. Although Greg swore it wasn’t his lack of attraction to me that had driven him to cheat, his father’s words still chafed.
“Be sure to tell him I said I hope he chokes on Meredith’s cooking,” I retorted.
Greg burst out laughing. “He’d love that. He always admired your spunk. Unfortunately, he’s no longer married to Meredith.”
“What?” I gestured for him to come in, closing the door after us. “She was his fifth wife. I thought for sure he’d found his soul mate there.”
“You have to have a soul to find a soul mate,” Greg said. It was clear he still had father issues.
I made a sympathetic noise. I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend the evening unboxing Greg and his father. “Has he remarried?”
“No,” he said. “He’s discovered that in assisted care, the ratio of women to men is so unbalanced that he now has a roster of Bettys.”