“Wrong? Unfounded? Are you kidding me—?” Meg all but screeched.
“Do you need more wine, Meghan? What about a beer, Adam?” My mom came out of the house like a magically timed bomb diffuser.
Meg sat back in her chair, pushing her hair out of her face. I noted that her hand was trembling. “I’m fine, Marion. Thanks,” she said, and like flicking a light switch, she was calm and pleasant.
“I can get it myself, Mom.” I stood up, and without another look at Meg, I retreated to the kitchen.
Dad was sprinkling seasoning on the steaks and had donned his ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron Mom bought for him two Christmases ago. He glanced up at me as I closed the refrigerator. “It’s nice to see you, son. How’s work going?”
“It’s tough, as always. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I got out a platter and handed it to him.
“I saw Chelsea’s mother the other day,” Dad broached, and I inwardly cringed.
Delilah Lemowitz was a carbon copy of her vacuous daughter from her fake tits to her overly sculpted eyebrows. Delilah had married a man thirty years her senior after Chelsea’s father died. It was love for the zeros in his bank account rather than love for the man that led to the wedding. Her new husband, Ed, was confined to a wheelchair and cared for by the very expensive nurse Delilah made sure to hire as soon as possible. He spent his days drooling on himself while his wife spent his money. My soon-to-be-ex definitely got her bitch ways honestly.
“She says you and Chelsea are trying to work things out. That the two of you spent some time together earlier in the week, and it had gone really well.” Of course, Chelsea had gone straight to her mother after leaving my house. She probably gave her a play by play down to the blow job she gave me. It was fucking horrifying.
Dad’s expression was perfectly blank. He wouldn’t offer an opinion about Chelsea, unlike Lena or my mother, neither of whom hid their distaste. Even though he never spoke ill of Chelsea, he had attempted to give me a get out of jail free card ten years ago before my wedding.
I remember having a particularly bad case of the jitters. I had been second-guessing the marriage pretty much since the day I had been cornered into a proposal. I was pacing the room at the back of the massive church Chelsea’s mom had reserved for our over-the-top nuptials. There were over two hundred people filling the pews. I could hear the five-piece string orchestra playing Pachelbel’s Canon in D. I was sweating bullets and thought I might be sick.
Kyle had gone out to find some aspirin for my killer headache. We had gone out the night before and gotten rip-roaring drunk. Being in the grips of the worst hangover of my life did little to ease my growing apprehension.
“You don’t have to do this, Adam,” Dad said. I was trying not to dry heave all over my shoes. I was sweating like a pig and had to open a window for some air.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, practically hanging my head out the window.
“All of this. The wedding. Being with Chelsea. If it’s not what you want, that’s okay. I won’t think any less of you. Neither will your mother or anyone else that matters. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” Dad came over to pat me on the back.
I thought about what he said and looked wistfully out to the parking lot below. It would be so easy to slip down the back staircase and get to my car. I could be gone before anyone realized I had left.
But then I saw Chelsea arrive in the stretch limo. She climbed out with her bridesmaids, the photographer buzzing around her like a fly, taking pictures while she posed.
It was too late to run.
It was too late to stop this.
I was always too fucking late.
So, I dismissed Dad’s comments, tucking them away with the other things that I didn’t want to think about.
Then I married Chelsea, entering into almost seven years of wedded misery.
I should have listened to my dad.
“Well, Chelsea’s mom is delusional, as is her daughter.” I drank my beer and watched my dad prepare the food.
“I figured as much. I told Delilah I knew my son, and when he’s had enough, there is no going back.”
My eyes widened. “You said that to Delilah Lemowitz, and you walked away intact? I’m impressed.”
He chuckled. “She did look as though she wanted to strangle me. I told her to have a lovely day and left her in the middle of the wine aisle at Whole Foods.”
I laughed. “Nicely done, Dad. I wished I could have seen her face.”
“It’s strange; her skin doesn’t seem to move. It’s like her face is frozen,” Dad mused, and I almost choked on my beer.
“It’s all the Botox,” I informed him.
Dad shook his head. “I’ll never tell you how to live your life, Adam, but I wouldn’t be able to keep quiet if you told me you were getting back together with Chelsea.”
“I would expect you to institutionalize me because I would have clearly lost my mind.” I clasped his shoulder, and he reached up to pat my hand.
I turned at the sound of Meg’s laugh. She sounded happy, or at least she put up a good front. I recalled her mom’s concerned whispers to my mother.
Was Meg unhappy?
And did it matter if she was?
Dad watched me from the corner of his eye. “It’s nice having her back.”
I didn’t say anything. There was nothing I could say. I wasn’t sure I agreed with his sentiment.
“I’m not sure what happened between you two, but I think it’s time to let bygones be bygones, don’t you think?” Dad made himself busy with the food. He was the kind of man generally uncomfortable with discussing feelings, so I appreciated the effort. Even if he was preaching to the wrong choir.
“I’m not the one you need to have this conversation with, Dad.”
“She’s a stubborn one. Just like her mother. And her father. David was always too headstrong for his own good. It seems they passed on that quality to their girls. Not that it’s always a bad thing. But pride is a lonely emotion,” Dad stated gruffly. He picked up the platter laden with raw meat. “Now come on and give me a hand with the grill.”
I followed Dad back outside.
He was right, bygones should be bygones. And he was also right about Meg being too prideful.
But so was I.
Meghan Galloway would need to learn a little about bending.
Chapter 7
Meghan
Being at Adam’s parents’ house proved to be a lesson in biting my tongue. I bit it so hard I nearly split it in half. I had purposefully not thought about seeing him. No good could come of obsessing over what I would say, how I would act.
I should have known it would be an epic fail on all fronts.
Adam Ducate was a thorn in my backside, always had been. His cluelessness had at one time been endearing. Now it was making me want to push him off something really, really tall.
Had I honestly come back home with the idea that I could avoid him? Did I really think I could exist in the same forty-mile radius and not run into him? It was obvious I was living in a delusional fantasy if I thought that were possible.
Stupid, stupid Meg.
And there was Adam looking beautiful in every possible way. The damn man had actually gotten better looking. How was that even possible? Shouldn’t there be some sort of plateau in hotness for men like Adam Ducate? It would level the playing field for the rest of us. He jump-started my hormones in every annoying way. My girlie bits tingled just looking at him. Why was it possible to despise him so totally but still want to strip him naked and touch every inch of him?