Читать книгу Wedding Fever - Kim Gruenenfelder - Страница 11

Chapter Seven

Nicole

“And chances are,” I gleefully read to Malika, my soon-to-be step-daughter, “if she asks for some syyrruup . . .” I drag the word syrup out five syllables to wait for Malika to finish the sentence.

Malika looks up at me, her face brightening as she squeals, “She’ll want a pancake to go with it!”

“Yes, she will! Won’t she?!” I say, tickling Malika, who giggles as she squirms her little body beneath me.

We’re both in our pajamas, lying in her bed, and I have just finished reading her Laura Numeroff’s If You Give a Pig a Pancake while Jason reads Harry Potter to her nine-year-old sister Megan in the other room. On alternate nights, Jason reads to Malika, and I get to read Harry Potter.

“Switch!” Jason, clad in his nighttime ensemble of his team T-shirt and gray shorts, yells happily from the doorway.

I rapidly kiss Malika on the cheek five times. “I love you,” I tell her.

“I love you too.”

“I love you more. Who’s the cutest five-year-old?”

“Me!”

I smile, stand up, and walk past Jason. “Tagging out!” I say, making a show of high-fiving him.

“Tagging in!” Jason says.

I head to Megan’s room and catch her reading the next chapter of Harry Potter.

“Hey, that’s cheating.” I pretend to lecture. “I just have to know how it ends,” Megan says, as I walk over and sit on her bed. She looks up at me and whispers, “Do you think I could use my flashlight? Just for a little bit?”

How can I resist that angelic smile and those pleading eyes? I lean in and whisper, “Okay, but just one chapter.”

Megan smiles and pulls a flashlight from under her pillow. “Don’t tell Dad.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” I assured her conspiratorially. I give her a kiss on the forehead and say, “I love you.”

“Me too.”

I take my leave and watch Megan throw the covers over her head, turn on her flashlight, and begin reading again as I turn out the light and close the door.

Jason closes Malika’s door and meets me in the hallway. “Did she have the flashlight?” he asks me under his breath, amused.

“Of course,” I say, my heart melting at how cute she is. “So, you mentioned something about wine?”

“Indeed I did,” Jason says, taking my hand and walking down the hallway, toward the stairs. “I want to hear about all those wedding gifts we got today.”

Our home phone rings as I joke with him. “Well, I know you had your heart set on a traif dish.”

We ignore the phone as Jason continues with the joke. “Not nearly as much as the fingertip towels.”

“We didn’t register for fingertip towels,” I tell him.

“Yes, we did,” Jason insists.

“No, we didn’t,” I assure him.

He actually looks confused by this. “Yes, we did,” he insists.

“That must have been for your first wedding,” I joke.

Jason mock glares at me for my joke as our answering machine picks up.

“Well, then, what were those tiny purple towels in the linen department if not fingertip towels?” Jason asks me.

“Those were washcloths.”

“No. I called them washcloths and was strongly chastised by the woman at Bloomingdale’s.”

“That was because you were looking at fingertip towels at the time— the ones in tea rose. We went with another manufacturer, so that we could get them in aubergine. But the other manufacturer didn’t make fingertip towels, they made washcloths.”

“Okay, you know the next time I talk about the differences between a zone trap and a pressing man to man, you are allowed to say nothing.”

“Hi Jason and Nicole, it’s Jacquie,” we hear Jason’s ex-wife say happily on the machine. “Listen, I know it’s getting kind of late, but I have some stuff I want to run by you both when the girls aren’t around. I was hoping I could just drop by tonight for ten minutes.”

Jason and I share an inquisitive glance.

“You know what?” Jacquie continues. “You might still be out with the girls. I’ll try you on your cell. But call me back the second you get this. Or Nic, call me back the second you get this. Whoever. Just someone please call me back.”

The machine beeps. About thirty seconds later, Jason’s cell phone begins ringing in our bedroom.

“What’s that about?” Jason asks me.

I shrug. “I have no idea.”

Jason makes a detour to our bedroom. “Are you sure she was okay being at your shower today? Did she seem weirded out at all?”

“No,” I say. “She seemed cheerful. As a matter of fact, she . . .”

I stop talking.

The charm. She got the typewriter.

Jason picks up his cell. “Hey, Jacquie,” he says into the phone. “What’s up?”

Jason looks at me in confusion as he talks to her. “No, Nic didn’t mention anything. . . . Yeah, I guess so. Is everything okay?”

I watch Jason as he listens to the voice on the other end of the phone. He occasionally looks in my direction in total confusion. I try to stare blankly back at him, like I don’t know any more than he does. Which, really, I don’t. But I have a nagging suspicion Charm #2 is about to come true.

“No, come on over,” Jason says tentatively. “Okay, we’ll see you in a few minutes. Yeah, bye.” Jason hangs up the phone. “Did Jacquie mention a job offer to you today?”

Shit! I knew it! I just knew it. Seema may think I’m half cocked, but I’m onto something here. “She said something about being up for a speechwriting job,” I tell Jason. “But she said it was a long shot, so I didn’t think too much about it.”

“Huh,” Jason says. “Well, she got the job. And she told me to tell you not to say anything until she came over. What doesn’t she want you to tell me?”

I open my mouth to answer him. But before I can say, “Your ex-wife wants to move your girls five hundred miles away,” the doorbell rings.

Jason quickly heads downstairs and over to the front door, with me half a step behind him. He opens the door to his beautiful ex-wife, Jacquie, who is beaming. “I got it!” she screams, then slips past her ex to pull me into a hug.

I look over Jacquie’s shoulder to watch my confused fiancé widen his eyes (couple shorthand for “What the hell is going on?”). Before I can answer him, Jacquie pulls away from me, then excitedly grabs Jason. “I start Monday!”

“Um . . . congratulations,” Jason says, feigning enthusiasm. “You start what Monday?”

Jacquie pulls away from him. “Didn’t Nic tell you?”

Shit.

“I didn’t think anything was definite,” I say weakly.

“Tell me what?” Jason asks. “What job did you get?”

Jacquie proudly tells him, “I am the new junior speechwriter for the governor.” Then for added emphasis she happily screams, “Ah!”

Jason’s face falls. “Of California?”

“No. Of Rhode Island,” Jacquie jokes. “Of course, of California. He announces his candidacy for the U.S. Senate in the next week or two, so he’s expanding his staff. The mayor put in a good word for me. I didn’t think I had a shot in Hell, but I flew up there yesterday, and I guess I made an okay impression, because I got it!”

Jason looks shell-shocked but like he’s trying to cover. “You flew up to Sacramento?”

“I did!” Jacquie says, looking so happy she might burst out of her own skin. “I didn’t bother telling you because I didn’t think it was going to happen. But senator. Can you believe I have a shot at working in Washington, D.C., next year?”

“But what about the girls?” Jason blurts out. “We have a custody agreement.”

“Yeah, what about the girls?” I hear from the staircase. The three of us look up to see Megan standing at the top of the stairs. “I’m not moving to Sacramento,” she states firmly as she walks downstairs.

“Oh, honey, you don’t have to,” Jacquie says, walking halfway up the stairs and hugging her daughter. “I’ve got it all worked out. Sacramento is only an hour’s flight away. You girls will live with your father during the week, I’ll fly home every Friday night, pick you up, then drop you off on Sunday night, and fly back up. It’ll be exactly the same schedule you had before, just with your dad and me having you on opposite days than we did last year.”

“But what about our family cruise?” Megan asks. “It’s next week.”

From the look on her face, I can tell Jacquie hadn’t thought that one through. “Well . . .” she stalls. “We can still go. Just not next week.”

Megan gets a look of disgust on her face that should be reserved for teenaged girls and Simon Cowell. “Malika has been looking forward to that trip for six months!” she nearly screams at her mother. “You already postponed it once. How can you do it again?”

“Honey, I have to work,” Jacquie tells her apologetically. “We’ll find a different time.” Jacquie looks over at us. Her face lights up as she says, “And you’ll love Italy.”

Say what now?

Jason and I have the conversation that only couples can, which consists of no words and fleeting looks.

First look, a pleading expression from Jason: I’m sorry.

Second look, a shrug from me: It’s okay. It’ll be fine. They can come.

Third look, relief from Jason: I love you so much.

“Who goes with their dad on his honeymoon?” Megan asks in disgust.

“Lots of kids go on honeymoons with their parents,” Jacquie assures her. “I’ve read about the trips. They’re called familymoons. Why, I’m sure your dad and Nic could find you guys amazing things to do in Venice. They have gondolas, and pizza, which you love. Plus there’s . . .”

As Jacquie continues to sell her firstborn on the idea of Italy, I look up to see Malika, standing at the top of the stairs, silent and devastated. “But why can’t they just come on the cruise with us?” she begs her mother.

The girl looks heartbroken. Utterly heartbroken. As her mother walks up to her, she bursts into tears.

How can I enjoy the romance of Italy, knowing it came at the expense of a five-year-old’s happiness?

I immediately walk up the stairs and kneel down to be at eye level with Jason’s little girl. Then I muster up all the enthusiasm and excitement I have in me and tell her, “You know what would be really cool after the cruise is if the four of us went to Epcot. I hear they have a pretend St. Mark’s Square that’s even better than the real thing.”