“A different shade of blue then, maybe cobalt?” I saw him visibly recoil. “Fine, what about slate blue? That’s cozy.”
“Navy matches the sofa,” he pointed out. “It’s a good contrast with the cognac leather.”
Was he planning to counter my every suggestion? “New sofa then,” I snapped.
Ford shook his head.
“Nu-uh,” he said. “I love this thing. It’s comfortable as hell and I’ve had it since college, so it’s perfectly molded to my body. The couch stays.”
Record scratch.
“You’re telling me you’ve had thissince college?” I asked.
“Yep,” Ford said, looking proud. “Just look at the patina that’s built up over the years. You can’t buy that.”
I was horrified. Now all I’d be able think of when I looked at the couch was how many girls a frisky, younger Ford had fooled around with on that leather. Patina my ass. The last thing I wanted to do was sit on a surface where Ford had messed around with a bunch of sorority girls. Not to mention whatever he’d done on it with Claudia.
“We have to change something,” I said, feeling like this was going nowhere.
“No one hangs out in the living room anyway,” Ford said. “The den and the bedroom are where we’ll be spending most of our time.”
I hated the den. Mainly because of one thing.
“If you expect me to hang out in the den, you’ll need to get rid of the painting,” I said, crossing my arms. “That thing is god-awful.”
It was a huge oil on canvas done in an abstract style, depicting a naked woman kneeling in front of a fully clothed man. I could tell that it was vintage, and it had a nice gold frame, but I hated it. Not only did it seem kind of creepy and voyeuristic—not in a good way—but it practically took up the entire wall. There was no escaping it.
“That painting is art!” Ford said. “It’s an original Le Comte, and it cost me a fortune. It stays.”
He plopped down on the couch with his arms behind his head and I could tell there was no negotiating. For every suggestion I made, for every single room in the house, Ford had some dumb reason why we couldn’t change anything. By the time the conversation was over, I’d gotten him to throw out the cutesy print hanging in the bathroom and agree to let me pick out a new bath mat and shower curtain, but that was it. I felt exhausted and demoralized.
I retreated into the bedroom to finish unpacking, but for a moment I just stared at the boxes. Should I even bother? Would Ford actually let me put my own books and photos on his shelves in the living room, or would he have some excuse for why they couldn’t go there?
Sinking onto the edge of the bed, I pulled Munchkin onto my lap and rested my chin on the top of his blocky little head. I was starting to realize that there was no hope for me and Ford at all. Even if his parents hadn’t given our marriage a deadline, it was obvious that Ford never had any intention of moving forward with me. He wasn’t even close to being ready.
He just wanted everything to stay the same.
That was the whole reason he had decided to embark on this charade with me in the first place—because he knew that with me, he wouldn’t have to make any changes in his life. He knew I would go along with whatever he wanted, no matter what. It was the reason he’d always wanted our friendship to stay the same.
I hated that I was essentially proving him right.
Ford was the kind of guy who was completely comfortable with what he had, and just wanted to maintain status quo. He wanted his couch to stay the same, the color of his walls, the painting in his den. Everything exactly the same, including our dynamic. And he wanted a wife who would let him live his life exactly the way he always had. The wayhewanted it.
It was going to be a long year.
Emzee
Chapter 7
Even though it felt pointless, I unpacked my books anyway. It was like having old friends around, displaying my favorite photography hardcovers depicting the work of Man Ray or detailing the world’s ancient ruins or Polaroids of colorful NYC nightlife in the 1970s, or—because playful images were just as valuable as serious ones—dogs swimming underwater. I had just finished arranging them on my dresser and nightstand, the moving boxes already broken down and stacked in the corner, when Ford came into the bedroom.
“My parents are coming to dinner,” he said.
“What?” I stared at him. “When? Tonight?”
“Seven-thirty.”
That was barely two hours away. There was so much to do.Shit.
