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That made him laugh. “That I can believe.”
“And while I wouldn’t call myself a goth, I do have a dark side.”
“You have a dark side. I’ve gotten hints of that so far, but I’m going to need that described in a little more detail.”
I didn’t even consider myself having a dark side, but it was fun to tweak him a little. I did have nose rings and an entirely black wardrobe in high school but that was as far as I’d gone with it in terms of fashion choices. Watching crime TV and believing in ghosts didn’t mean a thing. Those were just interests, not a lifestyle.
Time to change the subject. “What is this about a surrogate, by the way? Your mother mentioned you had been looking for one.”
“Oh, geez, of course she did.” Michael peeled off his suit jacket and threw it over his shoulder, holding it with one finger. “This is not a closet conversation. Can we sit down and eat something and talk?”
“Of course. We also need to talk about the fact that we never plan dinners. Maybe we need to sort that out too.”
“I hate talking about dinner.” He turned and went down the hall to the bedroom. “Can you figure out something for tonight? Please? I’ll give you a thousand dollars.”
That made me laugh as I poked my head out of the closet to watch him. “You’re such a liar. You’re not going to give me a thousand dollars. We have some of those premade salads in the refrigerator. Can you survive on one of those?”
“I’ll hate every minute of it, but yes, I can survive on that.”
He disappeared into the bedroom and I went back to my smudging. I moved the sage around in the closet before walking with the bundle down the hallway and into the kitchen. I liberally waved it over the island.
“You think the island is possessed?”
“No. I think there might be bad memories associated with the island.”
Michael eyed me as he opened the cupboard and pulled a glass down. He was wearing workout clothes, so I expected he planned to go to the gym downstairs after we ate.
“How can a kitchen island
hold bad memories? Unless it involves your cooking?”
“You’re hilarious.” I finished my wafting smoke around and put the sage in the sink. I pulled up some holiday music on my phone just to add some cheer. “Your mother might have mentioned that she thought there had been some infidelity on Becca’s part, involving this specific kitchen island and its installation.”
“Oh, God, my mother told you that? Wow.” He filled his glass with water from the refrigerator door. “I’m not sure how that’s any of her business or why she thought it would be okay to share something like that with you. She only knew about it because one night when Becca was sick and everyone was saying what a saint she was, I kind of lost my shit and implied it to my mother. Clearly a mistake.”
“And don’t forget Gloria told me that you were searching for a surrogate,” I reminded him. “So I totally agree that she overstepped. Trust me, I wasn’t fishing. I asked a few casual questions and she just spilled without hesitation. I’m not telling you to have you get upset with your mother, but I don’t want to pretend not to know these things either. They’re both kind of a big deal.”
“No, I get it. I don’t want you to feel awkward.” He took a sip of water and set it down. On the island. “So one day I came home at lunchtime because I spilled queso on myself and I needed a clean dress shirt.” He shrugged. “When I walked in, Becca was indeed getting fucked on the island by our contractor.”
“Good God, that’s just awful!” I felt horrible for him. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. I can’t say I forgave her, but I tried to. I do work a lot, especially back then. She felt neglected.”
What an easy excuse. “If you feel neglected, you schedule a date night. You don’t shag the contractor.”
He nodded. “I agree. If she had told me how she was feeling, I could have at least tried to prevent it. But that’s not the route she took. You can’t stay angry with someone though when they get a raw deal like cancer at thirty years old.”
I went into the refrigerator for the salads, realizing this was a good time for a confession of my own. It was embarrassing though and made me feel shameful even though I really hadn’t done anything wrong. I stood up with the plastic containers in my hands. “I dated a man who was married and I had no clue he had a wife. I was gutted when I found out. Not only was I hurt and felt cheap and used, I felt absolutely awful for his wife.”
It still made my stomach tighten when I gave it any real thought.
“Wow, that’s a dirtbag move. What an asshole,” Michael said. “What, like he couldn’t find a woman who was willing to be his mistress? He had to lie about it?”
“It made me feel very disgusted, and frankly, disgusting. That’s why I haven’t dated. It was hard to trust anyone.” It was hard to trust Michael, but I was trying. He didn’t give me much reason not to trust him. He was very honest, as far as I could tell, and never hesitated to share when I asked him about his past. But then again, my ex had seemed honest as well. That was why our visa deadline scared me. I needed more time.
Anyone could pull off a con in six months or less. That’s what ID TV and real life had taught me.
Michael pulled me into his arms. “I’m sorry he made you feel that way. What a selfish prick.”
