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“Kind of, but not in the way you’re thinking.” I stopped and faced him. “But no. I’m keeping it to myself for now. And not because I’m withholding or avoiding. I just don’t want to jinx anything. But suffice it to say, I think therapy is really working.”
“Well, then we’ll have to do something to celebrate. An exquisite wine with dinner?” he asked, looping his arm around my waist as we fe
ll into step together.
“Look, since we’re pretty much failures at veganism already, how about really good beer and—”
“Cheeseburgers,” he said with me.
I knew there was a reason we were together.
CHAPTER TWENTY
After Emma’s wedding, life slowed to a crawl. I hadn’t abandoned the magazine idea, and neither had Deja, but it was tricky, with Holli still not talking to me. I’d asked Deja point-blank if she was lying to Holli about the project, and she’d reassured me that while Holli hadn’t exactly expressed enthusiasm, she hadn’t outright objected.
I took that as a sign of progress.
Though I was champing at the bit to launch an honest-to-god magazine, I was trying to do things right. We’d contacted freelancers, both writers and photographers, and approached cosmetics companies and some designers I’d gotten along with well when I’d been Gabriella’s assistant. We were aiming for a modest, but hearty, first issue.
Neil was great about helping out when I needed him and backing off when I asked. I hadn’t been joking when I’d told him therapy was working; it really was, both for us as a couple and for him by himself. After a brief setback, his hospital-induced PTSD had become manageable once again. For a while, he had to work through some dissociation; every now and then, I would hear him talking to himself, saying things like, “I am in my kitchen, at home, making a sandwich.” Sometimes it was tougher, and he’d ask me for help, something he’d been unwilling or unable to do before. I think he finally believed that it would be a life-long process of recovery.
Valerie had responded graciously to my email, agreeing that it didn’t make sense for us to always be at odds, and apologizing for what she’d said. That was when I’d decided to tell Neil about what had happened.
He was sitting on the deck when I told him, in one of the modern style armchairs that had been put out by the groundskeeper for the summer. It boggled my mind that we had real furniture outdoors, and not just patio stuff.
When I finished recounting the incident at the rehearsal dinner, he blinked at me, eyebrows raised. “Well, I didn’t expect that.”
“It’s totally cool now. We worked it out, and agreed to just dislike each other maturely.”
“I can’t say I’m thrilled at the idea of my ex-girlfriend and my fiancée arguing over who can manipulate me more skillfully.”
Neil leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands hanging loosely from his wrists. “It hurts my feelings,” he said finally.
I hugged my cardigan tighter around myself. “I know. I didn’t want that. It was shitty of me to say those things, and I’m so, so sorry.”
He gave me a tight smile. “I suppose if I reframe it, it could be flattering. You were trying to protect our relationship. You were just going about it in a way that was mildly insulting to me.”
I snorted dismally. “Just mildly?”
He shrugged. “Just mildly. Because you were right. If it came down to it, of course I would choose you over Valerie. You’re going to be my wife, Sophie. You don’t have to be threatened by anyone else.”
“Well, at least this gives us something to talk about to Dr. Ashley.” It astounded me that Neil could be so gracious about all of my bullshit. Although he claimed to be less emotionally mature than me, the twenty-four-year difference in our ages did give him the upper hand in relationships. He’d already made huge mistakes, while I had a whole lifetime of fucking up in front of me.
Whole life or not, when we hit mid-June and no word from Holli, things looked dire.
Neil and I were lying in our bed, the windows open to let in the sea breeze and sounds. The sheet lay tangled around us, and though I was unbearably sweaty from all the hard work I’d just put in on top of him, I snuggled up at his side.
“Bravo,” he said through a yawn.
“Thanks.” I smiled to myself in the darkness. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”
I’d nearly fallen asleep when I startled awake. “Did you ever find the red checkbook?”
His answer was preceded by a hiss of shame. “No, I knew I was forgetting something.”
I groaned and kicked my feet in the most tired temper tantrum I’d ever had. “The contractor is coming at eleven.”
“Then I will get up at nine and look for it.” He thought I was overreacting, I could tell from his tone.
