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guys picked out this furniture and the…the freaking crown molding.” I pressed my fingers to my temple. “Don’t get me wrong, I like staying here. I’m comfortable here. But it’s never going to be home to me in the way that our house is, because we didn’t do this together.”
“I hesitate to suggest this, with a very expensive wedding coming up—”
“No, no.” We didn’t need the added stress of a remodel or redecorating, which I was sure he was going to suggest.
He finished his sentence over the top of mine. “—but we could sell this place and buy another. Something not so posh as a Fifth Avenue address?”
Okay. So, the whole “remodel” thing sounded a lot better now. “You know, why don’t we just redecorate, like normal people?”
His raised eyebrows were a dead giveaway that he had not thought it through. “If that’s what you’d like to do, I’m sure we could manage it. If you don’t feel your plate is too full.”
“No, it’ll be fine.” I already had some thoughts for the foyer. It looked like a damn hotel. “Let’s do your plan. We’ll spend some time here, some at the house. I wanted to start this magazine, and I’m not going to throw it away to be attached to your hip.”
“You know that once Olivia is born, I’ll be looking for any excuse to come to the city, anyway.” He pulled me close again and kissed the top of my head. “This isn’t an insurmountable obstacle, darling.”
It wasn’t, he was right. It was just a super bummer at the moment.
“Hey,” he said softly, giving me a squeeze. “I’m here tonight. And we have all that pornography…”
I smiled against his chest. “I’m really tired. Can we just get off next to each other?”
“Would I turn down a chance to watch you masturbate?” He stepped back and looked down at me. “There. Now, you’re smiling.”
I sniffed and rummaged in the silverware drawer for a spoon to check my reflection in. I wiped gingerly at a streak of black liner on my lower lid.
Neil leaned his shoulder against the refrigerator and watched me. “We’re going to be fine, Sophie. The magazine took off, but you’re still getting your feet under you. It’s going to take some time, but I’m not worried about you. And I’m not worried about us.”
“Thank you.” I cleared my suddenly hoarse throat.
Damn, he could probably tell I was getting all weepy again. At least, this time, it was for a happy reason.
* * * *
It was strange how easily having my mom with us became routine. As her emergency leave wore on, it had become increasingly clear to me that she probably wouldn’t go back to Calumet, and I was fine with that. After she moved into the guest house, that is. It had been tense with her living in the house with us, popping up at inopportune moments as though she were consciously trying to interrupt any time Neil and I had to spend together. The weird thing was, she seemed genuinely unaware that she was doing it at all.
Sundays were fun. Emma and Michael still made it out to see us in the evening, and now that Mom was with us, it reminded me of the big family lunches we’d had at my grandmother’s house when I was growing up. Mom even came beforehand and helped Neil cook, though I don’t think he was as touched by the arrangement as I was.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable just sitting back and relaxing, Rebecca?” His smile was so tight it looked like his face would crack.
Looking up from the kitchen table, I mouthed, “Be nice,” exaggerated enough that he could see it from across the room. He gave me a stern, long-suffering roll of his eyes.
“You know what?” Mom asked, still chopping the green pepper into irregular sized pieces.
Neil hated that, and I had to roll my lips over my teeth and clamp down to keep from laughing at his agitated glares at the cutting board.
Mom gestured with her knife. “I was thinking that on Thursday I should come into the city with you, Sophie. Have lunch, maybe do some shopping while you work.”
“Yeah, sounds like fun,” I agreed readily.
Neil looked up from the roast he was expertly tying and met my eyes with renewed annoyance. After his initial relief at learning about Stephen’s book had worn off, he’d been grumpy as hell, but he wouldn’t admit it. I ignored it, because it felt like the most supportive choice. He turned his attention back to the meat. “You can’t on Thursday. We’re meeting the lawyer.”
A cold chill skated down my arms, and I pulled my cardigan tighter around my midsection. Whether out of spite or carelessness, Neil had opened a can of worms.
“You guys are going to see a lawyer?” Mom turned to each of us in turn, as perplexed as if he had said, “We’re going to the North Pole to visit Santa.” “What do you need a lawyer for?”
“For the prenuptial agreement, of course,” he said with malicious cheer.
He knew what he was doing. He wasn’t just opening a can of worms. He was exploding a bait bucket full of nasty, wriggly night crawlers all over our dinner.
