Emma vs. The Tech Guy (9 page)

“That’s good,” he said. But his eyes were fixated on the boy who was now sitting up on his knees facing us. A staring war ensued, but that kid didn’t know who he was up against. Mom had stood in an apparent pre-emptive strike to keep the baby sleeping. I guessed it was maternal ESP or something.

“You sure are old,” the boy said to Pop.

All I could hope for was that the mom was out of ear shot.

“Yeah?” Pop said, leaning closer to the kid.

Here it comes.

“Well, you sure do stink,” Pop said.

The little guy, whose shorts were so long they could double for clam diggers, stood and folded his arms. “I bet you got a wrinkly old weenus, too.”

Pop’s eyes busted wide open like a cartoon character. Then he turned to me. “Did you hear what the hell that kid just said to me? I oughta tell his mother.” Pop started to get up, but I held his arm, guiding him back down.

“Pop, it’s a joke.”

“Joke my ass, that kid’s talking about my … my weenus.”

“No, it’s not what you think.”

“What?”

“It’s a kid’s joke. Give me your arm.” I took him by the wrist and pulled his sweater up and over his elbow. Then, bending his arm up, I grabbed ahold of the sagging skin that covered his elbow. “This, is your weenus, and it
is
pretty wrinkled. But then again, most of them are.”

In seconds, the two of us were in stitches, laughing way too loud for a waiting room. The mother shot us a momma-bear killer face and then summoned her cub over, saving him from the crazies. That laugh was just what I needed—more liberating than a colon cleanse and cheaper than wine. Pop had a way of brightening your day even when you didn’t know you needed it.

The ride home was quiet except for the soft country I let Pop turn to on the radio. Country’s not my thing, but I figured Pop was doing it for Mrs. Elwood, who emerged from the doctor’s office looking listless. I made sure to keep my driving mellow. When I could have easily sailed through the next yellow light, I came to a stop instead.

“Isn’t that Howie over there?” Pop said.

I leaned forward to see beyond Pop’s head and across the street. Howard was approaching a café that had outdoor seating and umbrellas. I didn’t respond because we both knew it was obviously him. He was wearing one of his favorite sports jerseys from a big account he scored last year.

“Who’s that he’s with?” Pop asked when I didn’t respond.

I checked the light to see if it was still red. Then I stole another quick glance at Howard to see if I recognized who he was with.

“Not sure. Probably just someone from work.” It was the middle of the day and it could easily have been a work lunch, but what I couldn’t understand was why Howard didn’t mention it. I’d made a point of telling him I’d be around and to let me know if he wanted to come home for lunch. He’d said he had some meetings and would probably work through lunch.

Lost in thought, the light turned green without my noticing it.

“It’s green,” Mrs. Elwood said. She tapped me on the shoulder a little too late. The car behind me beeped and pulled around us. We shot each other nasty looks as the guy in a pea green, beat-up Buick passed and I hit the gas. His license plate frame read,
Duck Pluckers Make Better Lovers
. Too bad they didn’t make patient people.

I decided to take advantage of my excuse for being away from the office, so I told Bill I needed to stay home for the rest of the day. Of course I’d work at home, but at least I’d have a little peace while I did it. Howard texted that he’d be late and didn’t mind if I ate dinner without him. I powered out calls and emails, did some editing, reviewed the schedule for the trade show, and confirmed my reservations for the trip—a productive day.

I decided to call it quits, or at least take a break, when I noticed it was getting late. Howard still wasn’t home. I went out to check the mail, and when I returned I noticed something that I hadn’t seen before. When I’d walked into our empty house earlier that day, the couch pillows were perfectly aligned on our black leather sofa, just as they always were. The ottomans had been set parallel to the sofa. In our place everything had a spot, everything was done a certain way, and usually that was Howard’s way. It didn’t particularly bother me, because let’s face it, I had a few quirks of my own.

But something else was amiss. I walked over to the couch, scanned the surrounding area. Then I noticed the culprit. The pictures—specifically our two wedding photos—on the end table behind the couch were not properly aligned. Someone had put one back wrong after looking at it, or maybe it got bumped.

I picked up the hideous picture of Howard and me at the Elvis and Priscilla Chapel in Las Vegas. That had been Howard’s idea, and looking back, I can’t believe I went along with it. Howard had said I looked adorable in my mock Priscilla dress and veil, but I’d felt cheaper than day-old bread. Howard as Elvis worked, even though his hair was a few shades lighter than that of the King of Rock and Roll. But he pulled off that same sexy, crooked smile. We even had a candid in an album somewhere that shows Howard lifting one side of his upper lip.

As I stared at the two clowns, I suddenly thought of Emilia. She’d been there that weekend, and that’s when we got closer. She’s two years younger than Howard, but a lifetime more selfish and self-absorbed—really the complete opposite of Howard. Maybe she and I had more in common at the time, but I don’t feel like the same person I was back then.

Howard said he’s seen changes in me. When I think about it, I see them, too. The other day when Howard and I were eating chips straight out of the bag, I reached to the back to get all the crappy little crumb chips that nobody wants so Howard could have the big ones. They’re his favorite. And when Howard goes on and on about his dream to open his own pub someday, I listen and tell him I know he will. And of course there’s Jaynie and how I was there for her through this whole Hank fiasco. Used to be all I thought about was work, my career, and how to get to the top. Oh, I still want to be there, but I’m starting to realize there’s more than one way to do that.

There’s just one problem with change; sometimes the mistakes you made way back when still linger. Sometimes you can’t escape decisions you made in the past no matter how bad you feel about them now. You can only hope that nobody finds out that you’re as genuine as a cubic zirconia engagement ring.

I set the frame down, adjusted it into its proper place, and wondered if Howard had been looking at these pictures, too. What had he been thinking? And why wasn’t he home yet? The uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach could only be remedied by one thing: indulgence. I threw off my clothes, grabbed my red, cuddly bathrobe and a glass of pinot. Then I flopped down on the couch to finish the mystery I’d started three months ago. Howard and I needed to talk. I hoped he’d be home before I ran out of book.

Chapter 10

The sound of the key turning in the door woke me. The book I had been reading was closed and in my lap. It was no match for a glass of wine on an empty stomach. Not to mention the energy-sucking power of stress. I barely remembered reading anything, and it made me think about how little “me” time I actually had. But wasn’t that exactly how I’d created my life? Putting work above everything else. Howard walked in, smirked at me and my squinty eyes, and shut the door behind him. I didn’t usually wait up for him when he came home late, so he must have been wondering why.

“You didn’t eat,” he said more than asked, though he knew the answer.

“I wasn’t hungry.” But we both knew the real reason. I relied too much on Howard for our meals. Probably most non-work related things, for that matter. While he could give Wolfgang Puck a run for his money, I was more like Snoopy slapping jelly on toast for the Peanuts gang.

“Want me to make you something?” He set his things down on the counter and headed for the kitchen.

“What about you?” I smoothed out my eyebrows and got up from the couch. My stomach growled and I hoped he didn’t hear it.

Howard grabbed a wine glass and poured his own glass of Pinot. “I had a big lunch.”

“Oh,” I said, wondering if he’d leave it at that. I was in no mood to drag it out of him or play the jealous wife game. “I’ll just have some snacks.” I opened the cupboard and stared at the dry goods. My eyes peered into a box of crackers searching for the right words. Howard reached over my shoulder, snagged a bag of sliced mini-baguettes, snapping me out of my trance.

“So how’d it go with Mrs. Elwood today?” He sipped his wine, spread a few baguettes on a plate, then headed to the fridge for who knows what. He was adept at winging it.

“Fine. She’s a nice lady.” I leaned against the counter and let Howard do his thing. “I think Pop likes her, though he won’t admit it yet.” Why was I stalling when it was probably nothing?

Howard opened a jar of spaghetti sauce and spooned it on each little bread.

“That’s good. It’d be nice to see him with somebody, huh?” He continued preparing our snack, not noticing at first that I hadn’t answered. The thought of Pop finding happiness with a woman temporarily derailed my investigation of Howard’s daytime activities. I made a mental note to work on that, see if I could squeeze something out of Pop next time I saw him.

“Everything okay?” Howard said.

“Yeah, I was just thinking about Pop.” I paused. “He saw you today, by the way.”

“He did?” After loading the final baguette with cheese, he sprinkled garlic salt across the top and popped the plate in the microwave. “Where at?”

“We were driving down Fifth Street. You were walking into Chandler’s Café.”

“Yeah, I had lunch there,” he said with such ease.

“I figured. Who was that with you?”

“Oh.” He paused and stared at me before punching the buttons on the timer. “That was one of our reps … Kelly.”

“Funny, you never mentioned this … Kelly before. And I thought you didn’t have time for lunch today.”

“Well, I thought I didn’t, but then some stuff cleared up.” He smiled, shrugged, and wiped his hands with a paper towel.

“Oh. We haven’t done lunch in so long, I just thought you’d call.”

“Uh-oh, somebody’s jealous.” Howard often took the joking route. I couldn’t blame him as we were both emotion avoiders. He set the timer then snagged his glass. His eyes twinkled and squinted over a sip of wine.

I was going to need more myself for this conversation, so I left to retrieve my glass. “I’m not jealous.” The word tasted bitter. I scooped up my glass and headed back. “I mean, why were you two going to lunch, anyway?”

“To talk about the pub. Kelly was part owner of a restaurant in Dallas before it went under, unfortunately. But I thought it would be a great opportunity to pick someone’s brain.”

“So why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”

“Aww, Em. C’mon. It was a last-minute thing. You know how much this means to me.”

I did. Owning his own pub was all Howard talked about. But now he was talking about it with someone else. I knew where the conversation was headed next, and it was my fault for bringing it up.

“I know,” I said, hoping to stop the inevitable.

Howard put his arm around my shoulder and turned me toward him. Then he gave me that look like a parent who tells you to be brave for a shot. Why was I so insecure? Did I have abandonment issues or was I incapable of trust? I opened my mouth to make an attempt at recovery and the timer beeped, followed by the doorbell. “I’ll get it.” Maybe it was better I didn’t say something I’d end up regretting.

I opened the door to find Jayne standing there looking like she’d pulled an all-nighter at a rave. Her clothes were wrinkled and the buttons to her top weren’t even in the correct holes. What makeup she had left on her face attempted to escape by sliding off of it.

“Jayne, what the hell happened to you?”

“Good to see you too.”

“I’m sorry, Jaynie. Come in.” I took hold of her arm and guided her over to the couch. Howard raced over with a fresh glass of wine like he was bringing water to someone that had been stranded in the desert. He placed the stem in her hand. She sipped it cautiously as we both stared at her.

“Are you okay?” Howard said in a soft, gentle tone. “Do you want to tell us what happened?”

I was glad he was there because I was still on the beginner level in the nurturing game. But Jayne probably remembered that time at work that had brought us closer. Maybe that’s why she came, expecting comfort from me. Yet there I sat, letting Howard do all the work. I reached up and stroked her hair, smoothed out the wild ones, hoping that was a step in the right direction.

“It’s the stupidest thing, really,” she said with a feigned smile. “I don’t even know why I came.” Her head wagged between Howard and me. Then she took another sip, larger this time. She swept a finger under her eye as if she knew of the black smudge resting there.

“Just tell us what happened,” I said.

Jayne sighed. “I slept with Hank tonight.”

My mouth opened, but I quickly held my tongue. I knew my instincts about the proper thing to say to a bestie in this situation were usually wrong. Howard eyed me as I rewound the conversation:
stupidest thing in the world
. Was I supposed to say it was stupid to sleep with Hank, or it was stupid she was worried about it? Shit, I didn’t know. I decided to play it safe.

“So you guys are back together?”

“Actually, no,” she said. Her hopeless eyes begged for some assistance.

“Oh,” Howard said. “We’re going to need food for this one. Hang on.”

Did he read my mind or hear my stomach grumble?

Jayne downed the rest of her wine in the time it took Howard to sprint to the counter, retrieve the tray, and return to the couch. She snagged a baguette and held it in her lap like a delicate flower.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” I said.

“Well, I was chatting online with Mr. Humphries when Hank called.”

“Who’s Mr. Humphries?” Howard asked.

“A guy I met online.”

“Jaynie?” I knew she was a compulsive flirt and a little lonely with Hank gone, but this?