Frenched Series Bundle (46 page)

Nick sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. “Maybe you were right. This talking about the past stuff kind of sucks.”

I nodded. Swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Ready to go back?” Nick asked. “I should get dinner started.”

“Yes.” But the thought of running back made my limbs feel heavy in the water. Rehashing the past had exhausted me. I dragged myself to the ladder on the dock, and Nick motioned for me to climb up first.

“I wish I had a big warm towel to wrap you in,” he said as I emerged, my running clothes dripping. I was shivering, but it wasn’t because of the water.

“I’m OK.” Squeezing the water from my ponytail, I walked toward my shoes on the grass, my legs shaky and my footsteps squishy. “Guess I should have stopped to take my socks off too.” I looked down at them, wrinkling my nose.

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have beaten me into the lake.”

“True.” I pulled my shoes on and leaned over to lace them up, tempted to make a joke but not quite up for it.

Nick sat on the grass to tug his socks and running shoes on. “You up for running back? Or would you rather just walk?”

I straightened up, pulled out my ponytail elastic, and shook out my wet hair. “I think I’ll walk, but you go ahead. I know you have to get dinner going.”

He got to his feet. “No, that’s OK. I can walk with you.”

“Actually, Nick, I could use the alone time.”

He nodded. “You know the way back?”

“Left when the path reaches the road, right?”

“Yes.” He put his hands on his hips, glanced at the path through the trees and then back at me. “You sure you’re all right?”

I took a deep breath, concentrated on slipping the ponytail elastic around my wrist. “I’ll be fine, really. That conversation was hard on me. It brought back a lot of feelings I’ve done my best to forget. But I’m a big girl.” Managing a shaky smile, I looked up and waved him off. “Go on. I’ll see you back there.”

“OK.” He began jogging through the trees, looking back once over his shoulder. I waited until I couldn’t see him anymore to start walking.

Wrinkling my nose at the first few waterlogged steps, I wrapped my arms around myself and started through the trees at a slow pace. I’d told Nick I wanted to be alone so I could think, but I was unable to draw any conclusions about what had just happened. There were so many feelings battling inside me. Was I more sad than anything? Hurt? Scared? Angry? And who was I most mad at? Nick? My parents? Myself?

I turned left at the dirt road, and admitted the truth. I still loved him. If I didn’t, none of this would matter. Revisiting our history wouldn’t hurt so much. But love hadn’t been enough to make things work between us before. How could I know this time would be different? What if I never learned to trust him? What if he was the kind of person who felt lying was OK if you had good intentions? (Oh, God. I had to call Mia and come clean about Angelina, didn’t I?) What if he was still as big a flirt as he’d always been…could I deal with that? Especially now that he was a celebrity? He’d be away from me a lot, traveling, working, celebrity schmoozing. I’d have to put up with all kinds of Internet gossip and selfies taken with pretty girls and paparazzi pics of him with women famous and beautiful and wealthy.

At least we wouldn’t argue over money anymore. I’d happily let him pay the bill at dinner whenever he wanted to.

But what about this resentment I felt? Why couldn’t I get past it? I wanted to believe I could, wanted to believe the day would come where I would look at him and not think about that fucking goodbye note. The ring on the nightstand. The text message. I wanted to forgive and forget and move forward. So why couldn’t I do it? When he called me the love of his life, all those things I wanted to say to him were racing around in my brain, but I couldn’t bring myself to say even one of them.

Oh God, that was a bad sign, right? What if the universe was trying to warn me against being taken in by him again? Nick had burned me once. Why should I give him the chance to do it again? What kind of fool takes a second bite of a bad apple?

Approaching the house, I vowed to stick to the original plan. No relationship, no promises, no more love-of-my-life conversations. No second bites. We were friends, nothing more.

Just at that moment, a monarch butterfly floated in front of me, and I nearly smiled. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? A good sign that I’d made the right decision and the universe supported me.

It should have been, but right after that I looked up at Nick’s bedroom window just in time to see him toweling off after a shower.

Then I tripped over a tree root and went down on my hands and knees, cursing softly.

Fuck. Why did the bad apple have to l
ook so good?

#

I managed to sneak up the stairs without being seen by anyone, although I heard voices coming from the kitchen, and more cars were parked in the driveway. Nick had originally put my suitcase in a bedroom with his bag, but I’d moved it to the room I used to stay in, still too embarrassed to share a bed with Nick at his grandmother’s house. And maybe it was better that way. Plans were good and all, but I didn’t entirely trust myself to behave, which was why I had to talk to Mia. I needed to hear someone tell me I was right in refusing to give Nick another chance. Mia couldn’t stand Nick, so she was a safe bet.

Inside my room, I shut the door and pulled down the shade. After peeling off my wet running clothes, I draped them over a white wicker chair in the corner. Hopefully they’d dry before I had to pack them up again.

Someone, probably Nick, had thoughtfully placed two large sage green towels on the bed, and I wrapped one around me, dug my phone out of my purse, and lowered myself onto the bed.

Creak.

Noisy as ever. Good.

I had a few more text messages from Angelina, which I ignored, and one from Mia asking me to call her. Wrinkling my nose, I faced the fact that I had to tell her what I was doing if I wanted her advice.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Thank God. I’ve had the weirdest feeling all day that something is not right with you. Is everything OK?”

I sighed. Mia and I had such a great connection. I should have been honest with her from the start.

“Everything’s fine. But I have to confess something.”

“You took that party.”

“I took that party.”

She sighed. “I knew it. Look, I’m going to be very Zen about this. Lucas says I have to let this go because I’m leaving and you’re here and I trust you. So I’m going to breathe and relax and say, you’ve got this, Coco. Because you better fucking have this.”

“I do, I swear. It’s going to be great. But I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh, God. What?”

“Relax, it’s nothing bad.” I shut my eyes and sighed. “Actually, it is bad. Or it could be. I don’t know.”

“Out with it already, you’re killing me!”

“OK. It involves Nick Lupo.”

Silence.

“Mia?”

“I knew this was coming. The moment he walked into The Green Hour, I knew it.”

“He told me he saw you. He likes Lucas.”

“Yeah, Lucas likes him too, much to my outraged dissatisfaction. He says we shouldn’t judge people by their pasts.”

“He’s a good person. We’re not.”

“Ha. OK, so you ran into Nick Lupo.”

“There’s more to it than that…” I told her about Angelina’s insistence on having Nick at her party, about seeing him again at the restaurant, about drinks at the bar, and the bargain that included spending the weekend together.

“Oh no. Oh God. Tell me you said no.”

“Ummmm…I’m at his grandmother’s farm right now.”

“Coco!”

I touched my fingers to one temple. “Just let me get this out, OK? Because there’s more to this than you think. More than you know. We didn’t simply break up seven years ago…we actually got married.”

Silence.

“Are you there?”

“I’m here. I’m just…in shock. You guys got married? For real?”

“Yes. But it was a mistake.” I squeezed my eyes shut, took a deep breath, and told her the whole story, from the first drop of whiskey we drank the night he proposed to the last tears I cried in that hotel room.

“Oh my God, Coco! All these years, and you never told me! I can’t believe it—you’re
horrible
at keeping secrets!”

“This was more than a secret. It was a terrible, embarrassing, painful mistake. And I just wanted to bury it. I wanted to go to Paris, forget him, forget everything. And it kind of worked.”

“No wonder he kept asking for your contact information—and no wonder you told me not to give it to him. Jesus, Coco. You poor thing! I’m so sorry you went through that alone. You should have told me! I would have been there for you!”

“I got over it, eventually. Being in Paris helped.”

“Yes…Paris is magical.”

I had to smile—Paris was where Mia and Lucas met. “I could use another spell. Turns out I wasn’t as over him as I thought I was.”

“Of course not. Like I said, I knew this would happen as soon as he came to town. You two cannot be within a fifty-mile radius of each other without feeling it. Like a magnetic field or something.”

“We’re definitely still attracted to each other, that’s for sure. And he told me this afternoon he’s still in love with me. And I think…” I swallowed and forced the words out. “I think I might be falling for him again too. Actually, I know I am.”

“Coco. Listen to me.” Mia’s tone was serious. “You cannot take him back. What he did was unforgivable!”

“But he apologized.” I told her about the conversation in the lake. Her gasps and squeals of indignation told me she was as angry as I was about his lies and faulty logic.

“He said what?”

I got off the bed and wandered to the dresser, running my thumbnail along its varnished edge. “He said he did it for me. He said he thought he was doing the right thing, and that afterward he was sorry.” I slammed my eyes shut. What the hell was I doing? Defending Nick? Hadn’t I called Mia so she could reassure me I was doing the right thing by
not
getting back together with him?

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” she said angrily. “Sorry is for ‘oops, I stepped on your foot’ or ‘whoops, I forgot your birthday.’ Sorry is not for leaving your wife on your wedding night.”

“I know. And he knows.” Turning around, I leaned back against the dresser. “He said not a day goes by that he doesn’t think about me and regret what he did. He called me the love of his life.”

“Tough!” she exploded. “You were the love of his life then, too. It’s not like he just realized this. He told me you were the love of his life when he begged me for your address in Paris. He just didn’t tell me you were his wife, too.”

“He never said it to me before. About being the love of his life. And then I didn’t give him the chance.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Do you think he’s the love of yours?”

“I don’t know. What if he is? What if we’re supposed to be together?”

“Oh God. Do you have a
feeling
about this or something?”

“I thought I did. But then we talked about the past and I got mad and hurt all over again.”

“Have you forgiven him?”

“I told him I did.”

“But do you?”

I closed my eyes, feeling heaviness in all my limbs. “No. I don’t. But I still love him,” I said helplessly. “Because he’s sweet and funny and hot and he knows me so well. He understands me. And he’s
so good
at sex.”

“But he lies. And he’s a flirt. And he left you.” She sighed. “Your list was longer than mine.”

“I know nobody’s perfect,” I said. “And he’s not the same person he was back then. I’m not either.”

“OK then…What would it take for you to forgive him?”

I lifted my shoulders. “I honestly don’t know. But if I can’t figure it out, there’s no hope for happily ever after. I love him, but I don’t want to be in a relationship that’s poisoned from the start by resentment and distrust. How do I know he won’t do something like that again?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I guess you’ll have to do a little soul searching and see if there’s any way he can earn your trust again.” She exhaled loudly. “Look, I haven’t been Nick’s biggest fan over the years, but I do believe that he loved you. Maybe he still does. And I also know that love involves taking risks without being able to know for sure how things turn out. But mostly, Coco, I know this—you deserve that happily ever after.”

I smiled, closing my eyes against tears. “Thanks. I love you.”

“I love you too. It’s going to be all right.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t, not for sure.” She laughed gently. “But I’ve got a feeling.”

Nick was already down in the kitchen singing along to Frank Sinatra by the time I hung up with Mia and scurried down the hall to the guest bathroom. I took a shower, washed my hair, and put on the other sundress I’d brought, a navy and white chevron print with camisole straps. Since I wasn’t sure who else might be staying in the guest rooms, I didn’t want to monopolize the bathroom blow drying my hair in there, so I plugged my dryer in behind the dresser in my bedroom and used the mirror hanging above it. There was a row of family pictures on top of the dresser—Noni and Nick’s grandpa, who’d died before I met Nick, in a shot from maybe fifteen years ago; Nick and a whole gaggle of cousins sitting on the front porch steps eating popsicles; and a wedding photo from the nineteen forties. I could tell the era because of the Victory rolls in the women’s hair, the cut of the bride’s dress and the wide ties on the men. It was clearly a Lupo family photo, but I didn’t recognize anyone in particular, not even a young Noni. Although, wait a minute…I turned off the dryer and picked up the photo frame to study it more closely. Standing to the right of the bride and groom was a middle-aged couple that looked familiar, and the woman was so short I knew in a heartbeat who it was—Nick’s great-grandparents, Papa Joe and Tiny.

I couldn’t help smiling as I looked at them. I loved the way they held hands, the way his body was inclined slightly toward hers in a way that was both tender and protective. And her red lips—loved those red lips.

I set the photo down and picked up the dryer again. Although it was noisy, I could still hear Nick as well as some others singing down in the kitchen. I shook my head—they were such a loud, rambunctious bunch. I remembered feeling overwhelmed the first few times I attended Lupo family functions. Their boisterous Sunday dinners (which took all day) were so different from my family’s sedate, relaxed meals, served promptly at six, done by seven, everyone on their way home by eight. I mean, Nick’s family was relaxed too—they were just noisier about it. But they were more fun, too. I’d always loved his family.

Grinning at a particularly off-key rendition of “Fly Me to the Moon” (I’d bet money someone was dancing down there too), I thought how surprised they would be to see me again.

Coco, what are you doing here?

I’m fucking the cook. How’ve you been?

Marveling at the absurd turn my life had taken, I went over to my suitcase and unzipped the side pocket to look for my curling iron.

That’s when I noticed my birth control pills.

My jaw dropped and I sucked in my breath— I’d forgotten to take one last night! Fingers fumbling, I hastily popped out the one for Friday, shoved it into my mouth and raced down the hall to the bathroom, sticking my head under the faucet and gulping noisily. When I’d swallowed it, I wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist and straightened slowly. In the mirror over the sink, I saw flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, scared doe eyes. My heart thundered in my chest.

I closed my eyes. God, how could I have been so stupid? We’d used a condom at Nick’s place the first time, but after that, I’d assured him it was OK to go without one. Today at the house I’d thought about the one big pregnancy scare we’d had in college, and I
still
hadn’t realized I’d forgotten a pill!

Damn you, Nick Lupo. You’re making me crazy.

A sweat broke out on my back and I realized I’d forgotten to put on deodorant too.
Christ, Coco, anything else you overlooked?
I checked to make sure I was actually wearing clothes before darting back into my room and applying copious amounts of Secret Invisible Solid in Fresh Scent under each arm. Boy, this stuff would have to work overtime tonight—I was sweating like crazy.

In case it helped improve the strength or something, I took Saturday night’s pill right then too— somehow doubling up seemed like a good idea. In my mind I saw Lupo family pictures with bazillions of kids and babies in them—the family was prolific, no doubt about that. Jesus, Nick probably had some kind of superpower sperm that would easily overtake my lame efforts at doubling up. My stomach churned as I imagined little tadpole-shaped things throwing a huge bash in my fallopian tubes right now, laughing at my attempts to thwart their objective and impede their mission.

With shaking hands and a queasy gut—wait, was that morning sickness? God help me—I finished my hair and makeup in a daze and slipped on my flats, trying to think where I was in my cycle. OK, the last week of pills, so that wasn’t too dangerous, was it? Wasn’t it the beginning or middle that was more critical? I was too scared to look it up.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was
so
my fault. And now I had to tell Nick. Not in the middle of Noni’s dinner, though. That seemed like bad manners. I’d wait until tomorrow.

My legs were unsteady as I descended the stairs, and I held on tight to the railing. The voices from the kitchen and parlor got louder, and I admonished myself to put a smile on my face and act natural.
Pull yourself together! You’ve missed pills before, right?

Yes, but never after having unprotected sex—or right before. I double whammied myself!

Nick double whammied me!

I reached the bottom of the steps and put a hand over my belly, praying—no, begging God—not to be pregnant. Then, plastering a smile on my face, I walked into the kitchen.

#

Nick’s family was surprised to see me again, but they were gracious and kind and made me feel welcome, as always. His mother in particular hugged me hard and said how nice it was to see me again. At dinner, I sat between Nick and his sister Katie, who’d recently gotten engaged and had a million questions about weddings. I tried to answer them all, but mostly I fretted about pregnancy and stuffed my face. Some girls, like Mia, can’t eat when they’re anxious about something, but not me. I gobble my way through anxiety like a lawnmower, and I fuel it with booze.

Setting my fork down with a clank, I reached for my wine. No, wait, I shouldn’t have alcohol, right? Fuck

I picked up my fork again, hoping no one noticed that I took not only seconds but thirds. In addition to what Nick and Noni cooked, everyone had brought a dish, and the counter was loaded with platters heaped with food. There was antipasto and Caesar salad and stuffed shells and linguine with arrabiata and grilled lamb with rosemary and braciole and bread—homemade loaves of Italian bread, golden and flaky on the outside, soft and white on the inside. It didn’t need butter but I slathered it on anyway, nearly moaning aloud at the first bite. Maybe I did, because while I was chewing Nick leaned over to whisper in my ear.

“Wow. You eating for two?” He poked me in the side.

I froze, swallowed, and reached for my water glass without commenting. Without even looking at him.

“I’m kidding, Coco. I love your appetite. It totally turns me on.”

Not
what I needed to do right now.

After dinner, we lit candles on the cake, sang to Noni, and I took a family picture with everyone standing around her. They had to squeeze in tight and I had to back way up to get all twenty-eight family members present into the frame, but I managed to get a decent one on Nick’s phone. A funny feeling came over me as I scanned their faces—if things had gone differently years ago, maybe I’d have been in the picture instead of taking it. Maybe I’d have been happy about a potential pregnancy instead of terrified.

Nick reached for his phone and handed it to Katie. “Hey, will you take one of Coco and me?”

“Sure.” She smiled at me. “How cute that you guys are back together again.”

“Oh, we’re not really tog— “ I started to say, but Nick put an arm around my shoulders and clamped a hand over my mouth.

“Thanks. We are cute, aren’t we?”

Katie snapped the shot just as I turned my head to glare at him, his hand still over my mouth. “Oops. Want another?”

Nick took the phone and burst out laughing. “No, actually. That’s perfect.”

#

Having to choose between a slice of Noni’s pie or Nick’s chocolate cake or his mother’s cannolis or any of the other treats laid out for dessert was pure torture.

“Go for the cake,” Nick whispered from behind me. “There’s only one and everyone will want a piece.”

I took a piece of cake, a napkin, and a fork and followed Nick into the parlor, where one of his aunts was pouring coffee. Balancing my cake plate on my knee, I nodded when she asked if I’d like a cup. Then I remembered.

“Oh, wait—is it decaf?”

She looked at me a little funny. “I think it is.

Should I make sure?”

“Uh, no. That’s OK. I’ll pass.”

She smiled and moved on to the next person, but she glanced back at me one more time. I pretended not to notice her gaze go to my middle, although it nearly made me want to cry. My throat squeezed shut.

Cake. Just eat the cake. Think about nothing but cake.

Actually, that was pretty easy to do, once I took the first bite. Nick’s chocolate cake was the kind of delicious that would make even those annoying people who say
I’m not a dessert person
trample old ladies and small children to get the last piece. The frosting—what the hell was in it? I’d watched him make it, hadn’t I? Was it vanilla? It tasted almost like a marshmallow but I hadn’t seen any marshmallows on the counter. And how did he get it to stiffen into those delightful little peaks that gave the texture a hint of a crunch?

Then there was the actual cake. I’d tasted the batter and thought that was orgasmically good, so I wasn’t surprised to discover it was even better baked and frosted. Plus every bite reminded me of Nick in the kitchen—and not just the sex. I loved sitting at the island and watching him work, loved how much he enjoyed it, how easy things had felt between us last night. Why did things have to be so complicated? Nick was like that miraculous pair of platform heels that somehow manages to be wickedly sexy and yet comfy too. Would I never have that sexy, comfortable feeling with anyone else? How cruel that it was our history giving our friendship that ease, and yet it was that very thing preventing me from trusting him.

But now there was a new wrinkle. If I was pregnant, Nick and I needed to have a pretty serious discussion about where to go from here. I wanted to know so badly, but it was too soon to take a test, wasn’t it? I had to wait until I missed a period, right? Quickly I counted the days—I should get my period on Tuesday next week. Maybe there was a test I could take a couple days early.

“Coco?” Nick’s voice came through a fog.

“I’m sorry, what?” I hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation at all.

“Are you OK?” He spoke so quietly no one could hear, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve gone really pale all of a sudden.”

Oh God, was pallor a sign of pregnancy? It was, wasn’t it?

“Nick.” My anxiety trumped my manners. “I have to tell you something. In private.”

Taking the empty plate from my lap, he stood and offered me a hand. I rose—crap, was the waist of my dress tight or was I imagining things?

Stop it. That’s a braciole baby, not an actual baby.

Nick led the way into the kitchen, where he put our dishes in the sink, before taking my hand and tugging me out the back door. As soon as it shut behind us, he turned to me, his brow furrowed. “What’s up?”

“I—I did something stupid.” I swallowed, unable to get the rest of the words out, and twisted my fingers together.

“You did?” He planted his feet wide and crossed his arms. Even in the twilight, I could see the confusion in his face. “So tell me. It can’t be that bad.”

“Yes it can.” I took a shaky breath, feeling a sob working its way up. “I forgot to take a pill last night.”

His eyes went wide. “
That
pill?”

I nodded slowly. “
That
pill,” I whispered, my eyes filling with tears. “And I’m scared.”

“Oh, cupcake.” Nick gathered me in his arms and held me tight to his chest. “It’s OK. Come on. Let’s go for a drive.”