How to Look Happy (21 page)

He sits back down on my couch—no, sinks there, really, as if he simply doesn’t have the power to stand and is lucky there’s something solid behind him to hold him up. His eyes are wide and scared as he looks up at me, like a bewildered little boy who’s lost his mother in the crowd. I feel my anger grow duller by the tiniest degree, but I still don’t make a move toward him. Simon’s head has been swiveling back and forth between us, his little body following it, but finally he gives up and plops down on the shag rug. He expels a loud, sharp breath and places his head on his paws.

We both look at him, and then I look back at Jeremy, my rage boiling down to a low simmer.

Jeremy sighs. “Can you just sit down for a minute?” he says, his eyes pleading with me.

I study him for a couple seconds, unsure what to feel or do. Finally, I nod once, briskly, and force my feet to move forward but not toward him. Instead I veer left toward Simon and sink onto the carpet beside him. I slide my fingers into the soft fur at his collar, and he lifts his head and drops his chin onto my leg.

“What is it, Jeremy? What do you want?” My voice is weary but not nearly as beaten down and defeated as I feel.

When he talks, his voice is muffled, and I look up and see that it’s because his face is in his hands, and his fingers are pressed into his cheeks and mouth. It sounds like he says, “I’m a doughnut too.”

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head, and I can see that he’s in as much agony as I am. And this confuses me, because shouldn’t he be the one of us who’s happy? He’s the one who got out, who got what he wanted with someone he feels more than “complacent” to be with. He’s the one whose life is moving forward, away from mine.

He moves his hands, and suddenly he stands and begins pacing around the room. My eyes follow his movement, wary, and Simon lifts his head.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says, his fingers going to the bridge of his nose again.

“What do you mean?” I ask, genuinely confused. “You said Brianna is pregnant. Shouldn’t you be happy? Aren’t you getting married?”

Call me old-fashioned, but that was the assumption that landed in my head. He stares at me like I’m a hologram beamed in from the 1950s.

“No!” he bellows, sounding not at all like the Jeremy I know. “I mean, I don’t know. Shit.” He’s pacing again, faster now.

“God, could you
be
any more commitment phobic?” At least now I know it’s not just me.

He stops walking then and looks at me. “This was a bad idea,” he says. He shifts his body slightly toward the door. “I should go.”

I close my eyes for a long moment and then say, “No. Wait.” He looks down at me, and I think how unfair it is that he’s coming to me expecting answers or reassurance or comfort. I guess I’ve always been in this role for him. It was always Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy, and I pushed myself and my own needs aside.
What does Jeremy want? What can I do to make Jeremy comfortable?
I start to feel sorry for Brianna. She didn’t pick an easy man to trap.

I sigh, and he begins to pace again. “Tell me what happened,” I say. “Start at the beginning. When did you find out she’s pregnant?”

“This morning,” he says. He stops and looks down at me, his expression guarded. “About ten minutes before I texted you.”

I open my mouth slightly and then close it again, not sure what to do with that. “Oh…kay,” I say. “How did she tell you, and what did you say?” I hold up my hand. “Wait. First, can I assume this pregnancy wasn’t planned?”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t want kids, Jenny. What do you think?”

I raise my eyebrows to hide the fact that these words dropkick me right in the gut. Boy, how well I know this. The words make me feel happy for the first time since he got here. Happy that he ended things before I put on a white dress and waltzed into a fairy tale of misery.

My hand is mechanically scratching Simon behind his ears and around his collar, and he wiggles onto his back so I can reach his belly. He feels like my anchor in this storm. Maybe
that’s
why Jeremy brought him.
No, that would require thinking about someone other than himself.
I stifle a snort, and Jeremy looks at me expectantly.

I shake my head. “What does Brianna want?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve told her I’m not ready to get married. I just ended my engagement, for God’s sake.” He at least has the decency to look abashed as he says this.

“But what does
she
want?” I guide him, thinking,
It’s all about him
. Again. Of course.

“Well, she didn’t say she wanted an abortion.” He perches on the edge of the large white ottoman in front of my fireplace and stares off into space for several seconds. “I don’t know.” He looks at me. “I didn’t really ask her. But I guess I can assume she wants what all of you want.” He looks down at his fist, which I realize contains the ring.
My
ring.

“Did you come here to insult me or just abuse me for your own amusement?” I ask dryly, and he looks at me like he’s forgotten I was here.

He shakes his head again. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I guess this isn’t fair to you.”
You think??
“I just…” He pauses for a long moment. “You’re my best friend, Jenny. I…I don’t know who else to talk to about this.”

I close my eyes, and when I open them, there are tears in them again, but this time I manage to stop them from escaping to my cheeks. “Brianna,” I say, looking directly at him. “The person you need to talk to about this is Brianna.”

I scramble to my feet, causing Simon to do the same. I look down at him sadly.

“I think you should go,” I say. He reaches an arm out to me as if to protest, and I hold up one hand and say, “I don’t mean to be mean, and I don’t want to fight with you, but things are over between us.
You
ended them. You can’t get rid of me and then expect to keep the parts of me you need, whenever you need them. It’s all or nothing.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“It does, though.” I’m not sure where this strength is coming from, but I feel somehow that I have Candace Greenlee and Jeremy himself—all the people who have screwed me over in recent months—to thank for it.
I want my fire back.

I bend down and pick up Simon, and I squeeze him to me, presumably for one last time. I kiss him on the top of the head and then walk with him over to Jeremy, who looks as if somebody or something just knocked the wind out of his chest. As I hand over Simon, my arms brush his, but this time I don’t feel any electricity. Instead I just feel numb. There’s no painful twinge of desire, no familiarity or warmth, no sense that the man in front of me is mine.

“You’re going to be a father,” I say to him and watch his features twist with anguish at the words. “I’m sure it’s going to take time to process it, but that’s the one thing in all of this that isn’t going to change, no matter what you do.”

I step aside, and he walks woodenly toward the door. “Good luck,” I call after him softly, watching Simon’s furry snout poke around Jeremy’s arm, straining back to me.

“Oh,” Jeremy says, stopping short. He turns around, and I’m thinking,
What now?

He looks down at Simon and then up at me. “I also came here to ask you—” His face looks torn with indecision. “Do you want… I mean, can you…can you keep Simon? He’s pretty miserable cooped up in the condo, and…” He pauses to sigh. “It turns out Brie is allergic.”

I gape at him. “Are you kidding?” I rush forward to take him as Jeremy bends down to set him on the floor, and his cheek grazes mine. I step back as if I’ve been burned.

Jeremy pauses for a long moment, looking at me, and then before I can stop him, he pulls me to him for a tight, intimate-feeling hug. At first my body is stiff as I strain against him, but then I relax and let him have this moment of closure. I’m relieved to realize I still feel nothing, nothing at all, even as his body presses into the length of mine. To my shock and his, I feel him grow hard against my hip. We pull away from each other at the same moment, and he reaches for the doorknob, avoiding my eyes.

“I’ve got a box of Simon’s stuff in the car,” he mumbles. “I’ll leave it on the porch where you left my stuff.”

“Okay,” I say, still mortified. “And Jeremy?” He’s on the porch now and glances back at me. “Thank you,” I say. “And I meant it when I said good luck. I hope everything works out for you.”

He nods tersely and bends down to pick up the box I’ve left for him, and I turn to go inside to hug my dog, still in disbelief that I have him back. I think about Brianna, whom I’ve only ever seen in Facebook photos. She’s dark-haired and petite, with curly hair and small, precise teeth that show gum when she smiles. She’s my physical opposite, and judging by the way she’s taken Jeremy’s life and turned it inside out in a matter of two months, she’s my opposite in other ways, as well.

I don’t think he even knew what was hitting him.

Safety First

Wednesday afternoon I leave my meeting with Chick Emerson and Annalise Kustoff, the artist whose work we’re officially hanging in Sweeties’ study room. Annalise was totally excited, and Chick’s already run with my idea to hold an art opening fund-raiser at the bakery’s kick-off event. The next step is for me to make a visit to Annalise’s Midtown studio to select paintings, and then I’ll need to call Todd to schedule an installation date.

My stomach does a roundoff back handspring at the thought of it, which is utterly ridiculous. I push thoughts of my age-inappropriate art installer out of my mind and focus instead on the other super-exciting news I received today—Amelia and Noah signed a contract on the house. It’s a 1920s Tudor Revival cottage, though its square footage makes “cottage” seem like an inaccurate description. They’re set to close in four weeks, which means in exactly four weeks my workload will double. Amelia called me Monday morning and asked if I could meet them for the inspection before they signed the contract, and so I squeezed in time for that this morning.

It’s a huge project, and considering Amelia’s fame, sure to be high-profile. I can’t
wait
to tell Candace, because there’s no way she can steal this one from me. Plus, I’m excited at the thought of working closely with my old friend.

I’m sliding behind the steering wheel of my car when my phone chimes with a new text. I reach over to slip it out of my bag and see that the name on the screen is Brandon.
Crap.
He messaged me on Facebook last night about going out again Saturday, and I’ve been undecided on how to answer him.

On for this weekend?
the text reads.

I start my engine and begin to back out of my parking space so I have an excuse not to text him back. Can’t text while driving, after all. As I turn onto Cooper Street toward Union, I think it over. I’m completely torn. On one hand, Brandon is attractive and fun, and we have a history together that means we can skip some of that awkward getting-to-know-each-other part of dating. Plus, my body practically vibrates when I think about that kiss on my front porch last Friday night, how I’d simultaneously wanted and not wanted to invite him in.

But on the other hand, I know from personal experience that Brandon is fickle and selfish and overly ambitious, and after seven years of Jeremy, those aren’t qualities I need in a boyfriend.

But he’s not asking to be your boyfriend, Jen.
He’s in a rebound place just like I am. And it really
has
been a long time since I’ve had sex…

My body is thrumming again, and I’m in a great mood after my successful meeting. So I think,
Eh, what the hell.
I’m parked at a red light waiting to turn left on Union, so I hook my Bluetooth over my ear and click his name on my phone. It barely rings before he answers.

“Wow, a phone call. That’s so old-fashioned of you.”

I laugh. “I’m driving. Safety first.”

“So, what do you think?” he says. “Want to go out Saturday?”

I hedge for one last second. “Where do you have in mind?”

“Well, actually…” he says, drawing it out. “I have two tickets for Jersey Boys at the Orpheum Saturday. I was thinking we could get sushi first and then go to the show.”

Well, that settles it.
“You had me at sushi,” I say. That date is so up my alley it seems custom crafted for me. I wonder if he knows this and is using it to set the seduction scene.

It’s working.

“Awesome.” I can hear a smile in his voice. “Pick you up at your place at, like, six?”

“That sounds good.”

“I’ll see you then.”

*  *  *

I’m back in the chair in my office fifteen minutes later, my head down as I immerse myself in renderings for the Rasmutin condo project. My meeting with Amanda is tomorrow morning, which doesn’t give me much turnaround time for detailed plans. I don’t have time to search for specific items, but I have a firm-enough picture in my head of what I want to do that I can go into the meeting with a few sketches. I imagine she’s in the same boat.

It’s going to be another long night in the office because I also have to revisit my storyboard for the Santiago project today. I presented to them yesterday afternoon, and they liked most of my ideas but not all of them. I need to hunt down a couple more options for living room seating and pick new fabrics to replace two that Nestor nixed. Chelsea is a silent partner on this project—it’s her husband who’s running the show, and she’s demurring to his ideas, which is fine by me. Much easier than serving as referee.

They’re hiring me for four rooms—the living room, a family room off the kitchen, and their master bedroom and bath. The scope of the project isn’t quite as big as I’d originally thought, which is a relief. With Brewster, Rasmutin, and now Amelia and Noah, I have enough work to keep me burning the midnight oil through the summer and into autumn.

Speaking of autumn, I learned this morning that Candace has also enlisted Rachael to travel with her to High Point Market in October instead of me, which didn’t bother me as much as I’d thought it would. I’ve grown accustomed to this new place my boss has put me in, and on some level I’m grateful for it—it gives me more time to focus on my clients. I also have a foreboding sense that, in time, I’ll learn why she’s making these moves, and I’m dreading that day—I don’t think her reasons will be pleasant. Somehow in my mind it’s all tied up with Brewster and with Aubrey’s suspicions and with Candace’s guerilla warfare, and frankly, I don’t have time to play her games.

It’s just after 4:30, and I’ve moved on from the condo project to the Santiagos’ house when Ellie Kate makes a strange sound at her desk. Candace now knows that she’s not planning to return to work after the baby comes, so she’s been working to close out her current projects and transfer her client files over to the rest of us.

She’s closing in on her due date and has been pulling long hours—probably longer than she should be at this late stage in her pregnancy.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, jumping up from my desk chair the same time as Brice, who’s folding fabrics at the worktable. Ellie Kate is standing but hunched over as much as her bulging stomach will allow. Her desk chair, which pushed out behind her when she stood, is still rolling back slowly on its casters.

When I reach her side, I see that there’s a puddle at her feet on the hardwood floor. “Holy crap.”

“Holy crap is right,” Ellie Kate pants. “This baby is comin’.”

Brice is flying into action. “Can I drive you, or should I call an ambulance?” He pulls her chair back over for her to sit, but she waves him off.

“Bathroom.” She points in its direction, and he grabs her elbow and helps her there. “I want to get cleaned up,” she says. “And then you can drive me.”

“Girl, I can tell you’ve done this before,” he says with a hysterical-sounding laugh. “I’d be freaking the hell out if I were you, but you’re calm as a Zen fountain.”

She pauses outside the ladies’ room door and places one hand on the door frame, hunching down again. “I…don’t…know about that,” she says. “I’m already…having…another…contraction.” Her eyes are squeezed shut. After a few more seconds she adds, “The last one was a minute and a half ago.” She looks up at Brice with a glaze of panic in her eyes. “Can you go ahead and get your car?” Her voice is tight, all her words running together.

He nods, eyes big as her belly, and runs for the front door. Meanwhile, Carson has left her post at the reception desk, and her head is swiveling back and forth between Ellie Kate and me.

“What can I do?” I ask.

Ellie Kate’s face is scrunched with pain, but in about ten seconds it clears, and she says, “Ah. It’s over.” Her forehead is covered with a sheen of sweat, and considering that my pulse is beating about a thousand times a minute, I can only imagine how she feels. “I thought they were Braxton Hicks,” she says. “I’ve been having contractions all morning, but I didn’t think much of them.”

I shake my head, wondering how in the world a pregnant woman can brush off a thing like contractions. But then again, Ellie Kate’s done this once before, and I’ve done it nada.

“Matt!” I call out. “Want me to call him?” I pause. “What about anybody else? Your parents?”

She points to her desk. “My phone,” she says. She looks at me. “Yes, please call Matt, and let him know to meet me at Methodist Germantown. Hopefully this girl’ll hold on until we get there. I really don’t want Brice to deliver my baby.”

I giggle hysterically and go for the phone on her desk as Carson asks, “Chloe? Will Matt work that out? Who’s going to keep her tonight?”

Ellie Kate slaps a hand to her forehead. “Oh, God. Matt’s mom and dad are in Seaside all this week. And my parents have to drive up from Vicksburg.” She pats her belly. “You sure picked a heck of a time, baby girl.”

Carson glances at me. “Tell Matt I’ve got her,” she says. And then she looks at Ellie Kate. “She can stay with Auntie Carson tonight. Jordyn will love it.”

Both of us stare at her, impressed. Carson’s been with the firm for about a year and a half, I think, and she’s hard to get to know. But the longer I’ve been around her, the more I’ve grown to like her.

“Oh, God bless you,” Ellie Kate says as Matt answers the phone. I quickly explain things to him, with Ellie Kate looking on.

“He’s asking if you’re sure you don’t want to call an ambulance,” I say.

She shakes her head. “I want to leave
now
.” I nod and tell him that as Carson pops her head around the front partition and then calls back, “Brice is out front.”

I rush to Ellie Kate’s side and so does Carson, and together we each take an arm and help her through the front doors and into Brice’s car. She insists on finding something to sit on so she doesn’t mess up his car seat, so I run inside and grab an ugly fabric remnant that’s been on our back shelf for years. I run outside and spread it over the seat with a plastic Walgreens bag underneath. I don’t know how on earth she’s acting so calm.

“Y’all are so awesome,” Ellie Kate says. “Thank y—”

But Brice is revving the engine impatiently, and Carson closes the car door before Ellie Kate can finish her sentence. I spend the next half hour trying to stop shaking, watching my cell phone for news from Brice, and praying they make it there in time.

*  *  *

It’s 8:30 before I even think about leaving the office, and by then Ellie Kate’s already welcomed Gracie Klein Keller into the world. I spoke to her myself, and she sounded amazingly coherent and upbeat. Apparently after you’ve given birth once, it tends to happen faster on subsequent go-rounds. At any rate, she had a smooth delivery, and she and Brice arrived at the hospital with time to spare—before Matt even arrived.

I shut down my laptop and stuff what I need into my canvas bag, but before I stand up I decide to complete one more task. I pull out my phone and scroll through my contact list until I see Todd Birnham’s name. Is it strange that my fingers are shaking as I go to click on his number?

He answers after four rings. I’m preparing to leave a voicemail message when I hear, “Hello?”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Hi! Um, this is—”

“Jen,” he says. “Yeah, I’ve got you programmed in my phone. Great to hear from you.”

Is it also strange that I’m blushing? “Um, yeah,” I say. “You’re in my phone too. I mean, from the project at Sandra’s house and all.”
Word vomit
. OMG, why do I come so unglued around this guy? I shake my head and try to get it together. “I, uh, I’m calling to find out if you’re available for an upcoming project. Of mine. You know, another installation.”

Oh. My. Gawd.
I am a babbling idiot.

“Sure,” he says, either not getting the fact that I sound like a moron or politely ignoring it. “When did you have in mind?”

I explain the Sweeties project to him briefly. “I was thinking you could maybe come with me when I pick out the artwork so you’ll know what supplies to bring on the day of the installation,” I say.

“That sounds great.”

We talk for a couple more minutes while I explain in more detail about the study room and the timeline for the grand opening. And then I hang up, feeling even more nervous about meeting Todd Friday morning than I do about my date with Brandon the next night.

Quit being silly
, I tell myself.
This is work, not a date.

But in my mind, I’m already trying to figure out what to wear.

*  *  *

By the time Friday morning rolls around, I feel like I’ve crammed a month’s worth of work into a single week. The hardest part of getting ready for my appointment with Todd—I mean, with Annalise—isn’t figuring out how to dress, but applying makeup to cover up the deep, dark circles under my eyes. I can just hear my mom now:
You need to take better care of yourself. Now, go and take a nice nap.

I smile to myself as I lock the door, bending down to ruffle the fur on Simon’s head after making sure he has enough food and water for the day. I’ve been coming home to check on him between appointments on long work days, and once this week I took him back to the office with me. Surprisingly, Candace has a pet-friendly policy in the studio. Brice sometimes brings his dog Spencer to work, and Candace’s former business partner, Caroline, brought her toy poodle Draper—named after Dorothy Draper, a design industry icon—into the studio every Friday before she and Draper moved to France.