Man of My Dreams (7 page)

“Um, Daddy, this is Declan?” My swollen lips curl into a frightened smile.

Declan releases me and gulps back what I think must be fear. My dad is a big guy, intimidating even. And the look on his face right now is everything but amused.
Oh God, what a great first impression.
The rest of the week is sure to be determined by this one uncomfortable instance.

“Hi, um, Sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Declan outstretches his hand to shake my dad’s. I’m shocked it’s not a trembling hand.

After a painful moment of weighted stares and deafening silence my dad’s expression softens.
Oh dear Lord, thank you.
He wraps his massive hand around Declan’s, probably crushing bones, and definitely giving warning that those hands shouldn’t be groping his daughter in his presence. “Pleasure’s all mine, son. We’re happy you’re here, just try and refrain from…well, no more of the funny business while I’m in ear shot. Got it?”

Grace is giggling again, but I’m mortified and I’m pretty sure Declan is too. I guess this could have gone a lot worse, so I’ll take what I can get, embarrassing warning and all.

Grace pushes her way in between my dad and Declan, extending her own hand, but then bombarding him with a hug. “Don’t worry about Mr. P here. He’s a big Teddy bear. It’s Mrs. P you have to worry about,” she winks, patting my dad on his rather large arm.

My dad lets out a deep, husky laugh, agreeing with her, “Grace’s right. Lucy’s quite the hard ass. I’m surprised she’s letting you stay with us, Declan. Maybe the woman’s finally lightening up in her old age.”

“I can get a hotel room nearby if it will make everyone more comfortable. I wouldn’t want to intru…”

My father cuts Declan off before he can finish, “Nonsense. Any man who makes my daughter this happy is welcome here. I was only busting chops anyway…she’s been baking all day. Can’t wait to feast her eyes on the guy who reigned in her rowdy teenage drama queen.”

“Daaaad.” I huff out, rolling my eyes.

“Welcome to the crazy, Declan.” Grace drapes one arm around my neck, attempting to do the same to Declan. When she realizes she can’t reach, she just ushers him along in-between the two of us.

After dinner, which Grace snuck herself into, we sit in the living room, my dad surfing the sports channels, my mom still perfecting her kitchen to Spic and Span clean. Grace lingers, waiting for an invitation to the unmade plans of the evening.

“Hey, Grace, you and Mia want to bring me to the local hot spot tonight?” I’m taken aback by Declan’s unselfish offering. Not only is he hot, but he’s sweet too. What a keeper.

Grace looks thoroughly impressed, an appreciative grin plastered across her glowing face. “Really? You love birds wouldn’t mind me tagging along?”

I notice my dad has lowered the volume a few notches on the TV, trying, but failing not to seem too interested in our conversation. My eyes dart back and forth between my best friend and my boyfriend, in awe of how well they’re getting on. I guess I was silly to worry about Grace feeling left out, or Declan being stuck in the middle of a Grace-Mia-BFF time warp.

“So where will it be, ladies? What would you normally do if I weren’t here?”

Grace starts to blurt out her obvious answer, “Mia and I spent most weekends at The Roo…”

Is she flipping kidding?
“How about something low key?” I interrupt. “There’s glow-in-the-dark bowling after eleven. You guys up for bowling?” I throw an evil glare her way. There is no way I’m stepping foot in The Room again after last night. For one thing, what would I do if Noah was there again? I almost want to kill Grace for being such an idiot.

My father switches the channel again, settling on a baseball game caught in extra innings. I guess he’s done with his eavesdropping.

Grace mouths ‘sorry,’ realizing what she almost did.

And Declan just leans in closer, content with me in his arms and oblivious to any of the tension.

“If my girl wants to bowl tonight, then ugly ass shoes and glow in the dark bowling balls it is.”

Grace gives Declan an approving pat on the back, “You have a younger brother, Dec? I need me a guy like you.”

“Yes, but I don’t think you dating my fourteen year old brother would go over well with my parents.”

The three of us laugh and in this good-humored moment I am so happy with how this night of introductions has turned out.

“Either you’re too good to be true or you are the prince Mia’s been waiting for to carry her off into the sunset.” She smiles and then turns serious, pointing a finger in Declan’s face, “you better always be this good to her dude, or I’ll kill ya.”

It’s the one night of the year that I dread more than going to the dentist and the gynecologist
combined
: Declan’s office holiday party. Not only is it an effort to dodge the mean spirited “how’d you snag him” looks, but the idea of getting all dolled up to canoodle with some of the most boring people on earth— I cringe at the thought of a table full of Declan’s pretentious coworkers and their ditsy wives. It’s going to take a lot of alcohol and fake smiles to get through this night.

It still bewilders me how my free-spirited, guitar-slaying husband became an accountant. He’s good at what he does and he seldom complains because, oddly enough, he
likes
what he does, but it’s not like he fits in with the rest of the number crunchers. What right do I have to second guess his decision anyway? This gig allows me to stay home and raise my kids. When they are both in school full time in a few years I’ll probably go back to teaching, but for now I have Cohen, Marks, & Prussack, LLC to thank for being a hands-on witness to the precious first years of my babies’ lives.

As we walk into the swanky cocktail portion of the evening, Declan places his hand at the base of my back, leading me into the room. “Babe, you look beautiful. Thanks for doing this for me. I know how much you hate it.”

What an understatement!
“You’re welcome, Dec. You know I wouldn’t make you go stag to this thing. Besides, I need to learn the ropes from Missy and Nadine. You know, for when you make partner.”

It’s a sore subject and I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it, but Missy and Nadine are already arm in arm with matching glasses of bubbling champagne and sophisticated updos. Note to self: partner’s wives do chignons and pearls for major events such as these. I’m just not a chignon and pearl type of gal, but then again I didn’t think Declan was a suit and tie type of guy when I met him. And being partner at a prestigious accounting firm wasn’t exactly how I pictured him either.

“Partner? Please, that’s long off, Mia. Plus, I think these guys are jerking me around. This may be the last CMP holiday party you’ll ever have to endure. I’m tired of doing all the work without any of the credit.”

Yup, still a sore subject. Time to change it. “Babe, the kids are staying at your parents tonight, why don’t you get me a cosmo?”

“You sure? One too many of those and I won’t be able to trust that mouth of yours.”

“Exactly,” I wink at him, giving him an insinuating peck on the cheek.

He kisses me back and ushers me in the direction of an empty table. “I’ll be right back.”

I sit at the tiny table, which is covered in a black and white damask tablecloth. The elegant fabric is scattered with miniature crystal snowflakes that glisten in the dim lighting. Large vases stuffed with festive springs of holly create a winter wonderland centerpiece. A soothing string quartet plays a peaceful rendition of
Greensleeves.
It’s just the thing to get me in the holiday spirit.
Maybe this party won’t be so bad after all.

I look over to the bar and see that Phil Price has caught Declan’s ear. That can only mean—yup, I turn to my right and Phil’s wife is on her way over to my table.
Okay, I spoke too soon. This is back to being a shitty party.

Patricia Price is an irritating snob of a woman. It’s not only annoying that she has four
J Crew
catalogue looking kids, each of which has a first name starting with a
P
, but Patricia is so full of herself and her perfectly primped Price family that it’s hard to get a word in edgewise.

“Hiiii, Mia. Happy holidays.” She takes me in, outfit, hair, jewelry and make-up. “You look gorgeous. Where’d you get that dress? Mine is Vera, brand new, custom made, don’t you just love it?”

See what I mean?

I wish I had the cosmo to gulp down the bile rising in my throat, but I choke it down, cold turkey, and force a congenial smile. “Hello, Patricia. Yes, you look stunning. It must have cost a small fortune. Nothing but the best, right?”

She throws her head back laughing and sits down next to me, clutching my hand in her icy claw. “Oh, Mia. You know me too well. So how are Cara and Charlotte? Phillip Jr. is deciding on Princeton or Harvard for the fall, Petey’s science fair project is going to regionals, Penny’s dance company is going to nationals and Piper potty trained herself in three days.
Three
days. Can you believe it?”

Oh, I can believe it.
She’s trained them like robots from the womb. “Wow, that’s wonderful, Patricia. You must be so proud.” I don’t want to egg her on or feed her over-inflated ego, but I kind of want to know. “How do you manage all four with Phil’s crazy schedule? I mean, last month when Declan was away those five nights, I thought I was going to have to enlist Super Nanny to help me get through it.”

She purses her lips, squinting her shimmery, made-up eyes, “Oh silly, those kids are my life. I love our alone time. Don’t tell Phil this,” she leans down closer to whisper, “but sometimes I wish he would stay away a little longer. It gives me mommy-time with my babies. They’re growing too fast. Each day is precious.”

Oh yeah, leave it to Patricia Price, mother and wife of the year—eighteen years in a row. When I was younger, long before Declan and the kids, I had painted a pretty picture of the type of wife and mother I would be too. I envisioned June Cleaver—with edge. Everything would be perfect; I would be perfect. Home cooked meals every night, children with matching outfits and trendy hairstyles, a kitchen floor you could eat off of, and a very satisfied husband.
Yeah, not so much.
Life got in the way and instead of June Cleaver there are days I swear I’m more like Peg Bundy.

Declan is nothing like Al, thank God, but with these frequent week long business trips, managing the kids, not to mention all of the other responsibilities,
alone
is something I’m having a hard time mastering. “I don’t know, Patricia, you make it sound so easy. I like my mommy-time with the kids too, but I look forward to Declan coming home and giving me a hand at night. The girls adore him; their faces light up when he walks through that door after work. So when he’s away for five nights it takes a toll on us all.”

She sips her dirty martini with wincing eyes. “Why do you keep saying five nights? I’m pretty sure it was only four this last time. I guess it just felt longer for you, hun.”

Well, yes, it seemed like five months, but I’m positive it was five nights
.
“No, Patty, it was five. Declan called me the morning he was supposed to come home and said that Robert mandated them all to stay another night for a big presentation. Didn’t Phil have to stay too?”

Patricia shakes her head, squishing her perfectly shaped brows together.
Really? This is news to me.
I’m seething, thinking back to how Declan works his ass off without the proper recognition. Why was Phil exempt? Or anyone else, for that matter? Something’s not kosher and I just want to get to the bottom of it before I jump to any unnecessary conclusions. Either the company is screwing with Declan, or Declan is screwing with me.

Lucky for me, the guys are on their way over to us with our cocktails. Declan leans down and kisses Patty on the cheek, and Phil compliments me on my dress, but instead of responding with the customary, gracious ‘thank you,’ I jump right in for the kill. “Dec, Patricia here tells me that Phil wasn’t mandated to stay over that extra night last month. You told me the whole department had to stay.”

I’m paying really close attention to Declan’s body language right now. But it’s giving nothing away.

Mercifully, Phil’s does and he looks as confused as I feel. “Nope, I think you’re mixed up. Everyone packed up and went home Thursday night. We put in a lot of hours that week and we all couldn’t wait to get home to our families. Robert included. Declan, I watched you check out, didn’t I?”

There’s the body language I was looking for.
Declan glances at Phil with the look of death. If I could read his mind, and I’m almost positive I can right now, he’s telling Phil to shut the fuck up and quit while he’s ahead.

I stand up, unable to hide the hurt that threatens to pour out of me in the form of crying, shouting and overreacting. “I need some air.”

I try to remain calm as I rush out into the lobby, past yet another string quartet and a massive Victorian Christmas tree.
Screw Christmas right now!
I know I’m thinking the worst, but if the worst is what this is I might have a major meltdown in about five seconds.