Play Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) (30 page)

Brooke had the silly urge to stand in front
of her and cover things from view. Like the room was naked or
something. “I didn’t know you knew where I lived.”

“Christmas card.”

What was she looking for? “I’m sorry?” Brooke
wanted the woman’s eyes on her. Not on the room, hunting for
something in the midst.

“Your Christmas card return address, dear. I
wrote it down.” Nancy pulled at her scarf, taking a breath like the
thing had been a noose. “It’s lovely. Very quaint. Tasteful.”

“Thank you. Come in,” Brooke said. Clearly,
Nancy’s real agenda wasn’t going to be quick.

Millie’d be here soon. Remembering so did
wonders for her defenses. They relaxed, recalled the fact that this
woman was no longer her nosy, busybody mother-in-law, well-meaning
or not.

“I don’t have much to offer you. Water, diet
coke?”

“No, thank you. I can’t stay long. I have a
coffee cake to finish. You know, I left the batter right on the
counter. Oh dear.”

Brooke wasn’t sure she should leave Nancy
alone anyhow, so sat down, gesturing for Nancy to join her. “What
will you be serving tomorrow?” Brooke asked.

Nancy looked over, her eyes widened. She sat.
“Pot roast.” Her voice quaked. She pressed her hand over her mouth
and began to weep.

“My goodness, Nancy, what is it?” Brooke
scooted closer and went to hug her. “Don’t cry.”

Nancy backed away, flapping a hand in the
air. “No, no. I’m fine. Just a bit overworked today. Nothing to
fuss over.”

Nancy stood and began pacing. Brooke stuffed
her hands under her thighs. Her confusion mounted by the second. An
awful need to see the woman gone took hold. It grew and tightened
until Brooke found herself foraging for lies good enough to make
Nancy cease walking the length of the windows and out the door
instead.

“I don’t want to rush you off, Nancy,” she
said, feeling the press of the woman’s silence. “But, I was just
leaving to leave to pick up some dinner.”

Nancy’s head tilted and sharp accusation
shone in her eyes. “I see. You don’t want me here.” She nodded and
strode toward the door. “I understand.”

Nausea swarmed Brooke’s stomach. And anger.
How dare this woman barge in on her, make a spectacle of herself
and then stab her with a look like that? What did Nancy have to
accuse her of? Not to mention the guilt dripping off every
word.

Let her stew in it. Brooke strode to the
door. She had half a mind to demand an explanation. But her sane
rational parts whispered for Brooke to let it go. It wasn’t worth
the dramatics. Nancy wanted to satisfy her own twisted needs.

“Like I said, I was just leaving, Nancy.”

Anger burned up Brooke’s throat nonetheless.
Maybe she would call Jason. He certainly would be interested in
what his mother was up to. If he was moving on with his life, his
mother poking around in his past would piss him off good. Better
yet, maybe she’d skip tomorrow’s party. Show Nancy she was willing
to walk away, family or not.

“Of course you were.” Nancy tossed one end of
her knit scarf over her shoulder, nearly hitting Brooke in the face
with the frayed ends. She faced the door. She halted. Turned. Her
gasp echoed off the narrow walls. Too late, Brooke saw what snared
the woman’s attention. Too, too late. Nancy snatched the framed
photo and clutched it to her bosom.

“Nancy, that’s not what you think,” Brooke
said, unsure how to explain.

Tears shone anew in Nancy’s eyes. “Of course
it is what I think. You still love Jason! Sure you do. This proves
it. Oh, Brooke, honey, you still love my Jason.”

“No, Nancy. I don’t.” In fact, Brooke
couldn’t honestly say she ever really had. Not now. Today, with
Elliott, things had changed. “I’m not in love with Jason.”

“How can you say that?” Desperation rang
Nancy’s words. She shoved the photo toward Brooke. “Look at the two
of you! If that isn’t love, what is it?”

What more could she say? Wrong or not, she
didn’t have the heart to break Nancy’s. “It’s just a picture.”

Nancy shook her head. “No. It’s love. You two
just have forgotten somehow. Gotten lost in the crazy world we live
in. Believing in fairytales and lies.”

“The only fairytale I ever believed is in
that picture. And I’ve grown up. The story ended.”

“Then why do you have it? Why do you have it
sitting here for everyone to see if you’re so independent and grown
up?” Her chubby finger poked upwards. “Why isn’t it hidden away in
some box if you don’t still love him?”

Brooke had never seen her so mad. Nancy’s
hands were shaking, her voice growing shrill, scaring Brooke and
angering her all over again.

“You want to know why?” Brooke asked. “So
that every single day, I can see what I wasted fifteen long, lonely
years on. That’s why. Every day, as I try to go out into the world
and find my place in it, I remember.” The dam broke. She forgot
about feeling sorry for the woman. “I remember that hope isn’t
enough. That being true to myself is what matters. Your son, on my
wedding day, is my motivation to never give up myself again,
Nancy.”

Nancy gasped. Her tears gathered and spilled
as her shoulders shook. Gently, she set down the picture then
buried her face in her hands.

If only Brooke had seen the signs from the
start. Thanksgiving dinner. Their conversation. The invitation for
tomorrow’s party. Brooke wouldn’t be surprised at all if tomorrow’s
dinner was no more than a plot to try to get Jason and her back
together.

“Nancy,” Brooke said, putting her hands over
hers, pulling them down so she could see her eyes. “I loved Jason
very much. I miss being his wife very much. But not because of
love, because I miss being a Munkle.”

“You’ll always be a Munkle, dear.” Her words
came wet and hiccupped.

“Thank you.” She brought Nancy back in and to
the sofa where she sat her down. “That means so much to me,” Brooke
said, feeling like the planet’s biggest bitch. How could she have
let Nancy get to her and then unleash on her like that? All Nancy
wanted was the security of seeing her son happy. She got Nancy a
glass of water and one for herself. She wished her water was wine.
Where was Millie?

“Nancy, I need you to understand,” Brooke
said, holding onto her glass. “Jason and I might, one day, be able
to be great friends again. But that’s really all we ever were. I
deserve more than friendship. Jason deserves more than
friendship.”

Nancy nodded, set down her water. She met
Brooke’s gaze. “My baby boy, my sweet Jason. Oh, Brooke, it isn’t
you. And I couldn’t help but try.” She sighed heavily. “You see, my
Jason has gone and become a faggot.”

Brooke’s mouthful of water spewed out.
“What?!”

Nancy half laughed, half sobbed, wiping at
the droplets beading her blouse. “It’s true. Jason thinks he’s a
gay. A bonified homo. I begged him to tell me it wasn’t true. Just
a phase. Some weird post divorce thing, a sex disorder. Something.
Anything but queer.”

Brooke’s mouth went dry. “Jason told you he’s
gay?”

Nancy nodded.

“Gay gay?” Brooke gulped. Nancy must be
mistaken. “Not happy gay? Sex with other men and not women
gay?”

“Yes! But Brooke, you can’t say a word. I’m
not supposed to tell you. I’m not supposed to tell anyone. Can you
believe that? He actually expects me to keep it a secret? Do you
know how hard it has been to look you in the eye all this
time?”

“You’re not supposed to tell me?”

“He wants to be the one to tell you.”

The room grew smaller, hotter. “You said ‘all
this time’. When did he tell you all this?”

“Before Thanksgiving. Why do you think I made
him invite you?”

“Because you love me?” She stood up, fanned
her face. “Because you missed me and finally got over the fact that
I divorced your son?”

“No, dear.” Nancy wiped her cheeks. Humor
flashed in her eyes. She even had the gall to sound relieved. Like
Brooke was her confessor. “I was hoping you two would see each
other and he’d remember he spent fifteen years in heterosexual
bliss with you, of course.”

Of course? Brooke’s hand waffled in the air.
How was this even possible? She hardly found words. “So, the party
is…?”

“He’s coming out. He’s met someone and wants
to make the whole mess official. I don’t really know why I agreed
to it. False hope having you there might change things, I suppose.
But then it didn’t change things before, did it?”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Oh dear. Are you expecting someone?”

Brooke vaguely nodded. “My friend
Millie.”

Nancy smoothed her jacket and rose to leave.
Brooke followed her, dumbstruck. Memories flooded her mind,
absorbing this one new detail, morphing around it. Jason couldn’t
be gay.

“I will see you tomorrow,” Nancy said, a plea
in her tone. “And please don’t tell him I told you, Brooke. It
would just break his heart. He really cares about you.”

Another knock came. A muffled “It’s me,”
through the door.

Nancy opened it. Millie spilled through, arms
full of bags, and almost pushed Nancy over.

“Oh, pardon me,” Nancy said, bright as a
Sunday morning. “Good to see you again, Millie. Unfortunately, I’m
just leaving. Brooke, I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

And then Nancy was gone.

The front door hushed closed. Millie swept
by.

“What was she doing here?” Millie asked from
the kitchen, making the word “she” sound like a murder charge.
Cupboards banged, drawers slammed, bags rustled. “I’m opening the
wine now.”

Wine. Yes. Wine would be good. A lot of wine.
Brooke sat on her sofa, dazed. Dazed and alert all at once.

Within moments Millie placed a glass in her
hand, a plate on her lap, then took the armchair. If Brooke didn’t
know better, she’d swear Millie had heard the whole conversation.
Aside from a commanding, “Drink this,” Millie remained silent. She
sat, twisting her hair, tapping her chin. But didn’t speak. Was she
waiting for Brooke to explain? Could she smell a bomb had just been
dropped in here?

Jason wasn’t having a sleazy affair. He was
in love with a man. He was coming out of the closet. At a holiday
party. But, who had he been kissing? She mentally clicked down the
Thanksgiving guest list. Gordon? He’d been at the mall, too. A
date? And Debbie and Sue and their misconception. Had to be.

Sampson wound around her ankles, purring.

Could she feel like any bigger an idiot
today? First, completely botching her day, then Elliott falling in
love with her, now this?

If Gordon was with Jason, then, did Elliott
know? A new wave of embarrassment washed over her. He must have
really pitied her. Not once had he mentioned Gordon being gay.

“Eat.” Millie hovered, watching her. “You’ll
feel better.”

Brooke nodded. She’d almost forgotten Millie
was there. She set her empty wine glass aside, letting the tingles
of a buzz fill her senses. She forked at her food. Chow mein, fried
rice. Sampson pawed at her elbow for a nibble.

Fifteen years of something missing, something
being a little off, all came tunneling down to that single,
indelible detail. Gay.

It all made perfect sense.

Even in the days when she and Jason did have
sex, it was pretty tame and infrequent. She’d never minded. Had
sparks ever flown or had her body ever awakened with Jason, like
with Elliott, she might have been more concerned about lacking
bedroom behavior.

Everything else had been so good, how could
she complain? Jason and she laughed and talked and traveled and
shopped. They drank good wine and spent time with friends and
family. She’d counted her life as rich, full, until that day
antiquing.

Sampson won his battle of the beg. Brooke
gave him a small bite of chicken. He took it to the coffee table,
narrowly avoiding her glass.

One tiny idea of having her own little
business had crashed all the lies down. Her lies. Jason’s lies. Now
she saw what huge lies they were. To think, this entire time she’d
thought there was something wrong with her for wanting more.

“It wasn’t me,” she said after a swallow.

Millie leaned forward, posture stiff. She
reminded Brooke of a lion preparing to pounce. “What wasn’t
you?”

Ah, where to begin? At the beginning, she
supposed. Brooke sighed. “Jason, apparently, is gay. I thought when
I left him that our divorce was my fault. Turns out, it wasn’t me
at all.”

“Jason is gay? Really?” Nose scrunched,
Millie thumbed at the door. “Is that why Nancy was here?”

Brooke frowned slightly. “Yes. She couldn’t
wait until tomorrow. That’s when Jason meant to tell me. There’s a
holiday party.” She watched Millie’s face for reactions. Signs of
disbelief, outrage, amusement even. Millie only looked away,
rubbing her temples.

“Wait a minute. You already know?” Brooke
accused.

Millie looked at her plate. “Well, to be
honest, I kind of suspected.”

“You suspected? Since when?”

“Let’s see. Um, Thanksgiving.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t know how. How do you bring a thing
like that up?” Millie leaned in.

“I don’t know. Somehow. It’s almost
Christmas. You could have told me.”

“But, it doesn’t matter if I knew or not,
Brooke. What matters is how you feel about it. Are you okay?”

Brooke thought for a moment. “I think so. I
feel a little numb, but otherwise, yes. I’m alright, I think.”

Silence.

“Is it Gordon?” Brooke asked.

Millie looked sympathetic. “Probably.”

“So, that means Elliott knew this whole
time.” Brooke said, feeling a new layer of stupid peeling back.
What he must think of her. She’d die if he pitied her. Worse, what
if he thought fifteen years of living with Brooke had made Jason
gay? That wasn’t him, though. That was just irrational fear taking
hold.