What a Girl Needs (27 page)

Emily and Maggie are in tears laughing and make no attempt to hide it—Kay is simply mortified and somehow knew I’d ruin the day. It’s not like I haven’t mangled her parties before, but now, I’ve taken away her day of organizational perfection—the perfect antidote to her broken heart. I go to jump back in the pool as I see the iron chair and the tablecloth at the bottom, but Fish holds me back.

“I’ll take care of that. Go find some dry clothes.” Then, he stares at me intensely. “Ashley, you need to slow down. Enjoy life. Don’t take it so seriously. Laugh.”

He’s right. Somewhere along the line, I turned so serious. I’m like Kay on steroids. I keep blinking at him with the revelation, but I can’t find words. Clara envelops me in a towel. “Let’s go to Emily’s room. I’ve got some extra yoga gear and shoes that will fit you in her closet.”

I take one look at birdlike Clara, and I think the only yoga gear of hers that’s fitting me is if she plans to roll me up in her mat.

As I’m taken off like a petulant child on a house tour, I gaze back at Emily. Nothing affects her. She’s onto the next thing.

“I’m the problem,” I mutter through shivering lips to Clara as we cross the museum-sized iving room. “Emily doesn’t have a problem at all, does she?”

Clara tightens her hands around my shoulders as she leads me up the grand staircase into Emily’s new digs. The bedroom, which is basically the size of Kevin and my whole house, is fit for a princess. I drip onto plush, white carpeting that feels like pillows under my feet as I sink deeply into it. A four-post bed in the same light wood from Fish’s office and an incredible view of the entire Napa Valley to the tops of the evergreen mountains at the other side.

This is how Emily is rewarded for her game of lies.
I’m on vacation, essentially looking for a job, and my sister-in-law rolls into town for one day and is set up in a spa-like estate for the duration of her pregnancy with no one calling her on her web of intrigue.

“I’m doing something wrong.”

“The bathroom is just in there. You’ll find towels and a fluffy robe to warm up. I’ll gather up some clothes and leave them by the door when you’re finished.”

Clara’s act of kindness makes me want to burst into sobs. I want to sink into it and relish the moment, but my mind is filled with Kay waiting for me. Ready to leave, ready to make a decision about Matt, and again, I’m in her way.

The bathroom is bright and large, filled with shards of sunlight, streaming in crystalline beams through the giant oak tree outside. There’s a terrace, and I walk carefully along the slippery tile and open the door to the sun’s warmth.

My eyes are drawn back inside to the freestanding bathtub that holds court in the center of the travertine tile, and while it’s gorgeous, there is no way I’m getting into another water element that is freestanding on hard Italian tile. I’ll be tasting travertine.

“Ashley, do you need anything?” Clara calls from outside the door.

“Nope.” Just a fresh start. I step gingerly toward the shower and as the hot water streams over me, my emotions overflow. What is it about the shower that acts as a virtual judgment seat?

No word from Kevin. Again.

Brea’s content in her misery.

Kay is waffling back and forth over a con artist good enough to trick me too. (I helped him pick out an engagement ring!)

Seth believes I hold some kind of magical key to his marriage.

And Emily is happily sailing away on life’s fun ship cruise.

Everything is all wrong, and somehow, I’m the only one who seems to notice.

I come out of the bathroom in a spa-like robe, a massive, fluffy towel wrapped around my hair. When I emerge, Emily is lying on an overstuffed chair, staring at the ceiling dreamily. She sits up on her elbows suddenly and blinks her wide eyes at me in that faux innocent way of hers.

“I wonder if they have a maid.” She flips her golden-brown strands airily. “Do you think someone comes in weekly? Or more often?”

“If I know Clara, she cleans her own house, so I think the appropriate thing to do would be to clean up after yourself.” I release my hair from the towel.

“Hmm,” she groans. “That’s most unfortunate. I suppose I should get unpacked. There’s an empty dresser!” Her eyebrows rise briefly. “Just like in a fancy hotel. Isn’t that awesome?”

“Everything is awesome,” I sing, quoting the Lego Movie. Emily doesn’t pick up on the reference.

“Do you want to help me unpack? You’re so good with clothes.”

With all my heart.
“Emily, we have to talk about the truth of your baby daddy.”

“My baby daddy? Did you just say my baby daddy?” Only with her accent, it comes out
baa-bee-ah daddeh
. “You make me sound like some cheap floozy. Would you say that in front of my brothah?”

“I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. I’m sorry.” I cinch the belt of my robe. “I know this stalker business is a pile of rubbish, and that your beau wants to be married, regardless of what his contract states. I need the truth. Not the half-truths you tell us to keep your secrets, but the whole truth. Your brother thinks the world of you, and I really want to, Emily—but I’ve never met anyone who keeps more secrets than you. It’s like you’re playing some game in your head that none of us are privy to—so naturally, you’re always winning. I don’t want to win. I want to help you, but you have to let me inside.”

She stares at me with thinned eyes, but says nothing.

“I know he wants to get married. But I want to know why you led your brother to believe you were in danger. Kevin risked losing his position to bring you out here, and I just don’t think you get what your antics cost other people. He had to make all that time up, and I can’t even get a phone call into my own husband. You sail through life as if your consequences should be everyone else’s, and then you flutter those big, beautiful eyes of yours and everything is forgiven.”

“My brothah knows family is numbah one.” The southern accent is back in full with her righteous indignation. “When a cawwled him, he was only too happy to come home from work. If he doesn’t come to you when you cawl, it’s because you’re not truly his family yet and that is not my fault.”

I don’t let her get me off course. “I’m not talking about Kevin and me. Emily, tell me why you lied.” I know I told Fish I’d let it go, but I see her prancing about like she owns the place, I’m incapable. It’s the lawyer in me, ready for a fight and in need of justice, I suppose.

To my surprise, she tosses her legs over the side of the bed, finds a Queen Anne sitting chair, positions herself in it, and looks directly at me. “It was an accident, my getting pregnant. I need you to know that.”

That much I believe. Emily is not sacrificing her figure on purpose. I sit down across from her and relax my expression. I try to lose all judgment because I know that’s how she sees me—as her judge and jury. I hate that there is probably truth in this. “I know we’ve had a rough go of it, but I want what’s best for you, Emily. So why are you here with people you never met before yesterday?”

She sinks into the cushions, and relaxes her arms alongside the chair. “I’m tired, Ashley. Can we talk about this later?”

“Tell me about this man you love. Can we start there?”

She sighs wistfully. “Oh Ashley, I’ve loved him since the day I first saw him back in high school. He’s tall and sweeter than a pecan pie. He’s smart and such a gentleman. He never ever makes me feel stupid. He was raised on the other side of town, but that doesn’t matter much. His grandmother raised him with proper manners, and when he looks at me, I feel utterly and unconditionally loved. Is it really so much to ask that I wait to marry him?”

Uh, yes?

“You’re not going to get it, even if I explain it to you,” Emily continues. “You’re one of those modern women, Ashley. You don’t believe you need a man and that’s why you and my brother can’t get along. You’re trying to be a good housewife, only you aren’t a housewife. You don’t know who you are.”

“I am a housewife! I consider it an honor to be a housewife. I’m the definition of a stinkin’ housewife!”

“Your friend, Brea. She’s a housewife. You are far too high maintenance to be a housewife. Your mind moves too fast. Nothing wrong with that, of course. Except you don’t own it.”

I’m completely insulted. “I can do anything I set my mind to.”

She scoffs. “Ashley, you may think me a complete idiot, who does nothing but find trouble and create a whirlwind, but I know who I am. I’m high maintenance. I’m not particularly good at anything, other than arranging beautiful bouquets and maybe incubating a child.” She runs her hand on her belly. “I suppose that remains to be seen—I just hope the child doesn’t come out looking like a troll. I think I’d have a hard time mothering an ugly baby.”

I laugh out loud. “Emily, that’s a terrible thing to say!”

“But it’s honest. You tell me I’m telling stories, and maybe I am—but inside, I know my truth. Do you?” She gets up and lies on the bed. “I need to rest now, Ashley.”

She needs to rest. She needs a lobotomy.

‡

W
e spend the
night at Fish and Clara’s. I was soggy. Kay wasn’t ready to face Matt, and let’s face it, leaving paradise for the rat race of Silicon Valley is hardly a priority. After a morning of lounging by the pool, sipping mineral water spritzers, Kay and I get into the same clothes we came in the day before and say our goodbyes.

The ride home is silent, and when we pull up into Kay’s driveway, she hasn’t said a word about Matt or what her decision might be. I’ve been silently praying the whole way home that she didn’t interpret my trip to Tiffany’s as I’m a supporter of Matt Callaway. There’s a tall man standing on Kay’s front porch in the afternoon sunlight.

“Who is
that
?” Kay’s mouth dangles.

“Kay?”

“That man. Have you ever seen a more gorgeous specimen?”

“Gorgeous specimen? Kay, what’s gotten into you?” I look at the porch and see Matt’s business partner. “It’s just Thomas Galway. That’s Matt’s partner. He must be here about the prospective he dropped off.”

“Who?” she asks again, and it’s clear she’s not processing a word I’m saying.

“Matt’s business partner. I take it you haven’t met him before.” Another red flag, for Matt, the other keeper of secrets.

Kay looks in the rearview mirror, and knock me over with a feather, she looks at her reflection and presses her lips together. Like an idol-struck teenage girl!

“N-never saw him before,” she stammers. And with that one half-thought, I understand instinctively, she was settling for Matt. For all her bravado about loneliness, and a life of cats, Kay is not in love with Matt Callaway. That much is obvious, and my entire body relaxes. “He’s been here before?” She looks straight at me. “Ashley, was the house clean?”

“It was pristine, Kay. What’s the deal?” I can’t break her gaze. “Don’t you find it odd that you haven’t met your potential fiancé’s business partner?”

“Is he nice? Outdoorsy? Metrosexual, what? Is he a Christian?” She giggles then sobers. “I suppose I should have asked that last question first.”

“He’s a guy who is standing on your porch. He’s not a hologram.” I open the door and call over the car, “Hi Thomas!”

“Ashley!” He waves and tugs at his yellow bow tie. My eyes are drawn to Kay, who stands between us, and has not taken her eyes off of Thomas since we pulled into the driveway—she is utterly spellbound. He leaps off the porch and comes toward me, but stops at Kay.

“You must be Kay.” He grasps her hand, stares into her eyes and then brings his other hand around hers. They stand in the driveway, holding each other’s hand, and I suddenly am a third wheel in a romantic comedy.
I’m the awkward friend!
Well, I’m always the awkward friend, but this time it’s more obvious.

“You’re Matt’s partner? How is it I haven’t met you before? Until Ashley came?” She asks this breathily. Her voice has taken on this husky tone and she suddenly reminds me of a young Lauren Bacall and I’m waiting for her to offer tips on how to whistle.

“Maybe Matt was trying to keep you to himself. I can’t say I’d blame him.”

She giggles.
Kay!
Kay giggles. Watch your bacon. Pigs are about to fly.

“Have you eaten?” Kay asks her new friend.

He shakes his head, but never takes his eyes from Kay’s.

“I have this tri-tip I’m going to grill,” Kay purrs. “Do you eat steak? Because I make a mean tri-tip. It’s been resting all day in the dry-rub.”

He grins wider than his bow tie. “Only when I get out to eat on business. I’m not much of a cook myself.”

“No wife at home?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Silicon Valley, you know. I don’t have much time or opportunity for meeting anyone.”

Suddenly, the spell snaps like a rubber band, and Kay is aware of my presence. She turns and glowers at me as if I’m intruding. She pulls her hand away from Thomas. “I need to call Matt.”

Thomas slides his hand along the side of hers softly as he pulls away and she shivers slightly at his touch. Without another word, she unlocks the door and hustles into the house.