Coming Together Read online

  “I can’t believe you missed out on the date we were supposed to have just so you could drink your way into some stupid contract!” I am dangerously close to shouting now, and Justin stands. He wobbles a bit, but he stands.

  “Charlotte.” Oh wow, he brought out his big gun ‘don’t be irrational’ voice for this. My husband is a dead man. “I had one shot at this, and I took it. Now we’re going to be rich. Do you understand? This is going to put my firm on the map, and we’re not going to have to rely on Fraser to guard my ass for me!” Now he’s close to shouting. “After I fly to Singapore in a couple of days, we can talk more about—”

  “Excuse me? Singapore? The one that’s a long way away?” No Charlotte, Singapore, Wisconsin. Wake the hell up.

  “Henry wants to expand into Singapore and Hong Kong, but he needs his lawyer on the ground. I’m his lawyer now. Me.” He extends his arms like a drunken, fabulously wealthy bird ready to fly away. “After I get back from that trip, we can talk. It’ll only be a week. Unless Henry needs a stopover in Hong Kong, but that should only be a few days more. Sure, the job means that I’ll be making a lot of trips to Asia, at least for the first six months. Maybe twelve. We’ll see how long it takes to get everything into place. But I’m finally doing it. I’m getting sent around the world. I’m not going to be useless.” He practically beats his chest with pride. Oh, I’d like to beat something else right now, I tell you what. My fists tighten at my sides, but I restrain myself.

  “And you were going to tell me about this, when? When you finally crawled out of your new boss’s favorite bottle of whiskey? You were going to tell me about the brand new job that means you’ll see even less of your family than you already do, what? When you were halfway to Taiwan?”

  Justin narrows his eyes. “This is unbelievable. I finally land a job that’s going to give us the financial stability we always dreamed of, and you have to make it about something else.” He whispers, almost to himself, “That’s typical.”

  My blood, she boils. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Justin waves his hand. “You always want things on your own terms. If I ever try to take initiative, you undercut me. I wanted to get a job after you got pregnant, but oh no. No, you had to do everything while I studied and took care of Sawyer.”

  Am I losing my mind? Maybe that last martini hit me. “And because of that, we’re much better off now than we would have been!”

  “I could have done it all for us! But no, you had to have the final say. You always do.”

  Wow. This is like walking up to your favorite, beloved dog and then having that dog punch you in the face and hand over a very sarcastic note deriding your appearance. I’m not thrilled right now.

  “Well maybe if you hadn’t needed so much help in the past, I wouldn’t have had to be that responsible!” I snap. “You’ve always had the women in your life to look after you. I mean, thank God Emma was there a couple of years back, or you might never have gotten out of your funk!”

  Even I can sense I’ve crossed a line, but I don’t care right now. Justin’s face turns red, and the veins at his temples are standing out. He’s going to blow.

  “What do you think I’m trying to do now? I succeeded, Charlotte! And now you never have to worry again, and I can feel worthwhile! Why is that so hard for you to understand?” He visibly calms himself and moves closer. “All of this is for you. You, and the kids.”

  “No. It’s for you, so you can be proud and not have to rely on Fraser for everything. Making me happy was just a bonus. This whole trip was just so you can feel better about yourself!” I don’t care if this is out of line. I don’t care if there are two sides to this issue. Right now, on an empty stomach, all I can think of is another drink or three. That is a terrible idea, but I’m fresh out of good ones at the moment.

  “Don’t be dramatic,” Justin snaps as I gather my wrap and my purse. As I head for the door, he comes after me. “Charlotte. Babe. Don’t do this.”

  “You know, you could have sincerely apologized. But that would’ve been too much to ask,” I answer, then slam the door on my way out.

  10

  Charlotte

  You know what? Pineapple fireballs are the best invention ever. That, gravity, the toothbrush, and old-timey pocket watches are the things that prove mankind is master of the universe. I’ve just knocked back my third pineapple fireball, and now my head’s on the bar, my eyes crossing as I gaze at the Tiki-shaped cups the drinks came in. Screw going to a classy bar and getting classily drunk. Hawaiian dives are the place to be right now.

  I didn’t have it in me to go back to the restaurant, so I hightailed it off the hotel property and found a little straw-thatched hut with neon beer signs blinking in the windows. Perfect place to drown my sorrows.

  “I think you’d better have a few of these,” the bartender says as he slides me a bowl of peanuts. Ooh, and Macadamia nuts! I love Hawaii. The bartender—Leo, it says on his nametag—is a scraggly looking white guy with a goatee and a ponytail. What a miraculous young man.

  “I’d better have a few of those,” I say to the dish in a totally not drunk way. As Leo clears out, I gaze blearily around the room. A few beach guys are playing pool near the window. Some kids are drinking in a corner booth. Just like Justin and I used to do. Back at Berkeley, we always spent Saturday nights just drinking, playing pool, and talking.

  Damn it, I will not cry right now.

  “Hey. Is this seat taken?” a female voice asks right next to me. I look over and see…holy hell, I have to blink twice to make sure I’m not imagining things.

  Yep. It’s that tall, unbelievably gorgeous girl I’ve been seeing around at the pool or the volleyball game. She’s practically glowing tonight, wearing only a halter top and a pair of jean shorts. She smells like suntan lotion as she sits down next to me and orders a beer. Well, why not? If I’m going to doubt everything about myself and my marriage, might as well rub salt in the wound of showing me something I’ll never be again. Hell, not like I ever was that in the first place.

  You know what? Even for my soppy anguish, this is getting to be too much pity. I chow down on some nuts…damn, I wish that didn’t sound so dirty. It makes me think of all the mind-blowing sex I won’t be having tonight.

  “I’m Astrid.” The girl beams. Even her teeth are dazzling. “Mind if I tell you something?”

  “If this is about soul surfing or karmic massage, I’m kind of booked on everything Hawaiian this week,” I grumble. Damn, Charlotte. Can you get ruder? The girl doesn’t seem fazed, though.

  “You’re funny. But I’m also getting this rush of energy off you.” She waves her hands around me, like she’s casting a spell. “You’re not totally happy, are you?”

  Gee kid, it took you three empty drinks and my head on the bar to give you those signals? Yer a wizard, Harry. Er, Astrid. Trying to be polite, I say, “Something like that.”

  “Want to talk about it?” She takes a sip of beer, then leans her elbow on the bar, her cheek in her hand. There’s something about how open her body language is that makes me want to talk. Hell, I need to tell someone, and Emma has enough on her hands right now.

  “Well. If you wouldn’t mind?”

  And then, to my own amazement, I launch into it. All of it. Our marriage troubles. Our phenomenal reestablished connection these past few days. The missed reservation. The shouting match in the hotel room. All the way down to my flight to this bar, and this conversation, and this bowl of delicious nuts. I chomp a few more peanuts while I tell the story, and through it all Astrid listens quietly, a faint shimmer in her eyes. It’s almost like I’ve hypnotized her with my dread of creeping middle age and my angsty marriage.

  “So that’s it. Our whole honeymoon got shot to hell in one night.” I wave at the bartender, and he brings me a light beer. I guess no more mixed drinks for me tonight. Astrid places one index finger against her lips, like she’s trying to shush me. Or the universe. One or the other.

 
“Okay. So, like, I’m not a doctor or anything, but I am an intuitive on the Myers-Briggs scale.” She nods, like this means something. “Can I tell you what I’m hearing?”

  “I wish someone would.”

  “So, it seems like there are two levels of problems here. The micro problem, and the macro problem.” She makes a small box with her hands, then a larger one. “And both you and your husband are right about one of them.”

  “Eh?” Now I’m intrigued. And feeling the effects of the alcohol, big time.

  “The micro problem is the missed dinner reservation, and you’re totally right about that. He should’ve made absolutely sure you knew what was going on. Like, he should have told you about meeting this guy and everything before, as soon as it happened. That was your husband not sharing important information, and you have every right to get upset about it.”

  Man, I didn’t realize how good a stranger’s validation of my problems could feel. “Thanks. Want another drink? I’m buying.”

  “No thanks, I need to be at one with the universe right now,” she says conversationally. Well, who doesn’t? “The macro problem, though, is where you’re not being fair to your husband.” She says it so matter of factly. Of course I have to argue.

  “How is wanting him to be responsible not being fair?”

  She waves her finger. “When he told you his problems, were you listening? Or just reacting? Because it seems what he was saying was “I’ve been kept down for a long time, and I need to reassert my masculine energy.” That’s totally not a bad thing. Men have this, like, anima or something that they need to project into the world, you know? They need to feel, like, competent and powerful and reliable. When they don’t, they shrivel up and die, like, in their soul.”

  That sounds…entirely too reasonable.

  “So your mistake was, instead of telling your husband you understood all that, you kind of made him feel worse. Like, ask yourself this: do you really want him to develop himself and become stronger in the world? Or is there a part of you that likes him a little more under control?”

  And then it hits me like a tidal wave carrying a huge assortment of sharks with lasers attached to their heads: That’s what Delia would do. My most terrible, awful, nasty mother-in-law has an utter hard-on for keeping her milquetoast husband underfoot. I mean, their marriage has gotten a bit more equal since Emma started dating Fraser, but it’s not my idea of a perfect match by any means.

  Have I been wanting to keep Justin gentle and quiet and, well, less effective so I could have my way more? So I could be the hero, the problem solver in this marriage? Have I been turning into the woman I can’t stand?

  Jesus, Astrid’s right. Justin shouldn’t have missed our dinner like that, but I should’ve really listened to what he was saying. And I didn’t. Because I didn’t like how him being assertive left me a bit more out of control. I love counting pineapple soaps and checking around every corner. The last thing a control freak like me needs is something more to handle.

  But if I don’t want my own husband to be as strong as he possibly can be, then I don’t really love him. I’m just using him.

  “Wow.” Maybe it’s the Tiki drinks, or an emerging peanut allergy, or just the plain, simple truth, but my eyes water. I take Astrid’s hand. “You’re amazing. I think you’re a spiritual beacon, or something.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Astrid grins, her eyes shimmering and hazy. “I’m also, like, really, really high right now.”

  Aren’t the wisest among us always really, really high?

  Don’t answer that. Let me be profound.

  I pay for the drinks and leave the bar. I check my phone, and it’s about two in the morning. Great. Justin tried calling me a few times, but I let them all roll to voicemail. He didn’t leave any messages. Poor thing. When I get back to the hotel room—after I get myself out of this bush, because I had too much to drink—I’m going to apologize, and let him apologize, and we’ll apologize until we’re both sore and aching and on the floor tangled in our clothes.

  That’s the best way to make amends.

  Soon, I’m up the elevator and down the hall. I open the door to find the room pitch black. He must have gone to bed. Maybe I should just sneak in and lie down beside him, wait until morning to wake up refreshed and maybe hungover and sort things out.

  Or I could be kind of drunk right now and force the issue, because there’s no time like the present when you’ve sucked down an entire alcoholic pineapple.

  “Babe, wake up. I’m so sorry.” I flip on the light, and blink.

  The bed’s still perfectly made. Justin hasn’t slept here. And after a turn around the room, onto the balcony, and in the shower a few times, I realize that he’s not in the room at all.

  He’s gone.

  11

  Justin

  I didn’t know what time Lee was going to be leaving this morning, and I was a bit too buzzed to think to check with anyone, so I spent the early morning hours pacing around the pool trying to sober up. All I could think about was Charlotte’s face. She looked fraught with worry, and there was a part of me that wanted to yell at her about it. Does she think I’m so thoughtless that I’d make the most half-assed attempt possible to contact her and let her know what’s going on? Does she think I’m so self-absorbed that the only things on my mind are my job, my money, and looking important in everyone else’s eyes?

  Does she have any idea how spot on she’d be on both of those counts?

  The roar of the beach and the waves soothes me a little bit. I mean, I’m so dehydrated I’m about ready to get on my knees and lap out of the pool, but that seems like something a man of the world doesn’t do. Unless he’s had a fifth of whiskey, and then he’s about ready to get down with chlorine.

  Finally, as the sun begins to appear over the rim of the ocean, I head back inside and sit by the concierge, waiting for someone to show. A fresh-faced kid comes over, yawning; she must be new, taking the worst possible shifts. That’s what happens when you’re the new meat.

  “Can I help you?” she asks, rubbing her eyes.

  I tell her my name and my business, and in a minute she has me outside Lee’s office. I’m lucky; apparently it’s his habit to come in and do a last minute sweep of the place before he leaves on international affairs. He’s headed to Singapore a few days early, and then I’ll join him. The trip’s mine for the taking, the trip and the job and the world it’ll open up to my company. To my pride.

  Except that I can’t get Charlotte out of my mind.

  “Justin. What are you doing here?” Sure enough, Lee arrives looking as business casual as he likely ever gets. He’s wearing a sports jacket over a polo shirt, and some reading glasses are perched on his nose. I shake hands with him, mentally rehearsing. “Can this wait? I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

  “I’m afraid you won’t,” I say, trying to keep the regret out of my voice. I almost succeed. Lee chuckles.

  “Well, good point. Accounting for change in time zones, it’ll be more like—”

  “I’m sorry. I truly am. But.” I take a last breath where I still have this job and this path open before me. “I have to respectfully and regretfully decline.”

  There’s a solid thirty seconds of silence. His eyebrows rise. “Oh?” is all he says.

  “My wife…that is, there was a mix up last night. A bad one. I sort of abandoned her on our big romantic dinner to seal the deal with you. I could have bowed out early, but I wanted to stay. I wanted to feel important, and I left her when the whole point of this trip was to finally take our honeymoon. To make her special. To put her first.” I close my eyes. “I failed that test.”

  “That’s a single marriage issue.” Lee doesn’t sound angry, only thoughtful. “Surely your wife can overlook it.”

  “She could, but I think there’s a bigger problem there. I’ve shut her out before. I’ve left her to handle things all on her own. This was supposed to be a change, and I didn’t make it.” There’s Sawyer
to think of, and Sage, and Sebastian. They can’t have a dad who’s absent, always chasing big things to make himself feel bigger. They know enough kids like that, and half of them are at remedial boarding school. I don’t want that for my children. “I want this job, don’t get me wrong. It’s perfect. But I can’t take it if it means no time at home, no time helping my wife or dealing with our children. Providing for them is important, but if I don’t focus on my family, I’m not much of a man.”

  “I see.” He doesn’t smile or frown. He still sounds thoughtful, almost too quiet.

  “I apologize for this situation. I hope you find the lawyer and the firm that you need.”

  “Well.” Lee holds out his hand, and we shake. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, Justin. I can’t say I don’t regret this.”

  He’s not the only one, but it’s the right choice. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “My pleasure. Enjoy the rest of your visit.”

  With that, Lee’s gone, and the job with him. I’m left to wander the hotel lobby like an aimless spirit in Crocs. Damn, but these are comfortable.

  Hell. I can’t go back up to the room right now. I don’t want to wake Charlotte up, and anything I say in apology is just going to sound whiny and trite. I need to do something. I need to stop talking and explaining and just fucking do something.

  So the first thing I do is call the only family member I have who can fix any relationship problem. Emma.

  “Blello?” She groans as she picks up the phone, and then makes some hurking noises. Jesus.

  “Em? You okay?” I sit down by the pool outside.

  “Yeah, sorry. I sent Fraser to grab me a Pellegrino from the fridge. I made tacos last night, you know my special recipe?”