I was angry. Angry at Peter for making us miss this prearranged date. Angry at Marnie for being pissy with me.
Angry at myself for acting like an immature teenager.
What
was
I doing? Marnie was right—sex was great, but not at the expense of a life.
I couldn’t turn my back on my best friend just because I was having the best sex ever.
My cell phone rang, and I scooped it up. I saw Peter’s number on the call display.
I didn’t answer.
The phone rang two more times before I got home. Both times it was Peter, and both times, I didn’t answer. I needed to put some space between him and me.
By the time I got to my street, I was calming down a bit. I would call Marnie in the morning and assure her that I would
never
stand her up again. Not unless it was a matter of life and death.
I was nearing my house when I realized the driveway wasn’t empty.
My heart rate accelerated.
Andrew’s SUV was there.
I pulled to a stop at the curb in front of my house, wondering what to do. Andrew had left me a few messages over the past couple of weeks, but I hadn’t gotten back to him. I debated driving around aimlessly for a while, hoping that he would be gone by the time I returned. If Marnie wasn’t out with Robert, I could have called her and swung by her place for a while.
And if I wasn’t miffed with Peter, I could have gone back to his apartment.
As it was, I had nowhere else to go, and God only knows how long Andrew planned on sticking around. Sighing, I resigned myself to the fact that I may as well go inside and face him.
I pulled my car into the driveway beside his. Slowly, I got out and headed inside.
Andrew was sitting on the living room sofa, his arms spread wide across the back of the couch. The room was quiet, eerily so. The fact that not even the television was on told me he must have been waiting for me to get home.
He looked up when he saw me, but said nothing.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“Two and a half hours.”
My heart pounded, but I walked farther into the room. There was no reason for me to be nervous in my own house.
“Your dress is on inside out,” Andrew said, looking at my dress, not my face.
“What?” I quickly looked down at my dress, and indeed, I could see the seams. How had I not realized that I’d put my dress on the wrong way?
Andrew finally lifted his head and met my eyes. “So, you were with him?”
I didn’t answer.
“What are you gonna do? Pretend you’re not seeing someone? Or should I say, not fucking someone?”
“You’re the one who told me to have an affair.”
Andrew guffawed and looked away.
“What?” I asked testily.
Slowly, Andrew stood. “Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
“Because I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“So, it’s over? Because if it is, just tell me. Don’t keep me hanging on.”
I said nothing.
“I thought you were going to go have a fling, get even with me. Not dump me altogether.”
“I told you…you don’t get to make the rules.” My chest was hurting. Just seeing Andrew was emotionally draining for me.
“Those are nice earrings.”
Instinctively, I raised one hand to my ear.
“I guess he gave them to you.” Andrew paused for what seemed like hours. “Are you in love with this guy?”
“No.” I was surprised at how easily the word left my mouth. Surprised at how much I wanted to reassure Andrew of that fact, though God only knows why. “I’m not in love with him.”
Andrew’s eyes lit up with hope. “So you’re going to end it?”
Now I hesitated. “When I’m ready.”
“What do you mean, when you’re ready?”
“When I’m ready.”
“If it’s not serious with him, then why keep fucking him?”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t serious.”
“I’m confused,” Andrew said.
“He treats me well. And you know what—the sex is amazing.”
Andrew’s jaw flinched at my unabashed statement.
“What’s the matter, Andrew?” I asked, anger stirring inside me at the memory of his betrayal. “It was okay when you were screwing someone else, but I’m not allowed to have any fun?”
Andrew said nothing.
“You started this. Remember that. If you hadn’t decided to have an affair with Isabel, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
“I told you I’m sorry. How many times can I say it?”
Sorry.
As if that was supposed to make everything right. It incensed me even more.
“The sex I’m having now is so hot I don’t believe this guy would ever cheat on me,” I said, rubbing salt in Andrew’s wound. But he deserved it. Deserved it for hurting me so deeply. “I do think I could fall in love with him.”
That silenced Andrew. His lips pulled into a taut line. Then he moved away from me, starting for the door.
“Andrew.” I followed him, suddenly regretting what I’d just said. I had wanted to hurt him, and I’d achieved that and then some. “Andrew, wait.”
He didn’t stop until he reached the door. Exhaling audibly, he faced me.
“I didn’t—”
“I guess it’s like you said. I don’t get to make the rules. I just wish I knew what game we were playing.”
I opened my mouth to speak as he walked briskly to his Escalade, but I couldn’t find any words. What was there to say? I still loved him, I suddenly realized that. But I was also unsure that my love for him could sustain a relationship.
It hadn’t stopped him from betraying me.
Stepping back inside, I closed the door, confused about what the future held for me.
Because as much as I still loved Andrew, I meant what I’d said. I
could
see myself falling in love with Peter, a man with whom I’d connected in a way I didn’t know was possible.
Peaches was missing.
Before I’d gone to Peter’s place on Friday, I’d let her outside, knowing that if I didn’t make it home and she was hungry, she could at least catch herself a lizard. Or a bird.
Like a typical cat, Peaches enjoyed going out at night. But usually first thing in the morning she was at the door, ready to come back inside.
Not this morning.
Frowning, I closed the front door, wondering where she could be. I ambled into the kitchen and poured water into the coffee carafe. My phone rang as I was doing so, and I quickly set down the carafe and snatched the receiver off the wall.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Sophie.”
Caught off guard, it took me a moment to recognize the voice. But then I knew who it had to be.
“Mom?”
“Hello, darling.”
I smiled, pleasantly surprised. With the stress of seeing Andrew last night, plus Marnie’s comments that I’d changed, it was nice to hear from someone who wasn’t enmeshed in my current relationship drama.
“How are you, Mom?”
“I’m doing well, thank you.”
My mother lived in California with her new husband, and we didn’t speak all that often these days. We weren’t as close as I would have liked, because of the decisions she’d made. Because of how she’d hurt my father.
My mother had left my father for another man. She’d waited until I was eighteen and heading to college, for my sake, she’d said. And she hadn’t cheated on my dad—at least that’s what she’d claimed. But my father had been heartbroken nonetheless when she announced that she simply didn’t want to be married to him anymore. Less than a year later, my father died in a head-on collision with a semi, and witnesses had claimed there was no reason for his car to have swerved into the truck’s path.
An accident, or suicide?
In my heart, I believed my father had committed suicide because he hadn’t been able to deal with being alone. That after my mother had broken his heart, he hadn’t seen much reason to go on.
My mother believed it was an accident.
“I suppose I’ll get right to the point,” my mother said, drawing me back from my trip down memory lane.
“Oh?” What did that mean?
“Andrew called me this morning, Sophie. He told me that you two have been having problems.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t believe that Andrew had called my mother to discuss our marriage.
My mother sighed. “I just want to say, don’t make the same mistake I did, sweetheart. Don’t…don’t throw away your marriage.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The affair,” my mother said. “Andrew told me all about it.”
“Really?” I asked, my tone sarcastic.
“He’s afraid he’s going to lose you, Sophie. Andrew’s a good man. I know everyone has problems, but you have to try to work things out. See a counselor, the way so many people do these days. But don’t throw away what you have with him.”
I let my mother ramble on with her lecture, and it dawned on me that she was talking about
my
affair. The moment she was finished, I couldn’t help asking, “Did he tell you that
he
screwed someone else?”
Silence.
“Of course not. It’s not as easy to finger me as the bad guy if he confesses his sins.”
I took a few minutes to fill my mother in on Andrew’s affair, the threat of the lawsuit, and the fact that my husband had encouraged me to have sex with another man.
“So he’s not as innocent as he’d like to claim,” I pointed out. “Far from it.”
“I didn’t know all that,” my mother said.
“Of course you didn’t.”
“But,” she went on, “it doesn’t change what I said. Andrew’s had his fun, you’ve had your fun. I still think you have a good man. I’d hate to see you throw that away.”
“What if I said my affair isn’t just about fun for me? What if I told you that I’ve met someone I really like?” I didn’t know why I was saying this, except for the fact that I was angry at Andrew for “tattling” on me. “Someone who might be better for me than Andrew?”
“You don’t mean that,” my mother said.
“What if I do?” What if Andrew calling my mother was a big sign that we weren’t meant to be together anymore? I’d found a decent guy in Peter, someone who thrilled me in unimaginable ways. He loved me, and he believed in my dreams. A life with him wouldn’t be so bad.
My mother sighed. “I’d say I thought the same thing once. And maybe I was wrong. Maybe what I did…hurt too many people.”
Her answer left me speechless. It was as close as she’d ever come to admitting any responsibility for hurting my father, or even me. My mother had driven my father into a deep depression, and I’d always been angry at her on some level for that.
It was only in the past couple years that I’d started to warm to her, realize that my father was the one who’d ultimately taken his own life. There was no point in me being mad at my mother forever.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” my mother went on. “Sorry I hurt your father. If I could do it all over, I’d do things differently.”
Suddenly I was crying. Not heavy sobs, but quietly. Tears were rolling down my cheeks.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen, Mom. Andrew and I have to work this out. On our own.”
“I respect that.”
I changed the subject, and asked about Hal, her husband, and Hal’s twenty-year-old son. By the time we finished our conversation, I’d promised to visit them sometime soon.
I called Marnie right after I ended the call with my mother. Either she wasn’t home, or she didn’t want to answer my call.
“I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me,” I said after her voice mail picked up. “But I hope you can forgive me for being a totally insensitive bitch and call me later. Please.”
Then I went back outside to look for Peaches.
I didn’t find her, and was starting to get really worried. I’d driven around the neighborhood, fearing I’d see her remains, but I saw nothing. I went back home, hoping she was still roaming around somewhere, and that she’d return to the house soon.
My phone was ringing as I stepped in the door. I raced to get it, but when I saw P. Bacchio, I let it go to voice mail.
I couldn’t have been more startled when, half an hour later, Peter appeared at my door.
“Peter,” I said, the surprise unmistakable in my voice.
“Hello, Sophie.”
“What—what are you doing here?”
Peter didn’t answer, just stepped forward, forcing me to step backward. He entered my house and closed the door behind him.
He looked somber, and that worried me. That and the fact that he was at my house when I hadn’t told him where I lived.
“You haven’t been answering my calls.”
“I’m not feeling well,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. “My stomach’s a bit upset. I think I’m about to start my period.” I was due for my cycle. In fact, it was a few days late.
Peter didn’t say anything, just began to pace the floor in my foyer.
“How…how did you know where I lived?”
“I looked you up.”
I frowned. “I’m unlisted.”
“There are ways, Sophie,” Peter said.
I studied him, feeling slightly apprehensive. Was it because Andrew could show up any minute? I definitely didn’t want a confrontation between the two.
Stopping, Peter stared at me—so hard, it unnerved me. Something was bothering him.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Are you leaving me?”
“W-what?”
“You left me last night, you didn’t call.” Peter paused. “Are you reconciling with your husband?”
I narrowed my eyes as I stared at him, wondering where he’d gotten that idea.
Suddenly, Peter was on his knees in front of me, pressing his head into my abdomen. Not in a sexual way, but in a pleading way.
“I was wrong last night, Sophie. But please don’t leave me.”
“What are you talking about?”
He looked up at me, his face contorted with sadness. He held on tight to my waist, as though he didn’t want to let go. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”
“I just needed a little space,” I told him. “Yeah, I was a bit pissed, but everyone gets pissed now and then.”
Peter got to his feet, hope evident in his eyes. “You weren’t planning to never call me again?”
“Of course not.”
Exhaling in relief, Peter planted kisses all over my cheek. “I was worried, Sophie. So worried.”
Hadn’t he ever been in a serious relationship? One disagreement didn’t mean the end of the world.
“Look,” I said, taking his hands in mine. “I don’t want to be doing this here. My…Andrew might show up or something.”
Peter’s eyes darkened. “He’s still living here?”
“Absolutely not. But he has a key. We haven’t sold the house.” I didn’t bother telling Peter that Andrew still wanted our marriage. I was more ambiguous than ever about what I was going to do. Last night, I realized that I still loved Andrew, but I didn’t like the fact that he’d called my mother behind my back.
“I would never hurt you,” Peter said. “Not like your husband.”
I believed that. I really did. Perhaps because the sexual chemistry was so strong between me and Peter, I didn’t see him going anywhere else for sex.
“I know that,” I said softly.
“I don’t like that your husband can come here whenever he wants. What if he hurts you?”
“He wouldn’t do that,” I said.
“You can come live with me. I think you should.”
“Me and my cat?” I asked. “Speaking of which, I can’t find Peaches.”
“You and your cat. Your dog, your rat, whatever. As long as you’re with me.” Peter slipped a hand into the waist of my shorts, not stopping until he reached my pussy. A groan rumbled in his chest.
“Bella…”
I placed my hand over his. “No, Peter. Not here.”
He stroked me through my panties. “Then come home with me. And why don’t you bring some clothes so you don’t have to keep returning here?”
“I have to return home, at least periodically. I’ve got to keep looking for Peaches.”
Peter kissed me and stroked me, as though to make me change my mind, and I knew how this would finish. Before we ended up on the floor, I tore my lips from his. “Let’s go to your place.” No way did I want Andrew to come home and see Peter here. “Let me just put some food out for my cat. In case she returns while I’m gone.”
“Okay.” Peter gave me a brief kiss before releasing me. I went to the kitchen, filled bowls with cat food and water, then put both outside the front door.
As soon as I was finished setting the bowls down, Peter offered me his hand. “Come on. Let’s go home.”