Keeping Her Read online

  6

  Bliss

  THIS WAS A joke. A massively unfunny joke.

  I’d fixed my hair, retouched my makeup, donned my best outfit, thrown on my best jewelry, and I was fairly certain that their toilet bowl scrubber still cost more than my entire outfit.

  Why hadn’t he told me?

  I got that he didn’t talk about his family much. They clearly weren’t close. God knows I didn’t talk about mine much, either, except to complain. But you’d think he could have just taken half a second to drop a quick “By the way, my family is loaded” into conversation.

  If I was worried that Mrs. Taylor might think I wasn’t good enough for her son before, it was pretty much a solidified fact now.

  I didn’t fit here. At all. Not even almost. One of these things is really not like the others.

  And to make matters worse, Garrick looked perfect when I exited the bathroom. He’d donned a button-­up shirt and tie to go with his khaki pants, and he looked effortless. Unlike me, he fit.

  And a small, niggling voice in my mind asked how it was possible then that we fitted together? I shook my head to clear my thoughts, and Garrick crossed the room to place a kiss on my forehead.

  “You look lovely.”

  I smiled, but I didn’t feel it. “Thanks. So do you.”

  “Everything is going to be fine.”

  He’d said that so many times that it didn’t mean anything anymore. Like when you say a word too much and it stops sounding like itself and feels alien and foreign in your head.

  “Let’s go then,” I said.

  His hands cupped my jaw, and he leaned in for a kiss. I tilted my head back away from him.

  “You’ll get lipstick on you.”

  “I don’t care, love. The only thing I care about right now in this entire house is you.”

  My resolve melted, and he brushed a feather-­light kiss across my lips, somehow coming out lipstick-­free. He laced our fingers together and planted another kiss on the back of my hand.

  I wanted the gesture to be comforting, but it only made me more unsettled. It only made me wonder more what he could possibly see in me.

  Together, we descended the stairs back into the jungle of champagne flutes and designer handbags and outfits that put mine to shame. It was a forest of self-­esteem issues waiting to happen, and I was smack-­dab in the middle of it.

  We’d barely made it two feet past the base of the stairs before we were intercepted by a group of ­people.

  “Garrick! So good to see you!”

  He let go of my hand to greet a guy about Garrick’s age. He had dark hair, combed perfectly, and wore a suit. Again, I say, in what world is a suit casual?

  “John, it’s good to see you, too. This is my fiancée, Bliss.”

  John turned to the side and a woman stepped up beside him. She, too, had dark hair, fixed into a perfect bun at the nape of her neck. I concentrated on not touching my out-­of-­control curls in response.

  “Lovely to meet you, Bliss. This is my wife, Amy.”

  I smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  God, this was repetitive.

  She laughed. “Oh no, the pleasure is all mine.”

  I was probably supposed to say something more, but all that came to mind was insisting that the pleasure was actually mine, like a freaking tug of war. But that would have been a lie anyway, so I just stayed silent.

  After a few painful seconds, Garrick added, “John and I went to school together.”

  John nodded, his smile plastic. “I loved your father’s reminder that you were first in our class. Still can’t get away from coming in second even all these years later.”

  Garrick laughed, and I could tell he was uncomfortable by the stiffness of his hand when he laced our fingers together again. But you would never know it from his face.

  Maybe that’s what I needed to do to get through this. I needed to act. I needed to turn off Bliss and become someone else, someone who fit in this place and knew what to say and what not to say. If I became that someone else, I could separate my thoughts from my own worries and maybe get through this night intact. The stage was the only place I ever really felt confident, and I could use a bit of confidence at the moment. So that’s what I did. I played a part.

  “So John,” I asked. “What have you been doing since the last time you and Garrick saw each other? Catch us up.”

  “Well”—­he kissed the back of Amy’s hand—­“I got married. Beat you on that front, at least.” God, this guy was a prick. No wonder Garrick was so stiff. “I’m now working as a software designer.”

  “A software designer? That’s interesting. I bet that’s challenging.”

  “Oh, not really. It’s a bit boring really. Though I’m sure in comparison to what Taylor over here is doing these days, it probably looks like brain surgery.”

  I laughed, thinking with each little chuckle how satisfying it would be to punch him in the face.

  “Well, some of us are blessed to have careers that we love and are simple because we love them. Others get jobs that are, what did you say? Boring? But maybe someday you’ll grow to love it.”

  Garrick lowered his head and gave a cough that was suspiciously laugh-­like and said, “It’s was nice chatting with you John, Amy. But we should probably make the rounds. Lots of ­people to see.”

  Once he’d led me a few feet away, his shoulders began to bounce in laughter.

  He said, “I realize I’m being redundant now, but I just can’t help it. Marry me?”

  “You’re going to make me wear out the word yes.”

  “Nah. I’m saving that goal for our wedding night.”

  Miraculously, I managed to keep my blush to a minimum. I had a pretty tight rein on my reactions at the moment.

  He walked me through the rest of the room talking to more old classmates, friends of the family, and neighbors. They were old, young, male, female, and I held my own. I wasn’t quite as charming as Garrick. That wasn’t humanly possible for me. Or most ­people, really. But I did okay. I watched ­people’s expressions change as they talked to me. They went from wary or amused (probably due to my entrance) to smiling and accepting.

  I took a deep breath, and felt proud.

  Garrick brushed a kiss against my cheek, and said, “You’re doing wonderfully. See? Nothing to worry about.”

  I smiled, but there was a sour taste on my tongue. It was a good thing . . . that I could force myself to fit here in his life. I just wished I hadn’t had to be someone else to do it.

  Almost as if she could sense my vulnerability, his mother made her reappearance then. She kissed Garrick’s cheek, and surveyed his outfit. “Better. Much better.”

  She glanced briefly at my dress, but didn’t say anything.

  “Everything going okay? I saw you talking to Mrs. Everheart. Is she well?”

  “When is she not well?” Garrick asked. “How old is she now, a century?”

  Ah. I nodded, remembering who they were talking about now.

  His mom shrugged. “Who knows? I wouldn’t be surprised if she outlasted me just to spite all those grabby children of hers, dying for her inheritance.”

  I took a deep breath, and tried not to let it show how disgusting I found this whole thing. That old woman, Margaret was her name, had been so sweet. She reminded me of Cade’s grandma, and the time he’d introduced us during college. She was kind, but you could definitely tell she was a firecracker underneath. That her own children would just see her as dollar signs was terrible. And that Garrick’s mum and even Garrick didn’t seem appalled by it . . . that was even worse.

  Mrs. Taylor turned her eyes on me then, and said coolly, “So, Bliss, tell me about yourself?”

  Not such a difficult question. But did I answer genuinely? Or did I tell her what she wanted to hear?
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br />   7

  Garrick

  BLISS HESITATED, THEN opened her mouth to speak. But she was interrupted by a bellowing voice calling my name.

  “Garrick! Son!”

  We both turned to look. My father called my name a second time. He waved me over and said, “Come here for a second.”

  I sighed.

  “Just go,” Mum said. “You know he won’t let it go until you do.”

  “He’s just going to drag me into some conversation about business. I don’t want to subject myself to that, and I certainly don’t want to subject Bliss to that.”

  “So leave her with me.”

  I tried not to look too alarmed by that. “Oh no, Mum. That’s okay. Bliss and I would rather stay together, since it is our engagement party.”

  “Nonsense. I’m sure Bliss could use a break from you anyway. If you’re anything like your father, you’re nauseatingly cheerful.” That might be one of the nicer things I’d ever heard her say about him. “Besides, if you’re only giving me a week with my future daughter-­in-­law, I’m going to need all the time I can get with her.”

  She spoke like a trainer trying to break in a horse, or an interrogator trying to break a witness. And from the look on Bliss’s face, you’d think she was going to be waterboarded instead of subjected to conversation with my mother.

  I stared into Bliss’s wide eyes. I didn’t want to leave her alone with my mother, but she had been holding her own since we came downstairs. And Mum had on her business smile, and I knew I wasn’t going to win this one. Truthfully, there was no arguing with either of my parents. If my dad wanted me to go talk to him, I would have to. And if Mum wanted Bliss to stay with her, she’d get her way. That’s why I hadn’t bothered with telling them when I decided to leave London. God knows we’d spent enough time arguing about a thousand other things. Like a pendulum swing, the more I grew up, the farther I swung from my parents’ beliefs and habits in every respect. So I’d waited to tell them I was leaving until I was already in the States and called from a pay phone.

  My last year before uni, life just started moving so fast. Things were unraveling quicker than I could take hold of them, and it felt like trying to stop a boulder from rolling down a hill. My life was falling into these predetermined paths, and it didn’t even really feel like I was living as much as reacting. I hated it, but I didn’t know how to stop it, other than to leave. Clean slate.

  My father called my name again, and I sighed. “Fine. But I’m not spending all night talking to clients or business prospects or whoever he’s playing tonight.

  “I’ll be quick,” I promised Bliss. Her expression was blank, and I couldn’t tell now how she was feeling, but her frequently flushed skin looked a wee bit pale. I kissed her forehead, and then did the same to my mother.

  “Be nice,” I murmured.

  Mum gave a single, solitary chuckle. That was either a very good or a very bad sign.

  Two minutes. I’ll be back in two minutes.

  I gave Bliss one more parting kiss, and then feeling like the worst fiancé ever, I left her to fend off her shark while I faced mine.

  Already eager for the conversation to be over, I stepped up to my father’s group and said, “Yes, Dad?”

  “Oh, good. Garrick, you remember Mr. Woods. You did that summer internship at his firm.”

  Advertising, I think? Honestly, I couldn’t remember. Dad pushed me into so many internships, they all ran together.

  “Of course, Mr. Woods. It’s nice to see you again.”

  Mr. Woods was old, in his sixties or seventies maybe. He wore large glasses and his hair was a pale white. His smile made all the wrinkles around his mouth more pronounced, and his skin was worn and wrinkled like old leather as I shook his hand.

  “And you as well. That’s a lovely fiancée you have there.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. I love her very much, and she keeps my life interesting.”

  He barked a laugh, his wrinkles almost disappearing for a second as he did.

  “You’re just as spirited as I remember you. Your father has been filling me in on your life in the States. Quite impressive.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. My father had no doubt embellished to the point that I’d probably become the youngest tenured professor at Harvard or some other nonsense.

  I shrugged. “I wouldn’t say it was all that impressive.”

  “Not easily satisfied. I like that. You’ll be outdoing your father in no time, I’m sure.”

  Dad laughed and hooked an arm around my neck like we were wrestling, “Not without a fight he won’t.”

  It was all so staged, so forced. And I couldn’t tell if everyone else felt it, or if they were so accustomed to it that they didn’t even notice it anymore.

  The men and women gathered around us laughed, and I followed out of habit.

  Eight years.

  It had been over eight years since I’d moved away, and in less than an hour, I was already getting pulled back into the lifestyle I hated. Fancy parties, nice things, expensive clothes, all covered by a layer of fake so thick that it choked out every real emotion.

  It had to have been two minutes by now. And even that felt like two minutes too many.

  “It was so nice seeing you again, Mr. Woods, but I should get back to my fiancée.” I nodded at the rest of the ­people in the group and said, “Ladies. Gentlemen.”

  “Just one second before you run off, Garrick.”

  I stopped short, and tried not to look aggravated.

  “Yes, Mr. Woods?”

  Gradually, the others around us began to break off until it was just my old boss and my father.

  “I wanted to talk to you about a job opening—­”

  Jesus. Not even a decent night’s sleep before it started.

  “Oh, sir, I—­”

  “Now hear me out. I have a PR position open, the same division where you did your internship actually. And I’ve been through half a dozen men in the last three years for this position. They’re all smart enough, but they’re just missing that special quality that attracts ­people, that makes clients feel at ease. They’re not like you or your father.” I tried not to bristle at being compared to my father and the quality I despised most in him. “I remember you doing fantastic work in your internship. And by the sound of what your father has told me, you’re quick to adapt and learn.” He pulled out a business card from his pocket and held it out to me. “Just think about it. Give me a call, and we’ll talk it all through. It doesn’t hurt to just consider it.”

  I looked at the card, but didn’t take it.

  “That’s very kind, Mr. Woods. But Bliss and I have no plans to move to London.” I directed my last few words to my father, as firmly as I could without seeming angry.

  For the first time, my dad cut in and said, “Maybe it’s something you should think about, Garrick. It’s a good job.”

  I’m sure it was a fine job. But it wasn’t a coincidence that this interest was coming now with my father watching on. He was a puppeteer pulling strings, but I’d cut mine a long time ago.

  Mr. Woods added, “If it makes a difference, I’m sure it would be a significant step-­up in pay from teaching, and we’d cover your relocation.”

  If it were a significant step-­up from teaching, it would be about three or four steps up from what I was doing now. It had been difficult segueing back into part-­time work and small contracts from my comfortable job at the university. But we were making it.

  I took the card just to end the ambush and said, “I’ll think about it. But I really am happy where I’m at.”

  I could feel my father’s stare, but I didn’t meet his gaze.

  I nodded at Mr. Woods. “It was nice seeing you again. Thank you for coming. Enjoy the party.”

  Then I turned, and stuffed the card
into my pocket. I made it just a few feet before my father stopped me for our first private conversation of the night. In years, really.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Garrick, but you should give this job a fair shot.”

  “I have a job, Dad.” Several, actually.

  “But this is a job that could really lead somewhere. If you keep doing what you’re doing, you’ll be forty and working at a restaurant to make ends meet. These kinds of opportunities won’t be around then.”

  “Thanks for the confidence, Dad.”

  “Don’t give me that. You’re an adult. You don’t need me in the stands cheering you on and lying to you. You’re about to have a wife, a new life. What you need is to grow up and get a real job. Something with real benefits.”

  Oh, the irony of him lecturing me on what was real.

  “Thanks for the talk, Dad. But I need to go find Bliss and Mum.”

  I maneuvered around him and left before he could drag me back into the argument. I was halfway across the room before I really looked around.

  Bliss wasn’t where I’d left her. And neither was my mother.

  8

  Bliss

  GOD, HIS MOM should have been a lawyer instead of working in finance. Just her stare was like a fishing hook, luring all my secrets out of me. And I was the poor fish, dangling on the line, a rusty piece of metal tearing me open. An hour alone with her on the stand, and I would be in the fetal position, reciting the traumas of my childhood, like that time Jimmy pantsed me at the top of the slide during recess in third grade.

  “And have you two set a date yet?”

  I almost asked her if she would prefer to choose for us.

  “Well . . . we’re not set on anything yet. But we were thinking maybe June. Or August.”

  “Of next year? Oh, that could definitely work.”

  “This year, actually . . . ma’am.”

  “This year? But that’s only a ­couple months from now.”

  “I know, but we weren’t thinking of anything big. Just a small ceremony for close friends and family.”