Must Love Cats Page 5

  “Good, healing.” It’s all lies but I don’t want to get into it. My stomach is in a ball as is.

  “Obviously, we are here to talk about the Rod situation,” Matt says but doesn’t ask how I am. He likes to cut to the chase. “The guy’s a shit. I want to say I can’t believe what he’s done, but I have always thought he wasn’t good enough—”

  “What my brother is trying but failing to say is,” Doreen cuts in, “we are here for you. Like I said to your sister on the phone, you can take as much time as you need.”

  “Thank you. Has Rod told you anything?” I ask before considering if I want the answer or not.

  “He emailed about the accident. I called him and he said you were separating and that you were in an accident over the holidays. He kept the events apart when telling the story, two different stories.” Matt scoffs, not holding anything back. “He certainly missed telling us his affair caused your accident on Christmas Eve and that you spent Christmas day in the hospital. Or that you’ve moved to a new apartment because he’s now living with his mistress.”

  “Right,” I whisper, fighting the urge to flinch or close my eyes.

  “That is a rotten holiday break if I’ve ever heard of one,” Doreen says.

  “Can you still work together?” Matt asks bluntly. “That’s the true reason we’re here. If you want him gone, we’ll transfer him. Cape Breton is in need of someone. It’s not ideal but he could go.”

  Doreen winces, no doubt wanting to be more delicate with the question.

  My mouth forms the word “no,” wanting so badly to ask them to fire him and ruin his life and send him into a financial crisis, but I don’t. “Of course. He has no need to come into my office. He always speaks to one of the other accountants or payable clerks. Honestly, we have always made certain our paths don’t cross here because of conflict of interest. He’s residential property management and I’m commercial accounting.” The words taste like dirt and ash, but they’re the truth and getting him fired would be based on a lie. Rod and I have never worked in close proximity of one another.

  “You’re a champion, Lil. The company could work without Rod, but we would feel the loss of you. So whatever you need, don’t even ask. Just let us know what you’re doing. If you want to work from home, you can.”

  “Thanks, Matt.” My heart swells.

  “We love you, Lilly. You know that. If you need time off for anything just shoot me an email, and I’ll get someone to cover for you.” Doreen reaches across the desk and places her hand awkwardly over mine.

  “Thank you, you guys. I don’t need anything though. I got a fair amount of stuff done last week. My sister is some form of robot.” I laugh bitterly.

  “Yes, she seems quite efficient. If she ever needs a job, you let us know.” Matt laughs.

  “Honestly, we would be so lucky. Maybe when she’s done having kids.” The idea of my sister working here makes me grin like the Grinch, knowing she would torment Rod.

  “Okay, well we’ll let you get back to it. I know you said you could only work half days with the computer screen and the concussion. So, leave whenever you need,” Matt says as he walks to the door.

  “And we are so sorry this is happening, Lil. You don’t deserve a fate like this one. And of course, happy New Year,” Doreen offers with another smile before they leave me to reflect on the fact that I just saved Rod’s job. Saved the man who hasn’t bothered to shoot me a text to find out how I am. Not even a Merry Christmas.

  My skin crawls with the idea that I would want a text from him. Fortunately, I need to focus on work.

  There’s enough to catch up on that it’s easy to become distracted by it. Hours later, sighing with exhaustion, I get up and log off the computers. My eyes are burning, and my head is hurting again. I might have overdone it, but I made a good dent in catching up.

  Deciding I don’t want to experience the same nonsense I did coming in, I sneak to the side door and leave the building without seeing anyone. The cold fresh air is exactly what I need. It washes over me, soothing some of the aches and pains.

  The walk home is slow, and I almost make a wrong turn once. But the view of shops decorated for Christmas and lights strung out along the streetlights is nice. I haven’t noticed it as much before. Maybe because downtown Halifax hasn’t been my residential neighborhood for years.

  People pass with smiles and shopping bags from taking advantage of the Boxing Week sales. Their cheeks and noses are reddened with the cool air and eyes are bright with the spirit of the holidays.

  It’s refreshing to watch everyone else living their lives instead of focusing on how much mine sucks.

  At a closed shop, I pause for a small break and stare in the dark window, still unable to recognize the woman staring back. I’ve never felt so strange in my own skin before. I decide not to dwell on it, I’m too exhausted. Maybe next month when the dust settles and reality hits and I have a small breakdown, I’ll try to sort myself out.

  I continue on walking.

  When I finally get home to the apartment building, I fumble with the keys in my cold hands.

  “Hey, you,” a familiar voice says from behind me.

  I turn, surprised to see Samuel Christianson in front of me. “Oh hi.” Why God why? He’s dressed like he just worked out, light-gray sweats and a dark hoodie. I try not to stare at his groin. Stupid gray sweatpants.

  “James mentioned you were moving into the apartment.” He pulls his keys out and gets the door for me. “How are you?”

  “Great,” I say sarcastically. “Do you live here too?”

  “Yeah, James was showing me my place and ended up buying his because he liked it so much. Said one day when they’re empty nesters, he and Liz could live here, or the kids could live in it for college.” He walks next to me to the elevator, and I realize we’re going to be in there together. Alone. Just us. And my forehead. God hates me. It’s official.

  “I think I recall that.” The story of the apartment rings a bell.

  “How’s the head?”

  “Sore.” I press the button to go up. “So no plans for New Year’s except a hot bath and a long sleep. The first day back at work has me exhausted.”

  “Yeah, screen time is the enemy of the concussed brain. The less you can be on there, the better. I suppose that’s not helpful with accounting.” He flashes a smile and I practically sigh.

  Seeing him, I remember exactly why I fell for him the first time I laid eyes on him. Gorgeous dark eyes filled with mischief and delight, framed by thick inky lashes. A dimple in the right cheek. Plump lips over a perfect set of teeth. And something about his nose makes me happy. It’s sort of big, a strong nose. If that’s even a thing.

  His dark hair was longer when he was younger but it’s just as thick now. I swear he’s taller though. He has to be six foot four, towering over me. His height was how I ended up in his arms in the first place. And still, I feel small next to him, something that doesn’t happen a lot being five foot nine myself, and fond of heels.

  “Have you called the physio place I recommended?” he asks, snapping me out of my trip down memory lane as we step into the elevator. He pushes the eight. Do we live on the same floor?

  “Physio?” I manage to ask, concerned about his living so close by.

  “I gave the card to James. It’s a gym we both go to but there’s a physiotherapist who works there that specializes in sports medicine. She’s a concussion wizard.”

  “Oh yeah. James put it on the fridge. I’ll have a look.” I vaguely recall the conversation and am now sweating because we’re both going to the eighth floor.

  “Do, she’s amazing. You should have called already. The earlier you start the exercises, the better.” He turns to face me and leans in, invading my space as he reaches for my forehead, gently touching to inspect. “The swelling has come down considerably. I take it you’ve been icing.”

  “Liz,” I mutter, certain he understands but also unable to say anything else with h
im so close. He’s part of the air I’m breathing, and he smells exactly the same.

  “She is something. I’ve never seen such organization or leadership. Must be hard to be her sister,” he jokes and moves back a bit.

  “You mean because I’m such a mess?” I ask, so flustered by this that I don’t manage to hide the fact I’m taken aback by the comment. “I’ll have you know, I was very average a week ago. Responsible, nice house in Bedford, good job, a schedule.”

  The doors open but he’s blocking the way.

  “Wait.” His cheeks flush. “That’s not what I meant. She’s intense and you’re—” He pauses, visibly regretting saying it but also trying to find the right word for me. “Peaceful. You’re peaceful to be around. Calming.”

  “Calming?” I question the word, not certain it’s who I am. In fact, I know it’s not. He means boring and is trying to be polite. Accountants are always seen as boring, so he isn’t the first person to think it about me.

  “Well, for the most part. Although, if I recall the summer we met correctly, you were a handful on many occasions.” He winks and I am undone. Not only embarrassed but also wishing we weren’t in an elevator as he brings it up.

  “I hardly recall the summer,” I lie.

  “You don’t remember that night on the roof of my building—?”

  “No. It’s pretty fuzzy like everything else from that year. We drank a lot.” I stare back at the door, hoping he realizes it’s open. When he turns to look at it, I brush past him, walking too quickly considering how my head’s throbbing.

  “Man, obviously, I didn’t make much of an impression,” he jokes about this as if it’s totally normal to discuss your college summer fling with the fling.

  “Obviously not,” I continue to bruise his ego with my vicious lies. I remember every second I spent with him. But I certainly can’t own up to it. Not now that he’s rubbing it in my face. Maybe he wants to torture me as revenge. I can’t blame him. But I can act like I do. “Are you following me?”

  “Maybe.” He folds his arms over his chest and leans on the door across from mine. His answer flusters me further.

  “Well—don’t! It’s rude.” My cheeks are so hot I can’t imagine how ridiculous I look. My face is on fire. And with all the swelling. God help me.

  “What if I said this is my apartment?” he asks and holds up his key. “And we’re neighbors.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.” My tone is harsher than I intend as I open the door to the apartment. But this week has to stop pulling punches.

  “You’re feistier than I recall.” He winks. “I like it.” He peers into my doorway and pauses. “You don’t have any decorations up. With how your sister is, I imagined your place would be a winter wonderland with a counter filled with treats and fake presents so high you can’t see the bottom or the tree. Surely, you have an elf apron lying around here somewhere,” he jokes but the words are tiny swords, stabbing me everywhere with pin pricks.

  “Yeah,” I go along with it. “Somewhere,” my voice cracks but I clear it, pretending it’s not tears lodging in my esophagus.

  “Okay, well I am on nights, so I need a shower and to get to work. I’m calling the physio clinic for you. You clearly can’t be trusted. You have tomorrow off, eh? I’ll see if Linnie can squeeze you in. Get some rest.” He points and closes the door, leaving me stunned.

  I go inside and close the door and walk into my room to spend New Year’s in bed. It’s a terrible way to occupy the evening, but at least I’m not at that stupid murder mystery Rod was forcing me to go to.

  Chapter 7

  December 31

  “Hey, babe, are you going to start getting ready? We have to leave in an hour. And have you seen my cufflinks?” Rod calls from the en suite bathroom.

  “They’re in my jewelry bowl on the counter, I cleaned them last week,” I say as I walk into the master bedroom closet. My mind is blank on why I’m in here or where we are going.

  It takes a second for the glittery flapper dress in the corner to catch my eye and remind me it’s time for the party. The New Year’s Eve party.

  This week has flown by with family visits and dinners and pretending I believe the lies my husband is telling.

  And tonight is the culmination of this hellish holiday week, a roaring twenties murder-mystery night at Rod’s client’s house. The party where Brent and Elaine will also be. The party I’ve tried to get out of with three headaches, two stomach aches, and one absolute refusal. But each time I tried to cancel, Rod brought up the problematic situation a murder mystery presents. You can’t bail once you have been given a character or you ruin the entire party for everyone. The hosts selected twelve people they knew would show up. People without kids or compromised immune systems, so there was no chance of anyone skipping out last minute. He also rubbed in my face that avoiding Elaine would let her win. She would be getting what she wanted, strain in our marriage.

  Begrudgingly, I pull the dress from the hanger and slide it on, noticing it’s smaller than before. Or I’m bigger. Fucking fabulous. This is exactly what I need right now. A sausage casing for a dress.

  I slump down onto the bench in the middle of the closet, trying not to breathe too deeply so as not to tear it and send glittery shrapnel everywhere. I’m certain this week can’t get worse. Dropping my head, I pick up my phone from the dresser and Facetime Shawnee.

  “Hey, girl,” she says and smiles wide. She’s stunning, ready to go out with her group of singletons.

  “I know you girls are leaving soon, but can you tell me if I look like a heifer in this dress?” I bat my lashes and give her a pouty face. “Pretty please.”

  “I thought you wanted to talk about leaving Rod,” she says and keeps her voice low.

  “Can we do this tomorrow? He said he’s going into the office for the day. I was planning on snooping through his things then,” I say in a quiet tone and peer out the door to ensure he’s still in the bathroom at the far side of the enormous room.

  “Fine, but starting tomorrow we bust his ass,” she says and points a brightly colored fingernail at me. “You are leaving that man. We are not doing this again.”

  She isn’t giving up this time.

  “I promise. Now am I a heifer or not?”

  “Listen, we both know I’ll never say any woman is a heifer unless we’re talking about that tramp Elaine. Let me see the dress and I’ll help fix whatever you’re going on about.”

  Lifting the phone, I stand and hold it so she can see me in my floor-length mirror. “It’s tight as hell.”

  “It’s sexy. You just need to take off that old-lady underwear. I see the lines. And put on some Spanx. No one is wearing a form-fitting, cream-colored sequin Gatsby dress without Spanx. Not even the skinniest of girls.” She says it as if I ought to have known that. It’s clearly common sense.

  Turning in the pale dress, I grimace at the underwear lines. “Right.”

  “I’ve gained four pounds too. I know how you feel right now.” Shawnee holds her phone so I can see her body. There is no four pounds. She’s delusional and as gorgeous as ever. Her flawless dark skin ignites the silvery-pink off-the-shoulder cocktail dress with plaits in the short skirt.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I gush and drag off my underwear, sighing at the reflection as if it has somehow become worse. “I want to be disappointed that the dress doesn’t fit but it’s not surprising. This month has been brutal.”

  “I know. London was horrific. So much pub food and beer and I couldn’t say no.” She closes her eyes and confesses, “And I had two-cream teas with scones the size of my face.”

  “God, I’d eat that right now, in this closet, without an ounce of self-deprecating hatred. This is why I’m never going to be skinny.”

  “Stop. December is insane.” She does the friend thing. “No one loses weight on the holidays.”

  “Don’t I know it. We started with our office holiday party. Then Hanukkah with Simone,”

  �
��Simone from work?”

  “Yeah, while you were in London. And then Christmas Eve at my sister’s drinking all the eggnog and Christmas-morning eggs Benedict.” The list of disgraces is making me feel worse.

  “Don’t forget the double meals. Boxing Day lunch at my parents’ place and then dinner at your parents’ house.” She points at me. “I was full for two days after that.”

  “And then Rod’s parents’ house for a second turkey dinner two nights ago. Not to mention, I’ve lived off wine, baking, and stocking chocolates for the last three days. In fact, I can’t recall the last time I was hungry.” I almost say no wonder Rod is cheating but I can’t. It’s not a joking matter, nor one I can take lightly.

  Noise behind her comes through the phone and fills my large closet. “The girls are here. You’re sexy. Rock that dress. I’ll see you tomorrow, eh?”

  “Okay. Come for lunch. We’ll have salad.” I laugh and blow a kiss. She catches it and winks.

  The call ends and I’m a bit disgusted and a lot disappointed. I make a resolution to lose twenty pounds as I remove the dress.

  It takes effort but I manage to drag on some Spanx and pull the dress back on. It slides over my body perfectly now, but the Spanx means no eating or drinking, and peeing is only done when it’s an absolute necessity.

  Slipping on my heels, I walk from the closet to find Rod grimacing at my feet as I click across the room to the bathroom. “You’re wearing heels?”

  “Yes, this dress needs t-strap shoes.” My tone is sharp but I’m in no mood to argue over how it makes him appear small. The conversation is annoying and the insinuation that he’s average size whereas I’m a freak is always noted.

  “This one has ballet flats.” He lifts his phone to reveal a black-and-white photo of a flapper girl wearing flat shoes.

  “Well, I don’t have t-strap flats. I have a two-inch heel.” I walk to the bathroom to finish my hair which I curl quickly. Fortunately, my shoulder-length dark-brown hair is the perfect shape for the roaring twenties. I spray the curls again and place the headband on so it flattens the curls against my forehead.