Page 40 of The Other Side of Apart
“See you after work, wifey.” He gives me one last lingering kiss and whispers, “Love you 365 forever.”
Biting my lip, I lean against the doorjamb and watch him walk toward the stairs before my eyes collide with the two neighbor girls where they stand, stalled on the stairs, stunned.
I smile, then wave and hurry inside. Closing the door behind me, I lean back, my palms against the metal as I smile to myself. I’m so grateful to have the old Marcus back. So glad we’re talking again. So grateful to be laughing again and giving ourselves to each other instead of locking ourselves away like we did for the first few weeks in Vegas. Even after Marcus apologized, things were still off. We had to move hotels a few times until we found this place, and he had a few interviews that didn’t work out before The Palazzo job came through. All I could think about was whether Marcus would continue his plan to stay with me or turn back. But then, he got a job. We found this place and settled. It started to feel a little better between us. Then there was the night we heard someone singing right outside the window.
We’d rolled over in bed, frowned at each other, and gone to the window, peeking through the slit in the curtains. A man dressed like a chicken stood in a pothole in the middle of theparking lot, holding a Styrofoam egg high above his head and singing for someone named Crystal to come out and meet their baby. Marcus had lost it when chicken man started singing a lullaby to the egg. All of Marcus’s locked away laughter and happiness had burst out that night and set mine free, too.
The guy kept singing Crystal’s name, and we’d laughed until we were rolling on the bed, holding our stomachs and wiping tears. When we could finally breathe again, we’d heard screeching and darted to the window just as a woman wearing platform boots and nothing else ran toward the chicken man, grabbed the egg, and held it to her chest.
Marcus had clamped his hands over my eyes from where he stood behind me, his genuine belly laugh rumbling all around me.
I look around our room—our four bowls, four plates, two cups, and utensils stacked neatly on the counter. Toothbrushes next to each other on the bathroom sink. Marcus’s Adidas in the corner by the chair, his shirt still slung over the lamp from this morning. A few books on the nightstand, a couple of Sharpies beside them. Empty wrappers and Buddha sitting beside Magic 8.
As gross as this place is, it’s our home now, and while I hate the brown, leak-stained ceiling, rusted metal railings, and criminal neighbors, I love the moments of just us in our little world we’ve taken back from Nick and Olivia. Like the sheets covered in Sharpie messages we leave for each other. Our clothes hanging next to each other in the closet. The collection of funny notes Marcus tapes to the refrigerator. The pickle jar we labeled “Mansion Fund” and fill with Marcus’s wadded up tip money. The wilting flower arrangement I got on sale at work to brighten this place.
I glance at the clock, planning my next eight hours without Marcus. I haven’t cooked in a while, so since I have the entireday to myself, I’ll head to the store and grab some things to make a huge breakfast tomorrow. Night valet shifts mean working through dinner, and Marcus is starving when he wakes up the next morning. He’ll be upset that I went out alone but will probably forgive me once his stomach’s full. It’ll be fine—the grocery store’s a few blocks away, but I’ll keep to the busy streets. Marcus and I are back to normal, and I want to put normal back into everything we do. I don’t want to spend my days off stuck inside alone with Fear. Nick may have followed us to Stanford, but I’m not letting him ruin the new life we’ve created here.
1:53 AM and still no Marcus.
I put my phone back on its charger and roll over. Marcus called me around midnight to say he’d be working late. There was an event tonight, and they needed all valet drivers there to help. I’d whined a little about not seeing him in forever before we said goodbye, then I crawled into bed. I’ve been trying to sleep ever since. But my imagination is persistent when I’m alone at night with only my dark, lurking thoughts, wondering who might be just outside the door.
I close my eyes, breathing myself to relaxation. When my phone chirps, I roll over and grab it, blinking at the message:
Marcus: I have a surprise for you. Open the door and look down.
I crawl out of bed, throw on some pajamas, and undo all the locks before flinging the door open. No Marcus, but on the mat where he should be standing is a box from my favorite gelato place. I’ve never actually been, but Marcus has brought me home a different flavor after work almost every night this week.
I pick it up and bring it inside, and when I open it, there’s a hotel keycard inside with a note:
If you want your precious gelato, come to The Palazzo, Room 1824. My driver is waiting for you at the curb. SECRET CODE: MARCUS IS SMOKIN’ HOT LOVE. If you’re not here by 3:30, kiss the gelato goodbye.
-M
My heart lifts and relief rushes through me, calming my nerves. I smile and rush to the closet to put on some clothes. I grab the keycard and dash out the door, stopping only to lock it behind me.
Taking the three flights of stairs down to the curb, I’m surprised to see a vintage Mustang idling in front of the building, and a guy about my age standing with his hand on the open passenger door. He wears an official Palazzo valet shirt.
He tips an imaginary hat. “Secret code, Mrs. Miller?”
I press my lips together and roll my eyes. “Are you really going to make me say it?”
He smiles and nods. “If you want a ride, yeah.”
I blow out a breath, then rush, “Marcus is smokin’ hot love.”
“Yep—you’re legit,” the guy laughs. “You’re the only one who would actually be caught dead saying those words.” He helps me into the passenger seat and runs around to the driver’s side. “I’m Patrick, and I’ll be your chauffeur tonight.”
“What shady deal did he make with you to do this?” I ask as I fasten my seatbelt, the smell of oiled leather settling around me. “I assume the car’s not stolen.”
He revs the engine. “Borrowed.”
I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to explain, and he chuckles. “Marcus and I park cars all night. We get a little lost sometimes.” He puts the car in gear and glances at me, smirking. “But I won’t get lost this time because I have strict orders to get you to The Palazzo in one piece or lose my manhood. So hold tight, because we only have ten minutes, and I prefer to remain whole.”
Patrick squeals onto the street, and I grip the seatbelt with both hands as he stomps on the gas, taking corners at fifty miles per hour until we reach The Strip, and he’s forced to slow to a snail’s pace.
“So you’re the one spending time with him when I’m not,” I relax into the seat.
Patrick downshifts, the car crawling to a stop when the light turns red. “Dude, your husband’s my freaking hero.” He inches the car forward, focusing on the lanes of traffic, even at this hour. “I’ve only worked with him for three weeks, but I’m waiting for him to tell me he’s Batman or something.”
