Page 75 of The Tenant
“Will do.” He leans back against the park bench. “So how is…uh…Blake? Still together?”
For some reason, it doesn’t surprise me that he remembers my boyfriend’s name from over a year ago. But I’m surprised he didn’t notice the giant diamond on my left fourth finger. I reach for the ring instinctively and fiddle with the large stone, twisting it counterclockwise.
“Yes,” I say. “We’re engaged, actually.”
“Oh,” he says. “Good. Good for you.”
He has to know that even if Blake weren’t in my life, he and I would not be together. But those are not words I have ever said to him.
“How about you?” I ask politely. “Anyone special?”
His cheeks color slightly. “No. Not really.”
“Well…” I glance over my shoulder. A street performer has set up shop behind us and is simultaneously playing an acoustic guitar and a harmonica. A small crowd has formed that is tossing money into his open guitar case. “I better get going. I really appreciate this, Elijah.”
“No problem.”
When I stand, he stands too. He’s always been short—he’s about the same height I am in my heels, which means he’s roughly five foot five. That isn’t the reason he and I will never be together. But it doesn’t help.
“Bye, Whit—er, Krista,” he says. “I’ll call you when I get any information.”
“Thank you, Elijah,” I say.
47
I tryto wait up for Blake at night, but it’s hard when he gets home at close to midnight.
It’s worth it though. When he gets home and sees me sitting on the couch, waiting for him, maybe with a plate full of freshly baked cookies, he looks so happy. The bright smile that spreads across his face makes my knees weak, even after nearly two years. Like I said, I can’t wait to be his wife.
I really loved Jordan. I thought that he and I would get married someday, although I now recognize that high school relationships aren’t meant to last. When I found out he was cheating on me, itdestroyedme. He broke me.
That’s why I had to do what I did. I’m not some homicidal sociopath. I simply knew that I could not be happy while Jordan was still alive and existing in this world.
So Ifixedit.
Blake is the first man I have loved since Jordan. The first time he showed up to get his suit dry-cleaned, I knew that he was the one. That’s why I kept giving him fake discounts on the dry cleaning until he asked me out. It certainly took him long enough! He was so clearly interested, so when he didn’t ask, I investigated to see what was going on.
After camping out at the address Blake listed on his dry-cleaning slip, I discovered he was dating a skinny girl with white-blond hair who smoked like a chimney—sucha disgusting habit. When they were at a restaurant together, I paid a waitress to alert his girlfriend that he’d been at the same place only a few days early with another girl, acting hot and heavy. She did it while Blake was in the bathroom, and the look on the girlfriend’s face was exactly what I’d been hoping for. A few days later, Blake asked me out.
That other girl would never have made him happy in the long run. I did him a huge favor.
Tonight, it’s closer to one when Blake’s keys turn in the door to the brownstone we moved into together a few months ago. It has three bedrooms, and I knew Blake was going to pop the question soon when he mentioned that the middle one would be perfect as a nursery. It was so sweet when he suggested getting a fish to practice for when we’re parents together, and I’ve been taking my fish mom responsibilities very seriously in order to prove myself to him. And I try to be understanding about his work, because I know this promotion is important to him, but it’s hard.
I try my best though. I try to be the wife he wants me to be.
I rise from the sofa just as Blake stumbles into the foyer. His brown hair is slightly disheveled, and his tie is hanging loose around his neck. I take a second just to gaze at him. He’s very handsome, but he barely seems aware of it. Maybe that’s why he’s not as self-involved as other good-looking men I’ve dated. Lately he’s been talking more about how he wants to give me all the things that his father wasn’t wealthy enough to give his mother before she died. He’s focused on the big picture.
As he comes into the living room and sees me standing there, I expect to see that familiar pleased smile spread across his face. But instead, he just looks surprised.
“Krista,” he says. “I didn’t know you would be awake. It’s almost one in the morning.”
“I waited up,” I say proudly.
“Oh.”
“And I made you cookies.”
That ought to get a reaction out of him. He loves the cookies that I bake—they always put a smile on his face. But instead, he pats his stomach. “Better not. I’m starting to get a gut.”
