Page 69 of My Wife
“Let’s not get carried away.”
She winks. “But what if we did?”
My chest rises on a long, steadying breath because this woman makes the ground shift beneath me.
“How about you just go away?” I let out a sigh because I don’t really mean it.
She grips the top of her car’s door and stares down at it.
My family would tell me I’ve gone too far. I know this but the more distance I put between myself and people, the less likely I’ll make another mistake—I don’t mean about having the kid. The thing that happened years earlier.
Having somehow recovered from my comment, Jessica bounces on her toes. “I see that little shine in your eyes. We’re not just going to be friends. We’re going to be best friends.”
I ruined my best friend’s life. Took everything from him. Can’t ever let anything like that happen again.
“Let’s just keep things simple.”
She salutes me like I’m a military general. Is she mocking me?
“Is this all some big joke to you?”
Undaunted, she says, “As I said, I have a costume for every occasion.” Then in a lower voice, as if musing, she adds, “I’m always playing a role. Even in that wedding gown. Thought if I created the illusion of the perfect life, someone would want me.”
I’m not emotionally literate enough to know how to reply, but I see a well of sadness or loneliness that I only recognize because I look at it in the mirror every day. But how could this woman who may as well be the Queen of Sunshine possibly feel sad or lonely?
Uncomfortable, I shift back to my point. “Be the kid’s nanny. Sign-on bonus is a new car.”
“All my worldly belongings are in this thing. It’s my life on wheels. I can’t replace it.”
“All of your belongings?”
“Just about. When I left California. I left behind everything, including my record player and speakers. One was broken, so the sound was lopsided.”
“You’re my assistant and paid through the team. As the nanny, I can pay you more.”
“I don’t want your money.”
I want her, but I’m not sure how to say so. “Make an appointment for your car to get detailed.”
“Your truck was in last week.”
“I said your car.”
“I can’t afford that.”
“Also, schedule a tune-up. Actually, forget it. Just go buy a new one. As I said, sign-on bonus.”
“Liam, I can’t afford that,” she repeats.
“You can’t.”
“That’s what I just said.”
“I can.”
She gasps. “You’re not buying me a car.”
“If you don’t, I’ll pick it out and you run the risk of getting a monster truck.”
