Page 19 of The Work Boyfriend

“She hates cheap wine.”

“She expects nothing better from me.” I was rationalizing.

Rob laughed, which thankfully broke the tension. “You’re right. Downstairs, five minutes. Let’s go.”

It took at least seven minutes to race around, pull off my work clothes, and find something equally presentable to wear. I wanted sweats, a T-shirt, and some slippers, but instead I decided on a sleek black Calvin Klein wrap dress that fit me nicely. I had gotten it the last time I was in New York for a conference we all attended about television, publicity, and the new internet age. I’d spent most of my time shopping, I’m not going to lie. I powdered my face and brushed my teeth as fast as I could before swiping my lips with gloss. Grabbing the wine from the fridge, I was outside and in the car in ten minutes flat. It was a miracle.

Do you know why I’m late? I confronted Garrett about him keeping important facts about his life from me. About the fact that I tell him everything, some stuff I don’t even tell you, and he’s my closest friend in the world.

Instead, Rob and I didn’t talk much on the drive to the north end of the city where his parents lived. I rested my head against the cold glass of the car window and closed my eyes. He placed his hand on my knee, and I entwined my fingers in his for a brief moment, the fight over as soon as it had begun. Such was our way. The radio was playing holiday music, David Bowie and Bing Crosby, the Pogues, and the occasional Elvis tune. Soft snow was falling, predictably causing a traffic mess, and Rob had now resigned himself to the fates. We were late. There wasn’t much to be done about it. The car revved as he shifted up and down with the pace of the traffic. There was nothing to say. I was dreading the anxious night I’d spend at Rob’s parents’ place, and I longed to be at my mother’s, because at least I feel welcome there. And I could finally talk to my sister about everything. About my mixed-up feelings for Garrett. About how it was messing with what I knew to be true about loving Rob. About how unhappy work was making me. The bad decisions I’d been making lately. About falling back into fucked-up Kelly from high school.

Last Christmas, my mother had had a full house. It was one of those wonderful times when the stars aligned, so it wasn’t just us, but a whole crowd of extended family, and Annie, Carl’s ex-wife and one of my favorite people in the world, was there too. In all the years that Carl had been married to my mother, I’d been consistently surprised by the fact that Annie was open, honest, and unconcerned with convention.

This year, Annie wouldn’t be coming; she was off somewhere exotic. Bali, I thought. My stepbrothers were both in university, which meant my mom would be in full-on family mode, huge dinner, doing all the laundry, mothering them in a way she never quite managed with me and Meghan. Last year, Annie joked that at least Josh and Daniel would always have their own rooms at my mom and Carl’s—she was done picking up after them. All their stuff was boxed up, sorted, and donated. With her wicked grin, she’d said, “I’m heading around the world, boys. Don’t get lost in my wake.”

Last year Annie had given me some ridiculously expensive hair product, which made sense because she was a hairdresser at the time. In her off hours she was a part-time actress-slash–drama teacher–slash–whatever took her fancy. She was free and didn’t give two hoots—her words, not mine—about what anyone thought. I couldn’t help admiring her.

My mother had been terrified the first time Annie showed up to drop off the boys after we moved in with Carl. It’s never pleasant to deal with ex-spouses, and when Carl and my mother had met (she was his secretary), he had still been married to Annie. Still, my mother didn’t cower from anyone. I’ll never know exactly what was going through her mind, but when she opened the front door to Annie, whose hair was so red it almost glowed and whose lipstick was even brighter, and the two boys standing there, all three of them giggling, she sighed in relief.

“Annie,” my mother said, “it’s nice to see you.”

Annie half picked up, half kicked the boys into the house. “Here!” she laughed. “These are yours for the weekend. Thank goodness, I couldn’t take another minute.”

The boys, who had been ten and twelve, tumbled into the house and Carl’s open arms. And that was the start of a ridiculously healthy relationship between all of them. Every Christmas, if she wasn’t spending it with us, Annie would drop the boys off on the day after Boxing Day, her arms full of presents, telling jokes and repeating the same story of how she and Carl never should have gotten hitched (her words), but because “everything happens for a reason,” he gave her the only good thing to come out of her life: her boys. She’d once said she’d danced a jig when Carl told her about my mother, and then she’d make some crack about how glad she was when she learned he wasfinallytaking off with his secretary. “I’d been praying for that for years! I needed an escape but I didn’t want to be the bad guy.”

Last Christmas Annie had said, “We’re the same. I see it in your eyes. You’ve got big dreams, girlie. You’re going places. And in order to go, you’ve got to leave. You maybe even have to leave him, as gorgeous as he is.”

She had laughed as Rob took a mock bullet to the chest and pretended to fall into his mashed potatoes. Annie grabbed my hand under the table. “I’m serious, you need to go. It’s not enough to be safe. I gave my life away being safe. I love my kids, and I’m so thankful they’re in the world. But we’re the same, you and me. You can make a different choice, Kelly.”

Later that night, when we were clearing the dishes, Annie forced my mother off her feet and into the living room and then said something that echoes through my mind often. “I know you love him, that much is clear, but what I don’t get is why you want to live with him.”

“It’s just what we do. It makes sense, to be together, to live together.”

“It’ll be that much harder when you leave him.”

“I’m not going to leave him,” I said.

“Yes, my darling girl, youaregoing to leave him. Have the good sense to do it before he gets hurt. Thank goodness your mother came along when she did. Carl deserves to be loved by her. And she was always the one for him. He simply had to go through me to find her.”

“But Rob—”

“Kelly,” Annie pulled my arms out of the soapy water and turned me to face her. “We’re not related. And yet we’re alike, so, so alike, and I love you like the daughter I never had, or really wanted,ha! Listen to one piece of advice: leave now before you get married, before you have kids. Real estate can be sold, but when little bodies are involved, you’ll waste so much time hurting him, and he’ll hurt you, maybe even punish you. I don’t want that for you.”

“I’m not you, though, and I do love him. And we’re good together.”

Maybe those were my famous last words. And maybe it was good Annie wasn’t going to be there this year because she’d see right through me.

* * *

As we drove toward Rob’s parents’ place, every house along Avenue Road was decorated distinctly but with good taste. No garish Canadian Tire plastic Santas sat atop any roofs. Instead, the holiday lights were almost exclusively white, huge wreaths adorned doors, and giant trees could be seen in almost every living room. By the time we pulled into the Morrises’ driveway, we were almost forty-five minutes late. The lights on Rob’s house were lit up bright and beautiful, and decorative globes hung on the hundred-year-old tree in the front yard. The paint on the exterior of the house was perfect, and snow capped the roof, creating an impossibly perfect Christmas card scene.

Before we even knocked, Camille, Rob’s mother, opened the door. “Was there traffic, Robert? I’m afraid we’re all already seated. Hurry, hurry, get your coats and boots off, come, come.”

Rob pulled off his scarf and passed his mother his coat, and then he held mine as I wiggled out of it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have called before we left. Things were backed up almost from the moment we left the house. Lawrence was insane.”

“You’re here now.”

With both of our coats in hand, she kissed Rob on the cheek before opening the antique wardrobe by the door and stowing them away. She swept us into the hallway. As always, I was amazed at how Camille, with her perfectly upswept hair and pristine Chanel suit, could manage to look so relaxed while being so controlling.

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