Jane Doe(28)

He’s so cold and practical that I have trouble imagining what free spirit Meg saw in him. She never thought about home values or school districts during her walks around town. She liked pretty trim and brightly painted porches. But opposites attract, I suppose. His serious and responsible nature must have felt like safety to her.

She told me he was the best boyfriend she’d ever had. He had a job and a home. He paid for all their dates. He came from a good family. He wanted a better life for her.

I could see why she believed that at first. Compared to her previous boyfriends, he was a catch. She’d had a bad habit of collecting weirdos and taking care of them. She’d collected me, hadn’t she?

Steven was so strong. That’s what she said. He tricked her with that, and then he overwhelmed her completely.

She was proud of the way he’d revamped her finances and set up electronic payments on all her accounts. “I’m so bad with money,” she started saying constantly.

I’d never heard her say that before. She’d seemed fine to me. She’d supported herself. Had her own apartment, her own car, her own life. After Steven it was always “He says I need to learn to be more responsible.”

Whenever I snorted in response, she defended him. “I had two overdrafts last month, Jane! Two! I was so embarrassed when he found out. Do you know how much all those fees added up to? I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. And how did he even find out?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why does he know anything about your checking account?”

“He’s balancing it for me now.”

“Meg,” I’d said flatly, “no. No way.”

“Jane, come on! I’m terrible with numbers, and he’s getting all my stuff in order for me. It’s great.”

“It’s not great. You’ve been dating this guy for two months and now he has access to your bank account?”

She laughed. “What’s he going to do? Wire himself twenty-five dollars and clean me out? I’ve got nothing.”

I’ve got nothing, she said. But it wasn’t true. She may not have had a savings account or a big spotless house or a perfectly raked yard, but she had warmth and friends and a heart.

Steven lost Meg, but somehow he still looks around at his neat suburban life and thinks he’s winning.

“Is this a rental?” I ask as he unlocks the kitchen door.

“No way. A mortgage is an investment. Renting is just throwing money at someone else’s bank account. Dumb as rocks.”

“Well, sure, but a lot of us have to rent. You have to have a down payment to even think about buying. And you have to cover all the maintenance and taxes.”

“You’re covering the owner’s taxes and all the maintenance on other units when you pay rent. You get that, right?”

“Whatever. I couldn’t afford to buy anyway.”

“That’s why you need a better job, Jane. You’ll never get ahead as a temp.”

“I don’t know. I’m used to living in apartments. And I don’t need much space.”

“You’re thirty years old and you’re just treading water and making someone else rich. You’ve never had a good family to teach you this stuff.”

You’ve never had a good family. Who says that kind of thing?

“Yeah,” I murmur. “Maybe you’re right.”

He turns on the lights and hangs his keys on a hook on the wall. I step into the kitchen and look around. “Wow, it’s so nice.”

“Thanks.”

“You keep it so clean.”

“You’re not messy, are you? That drives me crazy.”

“No, I’m not messy.” Just to push his buttons, I take off my sweater and toss it onto a chair, then drop my purse on the kitchen table. His eyes go right to the mess I created and stay there. I’m very proud of myself for not laughing.

“So you’re cooking for me?” I ask. “That’s very romantic.”

“I’m a pretty romantic guy.”

I flash back to that night in his truck and don’t say a word.

Steven washes his hands and tips his head toward the sliding glass door I broke into this morning. “Let me heat up the grill.”

I did my best to latch the lock behind me when I left, but I’m not sure I got it hooked well, so I rush for the door while he’s still moving toward it. “Oh, a real backyard! I’ve lived in apartments so long, I’ve forgotten what that’s like!” I open the lock as I gush over his square of lawn. “Oh, brrrrr, it’s getting cold out here.”

“A beer and a warm grill will take care of that.” He stops to give me a kiss in the doorway. “Hope you like steak.”

“Of course,” I respond as he steps out to fire up the propane.

“All right, we’ll let that heat up. Let me get you a beer.”

I follow him back inside and he pops open two beers and hands me one. Mine is light beer. His is a stout. I’m honestly beginning to think he doesn’t like my weight.

He carries a couple of coasters into the living room and we sink into the giant cushions of his beige couch. The brown pillows really amp up the color theme of mud and shit. “This is nice,” he murmurs as he tucks me under his arm and pulls me close.