The Good Widow(41)

“Don’t they say that there are the girls you fuck on the first night and there are girls you marry?” I hadn’t waited for him to answer. “I guess I’m in the former category, so the pressure’s off!”

Despite the fact I’d given myself to him so easily that first night, we’d fallen fast and hard for each other. I’d finish up in my classroom, then count the hours until he was off work. I blew off my other friends. I forgot to call my mom back. Every breath began and ended with him. Every thought was laced with his scent. The real world became distant. The only thing that mattered was the time I spent with James. Beth thought I was obsessed. I was scared she might be right.

I hadn’t planned on hoarding our relationship forever. But before I could introduce him to my family, he’d proposed. He’d taken me back to that sushi place and knelt down on the dusty floor and asked if I’d take a leap of faith with him. Would I be his wife? There was no question in my mind. There was no way I could ever be without him.

I said yes.

I realize this may have not have been the best decision—marrying someone whose middle name I’d learned the day before he proposed. (It’s Julian.) That it may have led me here, chasing his cheating ghost along the Maui coast. But if he’d asked me a million more times, the answer would always have been yes for me.



A picture of my mom holding her fourteen-year-old cocker spaniel pops up on my phone. Her third call. But I don’t answer. Because I’m nowhere near normal. She’ll hear it in my voice. She’ll question me. And the thing is, I’m so tired of lies. But the truth is just too much work. I send her to voice mail, kick off my sandals, and dip my toes into the sand. It’s soft and warm, and I let it soothe me. Nick shoots me a questioning look.

“I’m not ready to talk to her yet,” I say, and look around for our server.

“Want to start with the coconut calamari and the crab-and-macadamia-nut wontons?” Nick asks, looking up from the Hula Grill menu.

“Yes, and can we get some fries too?”

“Anything else, hungry girl?” Nick laughs.

“What can I say? I’m eating my feelings.” I smile.

I watch the band getting ready to perform on a small stage. Our table is literally sitting on a floor of sand, and in front of us is an amazing view of the beach that’s so picturesque it makes you say touristy things you never thought you’d say, like, We’re in paradise. Or, This looks like a movie set. (I’ll admit, I said that one to Nick a few minutes ago.)

“I’m so happy we didn’t have to go on another tour today.” I roll my eyes at Nick. But I don’t say the next part: that it was nice to hang out with him and not think about them. To not have them infiltrate every thought.

“Oh, please! You know you were bummed we didn’t go rock climbing or skydiving.”

“Actually, I was hoping for some deep-sea fishing.” I laugh and snort, covering my nose with my hand. “Whoops.”

“A snort, huh?” Nick says, and leans back. “I guess you’re finally getting comfortable with me.”

I feel my cheeks heat up. “I hate when I do that. It’s so embarrassing.”

“I think it’s cute.”

“Really?”

“Sure. I’ve always thought it’s the quirks that make a person interesting.”

I take a drink of my water, thinking of how my snort bugged James. Not at first. When we’d met, he thought it was cute too. Even used to playfully mimic me when he heard it. But later, when things changed, it began to irritate him. I remember being at a party once, and he glanced my way when he heard it. He knew how to work a room and expected me to do the same. Snorting was not an option.

“You know it’s not something I can control!” I said on the way home that night, trying to hide how stupid I felt, how sad I was that we’d ended up here—in a place that made it okay for my husband to chastise me for simply being myself.

“Oh, come on, Jacks.” He kept his eyes on the road as he spoke, and I was thankful because he couldn’t see how much his criticism hurt. Then he delivered the blow. “Sure you can.”

And after that I did learn to control it. Except for when I drink. When I drink, I forget. My smooth edges become rough again.

I look up from my thoughts and notice Nick watching me.

“What were you just thinking about?” he says. “Your face got all dark.”

“Nothing,” I say. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” I shake off the memory of James and force a smile. “What about you? What are the quirks that make you interesting?”

“Oh, I’m wildly boring. Supremely uninteresting.” Nick laughs.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t have any idiosyncrasies?”

“Saved by the bell.” Nick points to my phone, which is ringing again. “Is that your mom again?”

“And Poochie Poo.”

Nick presses his lips together to stifle a laugh. “Poochie Poo?”

“Yep!”

“She keeps calling. Aren’t you concerned something might be wrong?”

“No, she’s just worried about me.”

“So then why not answer? ‘Unworry’ her?”

I give him a look.