The New Husband(42)
“You are a lot more understanding than I would have been. I was going to take her phone and ground her for a month.”
“And give her more reason to hate me?” Simon said. “No, thank you. Let’s let this go and hope for smoother seas ahead. It’s all going to be fine.”
Simon bent down and deposited a gentle kiss on Nina’s forehead.
“Tonight,” he said, this time planting a quick kiss on her lips as he took her into his arms. Nina sank into his embrace and felt the taxing day leave her body. “You look amazing,” Simon said. “And you are amazing. I can’t tell you how lucky I am to have you in my life.”
“Are you about to say you complete me?” Nina asked, giving him a playful pinch so he knew she was referencing that famous movie quote in a loving way. She pulled back to appraise him thoughtfully. “Thank you for being you,” she said.
Simon kissed Nina again before leaving Maggie’s bedroom to deal with dinner prep and his broken musket. Nina showered and ate a quiet meal with Connor and Maggie, the way it had been before the short-term trio had become a quartet. There was no talk of the gun, or getting along, or any weighty subject. Conversation was limited to school and logistics, including a reminder that Maggie was scheduled to get another x-ray on her injured ankle.
After dinner, Connor helped with the dishes, while Maggie, who had set the table, got a reprieve. Simon returned a few hours later with the good news that his musket could be repaired without the break being too noticeable, and might even be ready for Friday’s field trip.
That was not the only thing he fixed.
Later that evening, when the kids had gone to bed, after giving Nina a foot massage, preparing her lunch, consulting with her on day two’s outfit, and refilling her glass of wine, Simon took her in his arms and made love to her with exquisite tenderness.
“One phone call tomorrow, that’s your limit,” Nina told him as she nestled in his arms, basking in the afterglow. “One.”
“I’ll try,” Simon said. “But I love to hear your voice.”
CHAPTER 23
Ben and I, along with everyone else in the eighth grade, were in the middle of the hallway, shuffling past glass displays of student artwork, trophies, and other school paraphernalia, on our way to the school gym for an anti-bullying lecture that some expert had been hired to give.
As we neared the gym, Laura, Justin, and a bunch of my former friends pushed past me with enough attitude to knock me over. I caught a few nasty glares as they strode on by, an extra-harsh one coming from Laura, but no words were exchanged. It’s not exactly a smart move to bully someone on the way to a lecture about bullying.
I noticed how Ben stood a bit taller, and you’d have to know him to see that he puffed out his chest, which was really sweet. He wanted to protect me, but Laura Abel and her crew of meanies weren’t my biggest concern. No, that particular person stood guard at the entrance to the gymnasium looking all teacher-like, with his navy polo shirt tucked into his dumb khaki pants. He had that leather bag Mom bought for his birthday at his feet. So many times I thought of hiding it from him because I knew that’s where he kept his wallet and keys.
My fellow students greeted him with pleasant smiles and warm hellos all around—“Hi, Mr. Fitch. Hey, Mr. Fitch! ’Sup, Mr. Fitch.”—and as I approached I had to think of what to say. Should I say anything at all? Should I call him Simon like I do at home? I decided it was best to try and slip past him unnoticed, using my fellow classmates as camouflage, but no such luck. Simon reached out a long arm and tapped my shoulder, a knock hello, like he thought maybe I had missed seeing him. He smiled as though nothing was wrong and said, “Good morning, Maggie.”
I managed to grumble out a good morning in return. Ben and I found two seats together on the fifth row of the bleachers, next to Jaddy (Jackson and Addie), who were occupied not with each other, but with whatever was on their respective smartphones. In fact most kids were looking at, or sharing something, on their phones.
“Do you think it’s funny we’re having a lecture on bullying and everyone is on the smartphone they use to bully?” Ben always made some keen observation.
“You’re just jealous because your parents won’t let you have one,” I said, teasing him because we were friends now, and friends can tease.
“I think you just bullied me,” Ben said with a smirk.
I said, “Guess you’d better report me,” and we both enjoyed a little laugh.
A few minutes later, nobody was laughing, or talking, because Principal Fowler had come to the microphone and introduced the guest speaker, a guy named George something (admittedly, I wasn’t paying close attention). When you live it, and know it the way I do, deep and personal, it’s hard to get really excited about an hour-long chat on bullying. It’s like going to a lecture about what it feels like to get mauled by a bear after a bear has mauled you. It was kind of a “been there, done that” moment for me.
Still, I joined everyone in applauding for George, who was young, maybe a few years out of college, and hip in a Diary of a Wimpy Kid kind of way, with short dark hair and thick black glasses that made him look like Ben’s cool older brother. He had on a polo shirt similar to Simon’s solid navy one, but his had alternating dark and light blue horizontal stripes. At the cuffs of his dark jeans were Converse sneakers, what the emos and goths in my school wore, making him even more the alternative type.