The Wife Between Us(14)
“Please don’t,” she said between gasps.
“Don’t what?” he joked as he continued.
“Seriously, Richard. Stop it!” She tried to wriggle away, but he was on top of her.
“Looks like I found your sweet spot.”
She felt as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs. His strong body covered hers, and the remote control dug into her back. Finally, she wrenched her hands free and pushed him away, much harder than she had when he tried to prolong their kiss.
After she caught her breath, she said, “I hate being tickled.”
Her tone was sharp—sharper than she’d intended. He looked at her closely. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
She adjusted her top, then turned to face him. She knew she had overreacted. Richard was only being playful, but the sensation of being trapped had panicked her. She had the same feeling in crowded elevators or going through underground tunnels. Richard was usually sensitive to these issues, but he couldn’t be expected to always read her mind. They’d had such a nice night. The dinner. The movie. And he was only trying to be generous and thoughtful.
She wanted to get things back on track. “No, I’m sorry. I’m being grumpy. . . . I just feel like I’m always on the go lately. And my street is so noisy that whenever I open my window, it’s impossible to sleep. You’re right, it would be nice to relax a little more. I’ll talk to my manager this week.”
Richard smiled. “Think they can find someone soon? One of our new clients funds a lot of good theater on Broadway. I could get you and Sam house seats to anything you want to see.”
Nellie had seen just three shows since moving to New York; tickets were exorbitant. She’d sat in the balcony every time, once behind a man with a severe head cold and the others with a pole partially obscuring her view.
“That would be amazing!” She nestled closer to him.
Someday they’d have an actual fight, but Nellie couldn’t imagine being truly mad at Richard. It was more likely her sloppy ways would chafe him. She draped her discarded clothes over her bedroom chair or sometimes left them on the floor; Richard hung up his suits every night, smoothing the fine fabric before tucking them in his closet. Even his T-shirts were shepherded into soldier-straight rows by some sort of clear plastic device that fit into his dresser drawers. The Container Store probably sold it. More than that, they were sorted by hues: one row for black and gray, one for colors, and one for whites.
His job required intense focus and attention to detail; he had to be organized. And while no one could call teaching preschoolers relaxing, the stakes felt far less intense—not to mention that the hours were shorter and the only travel required was the occasional field trip to the zoo.
Richard took such good care of his things—and of her. He worried about her commuting to the apartment from Gibson’s, and he called or texted every night to make sure she’d arrived home safely. He’d bought her a top-of-the-line cell phone. “I’d feel better if you took it with you whenever you go out,” he’d said. He’d offered to buy her Mace, too, but she told him she already carried pepper spray. “Good,” he said. “There are so many creeps out there.”
Don’t I know it, Nellie had thought, suppressing a shudder, so grateful for that flight, that young soldier—even for her anxiety about being airborne because it had sparked their first conversation.
Richard had put an arm around her. “Did you like the movie?”
“It was sad. He had that big house, and all that money, but he was so alone.”
Richard nodded. “Exactly. That’s what I always think when I watch it, too.”
Richard loved to surprise her, she was learning.
He had something planned for today—with him, it could be anything from minigolf to a museum—and had told her he was leaving work early to pick her up. She needed to wear something that could cover a range of possibilities, so she decided on her favorite navy-and-white-striped sundress and flat sandals.
Nellie shucked off the T-shirt and cargo pants she’d worn to the Learning Ladder, tossing them in the direction of her laundry basket, then reached into her closet. She shoved aside clothing, searching for the bold stripes, but it was missing.
She went in Samantha’s room and spotted it on the bed. She could hardly complain; Nellie had at least two of Sam’s tops in her closet. They shared books, clothes, food . . . everything except shoes, because Nellie’s feet were a size larger, and makeup, because Samantha was biracial, with dark hair and eyes, and Nellie—well, Jonah had chosen a marshmallow to represent her skin tone for a reason.
She dabbed Chanel perfume behind her ears—the scent was a gift from Richard for Valentine’s Day, along with a Cartier love bracelet—and decided to head outside to wait for him, since he was due to pick her up any minute.
She exited her apartment and walked down the small hallway, then pulled open the building’s main door just as someone else was entering. Nellie reflexively jumped back.
It was only Sam. “Oh! I didn’t know you were home! I was just looking for my keys.” Sam reached out and squeezed Nellie’s arm. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
When Nellie had first moved in, she and Sam spent an entire weekend painting the worn old apartment. As they rolled a creamy-yellow hue onto the kitchen cabinets, working side by side, their conversation skimmed over topics such as the rock-climbing group Sam was thinking of joining to meet rugged guys, the father at the preschool who always tried to flirt with the teachers, Sam’s therapist mother, who wanted her to go to medical school, and whether Nellie should accept the job at Gibson’s or look for weekend shifts at a clothing store.