You Deserve Each Other(37)

“I don’t want your money. I’d rather sell my own liver. I’d rather work at one of the brothels your dad used to go to before your mom melted his brain with Dr. Oz supplements.”

It’s a kill shot, but he raises a laugh like a shield and my blow glances right off. “Am I supposed to be shocked? I’ve known about that for years.”

It’s inane, but I’m mad he knew about this and didn’t tell me. It’s such a juicy tidbit to hog all to himself. I’m supposed to be his fiancée! He should share these humiliating stories about his parents with me.

“You’re the reason we’re still living in Morris,” he rants. “If it weren’t for your ludicrous attachment to a gas station gift shop trying to be Ripley’s Believe It or Not, I would’ve accepted that job offer in June. Bigger city, better pay. More opportunities for both of us. But no-o-o, you didn’t want to move. You said your minimum-wage job was every bit as important as mine. Outright refused to even consider moving. Made me give up what is basically my dream job, so now I’m stuck out here forever. I knew at the time that the Junk Yard was dying, and I was throwing everything away over you. Well, now you’re going to throw away something for me, too. You’re going to throw away a little bit of your pride and give this house a chance for one goddamn minute before making a decision about whether you want to stay or leave. You will at least give me that.”

The last string of civilized feeling between us snaps.

“So you’ve been pissed off since June about not taking that job, then,” I shoot back. “I’d only been working at the Junk Yard since February and I was just starting to feel settled into my new routine. I loved my job. Why should I be the one to sacrifice?”

He’s breathing fire. “Why should I?”

“I don’t get what you’re doing.” I throw my arms up. “Why’d you bring me here?”

“I thought this would be a nice surprise. I thought you’d love it. Just like with the flowers you complained I never get for you. But then when I do get you flowers, you SET THEM ON FIRE.”

“That’s ancient history! How dare you bring that up. You already admitted you don’t care what I want.”

He lets out a savage, animalistic roar and stomps back down the stairs again. I hear him banging doors and nearly yell at him not to bang the beautiful doors in my beautiful new house. “Let’s go!” he calls up after a few minutes. “We have to go get your car! What the fuck do you want for dinner?”

“I fucking want pizza!” I holler. I’ve wanted some since the son of a bitch got it delivered.

“Fine! I’ve got a fucking coupon for Benigno’s, anyway!”

“Great! I fucking love Benigno’s!”

We pile into his car as angrily as we can muster and don’t speak until we’re inside the pizza parlor. When a lady comes over to seat us, a different Naomi and a different Nicholas smile our in-front-of-other-people smiles and our tone is so calm it’s scary, but our insides are boiling.

When I’m in the bathroom, he orders me a Dr Pepper, which he knows is my favorite.

Before we leave, I wipe all the crumbs and used napkins from the table onto our plates and stack them, which I know he appreciates because he tries to be helpful to the busboys.

When we get back out to the car, we plot how to ruin each other’s lives.



I don’t know how Nicholas can expect me to take him seriously.

I mean.

It’s just.

A pop of laughter bursts in my mouth before I can swallow it.

I woke up to three strange men in my living room this morning and squawked, flailing to cover myself, but luckily a blanket had found its way over me while I was asleep on the couch and no one saw my bare legs in boy shorts. When I stood up, I kept the blanket wrapped around me and almost tripped over it, yelping when Nicholas gave me an unexpectedly playful swat on the bottom to get me moving.

“Hurry up!” he said cheerfully. “Got lots to do today!”

That was hours ago, and I still don’t know what mood I’m supposed to be in. Moving has been a real bitch, and I’m avoiding helping as much as I can. Lots of time has been spent hiding in the bathroom, pretending it takes ten minutes to change a tampon. After my third faked tampon run in an hour, I emerge to find that Nicholas has made a daring wardrobe change. When he sees the evil smile on my face, his expression gets prickly and defensive, but I can’t be held accountable here.

Nicholas is wearing this ridiculously baggy … I don’t even know what to call it. Coveralls? He’s head-to-toe khaki, which he must be loving, and his brand-new work boots probably weigh twenty pounds each. I think he’s going for hale, rough-hewn man of the wilderness, but instead he looks like a Ghostbuster.

The plaid hat with earflaps is back, even though he must be hot what with all the refrigerator lifting and shelf maneuvering and anything else I’m pretending I wouldn’t be any good at because I’m a fragile-boned female whose delicate knees buckle from carrying a box of tissues. If he wants to buy a house without my help, he can very well move everything into it without my help. I think he’s waiting for me to throw that in his face, which is why he bites his tongue whenever he sees me sitting down, doing nothing.

This new look is unnatural on Nicholas. He’s trying so hard to fight his own genes, bless him.