You Deserve Each Other(85)

Nicholas seems disappointed, too, but the ghost of a smile lifts his cheek and the skin around his eyes crinkles. “Going to miss me?”

“Not even,” I mumble. It convinces no one. To distract from the sudden gloom that’s fallen over us I say, “So, will you be making financial decisions on your parents’ behalf, then? You can invest their money for them? There’s a GoFundMe to make a movie about Pizza Rat, called Ratachewy. You should look into that.”

He laughs. “Nah, I don’t get to do whatever I want with their money. I’ll mostly be listening and taking notes. Then I’ll report back to Mom and she’ll decide what she wants to do.”

I don’t bother asking why Deborah can’t just go herself. The purpose of Deborah bearing children was so that she’d have minions obligated to do her bidding.

“It’s only two days,” he says gently. “You’ll have the house to yourself. You can draw handlebar mustaches on all my pictures and jump on the bed naked.”

“Sounds like my average day.”

Once, this would have been a dream come true. No Nicholas! I would have been rejoicing. It’s such a bummer that now I have to miss his stupid, adorable face when he’s gone.



I set my alarm on Saturday morning so that I wake up early enough to see Nicholas off. It’s insane that they’ve scheduled the meeting for ten a.m. when he has to drive to get there. It’s as dark as outer space and way too cold to be traveling. His engine and tires might blow up. On top of that, he’s leaving right when I’m starting to come down with the stomach flu. There’s a rising lump in my throat when I watch him tie his shoelaces, a leather bag with a change of clothes and overnight essentials at his feet.

“I don’t feel well,” I mutter.

He turns his head, scanning me from top to bottom. “What’s wrong?”

“Stomachache. I feel like I’m going to be sick. I’m all sweaty and uncomfortable.” I’m also pacing. For something to do, I unzip his bag and paw through his stuff. I dab some of his cologne on my wrists and rub them together, then bring the scent to my nose to inhale slowly. It settles my nausea a little. Then I raise my eyes to meet Nicholas’s probing ones and my heart stutters. “What?”

“Nothing.” There’s a tremor in his voice and he looks away, tying his other shoe. When he stands up, I nearly shout.

“Wait! You can’t leave yet. You haven’t eaten any breakfast.”

“It’s too early for me to be hungry. I’ll grab something on the road later.”

“You want more coffee?” I drift toward the kitchen but he shakes his head, tapping a thermos.

“Got plenty right here.”

Maybe he shouldn’t drink coffee. It’ll get him all wired and he’ll speed. He’ll fly off an overpass and his car will do sixteen rolls in midair. “I’m worried you’re going to fall asleep at the wheel.”

Nicholas chuckles. “I went to bed early, so I’m wide awake. I’ll be all right.”

“What if it starts to snow?”

“I won’t fall asleep even if it starts snowing.” I think I’m amusing him.

I frown. “Nicholas, I’m serious. I did some researching on Cohasset and I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want to spook you, but in August there were three carjackings. Some guy came up to people at a gas station and said their gas cap had fallen off, and when they turned to check he pulled a gun on them.”

He cradles my jaw in his hands. His gaze is molten and he looks almost like he could love me. I think about all the times I almost walked away and it’s terrifying. I would have missed out on this. “Then I won’t get gas in Cohasset.”

I’m pathetic. A helpless newborn kitten. “You can’t leave me here when I’m ill.”

He puts a hand to my forehead. The gesture feels so intimate. I’ve slept with this man, but this feels intimate? I’m contagious. He can’t go to Cohasset or he’ll infect the whole brewery, and he needs to stay quarantined here with me.

“I think you’re lovesick,” he says with a curving mouth.

My stomach flips. My tongue is tied in at least three knots. I can’t think of a response, so he steps even closer, until our bodies are just barely touching. “You are. Trust me, I know all the signs.”

My mouth doesn’t work. I try to form words and let out an unintelligible squeak.

He grins and leans in to kiss my temple. His lips pause at my ear, and I shiver so hard I know he feels it. “It’s a condition I’m quite familiar with myself.”

I clutch the arm of the couch so that I don’t tip over when he withdraws. His back is turned to me, shaking slightly, and I’d swear he’s trying not to laugh.

I’m such a mess over his accusation that I barely hold it together long enough to say good-bye. He says, “Good luck at your interview. I know you’ll knock it out of the park. Be back before you know it, pretty girl.” He winks, and then he’s gone, in his Jeep that’s going to crash, with a contagious illness and either too much or not enough caffeine.

I burn away the next few hours painting the front door purple, ordering Nicholas a new phone charger—one that’s long enough to reach his nightstand—and setting up my new Instagram account dedicated to the gruesome salt and pepper shaker babies. I’ve named them Frank and Helvetica and I’m going to position them in a new location every day to bewilder Nicholas. It will be like Elf on the Shelf, and I’m calling it Demon on the Ceilin’. My favorite ideas involve suspending them from fishing line at Nicholas’s face-level. The shower! The car! His office at work! It’s going to be way more fun than my old Instagram.