Page 4 of Nothing Less than Magic
I’m engaged.
If it’s to me, I’m the last to know. Besides, we already did that song and dance. I want to say,what the hell are you talking about?when I realize his lips are still moving but no sounds are coming out. All I hear is a shrill ring. It’s either my own fury or a panic attack.
Get ahold of yourself, Chelsea.You misunderstood.Calm down and listen.Really listen.
And just like that, I switch into Dr. Chelsea Knight mode and take my seat, trying to remain serene, even a little removed. “What do you mean by engaged, Austin?” I ask, as if he’s just another client.
“I met someone.” He takes a moment; then, in a soft voice, says, “Please don’t hate me.”
I blink a few times, wondering if this is a joke. A cruel joke, but a joke just the same.
“When?” is all I manage to eke out before I completely lose it. “When did you meet this woman?”
His face goes white as he realizes what I’m implying. “It’s not what you think. We were in the final stages of our divorce when I met Mary.”
So we hadn’t even signed on the dotted line of our divorce papers when he was out trolling for the new Mrs. Carter.
“Look,” he says, “it just happened. It wasn’t as if I was out there, perusing bars to meet women. I was a mess, Chelsea. Devastated. And Mary . . . well . . .”
“Well what?” I want to wipe the pure look of adulation for Mary off his face with my fist. “A week ago, you couldn’t get me into bed fast enough. Jesus, Austin.”
“Yeah . . . that was wrong. A shitty thing to do.” He cocks his head to the side and stares at me with a pair of hang-dog puppy eyes that I want to poke out with my fork. “I never meant to send you mixed signals.”
“No? How did you think I would take you initiating sex with me?” Because for the first time in his natural-born life, he was the initiator. In the past, I’d always been the one to make the first move in the bedroom. There’s nothing wrong with that, and the sex had always been good. But this time, it was all him. Nothing mixed about those signals.
His face falls, and I see regret. Deep-seated regret.
“You know I could never resist you, Chels.” He says it with such sadness that I don’t know exactly how to take it. Is he sad that he can’t resist me or sad that he’s a duplicitous jackass?
“You and I have so much history, Chelsea. And I’m having trouble letting you go. Really ending it.”
“Then don’t.” I’m near hysterics, so near that I’m willing to beg. “Don’t do this, Austin. We were good together. You said it yourself.”
“Ah, jeez, Chelsea, don’t look at me that way. You know how guilty I feel about this? I debated on whether to even tell you. But it was bound to come out at some point. How do you keep an engagement secret? And you’re the one who is always talking about honesty.” He starts to brush a hair away from my face, and I push his hand away. “Come on, don’t be like that.”
If I hadn’t drained my glass, I’d throw my drink in his face. Instead, I simply sit stock-still with my mouth ajar, not knowing what to say or how to react. How is it that one day he’s in love with me, and the next he’s engaged to someone else? I’m a nationally renowned marriage counselor, for God’s sake, and never saw this coming.
“Say something, Chels.”
“What do you want me to say, Austin? That I’m happy for you? That I hope you and this Mary woman have a wonderful life together? The life we were supposed to have. What I don’t understand is why you led me on all these months? Showing up at the condo. Calling. Texting. Sending meNew Yorkercartoons.” When we were together, we used to cackle over those cartoons, when in truth, half the time I didn’t even get them.
“Was I supposed to cut you out of my life?” He holds my gaze, waiting for me to respond. When I don’t, he shakes his head. “Jesus, Chelsea, you’re my best friend.”
“And apparently your fuck buddy.”
He motions for me to keep my voice down. “That’s pretty low. We were together for nearly a decade. It’s only natural that my body still responds to the familiarity of yours.”
“Oh, is that what it was?” I laugh, then lean back, fold my arms across my chest, and try to keep from throwing up in my mouth. “Is that what you told Mary? That it was merely the familiarity of my body that you were responding to?”
“Stop it, Chelsea. It’s beneath you.”
I want to say the only thing beneath me a few days ago was him. But I’m too crushed to go there again. I just want to leave. Run, actually. Grab my purse and take the elevator down nineteen floors until I’m touching firm ground again. But I’m trying to preserve what little dignity I have left. So instead, I’m planning to sit here and eat everything on my damned plate, then stick him with the bill. No, better yet, I’m going to deprive him of the one thing we still share together. The one thing that still means something to him, even if I don’t.
“I want the cabin for Christmas,” I say, jutting out my chin like a petulant child.
Truthfully, I can’t think about Halloween or Thanksgiving, let alone Christmas, right now, because I’ll be spending all three holidays alone. It’s childish of me, but the urge to lash out is overwhelming, and he loves the cabin. Besides, I don’t want him taking his new fiancée there. It was supposed to be the place where we took our children on vacations to make memories, the place he and I would eventually retire to.
“Okay,” he says, far too easily. “I’ll take it on Thanksgiving then.”
