Page 33 of The Wife Upstairs
“I need a manicure,” I say on a sigh, wiggling my fingers in front of my face. “When I was at Emily’s the other day, all I could see were everybody’s perfect nails. Well, perfect nails and a metric fuckton of jewelry. I’d be nervous wearing more than one ring.”
Okay, so that last little bit was maybe not as subtle as Icouldhave been, but desperate times and all.
Eddie snorts at that, but doesn’t look up. “Bea always thought it was tacky how much jewelry they all wore. Especially when they’re mostly just staying home all day.”
“Okay, well, I don’t have to be dripping in diamonds, but I should probably take better care of my nails.”
Still looking at his phone, Eddie catches my hand, absently bringing my fingers to his lips.
I want him to say something about not minding my nails like that or not noticing, but instead he says, “The place in the village is supposed to be good.”
Nodding, I take my hand back, twisting my fingers in the hem of my shirt. “Is that where Bea went?” I ask, and finally, I have his attention.
He looks up from the screen, blinking, before saying, “As far as I know, yeah. All the girls in the neighborhood go there.”
“Women,” I say, and when he screws up his face, I sit up a little taller. “Just… they’re all in their thirties at least. They’re not girls.”
His face clears, and he gives me a smile I haven’t seen before.
It’s not the sexy grin, or that delighted quirk of lips I get when I’ve said something that charms him. It’s… indulgent.
Slightly paternalistic.
It irritates me.
“Right, sorry,” he says, turning back to his phone.“Women.”
“Look, I get that you’re older than me, and have, like, seen more of the world or whatever, but you don’t have to patronize me.” The words are out before I can stop them, before I can remember to be the Jane he wants, not the Jane I actually am.
Then again, I’m remembering, he sometimes likes the Jane I actually am.
He lowers his phone and gives his full attention to me. “I’m being a dick, aren’t I?”
“Little bit, yeah.”
There’s his real smile now, and he takes my hand again, squeezing it. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just swamped. But I wanted to spend time with you today, and to get you out of the house for a little bit. You’ve seemed out of sorts the past week or so.”
Ever since John.
I sit there, my mind working, wondering what I can say, how much I can share. There’s an opening here, an opportunity, one of those chances to mix a little lie in with some actual truth, and it occurs to me that it might get me what I want a lot faster than dropping hints about fingers and rings.
“I guess I’m just wondering where all this is going,” I say, and he frowns, that crease deepening between his eyebrows. On the river, one of the kayakers calls to the other, and another pair of women jog by, glancing down at me and Eddie.
“It’s not that I don’t love living with you,” I go on. “I do. I really do. But when you’ve been a charity case for most of your life, you start to really resent that feeling.”
Eddie puts his phone down now and sits up straighter, his hands clasped between his knees. “What does that mean?”
I keep my own eyes trained on the river in front of me, on the families pushing strollers around the trail. The one couple with their arms around each other’s waists.
“You saw where I used to live. You know what my life was like before I met you. I don’t… I don’t belong here.”
He snorts at that. “Okay, again, I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”
Now I turn toward him, pushing my sunglasses up on my head. “It means that I’m not Emily or Campbell or—”
“I don’t want you to be any of them,” he says, taking my hand. “I love you because you’re not them. Because you’re not…” He trails off, and I see his throat move as he swallows.
He wants to saybecause you’re not Bea.I know it, and he knows I know if the way he suddenly looks away is any indication. But for the first time, I’m left wondering whatthatmeans. He had obviously adored her, so why is being different from her such a bonus to him?
