Page 34 of The Wife Upstairs
“I’m sorry.” Eddie squeezes my fingers. “I’m sorry if I haven’t made it clear how much I want you here. How much I need you and how, yes, you do belong here.”
Turning to look at me, he ducks his head so that our foreheads nearly touch, his lips almost brushing mine. “I am fucking in love with you, Jane,” he murmurs, the words sending an electric spark down my spine, his breath warm on my face. “That’s all that matters. None of this shit with the neighborhood, with Emily, any of that. That’s all just noise. This.” He lifts our joined hands between us, squeezing again. “This is real. This is what matters.”
Eddie kisses my knuckles, and I wait, practically holding my breath because if ever there were a moment to propose, it’s now, here in the park at sunset, him looking at me like that, me not even having to fake the wide-eyed swoony thing. How did I not realize sooner that I wanted this?
But then he drops our hands and turns away, sighing. “I’ll try not to be gone so much, though, okay? I’ll let Caitlyn handle more things at Southern Manors. Running two businesses is too much, but I can’t really give up either of them right now. You understand that, right?”
I’m still sitting there feeling the imprint of his lips on my fingers, wondering how this moment got away from me, wondering why we’re back to talking about his work and not getting engaged, so all I can do is nod and manage a feeble, “Yeah.”
Clearing my throat, I shake my head a little. Jesus, Jane, get it together.
I scoot closer, threading my arm through his elbow and restingmy head on his shoulder. Disappointment sits like a rock in my stomach, heavy and hard. And not just because I feel even further away from cementing my place as Mrs. Rochester.
Because I genuinely want him to want me.
Because I want Eddie.
15
We have the next meeting for the Neighborhood Beautification Committee at Eddie’s house.
Myhouse. Sometimes I think of it like that. But thinking it and actually feeling it are two different things, and as I carry our empty wineglasses to the sink once the meeting is over, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m right back where I started: a servant, rather than the lady of the house.
The meeting was mostly pointless, and I think the ladies only agreed to it for the chance to get back inside this place. The whole time we’d been sitting in the living room, talking about Pinterest boards and “Festive Fall Fun Décor,” I’d felt their eyes cataloguing what was gone, what was new.
Campbell and Emily linger after the other women have gone home, saying it’s to help me pick up, but I know it’s to do some more digging.
“This place looks great,” Campbell says, putting our wine bottle in the recycling. “I mean, it always did, but it just feels brighter now, doesn’t it, Em?”
Emily hums, nodding as she sips the last of the wine from her glass. “Totally.”
The house can’t look any different from how it did the last time they were in here. There might be a few pictures missing, but it’s not like I’ve gone on a redecorating spree.
I can’t tell if they’re being nice or fishing, so I decide to do a little fishing myself.
“Everything was so gorgeous that I didn’t really want to change anything. Bea really had excellent taste.” A self-conscious little laugh for effect. “I mean, I guess that was her whole career, having excellent taste.”
Emily and Campbell share a glance I pretend not to see.
“She did know how to put things together,” Campbell agrees at last, coming to stand next to me at the kitchen counter, propping her elbows on the granite. “But you know what? I always thought Blanche’s place was even cuter. No offense, Jane,” she hurries to say, and I wave it off even as I think back to the Ingrahams’. There was some cute stuff there, for sure, but maybe Tripp had made everything so grubby I hadn’t been able to see it.
“God, remember howpissedBlanche was when Bea’s living room got the bigBirmingham Magazinespread at Christmas?” Campbell says, and I see Emily look over at me for just a second.
“Blanche was funny about Christmas,” she replies delicately, and Campbell pulls a face.
“Blanche was funny about Bea.”
Turning to me, Campbell tucks her hair behind one ear. “Sorry. We’re just here in your kitchen rehashing old gossip, aren’t we?”
“I don’t mind,” I say, and I really don’t. I feel like I keep getting these glimpses of Bea and Blanche that don’t line up with what I thought I knew, and I want more of them. Maybe if I can paint a full picture of Bea for myself, I won’t feel like she’s still here.
Like she could just appear around any corner.
Sometimes it feels like she has. Just last week a delivery truck showed up with fresh flowers for the house. A standing order from Bea, one that Eddie had never canceled.
She’s been gone for nearly a year, but the arrangement of lilies and magnolias on the front table of my house were hers, and every time I walk past them, it’s like I’ve just missed seeing her, that she’s just stepped out for a second.
But now both Emily and Campbell shake their heads. “No, we’veimposed enough on you today.” Emily comes around the counter, kissing my cheek. “Thank you so much for hosting!”
