One Less Problem Without You (30 page)

In the diner, they found a booth by the window and took half an hour or so to enjoy good, strong java and, for Prinny, a toasted Asiago cheese bagel with veggie cream cheese. She hadn't realized how famished she was until she saw that on the menu.

After toying with the idea for a bit, alternately deciding to say something and deciding
not
to say something, she finally came out with it, surprising herself. “I saw your wife the other day.”

He looked taken aback. “Did you? Where?”

“Georgetown.” She didn't reveal that Britni had come for a reading. That was a confidence she wouldn't break, but she wanted to open the subject. “It was only in passing, but I'd have recognized her anywhere.” He looked puzzled. “That picture you have on your desk.”

“Oh.” He nodded.

They've already broken up. Whatever scene she had anticipated coming had already happened now. The marriage was over.

The picture was no longer on his desk.

And it wasn't Britni he was thinking about right now.

It was Prinny.

She blushed under his gaze, which caused him to blush as well, and suddenly she had no idea what to say.

“She always did love to do her shopping on that main drag,” he said awkwardly. She didn't need supernatural intuition to know that he had put his wife in the past tense to communicate something specific to her.

Suddenly Prinny felt stupid for even bringing it up. Granted, doing so had brought out good information for her. If they were going their separate ways, that had to be a good thing, if only because Britni didn't love Alex, and no one should be stuck in a loveless marriage.

Diana could testify to that.

“I didn't mean to raise a sore subject,” she said. “It was just such a coincidence.”

He shrugged. “Honestly, I thought she'd go to your store. She saw your file out the other day and was asking about it. Not private information or anything, just the plans for expanding into the space next door.”

“And how would you feel about your wife going to a metaphysical shop?”

He looked genuinely puzzled. “What do you mean? Should I feel negatively about that?”

“Oh, you'd be
amazed
how many men complain about their wives having readings or buying crystals.”

He laughed. “Well, yeah, I guess I can imagine. Or maybe I've just had to intercept too many Leif calls.”

“We know all about how Leif feels about the shop,” Prinny went on. “But I never knew just what
you
thought of it.”

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes so warm that looking at them made her have to fight back a giggle.

“I think the shop, like the owner, is absolutely charming.”

She couldn't stop the huge, goofy, stupid puppy dog smile. “Oh, go
on
.” She laughed. “Most people think it's a little weird and kind of … eccentric.”

“That, too,” he said. “Definitely that, too. But
charmingly
eccentric.” He looked at her very seriously. “It's you, really, that makes it. You're what's so good about it.”

She didn't know what to say. Of course she wanted the moment to last, but it couldn't, and even though it called for her to say something graceful in response, all she could do was grin like an idiot.

“Thanks.” It was all she could muster, but it worked.

He gave a small smile in return. “We should probably go back to the hospital,” he said. “See what's going on.”

“Of course.” What was she thinking? Flirting away while poor Diana had been sitting there all alone. “Di hasn't called, so I guess that's a good sign.”

Alex left cash on the table, waving away her reach for her wallet, and together they walked back across the street. The rain had stopped now, but the damp was rising off the still-hot pavement of the street in waves. They went into the air-conditioned lobby and boarded that stale coffee-scented elevator and went back to the horrid little waiting room where seemingly nothing had changed.

Prinny introduced Alex and Diana, and Alex expressed his sorrow over meeting under these conditions. Then they all three sat, barely making conversation, watching snatches of golf on TV.

When the doctor came out, it wasn't like on TV. He wasn't taking off his cap and wiping his brow, with a sad look in his kind but wise old eyes.

He was all business.

“I'm sorry,” he said, without compassion.

Then he went on to explain how Leif had died at 11:52
P.M
. of cardiac arrest, just as they had been hoping to get the arrhythmia under control. It wasn't unheard of, he explained.

They did all they could.

They tried.

Diana's expression had grown distant while the doctor spoke. She looked numb. It wasn't even clear if she was hearing anything anymore. Prinny put an arm around her and squeezed until he had finished and told them there would be paperwork shortly.

Leif had come in alive, and now only paperwork would be leaving. It gave her the chills in a way that the news itself did not.

As the doctor walked away, Diana let out a long, slow breath. Almost like relief. At this point, with the tension of the past couple of hours, it wasn't surprising that both of them were finally breathing, even if it wasn't exactly a comfortable situation.

Prinny glanced at Alex, and he nodded back toward Diana.

“You're going to be all right,” Prinny said to Diana, giving her another squeeze. “I swear you are.”

Diana turned clear eyes on her. “He was so awful to me, yet he's been my life for so long that I almost … I don't know who I am now. He's … gone.”

“You're the same person you have been becoming since you left him, Diana. You are talented and starting a new life, a new business. I know this is hard”—she felt an unexpected pang of loss for the brother Leif had never opted to be—“but life will go on.”

“Yes.” Diana closed her eyes for a moment, and her shoulders sank. “Life will go on.”

She did not cry.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Chelsea
One Year Later

Of all the nights when Chelsea really needed to get some sleep, it was that one. But instead of sleeping deeply and waking up with a dewy glow and energy for the day and more, she was half awake all night. Her feet writhed; she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood rising to the surface beneath the skin. She looked at the clock a million times.

But for once, she wasn't tossing and turning from anxiety. She wasn't longing for a drunken haze to put her to something resembling sleep. No.

Not anymore.

She couldn't sleep because she was so. Damn. Excited.

It was like Christmas Eve as a kid, with those glances up at the electric candle in the window, just waiting for the sky beyond it to lighten. So the day could begin. The half-eaten cookies could be found, the presents opened, the marathon of holiday movies begun in the living room.

Today, though, it wasn't Christmas Eve. In fact, it was almost just like any other day. Her happiness probably could have kept her awake even if tonight
wasn't
The Night.

Chelsea's alarm went off at eight—she'd looked at the clock every one to five minutes in the last forty-five minutes, waiting for it to go off—and she pushed herself up in bed.

“Up, up, up!” she said, not bothering to contain her Christmas-morning excitement.

Jeff groaned, but smiled when she laughed. “It's gotta be too early, doesn't it?”

“Nope!” she said, draping herself over his torso.

He yawned and put his free hand on her waist. Blinking, he looked at her. “You look pretty.”

“You don't have your contacts in, you can't see anything,” she said, but grinned anyway.

“Actually,” he said, pinching her side, “I do, because somebody wouldn't let me out of bed last night to go remove them.”

She made a
who, me?
face. For one more minute, she relaxed on his chest. His heat enveloped her and was almost enough to make her press snooze again.

But she couldn't—there was too much to do today. Brunch, primping, practice. Then tonight.

She did a quick drumroll on his chest, “Okay, let's go, I'll put coffee on.”

“Make it so strong that you're pretty sure it'll be undrinkable.”

“Will do!” she shouted over her shoulder, heading into his kitchen. Stainless steel, wood, marble, and clean. She loved waking up here.

“Hey, babe?” he called to her.

“Yep?”

“Do we have any of that what's-it-called spiky energy tea of Di's left?”

She smiled yet again. She loved when he asked if “we” had any left, she loved that he called her friend Di, she loved that he liked her teas as much as she did.

“Spike. I brought some back from work yesterday,” she said, and waited for the response.

He was walking into the kitchen. “You're literally the greatest thing to ever happen to me.” He walked up behind her, tilting her head with his own so that he could reach her neck to kiss it. “You, and then that tea is second. A very close second.”

*   *   *

AFTER MAKING JUST
enough time for a tussle in the sheets, getting ready for the day, and hopping on the Metro (where they were totally
that
couple, her with her legs slung over his, as if they weren't on the grimy earthworm version of transportation), they arrived at Medicini's, her favorite place in town for brunch.

Prinny, Alex, and Di were already there, and they waved at her from the best table in the place. Courtyard view, never any weird ice-cold drafts from the ceiling.

They all said their hellos, and a few minutes later, Alex and Jeff were talking about the Redskins' chances at the playoffs this year, and Prinny, Di, and Chelsea were on their own conversational island.

Prinny's arm was extended a little away from her body, still maintaining subtle contact with Alex's hand. They were always like this. Even when they “fought.” This being said, their fights were somehow even more adorable than the times they got along. She was the wild-minded one with her head a bit in the clouds, and he was the logical one with his feet solidly on the ground. So their arguments usually sounded something like:

P: “What on earth is so ridiculous about having a goat farm?”

A: “Everything.”

P: “You love goat cheese. Plus, we could make soaps and infuse them with things!”

A: “Do you know how to care for goats?”

P: “Don't they eat … trash? I mean, how hard can it be to keep something alive if it'll settle for
garbage
?”

Alex would then give her a look, and she would nod. That's about as rough as it got between them. They also threw extremely fun barbecues that tended to go late into the night and always ended in raucous laughter. Jeff had—affectionately—called the women the Three Witches on more than one occasion. Hearing themselves cackling together over mulled wine on a stove, even they could kind of see it. Which, of course, only made them laugh more.

Chelsea hadn't known Diana before the end of her saga with Leif, so she didn't know how she was before. Regardless, she could tell Diana was doing extremely well. She seemed happy. Content. The picture of independence. In fact, that had been part of what had helped to heal Chelsea after what had happened to her.

After the night at Gin Bar, when Chelsea had awoken hungover, sore, naked, and alone, she had realized she had a choice to make. The night before, she'd had plenty to make as well, until one was made for her. But now she had to decide.

Sink or swim.

She'd let a breakup with the wrong guy bring her down for far too long. And now she had to decide if she wanted to stay down and fall further into the pit of misery she'd been digging, or if she wanted to get herself together against the odds and climb out.

Chelsea lay there, head spinning for a few minutes, and then got up and checked the room. There was definitely no one there. Then she locked the manual lock on the door and climbed back into bed. And she cried. She cried hard. Because she was completely entitled to hate herself but hate that man more, and the crying felt like doing something.

Once she was empty, she decided that she would never give her power away again. She resolved it to herself, knowing that intention and declarations meant nothing until they were followed through on. She would find out the guy's name if she could, and if not, she would move on.

She called down to the front desk and asked the name of the man staying in the room, and they wouldn't give it. Against policy to release. Chelsea, though not psychic like Prinny, had a feeling that it had more to do with his frequent stays at this hotel and less to do with hotel policy. If she could, later, she would figure out what her legal rights were.

In the meantime, she was ordering breakfast on his room charge.

She ordered pancakes
and
waffles, because she could never decide, bacon, sausage, hash browns—pretty much everything on the menu. She ate everything she
never
ate for breakfast. And she enjoyed every bite. With every chomp, she thought:
Fuck. You.

She even ordered a bottle of champagne, and requested to pop it herself. She put the bottle in her purse, after taking a hot shower, and walked out of the room. She knew she would have to deal in a very real way with what had happened to her. She knew that vindictive pancakes could go only so far, but she also knew that it was a good start. She was going to be strong now. She was going to stop feeling sorry for herself. Because the only place that had gotten her was rock bottom.

Chelsea told Andrew everything when she arrived at his place later that night to get her phone. He had fumed at the idea of “that asshole,” yelled at her for leaving the bar (apparently he had never left—she had just been too drunk to realize he was there still, right where she'd left him), and then brought her in for a hug that was so hard she thought she couldn't breathe for a moment. Then he talked a bunch of legal talk and said he knew a friend he could ask advice from for her, and then he made her stay over. Which she didn't quite mind. She might have wanted to be stronger on her own, but sometimes you need a crutch, even just for a little bit.