Sail (Wake #2) (7 page)

I worked on my receipts and expenses until long past business hours. I’d only left for long enough to grab a sandwich down the street and the entire time I wanted to text Blake. I refused to admit that what Aly said had gotten under my skin. She was only trying to be vindictive, and some of that I most likely deserved because of how I’d treated her. I’d never intentionally hurt her, but she had no problem being a bitch to me on purpose.

It had been Bay Brewing Company’s best year ever. We were being served in almost every local pub and our national accounts just seemed to grow and push east through the country. I was proud of the work I’d done over the last few years, but if I ever had to do that much paperwork again, I was quitting and going back to the brewery floor. Projections. Gain reports. Loss business reports—luckily those were few. Travel expenses. Donations. Samples. Write-offs. Blah. Blah. Fucking blah.

I needed a vacation.

It was just after six thirty while I was scanning the last of my account reports to myself, standing by the copier, when I texted her.

Me: I hate paperwork.

Me: My head hurts and I need a beer.

By the time I stapled the hard copies in organized groups and got back into my office, I finally felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

Honeybee: Work was crazy here, too. I know I was just off for a few weeks, but I need a vacation. That would only make everything worse though.

Or would it? Things were slower around the brewery during January, and with opening up a few new production lines, we were caught up having the holidays behind us.

Maybe a vacation
was
a good idea.

I wondered if she’d go for it. I sat at my desk and immediately began a search. It was winter. So almost anywhere in the US would be cold, which boded well for indoor activities, but I was suffering a bout of cabin fever on top of everything else.

I hastily made a list of priorities: sand, water, Blake in a bikini, taking Blake’s bikini off, beers—we must have beers. Then I was sidetracked and opened a bottle—one of the new test brews I had in my mini-fridge—and set back to the task at hand.

Hawaii? No.

Bahamas? No.

Mexico? No.

Then, I saw a picture. It looked like paradise. Beaches. Waterfalls. Private hot tubs near the ocean. Yep. I was fucking sold. I needed that. She needed it just as bad.

She’d told her parents a few nights before. Everything. From the first night through to the wedding, and everything that led to New Year’s Eve. She’d called me right after, and I was shocked when she didn’t seem too upset. She’d admitted she was relieved. Even though they weren’t exactly impressed with how much she’d kept to herself and how she’d treated Grant, they couldn’t argue with her not being in love with him. They supported and comforted her, saying that if her heart wasn’t there, then it just wasn’t. They invited her to stay at their house until she got it all figured out.

She didn’t get overly emotional when she retold me how it went down, until she got to the part where her mom said that she’d always wished she’d talked to Blake more before the wedding after what she’d heard us say.

“My mom feels bad she didn’t make me talk to her that day. But she thought that since I told you to leave, I wanted to marry Grant. She said she hadn’t heard everything we’d said to each other, only the louder parts, but assumed if I really didn’t want to get married, I would have called it off,” Blake had explained. Looking back, it would have been confusing had she not heard the quieter things we’d confessed to each other that shitty day.

Blake said that had been the hardest part, but it was like a fog had lifted while talking to them and being honest about what she really wanted. They just wanted her happy.

She only talked to Grant via email. Knowing what I did about how they communicated, and how conversations happened more between their inboxes anyway, it was nothing new. Apparently, her message was brief, saying she was moving out and she, her dad, and Shane would be by later in the week to get most of her things.

She told me that finding an apartment was on her shortlist of tasks to do. I wanted her to come here. I said that I’d help her, but she maintained she was going to get an apartment until everything was final.

I didn’t like that, but as we’d never really dated publicly, and I hadn’t even met her parents, I couldn’t really ask her to move in, even though that was what I’d wanted most. The crazy part was, I didn’t feel so out of control about any of it. We were talking more than we ever had and calling whenever we wanted.

No hiding. No waiting.

What Aly said couldn’t be further from how I felt. She didn’t know Blake and she was only trying to cause trouble. I didn’t see Blake as a cheater. She was with me. The things we’d both done were because we couldn’t fight the pull bringing us together. Over and over. And talking to her as much as I was only confirmed that.

Having the open line of communication made me feel less crazy. It was a revelation going to sleep and not worrying about what she was doing. Not thinking about her next to somebody else while she slept. It was fucked up. With some of that tension and stress gone, it allowed me to think a whole lot clearer about how dead-on she’d been about doing this the
right
way. The right way meant being honest and not rushing, impulsively making decisions that affected more than just
our
lives.

But sitting in my office, after everyone else had left for the day, I just craved to be with her for the first time where we could relax a little. I wondered if our relationship would be different.

I mean, she wasn’t divorced yet.
Yet.
But she had an appointment with her family’s lawyer next week after he got back from a business trip. Things were moving forward. I could feel it.

But I needed her. I wanted her. I wanted just the two of us to get away. Find a page we could be on together and go from there.

The only thing was convincing her to go. “I need to make her an offer she can’t refuse,” I thought in my best Godfather inner voice. I was, after all, a godfather.

Me: I have a present for you.

Honeybee: If it’s another picture of a guy with a micro-penis again, I’m going to be very disappointed.

Me: No. It’s better. It’s a real present.

Honeybee: What is it? I want it. I hope it’s a one-way ticket to somewhere tropical and they have fruity drinks with umbrellas.

Fuck yeah. It couldn’t have gone any better. It was like selling water in the desert.

Me: What if it was?

Honeybee: When do we leave? Ha. Ha.

But it wasn’t a joke. I was ready to buy tickets and confirm reservations somewhere precisely like that.

Me: When could you leave?

Honeybee: Don’t tease.

Me: Are you at your parents’ house yet?

Honeybee: No. I haven’t even left work. I’m finishing up the last revisions on a revamped menu, and then I’m heading out.

Me: Anyone there with you?

It was impulsive, and I could’ve found a much better price had I used a travel agent. I’d become pretty good at arrangements given how much I traveled. I could book a hotel, flight, and car in ten minutes—if push came to shove. I’d figured out the location of the first picture that caught my eye and found the nearest resort.
Costa Rica.

Honeybee: Just a few chefs in the kitchen, but I’m at my desk.

I dialed her number without hesitation. This was happening.

“So when can you leave?” I asked instead of saying hello when she picked up.

“What’s today? Tuesday? I could leave Thursday.” Blake laughed. She wasn’t going to fight me at all.
Hallelujah.
Then she added, “I have to send this off in the morning. Then I have a phone conference to confirm some transition dates. I think we’re going to the house tomorrow night for my stuff.”

“Can you really take off work?” I inquired. Her bosses were great. I think they were a lot like Marc had been before I bought into Bay Brewing, with respect to time off. If your shit was done, have at it.

“Yeah, I’ve got plenty of time. Would I be able to check my email?”

First I thought about telling her no, but then I figured saying yes would buy me a few extra days. So, I caved. Surprisingly, we were full of fucking compromises.

“Sure, whatever you want,” I assured her.

“Where are we going?” Finally, a card I could hold.

“I’m not telling you yet. I’ll email you your flight info later.”

I wanted to make sure we got the same flight out. I had a little travel magic to make happen.

“Okay. I’m excited.” And she truly sounded it. It felt so fucking good to hear her sing-song voice, so eager and relaxed. It only confirmed to me that she needed a break as much as I did.

But what I needed more was to feel like
I
was making her happy.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

HE WAS REVVED UP and excited on the phone. I’d made him happy and I loved telling him yes. That could have been my resolution for 2010. Tell Casey yes more. How could I possibly tell him no when he offered me something I needed so much?

The Monday after New Year, I’d immediately started looking for apartments in my old neighborhood where I’d lived before I married. I adored the shops and cafes within walking distance in that part of town. Having parks nearby, even though I rarely went to them, was ideal. There was something calming and invigorating about looking from your window and seeing grass and trees.

Not that staying at my parents’ house wasn’t great. It was, but it was also strange. I hadn’t lived under their roof since before college. It was a peculiar dynamic. I didn’t know how Shane had dealt with it for so long, but I had to admit he was finally doing a lot better. Maybe he was just staying because he was lonely.

I got a call back on Tuesday morning about an apartment that was in a different area of Seattle than I was used to, but I thought I’d check it out anyway. The guy on the phone said he was finishing up some renovations and that I’d been the first to call. It seemed lucky and I’d take whatever good fortune that happened my way. He told me it was his retired parents’ building and that they’d done a lot of work to freshen it up. It was going on the market as soon as it was completely occupied. Apparently, he informed me, full buildings sell faster than empty ones.

He said he’d give me another call late the next week to set up a walk through and to get my references. It was something I badly needed to get done.

My parents were actually being great about everything. They were disappointed by the way I’d handled, well, everything, but they didn’t rub my nose in my mess. Instead, they were helpful and compassionate.

Grant was a totally different animal. I’d called his phone to set up a good time for us to get my belongings, only to get his voicemail. I left a message, but didn’t receive a call back. I figured he was upset and angry I hadn’t come home. Well, not the way he wanted anyway.

Still, I had to communicate with him somehow and let him know I was coming, so resorted to our tried and true way—email. When I opened my personal account and looked at some of the messages we’d sent to each other over the past months, it kind of made me sad. It wasn’t a relationship. It wasn’t love. What Grant and I had was a friendship that developed into marriage. No urgency. No need. No playfulness. Only instructions and confirmations. He was loyal and nice enough, but if that’s what I’d coveted in a companion, I should have just bought a dog.

I typed out a short message, apologetic in tone, but not in a way that might lead him to think I was coming home or even that I wanted to. I didn’t like knowing I’d hurt him, but I had. And for the first time, I was ready to face it. There are things in everyone’s life they wish they’d done better. Or just flat out done. Breaking up with Grant, when I didn’t dream of or crave a life with him, was at the top of my list.

I had to move forward though, because reverting back into my old ways of trying not to rock the boat only stood to knock me overboard. I was doing him no favors by making light of what had happened and the way the future of our marriage looked. I ended the email telling him I’d like to get my things in the next day or so because I was going out of town. I omitted details of the vacation. Not to be deceiving or dishonest, but because I realized it simply wasn’t his business anymore.