ThisTimeNextDoor (7 page)

Seeing the porch was empty, Mark concluded she’d taken the three remaining animals out for another walk.

Hopefully, Liam and Bev would have kids right away, give her something to do, bodies to hug. Maybe that’s why she’d been willing to part with so many of her dogs, hoping babies weren’t too far off. He wouldn’t be surprised if she converted the dog porch into a playroom and then invited Liam and Bev over for dinner to prompt them to visualize a day care center.

Dinner. It was 6:59. Breathing onto his palm one last time, Mark squared his shoulders and headed out the front door, duct tape slipped over the neck of a bottle of Shiraz. He felt good. The clothes made a difference, he realized, indulging in a grin as he tapped on Rose and Blair’s front door.

The wait was longer than he expected, and after a long minute he heard the women arguing with each other inside.

Maybe they were still getting dressed. That reminded him of Rose’s slinky robe from that morning.

He tapped again. “I can come back later,” he called out.
 

The door flew open. Rose frowned at him. “Mark?”

He glanced at his wrist, forgetting he never wore a watch anymore. “You said seven, right?”

“But I told your mom we… there was a problem about tonight.” Then her gaze raked him head to toe and she flushed a remarkable shade of pink. Almost like a highlighter pen. “Oh, Mark. Look at you. I’m so sorry.”

Her long, tight sweater was pink, too. Even the belt cinched tightly around her waist, under her… pink… breasts.

Not the hair, though. That was pale gold.

Blair appeared at her side. “Mark? Oh, Mark.” She let out a deep breath. “Nice to see you.”
 

He took a step back. He hadn’t even noticed she was there. Not wanting his sweaty palms to drop the wine, he thrust it at her. “But not expected. I’m sorry my mom and I screwed up. I’ll go. No problem.”

“No, don’t,” Blair said quickly, reaching forward to clasp his arm. “We invited you.”

“Actually, it was Rose, and it’s obviously a bad time, and really, it’s no problem.” He tried to take another step back, but he was paralyzed by the feel of Blair’s fingers wrapped around his bicep. Should he flex? Do a little muscle demo?

“It’s a perfect time, actually,” Blair said, dragging him inside. He did his best to flex and follow at the same time without stumbling.

“John will be here any minute.” Rose caught Mark’s alarmed glance and nodded. “Just called from the airport.”

A righteous anger flooded through him. “Really. With no warning?”

“None,” Rose said.

They shared a look of barely contained condemnation.

“Which is why you have to stay.” Blair kicked the door shut and tugged him into the living room. “Rose has made this fantastic meal and there won’t be anyone here to eat it.”

“You won’t let him eat your food?” Mark asked Rose.

Her lips pursed. “He’s a vegan.”

“And I’m not feeling well,” Blair said, resting a hand on her stomach, looking down. “And we’ll probably go out.”

Rose took the bottle of wine from her. “She only got sick when she heard John had landed in San Francisco.” She plucked off the roll of duct tape and offered Mark a small smile. “Thanks. I never did make it to the hardware store.”

“I’ll go downstairs and put it on if you like.”

Rose frowned at him for a moment, glanced at Blair. “That’s nice of you, really, but—it wouldn’t be fair.” Her look sharpened. “To you.”

Mark knew what she was saying, that with John in the picture, there was no reason for Mark to be. “Sure. I understand.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll go. This is obviously a bad time.”

“No, don’t go,” Blair said. “Please. I’ll bring you a glass of wine.” She went into the kitchen.

Rose put a hand on his arm. “She’s right, Mark. Have a seat.” She fluffed a pillow on the couch, stared until he sat down. “I hope you like cheese,” she added.

“I like cheese.”

“Pasta?”

“That too.”

“Asparagus?”

“Sure.”

Rose tucked an errant strand of golden hair behind her ear. “Blair is right. It might make it easier, having you here.” She gave him a slow, intense once-over that made him shift in his seat. “You clean up nice.”

 
He leaned back, crossed an ankle over his knee, trying to ignore the way his pulse raced when she looked at him like that. “Am I supposed to hold him down while you swing?”

“Tempting, but not tonight,” she said.

“When do you think he’ll get here?”

Rose made a face. “Who knows. Maybe he’ll catch a movie on his way over. Do a little shopping. Have his hair trimmed,” she said. “Selfish pig. I promised Blair I’ll be nice, but it’ll be hard. She’s probably counting on your being here to keep me from killing him.”

He dropped his foot to the floor, crossed his other leg, thought of his father.

Never a good idea. His father had died before he’d graduated from high school,
but that had been long enough to leave scars. What would the big man have done in Mark’s shoes? (The new ones, not the ones with duct tape.) Stand guard at the front door and tell John to get a motel? His father had had the bravado to pull it off, in addition to the physique of a linebacker. He’d scare John shitless and Blair would see what a real man looked like. Like his mother, she’d swoon and never recover, no matter how cruel and hard that kind of man would be as a father.

Blair came back into the room with a glass of wine. “Sorry again about the mix-up.” She handed it to him and settled on the couch across from him.

“No, I’m sorry, not your mistake,” Mark said, taking a sip.

His father wouldn’t be here at all, he realized. Two women alone, one pregnant and unmarried, the other large and sarcastic; he wouldn’t even have loaned them his jumper cables. His father’s weak powers of empathy would’ve been reserved for the man in the story, and never, not even for Mark’s mother, would he give his heart to a woman who bore another man’s child.

Unfortunately this didn’t make Mark feel better. Only raw and vulnerable.

“If you’re uncomfortable sticking around, I totally understand,” Rose said quietly. She stood next to the couch, a plate of cheese in hand. “It might get ugly.”
 

“No, it won’t,” Blair said. “We’re not like that. We can handle this.”

Rose set the plate down on the coffee table. “I’m not good at hiding my feelings.”

“You won’t have to. John and I will go out,” Blair said. She twisted her hands together in her lap. “What do you do, Mark?”

“I’m a computer programmer at the moment. Software engineering. Geek stuff.”

“At the moment? What did you used to be?” Blair asked.

Her eyes were light caramel brown, very gentle, but her gaze made him uncomfortable. “Oh. More geek stuff. Math teacher.” He sipped his wine and forced it down his throat.

“You didn’t mention you were a teacher,” Rose said. “What age did you teach?”

“I’m sure there’s tons about Mike we don’t know,” Blair said, staring at Rose with a look he couldn’t read.

Rose tapped him on the head again. “I know enough to bet Mike here is too polite to tell you his name is actually Mark.”

“Mark! Jeez. I’m so sorry. I’m such a mess,” Blair said, standing up. “They say it only gets worse. When the baby gets here I won’t remember my
own
name.”

He smiled. “It’s okay. Call me whatever you want.”

“Will you go lie down like I told you?” Rose said to Blair. “I’ll let you know when he’s here. You’ll make yourself sick again.”

“I’m fine. I like talking to Mike. Mark.”

“It is such a shame you can’t drink,” Rose said with a sigh, and went into the kitchen.

“Why can’t you drink?” he asked.

“Bad for the baby,” Blair said.

“Really? Just a little wine?”

“Oh, yeah. My book is really firm on that.”

“I had no idea.” He sipped his own wine and then, feeling guilty, set it down next to the cheese. It looked good, but it might make her turn green to watch him eat it, so he passed. He’d gone to a lot of trouble today to prevent girls from vomiting at the sight of him.

“None of your friends have had babies yet?” she asked.

“No.” He folded his hands in his lap. “Though my brother is engaged. Of course you knew that. My mom can’t wait for them to push out a few puppies. Human ones this time.”

“Human this time?”

His internal dork alarm was buzzing. Hard to go up against so many years of conditioning. “I mean, of course humans are babies. I mean, babies are human.” Oh, he was sinking.
Press on, man, there’s still time to recover.
He forced a laugh. “My mother loves dogs. She does Chihuahua rescue. Or she did. That’s what I was trying to say—since she used to call her puppies her babies, I wonder if she’ll call the actual babies her puppies.”

Oh, give it up. He sank down into the sofa. Why was it always so hard for him to talk to women? He could actually feel his muscles growing fatigued from the excessive tension throughout his body. He’d be sore tomorrow.

“That’s cute,” Blair said. “I like puppies.”

“Me too,” he said. So lame.

“Hey, you’re not eating the cheese,” Rose said, coming into the room. “You assured me you were pro-cheese.”

Mark turned to her in relief. “I am definitely pro-cheese. Some might even say I’m cheesy.”

“Then get to work, mister. Blair, could you help me with something in the kitchen?”

Sensing a life raft, Mark clambered to his feet. “I’ll help.”

Rose stared at him. “Are you sure?”

“Why? Is it hard?”

“No, but you’re a guest.”

“Let me work for my keep. That was part of my rationale for living with my mother—picking up a few much-needed domestic skills.” He smiled at Blair as he bolted, hoping she was too distracted with her own problems to notice his discomfort.

Stepping into the kitchen, he felt his tension drain away. Rose was already back at work at the counter with her back to him, a row of spice jars, a head of garlic, onions, and a bunch of fresh basil on the counter in front of her. Her hair was pulled up on top of her head, exposing the back of her neck. Pale, smooth skin peeked out under tendrils of blond hair, making her look surprisingly vulnerable.

She swung around with a knife raised. “Can you mince garlic?”

“Sure.”

When he was set up at a cutting board next to her, she said, “I was actually trying to get Blair away so you’d eat some of the cheese. You were trying to be polite, weren’t you? Not eating or drinking?”

“Whenever she looked down she made this face.” He demonstrated a grimace.

“Morning sickness is such a bullshit term. It’s all day long.”

“I’m so glad I’m not a woman.” He whacked the garlic clove with the flat of the knife. “Begging your pardon. You must’ve felt differently.”

She glanced at him.

“Before you got the operation,” he added.

Her laughter almost made him forget about the agonizing conversation in the other room.
 

“Ten points.” She bumped her hip against his. “Shall we call it even?”

“No, not yet. Though I did warn you I didn’t get out much, so your expectations should’ve been low enough to prevent taking serious offense.”

She handed him the basil. “I wasn’t offended.”

“Mmm,” he said.

“Don’t ‘mmm’ me.” After a moment snapping asparagus stems, she added, “What would you say was the major factor in your faulty first impression of me? Because if you tell me it was jumping my car, I’ll be disappointed. For one thing, I won’t be able to let you fix our furnace because I’ll have to represent heterosexual womanhood.”

“I was impressed with your confidence around an engine, I’ve got to admit.”

She sighed. “Shoot. I really wasn’t looking forward to getting up on a ladder to fix the ducts, but it looks like you need another demo.”

“I’ll do it. I really don’t mind.”

“No, I can’t let you, not now. You need proof women like me exist.”

“No, I don’t. My mother is proof enough.”

“I’m like your mother?”

“My mom is very handy,” he said.

“But single. For all you know…”

It took him a second to understand what she was saying. “Are you suggesting my mother is a lesbian?”

“Oh, sure. Now
you’re
offended.”

“You don’t know her at all. Have you ever even talked to her?”

“Sure. When I told her dinner was off,” she said. “Don’t look like that. I’m just kidding. Of course I don’t know anything about your mother. And if she were gay she would’ve hooked up with a woman by now, right? Half of the Bay Area is gay from what I can tell. Either that or married with kids. Or both. If she wanted to snuggle with Jane Doe from the Chihuahua Club, she would.”

Mark put down his knife.

Studying his face, she laughed. “Now who has morning sickness?”

“I told you I was sorry I thought you might be gay,” he said. “I didn’t give it much thought, honestly, and we hardly know each other. As you say, half the Bay Area is gay, so you should expect your neighbors to be open to the idea. Without prejudice. So can we drop it?”

She bit her lip and went back to the asparagus. Chop, snap, chop. He turned his attention back to the garlic, which was now minced into infinitesimal pieces, mere molecules of garlicness on the cutting board.

“Mark, I’m sorry. I’m a little tense about John surprising us tonight.”

“Maybe I should go home.”

She put a hand on his arm and gazed up at him with those stunning blue eyes. “No, please don’t. I’m glad Blair asked you to stay. I’d just be storming around here making her feel worse if you weren’t. I promise I’ll tone down my annoying personality. Okay?” She squeezed his bicep, face smiling, eyelashes flapping.

“You’re not annoying.”

Her smile faltered a little. “Thanks.” She ducked her head, went back to work.

Like with the car, she was quick and efficient in the kitchen. Her air of confidence suited a more mature woman. But looking at her face up close, he guessed she was still a few years from thirty.

Unlike himself. “How old are you?” He peered over the edge of his wine glass.

“Twelve going on fifty. You?”