The Better Half(81)
“Is Fitzroy going with you?”
“No, if you can believe it. Dad’s gotten real comfortable bedding down in my house when I’m out of town. First over New Year’s and then now. He better not be drinking my booze, throwing senior ragers.”
“Someone should be drinking your booze.” Marisol gives me a salud with her double martini. Five weeks and counting until I can pump and dump.
“So, you’ll be facing Graham on your own in New York?”
“Yeah, but at least there will be a baby belly between us.”
“You really think Graham’s going to ease up on you when you’re carrying another man’s baby? Please. Vulnerable is right where he likes you.”
“He called Leo ‘Brad.’”
Marisol lets out a hoot, startling the other customers.
“He did not. That shit’s funny. Brad is seriously the worst White guy name ever.”
“Exactly.” I giggle too. Graham’s always been good with the veiled insults.
“OMG there you two are!! Do you know how many Clean Slate receptionists I’ve harassed in the last hour trying to find out which shop is plucking out your errant hairs? The least you could do, Nina, is list your location in your calendar,” Roan gasps, fanning his face to cool his internal thermometer.
“How’d you see my calendar? Mimi’s the only one who has access to it.”
“Turns out Mimi needs a date to her cousin’s fiftieth birthday in Temecula. I promised to be her escort if she let me see your calendar. Desperate times.”
“What’s got you all stirred up, Roan? I thought you were cutting out of work early today to head to Palm Springs with Tate for a romantic weekend.” The horror of my life just turned into Roan’s drama. Marisol’s practically levitating in her spa chair, she couldn’t have conjured up a more perfect Friday afternoon for herself if she tried. Dramedy’s her drug of choice.
“I thought we were, too, but WE turned into THREE.”
“Tate invited a friend along for your road trip? I don’t get it,” I say, waving Roan over to sit down in the chair beside me. He plops down hard.
“I do, I do!” Marisol chirps, bouncing, hand raised, but not waiting to be called on. “Tate wants to have a throuple!”
“You have a threesome. You are a throuple,” Roan corrects her, shaking his head, disappointed by our subpar sexual referencing. “But you’re right.”
“Really, I am?” Marisol asks, shimmying in her chair. She lives to be right.
“Wait, you just told us you can’t have a throuple?” I’m totally confused.
“You can when your fiancé has been grooming a third wheel behind your back for months waiting for the perfect time to introduce him into your couplehood. Or coupledom. Or coupleness, or whatever the hell you call a normal couple. Like I’d ever get involved with a dental hygienist,” Roan asserts at a volume that ensures the whole spa is in on his relationship status. “Hold on, Tate’s ringtone is chiming in my pocket.”
While Roan’s on the phone, Marisol pokes me hard. “Man, I really called that one wrong. My bet would have been on Roan to push for a throuple, not his straight-arrow accountant. Would you have guessed Tate had it in him?” Marisol wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Kinda makes me like him more.”
Jeez, I can’t settle on one guy, but Tate’s settled on two. “What do you think Roan’s going to do?” I whisper to Marisol.
“Well, Roan’s here with us and not with Tate, so my guess is . . .”
“I’m out. O-U-T out.” Marisol and I whip our heads Roan’s way as he’s manically stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “What? You two think I can’t hear you? Being faithful to one man has been hard enough, but I was willing to give it a try because I love Tate, and any man willing to put up with me until death do us part has to be a keeper. But I’m an only child, and I don’t like to share. That’s asking the impossible.”
“Awww Roan, who would have taken you for the old-fashioned type when it comes to relationships,” I coo, trying to get him to crack a smile.
“I’m not old-fashioned, I just want what I want, and what I wanted was Tate,” Roan’s quick to correct, banging his head back against the massage chair. It starts to vibrate. So does Roan’s voice. “I will not join a throuple now, nor will I ever in the future. Hand to God.” The stare down Marisol and I are getting tells us we need to nod our heads to confirm we’ve heard Roan’s monogamous confession. “And now I’m not even one half of a couple, which I had my doubts I could pull off. Honest talk, though, I kind of liked being one of two. But now after a move, a new job, and an engagement, here I am, officially single, again.”
I reach my hand over to Roan’s and give it a big squeeze. I want him to understand it’s okay to be sad. I’m all too familiar with broken hearts. I know it takes a good deal of time to heal, and Marisol and I will be here for Roan every step of the way. “You’ll be all right, Roan. There will be tears, there will be ice cream binges and perhaps some light Tate stalking, but you will be. Promise.”
Roan rolls his head left and looks at me like a sad little boy who’s just lost his favorite toy. “You sure Jared’s straight?” Roan asks with a heavy sigh. “’Cause I have an extra ticket to Paris now.”