When We Were Enemies: A Novel(8)
My phone buzzes.
Finally!
On my screen, Hunter’s face grins back in a photo I took last August on a walk in Central Park, when I wasn’t sure if he’d be a long-term commitment or another attempt at love that would fade into the background of my life. That was the day he told me he couldn’t stand the nonexclusive nature of our “thing” anymore, and I took a risk and chose to lean into him rather than run away.
I answer on speaker.
“Hey, babe! There you are.”
His deep chuckle makes my stomach bubble happily.
“Sorry! Lots of meetings this morning, but I’m glad you got in safe. How long till you get to the town? Edinburgh? Is that how you say it?” he asks with a slight Scottish accent.
He makes it sound like I’m visiting a mythical land like Narnia rather than an average small town in the Midwest. Though I guess to someone like Hunter, a simple, anonymous town like Edinburgh is a fantasy land, hard to understand for this man who’s grown up in New York City with a philandering billionaire father and a distant, heartbroken mother—all under the media’s microscope. Our childhoods were very different, my mother eccentric but involved, my father career driven but always there for me even after their divorce. But the media spotlight burned both of us at one time or another.
“It’s apparently pronounced ‘Edinburgh’ not ‘Edin-burrow.’ Made that mistake right off the plane. And it’s not as remote as you’d think. Cornfields, for sure, but also towns and subdivisions. Middle America, I guess.”
“The pictures Mac sent over make it look so quaint. But the church seems epic for a small town.”
“Yeah. It’s nice. I’m pretty sure I’ve been inside a few times, but I don’t remember details.”
“Is that where you did all your Catholic stuff?”
“Said like a true atheist there, Hunter.” I laugh, not that I’m any more religious than he is. My mother claims to be “more spiritual than religious,” but my grandmother had definitely claimed Catholicism as her religious affiliation.
My siblings and I were baptized at Nonna’s request. And Nonna made sure I had my First Communion and even squeezed in Confirmation one summer when I stayed with her in LA. I was a true believer for a while. Even considered myself “very religious” for some time. But just like I grew out of my belief in fairy tales, eventually the realities and tragedies of life pulled me away from my religious beliefs as well.
“Well, I don’t know what it’s called,” he says, laughing. “You gotta find out if a sinner like me can even be married by a priest and all that.” It sounded like he put verbal quotes around “sinner.”
“I think we’re both sinners in the eyes of the church, babe.”
“Okay, okay. Fine. You’re a sinner—I’m a godless heathen.”
“Who wants to date a saint?” I attempt a sexy rasp.
“Don’t you mean marry a saint?” he corrects me, lingering on the word “marry.” I don’t know what it is about this guy, but he loves the idea of marriage almost as much as the idea makes me anxious.
“Ha—you know what I mean.”
“I’m glad you don’t mind my godless ways,” he says, flirting. He’s always been a flirt. I used to worry that meant he flirted with all women, like his father, but he insists he’s worked hard to be the exact opposite of Kenneth Garrot when it comes to relationships.
“I love your godless ways.”
“Even if they cause problems with the wedding?” He brings up the concern again and seems to be asking seriously this time around.
“We should be fine. You were baptized Catholic as a baby, so I think that’s all they need. Possibly one or two other things. Gotta do that Pre-Cana class with the priest. If they ask about your views on God now . . . plead the Fifth if you’re sold on this ‘church wedding’ idea . . .”
My GPS interjects, directing me to take the next exit. I drift into the right lane without using my blinker.
“Our kids will get to watch the documentary.” Hunter’s voice returns, and I catch only part of what he’s saying.
“Sorry, the GPS cut you off, babe,” I say, dodging the question of kids with Hunter. I want them, obviously, but rushing into parenthood with a man I’ve loved for less than a year is different from rushing into a marriage. Children don’t go away with divorce decrees. And I want to give my children a more stable life than I had. Thankfully, he drops the topic.
“Oh, that’s fine. I have another meeting waiting. I was just saying I’m definitely still up for it. Can we FaceTime later? After your church inquisition? Is it dumb I miss you already?” The sweet vulnerability to his question doesn’t match his public business persona. It’s that tender part of this man that I love.
“Not dumb,” I say, softening my voice to match his tone. “I miss you too.”
The roads have narrowed, and I slow my speed. The GPS declares I’ve reached my destination.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one.”
“Never,” I say, settling into an empty spot on the one-way street lined with brick storefronts and old-timey streetlamps. Quaint. Just like Hunter said. And he’s right—this’ll look great on camera.