Scott lowered his reading glasses. “So I guess you’re not interested in what we started?”
“I stepped in dog vomit, Scott. And I just cleaned up the rest of it. You think I’m going to straddle you after that?”
He blinked once. Twice. “I think you didn’t need dog vomit as a reason to not straddle me, Cricket.” Then he reached over and turned off the light.
His words hurt, but they were true. Maybe they found their mark, because in those words was the shovel that would bury our marriage. He was right—I had stopped wanting to have sex with him. Some of it was because I was changing—I no longer felt sexy or desirable. Some was probably hormonal. Some was Scott sucking at foreplay, at showing me love before we climbed into bed. Those were all decent reasons, but it didn’t change the fact that he was right . . . and that it had probably started before he’d had the affair.
Though I was livid at the thought of his deception and devastated by the betrayal that had cut me to my very core, I had ignored an issue that should have been addressed. Our marriage bed had long grown cold, and I hadn’t minded it so much. Oh, that didn’t excuse what he’d done. I’d left that door open a crack when I ignored the problem and stopped communicating with my husband. Scott had kicked it open and screwed someone else. Not exactly the best response to our failure to address our issue. Not even close to the best way. I wasn’t responsible for his bad decision, but I was responsible for mine.
I padded back down the stairs to find Julia Kate locking up. “What do you want me to do with Pippa, Mom?”
“You go on to bed. Leave her with me. I have some thank-you notes to catch up on, and I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Pippa slunk toward me, head and tail down in canine apology. Julia Kate gave me a hug and made her way upstairs as I switched on the urn lamp and plumped the couch pillow in the hearth room. Pippa sank down onto her haunches with an elaborate sigh.
I looked down at the dog.
She looked up at me.
“Thank you, Pippa.” I stroked her head and opened the end-table drawer where I kept my thank-you notes.
The next morning as I stood in front of the mirror next to Ruby, looking in awe at the dress she’d made for the gala, I felt that weird clicky feeling you sometimes get when you know something big is about to happen. I had only felt that a few times in my life. Of course, you get it on big days—graduation or when someone slips an engagement ring on your finger. But there are other times when you just know that whatever it is that’s happening, it’s going to change you forever.
That had happened that morning when I’d arrived at Printemps, bleary eyed from a sleepless night on the couch—Pippa had vomited one more time—and heavy because I knew I was about to get my period in a few days, which meant cramps, bloating, and what was possibly a colossal pimple on my chin.
Ruby was rearranging a display up front, and Jade stood behind the checkout desk tapping on her phone. She slid it into her back pocket when she saw me and fastened on a smile. “Morning, Cricket.”
I set a mocha latte on the desk. “Here ya go. Just a little thank-you for holding down the fort while I was under the weather last week.”
“Thanks. I’m glad you’re better.” Jade was pretty—curvy with a natural Afro and the most interesting eye shadow. Ruby told me that Jade did online makeup tutorials and that her YouTube station had thousands of subscribers. I could see why—her eyelids were a work of art. Today she seemed to have summoned Picasso.
“Yep. All is well,” I lied as I made my way to Ruby, who was clad in red from head to toe. It was a look that was bold and so original that for a moment I stood and stared. Her leggings were shiny, like faux leather. The half boots were suede with a small bow above the stacked heel. The boned bustier topping the ensemble would have made me look twenty pounds heavier, but on Ruby’s frame, it looked amazing. Around her neck she’d tied a red silk handkerchief.
I handed Ruby her weird order—chai latte made with soy milk and no sugar—and raised my eyebrows. “Wow, you’ve really embraced your fashionista. Is that the Christian Lacroix bustier that Maddy Hassell brought in?”
“I paid for it.” Ruby took the offering.
“Ruby, did I accuse you of something?”
Her cheeks pinked. “No. Sorry. I tend to be defensive without coffee.”
“Well, then, you should drink up.” I glanced at my broom-closet office. I had a lot to catch up on, but I felt lollygaggish. Avoidance was a talent of mine. I mean, obviously. “Seriously, you have mad fashion sense. Did you bring the dress you made?”