“Jesus.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Your ex is a dick.”
“Well,” I start, though I’m really not sure where my I’m going with this.
“Nope. He’s a dick. A twatwaffle. A shitpuddle. A fuckweasel.”
Despite the gravity of our conversation, my lips quirk at his ridiculous phrasing, especially when it’s coupled with the scowl on his face.
Hisharsh expression softens as his gaze pierces mine, and his hands cup my face. “Tell me you know that. Tell me you know that you did nothing wrong. Nothing. And don’t even get me started on the fact that your mom hangs out with these people. I cannot compute that right now. But I need to know that you get that he was wrong. They were wrong.” His words are slow and punctuated with deliberation.
And, of course, I want to answer yes.
I want to shout my affirmation from the rooftop, to reassure him that I know Logan’s the asshole and that I’ve never held myself accountable for his actions. I want to, but I can’t. Because as ridiculous as I know it is, I feel like I didn’t do quite enough to keep him. If I had been enough, he wouldn’t have strayed, right? And even that sounds like bullshit to my own ears. Hell, if a guy pulled that shit on Molly, I’d go insane. I’d never stand for her thinking, even for a second, that any of that was her fault.
And yet, in my own head, it’s a whole other story.
“Lainie? Lain?”
I come back to our conversation and the look of utter heartbreak on Simon’s face. It’s like he can read my thoughts. “I’m getting there.” My quiet words aren’t lies. I am getting there. I’m trying, anyway.
He sighs, and I know it kills him that he can’t fight this battle for me. It probably kills him that I have to fight this battle at all. But he can’t, and I do, so, in true Elaine Madigan fashion, I pull a subject change. “That’s what got me here.” I pick up my scraper and get back to work. “The aftermath of the divorce took its toll. It’s not that I missed Logan, which is a testament to how poorly suited we were. It’s just that, all the sudden, I had so much time. My evenings and weekends spread before me, an endless sea of minutes to fill. And I’ve always loved old furniture, you know? I always think about the stories it has to tell.” He mirrors my smile, mercifully letting me steer the conversation away from my humiliation. “And Logan hated old things. Seriously. He wouldn’t even visit his grandad. He said the nursing him smelled like old people, and he couldn’t handle it.”
“He’s a fuckwit.”
I nod in acknowledgment. Because even though I feel complicit in the demise of our marriage, I can say with confidence that Logan is, in fact, a fuckwit when it comes to his family. “So, I moved out of our place and found this house. It’s old, and drafty, and charming, and the stairs creak. But it’s mine and I love it. It’s taken me three years, and I’m still not done. But I’ve refinished most of the furniture and the floors. And I swear I spent a whole summer steaming ugly wallpaper off the walls.”
“You are amazing.”
Compliments make me nervous, so I deflect. “And you,” I point my scraper in his direction, “should get back to work.” I smile as I toss the sandpaper at him.
“Yes, Ma’am. Tell me there’s a reward for good work. Like, if I finish this and do a good job, do I get a prize?”
“Like what? I usually pay my brother in bottles of craft brew.”
“Leave your brother out of this. And I’m not particularly thirsty right now…”
“I know exactly where this conversation is headed. So, I’ll ask again: have you always been this horny? Your sex life must be the stuff of legend.”
His bark of laughter draws my attention, as does the crimson stain on his cheeks. “Yea. About that. I’m not much of a Casanova, I assure you.”
“And yet, you pounce on me at every opportunity, not that I’m complaining. I know you said I bring it out in you, though I still can’t quite wrap my head around that one…”
“You do. At the ripe old age of twenty-five,” he hangs on to the last syllable, a gleam in his eye and a hint of challenge in his voice, “I can honestly say my relationship history is short. You are girlfriend #3. And I’m not even sure the other two relationships count because I doubt either of them would include me when they’re listing past loves.”
My disbelief must show on my face, because his blush deepens further, a feat I’d have sworn was impossible. “What?” he questions.
“I just don’t—I mean, how can you—? Nevermind.” Now my cheeks match his. And I am way too old to be blushing over the sex talk with my boyfriend.
“Oh, no...you have to say it now. I’m dying of curiosity. What is it you want to know?”
Before I can stop myself, the words tumble from my mouth. “If your dating experience is so limited, how the hell are you so good at sex? You’re a prodigy or something. No one’s ever come close to doing what you do. And yes, I’ll admit we have a connection unlike any I’ve felt, but that’s not the whole story.”
His face breaks into a grin, but he dips his head as shyness takes over. “Yea…” he clears his throat. “So…”
“Oh, no...no stalling! You made me say it, so now you have to answer.”
He raises his head and looks at me, head on. “Porn.”
That word hangs in the air a full minute before I choke out a laugh. “What?!”
