Dawn Atkins - Wedding For One

He had the insane desire to take her by the shoulders, turn her and tell her the truth. I wanted you no matter what. Pregnant and all. I loved you. I still do.

As if she’d read his mind, she turned to face him. Maybe she felt the same.

His heart stopped and he held his breath, waiting for her to say it.

“We would have made each other miserable,” she said with a short laugh.

His heart started up its slow, sad rhythm and he released his breath. “Yeah,” he said, swallowing hard. “Miserable.”

“Thank God we’re past all that.” She lifted her glass to clink against his. “It was for the best.”

He clinked back and managed a smile, but he couldn’t echo her toast. “So, now I’m taking a page from your book. Hitting the road, being free. You should be happy for me.”

“Freedom’s not good for some people.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“No offense, but how could you give up all this?” She indicated his living room.

“Would you want to live here?” he asked.

“Not me!” She stopped. “Sorry, I just mean, this is you.”

Maybe, but he figured turning his life upside down would keep him too busy to mope about her.

“It looks like you’re serious about leaving.” Mariah sighed as she headed back to the couch. “So, what should we do about my parents?”

“They’ll be fine,” he said, but guilt tightened his gut. He did hate hurting Abe and Meredith. They’d been like parents to him—or at least the way he thought parents were supposed to be. His mom had been more like an older sister, way too relaxed about her motherly duties. Abe and Meredith counted on him and now he was letting them down. He wished he could fix that.

And then, looking into Mariah’s face, the solution came to him. It was a long shot, but it would give him a way to keep Mariah too busy to poke around in his motivation for leaving. “If you’re really worried about them, why don’t you stay?” he said. “You could take over for me.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Her glass sloshed.

He caught it before anything spilled. “Not at all. You’ve had business experience. You managed a restaurant and a boutique, didn’t you?” The idea was sounding better and better, except for the horrified look on her face, which made him want to grin. He hadn’t wanted to grin in a long time.

“I was a waitress and sold jewelry on consignment. Like I said, Mom tends to exaggerate.”

“You learn a business from the ground up anyway. If you’re smart and motivated, the sky’s the limit.”

“Tell that to the Caravan Travel Agency. I motivated them right into a three-month slump with a couple of my out-of-the-way trip ideas. Turns out there are reasons some places are out of the way—like ankle-eating fleas and no flush toilets.”

He shrugged. “I could teach you all you need to know before I leave. You said you’re between jobs. Maybe you need to try stability on for size—changing jobs can be a rut, too.”

“I could never stay here. My mom’s probably already picking out paint to redo my room and signing me up to sing in the church choir. It would be crazy.”

“No more crazy than asking me to stay.”

She gave him a long look. “I suppose so.” She paused. “When do you leave?”

“In two months, when I go to the conference. How about you? How long will you be in town?” He hope he didn’t sound too interested.

She didn’t answer immediately, and he could practically see her mental gears whirring through their calculations. “I’ll stay until I figure out what to do about my parents. And you.” She gave him a Cheshire cat grin he’d never seen before. Eight years ago, she’d been too uncertain to act mischievous around him. What the hell was she cooking up? The prospect of finding out made him happier than he’d been in a long, long time.

“SO HOW WAS NATE?” Nikki asked Mariah the next day when she called home.

“Great,” she said.

“Nate the Great. Poetry. How did he look?”

“Great.”

“If you don’t give me details right now I’ll go moshing in your Madonna bustier and get it all sweat-stained.”

“Okay, okay. He looked the same. Better. More built, more masculine, more confident. I don’t know.”

“Does he still act like he’s got a stick up his—”

“Nikki!”

“Well, really. He’s definitely a Wall-Street-Journal-with-breakfast-martini-after-work guy.”

“He’s different now. He wants to discover himself. It’s kind of cute, really.” She explained Nathan’s desire to search for meaning in his life. “He kind of reminds me of me.”

Her friend paused. “Jeez Louise, Mariah. You’re still hot for the guy, aren’t you?”

“No more than any woman would be. He’s still a babe, and I’m only human.”

“So, sleep with him. That’ll clear the cobwebs from his psyche. Talk about finding himself. Whoo, baby.”

“That would be manipulative. Besides, I doubt he wants to sleep with me.” Not true. She’d definitely felt vibes. That was gratifying, but unsettling, too. “It would just complicate things.”

“For who? Two months and out, remember? How deep can it get in two months?”

That was the rebel girls’ philosophy on relationships. In two months, the sex was still fresh, both of you were on your best behavior, solicitous and eager to see each other. After two months, you started taking each other for granted, stopped doing the dishes at each other’s place. Soon, the guy was scratching his belly and belching in front of you, and you stopped wearing makeup and lace teddies.

On the other hand, Mariah had begun to weary of the constant change. That’s why she’d taken a timeout on dating. That way she didn’t have to be on guard against leading someone on. It was lonely, but at least no one got hurt.

“He might get too attached,” she said.

“Right,” Nikki said. “He might.”

“There’s no point to it, Nikki. If I convince him to stick around here, which is where he belongs, I certainly won’t be staying. The best thing I ever did for Nathan Goodman was to climb in your car and drive away from that stupid wedding.”

“Take a breath, girlfriend. I’m not the one who needs convincing.”

“Anyway, what I have to do is get him through this career crisis, so he can realize he’s happy where he is. I’ve got two months.”

“Two months, huh?”

“Yeah, until he goes on some kind of self-discovery retreat in California.”

“Nathan Goodman at a retreat? You’re kidding!”

“Crazy, huh? Hell, I could probably teach the thing. If you can take a class in it, join a club about it or buy a self-help book for it, I’ve taken it, joined it or bought it.”

Nikki paused. “You could, you know.”

“What?”

“Teach him. Give him his own private retreat. The Mariah Monroe Institute of Self-Discovery.”

“Hmm. Not bad…” Actually, it was a great idea. And it could be a shortcut to keeping him at Copper Corners. “I could. I could teach him to meditate, do yoga. I could even do a little Gestalt therapy with him.”

“Absolutely.”

“And you know the best part?”

“What?”

“He’ll hate it. Left-brain guys like Nathan hate meditation and energy flow, exploring their emotions, any of that stuff. The yoga postures will make him feel silly.”

“And when you ask him to get in touch with his inner child?”

“He’ll run screaming from the room, forget all about that stupid retreat and realize the grass is greener right here in Copper Corners.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“It couldn’t be better.” She gave Nikki a list of self-help books, manuals and materials to send to her, and hung up.