The Friends We Keep. Susan Mallery
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He nodded. “Nothing blew up.”
“There’s a plus.”
It was a comfortable joke, she thought. Six months ago Rob had taken the job of assistant manager of service at the local Mischief Bay BMW dealer. On his first day of work, there had been an explosion in one of the service bays. Something about compression and heat. No one had been hurt and no cars had been damaged but it had made for an exciting start.
The job had been a big step up for him—both career and money-wise. The hours were long, but he didn’t have to travel and she liked having him around. He had good benefits, also a big plus. Eventually there would even be paid vacation but that was a few months away. Still, it would be good for when she had a baby. He had a second job, helping a friend restore old cars on the weekend. Easy work for a guy who loved cars.
“You’re sure you’re feeling okay?” he asked.
His tone was light, but she heard the worry behind the words. She also knew the reason. She could see herself in the mirror and knew that she looked like someone who had been through medical tough times. The price she had to pay, she thought grimly. That she would keep paying, no matter what. Because the dream was too important.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. She lightly nudged his thigh with her foot. “You worry.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, and I’ve been thinking.”
He paused with his beer halfway to his mouth. “Am I going to like what you’ve been thinking about?”
“You are. When I was driving home tonight, I was looking at the neighborhood. We have the ugliest house on the block and we shouldn’t. This place is adorable. But with everything going on, we haven’t had time to fix it up. I’d like us to talk about making changes.”
Rob leaned toward her. “Yeah? That’s great. I agree. We’re an eyesore. I keep expecting the neighbors to start a petition. I have a lot of ideas.”
Which didn’t surprise her at all. She and Rob had always thought alike.
“The outside is an easy fix,” she said. “It just needs time.”
Rob looked doubtful. “Hayley, honey, you can’t do anything strenuous. One of the guys at work has a brother in the landscaping businesses. We can get the yard cleaned up cheap in a couple of days, then you and I can get some new plants. That part we could do ourselves.”
She hated the idea of wasting money on yard cleanup, but he had a point. She was still pretty weak and he worked two jobs. “I don’t want to spend too much,” she began.
“I agree. I’ll tell Ray to have his brother drive by and give us an estimate. We’ll just do the front.”
“Okay.” Their backyard wasn’t too bad. There was the patio and a few trees. The rest was lawn. If she started watering it more regularly, it would green up quickly.
“What did you think for the inside?” he asked. “We should remodel the kitchen.”
She did her best not to flinch. “How about we start with paint,” she said. “Maybe some new window coverings.”
She thought he might push back, but he surprised her by nodding. “You’re right. A kitchen redo is too much right now.”
Guilt flashed through her. Rob was worried about her being overwhelmed. Because he always worried. They’d been through so much and he’d been beside her every step of the way. Their repeated attempts to get pregnant had left her body weak and their bank account depleted. They were emotionally exhausted by the roller-coaster ride they’d been on.
But her reasons for not wanting to do the kitchen were different than his. Some would say selfish. She would tell them they couldn’t possibly understand what she was going through. What it was like to be denied the only thing she’d ever wanted.
She had a plan, she reminded herself. There was still hope. No way she was going to give up.
“The hardware store has the sale section in the back,” she said. “After dinner let’s go by and see if they have any paint we like. We only need a couple of gallons for the office and the master. I was thinking we’d do the kitchen, too.”
Rob frowned. “You mean those leftover paint cans no one wanted?”
“They’re not leftover, they’re mistakes. When people try to color match or don’t like what they bought. You can get a gallon of paint for like five dollars.”
“I know it makes you happy to hear every penny squeak, but I’m pretty sure we can spring for a paint color we like, even if that means paying full price.”
He was teasing. She could hear it in his voice, see it in his gentle smile. She forced herself to stay relaxed, to accept the comment in the spirit he meant it. To not shriek that they needed every possible dollar they could save. That babies cost money and in her case, getting pregnant costs even more.
But they’d fought enough about that. About everything. She was going to need Rob on her side to get through the next few months. They had to be a team. By this time next year, everything would be different. They would have a family. She was sure of it. Because this time, she knew there was going to be a miracle.
“Mommy, can Boomer and Jasmine get married?” Kennedy asked from her car seat on Friday afternoon.
“No, they can’t.”
“Because they don’t like each other?” Kenzie asked.
“They like each other fine,” Gabby said as she pulled up and joined the line of cars waiting to pick up teens from the twelve-to-fifteen-year-olds’ summer camp. It was, of course, on the other side of the park, with the same start time as the one the twins attended. She sometimes wondered what the city planners were thinking when they decided schedules, start and finishing times, not to mention which streets went temporarily one way in the morning and evening. She wanted to believe they were doing what they thought was best to keep traffic flowing. That no one was secretly watching the mess everything became, giggling as mothers with kids in two different age groups scrambled to essentially be in two places at once.
“They can’t get married because Boomer is a dog and Jasmine is a cat and we don’t have pet marriages.”
“But what if they love each other?” Kenzie’s voice was dreamy as she asked the question. At five, “loving each other” was the ending to nearly every fairy tale. Well, and “they lived happily ever after,” which was practically the same thing.
Gabby briefly thought that if she were a better mother she would find more self-actualized stories to read her daughters. Stories where women ran corporations or started businesses or became doctors rather than were princesses who got engaged because they were beautiful and vapid.
A problem for another day, she told herself, then groaned as she glanced at the clock on the dashboard of her SUV.
She was five minutes late because the twins had refused to buckle up when she’d collected them. Those stupid car seats, again. They loomed larger every day.
She inched forward, one in a long line of cars, and reminded herself that she only had to get through the next hour or so before she could relax. She would get the kids their dinner, then go upstairs into the master and take a long bath while Andrew—
“Sugar!”
It was as close to a swearword as she allowed herself these days. Because there was no bath in her near future. She’d forgotten she and Andrew had an event that night. Something work-related, maybe. Or maybe political. She couldn’t remember. Double sugar. Were her black pants back from the dry cleaner?
The car behind her honked. Gabby realized she’d let precious