Chapter 38

I want to text Foster and tell him that I'm sick. I almost text Luke and ask him to come with me after all. Taking my sister along instead of my supposed boyfriend is embarrassing, but I can't quite bring myself to use Luke that way. And if I see him again, well. There's no telling what pathetic thing I may say or do.

“So are you going to this thing?” Paisley asks me Thursday morning.

“Wait, are you going?”

She grins and shakes her head. “I'm a lowly peon, remember? There's no way his royal highness Prince Foster would condescend to asking me along.”

“The way he treated you was always one of the things that bothered me the most about him.”

Paisley collapses into a chair in my office with an exaggerated sigh. She puts the back of her hand to her forehead. “I lost so much sleep, tossing and turning, wondering what I might do to impress Foster and his snooty family so he'd think I was worthy of being your friend.”

“No you didn't.”

She sits up straight and grins. “No, I didn't.”

“I've been thinking,” I say.

“Uh oh, that always gets you in trouble.”

“Shaddup.” I mock-scowl at her. “Maybe I can use last minute Sub-for-Santa details as an excuse.”

Paisley shakes her head, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Not a chance.”

My bottom lip sticks out a little in a pout. “That was my best idea. Why not?”

“Look, when someone close to you dies, you need to go to the funeral. It's like, cathartic. It helps you accept that they're gone, and process the information so you can move on.”

“Oh good grief. Foster didn't die.”

“More's the pity,” Paisley mutters. “But your relationship died, and you haven't moved on, not in over a year. It could be because you kept seeing each other intermittently thanks to your role here. Or maybe not, but I think watching him marry the most idiotic woman I've met this month, and I've been to Wal-Mart four times already so that's saying something, might help you grieve and move on.”

In spite of Paisley's absolute certainty that I should go, I make up and discard various excuses all day. I've got a cold. My nephew's back in the hospital, which is a lie, but it did happen last week. My dad's liver is failing, which is almost certainly true, although I'm not sure we'll even know when it happens. I haven't heard from him since I dropped off a basket of presents and hygiene products last Christmas.

Even with my waffling back and forth over my RSVP to the wedding, Paisley and I finish our calls in record time. I start the process of taking out a home equity loan so that I can afford to pay my tax penalties in the spring. Afterward, I run to the store and do some shopping for Troy and Trudy, for my dad, and for Paisley and Addy. I even run by Pet Smart and pick up large breed dog-essential items. A crate, dog food, treats, rawhide chews, bowls and a leash. I toss a dozen different toys into my cart on my way out, unsure what exactly Andromeda might like.

When I reach the address Faith gave me, and walk up the sidewalk, my heart pounding, my hands shaking, I hear the barking of thirty dogs coming from inside the house.

Maybe this is a big mistake. Plus, I didn't even run it by Trudy, and she's living with me.

I reach my hand up to knock, and then drop it by my side. Again, for the second time in a week, the door opens without me even rapping it once.

“You must be Mary.” An older woman, with her hair in a frizzy white ponytail, sporting a floral print caftan, opens the door. Her face breaks into a smile, and I notice a few of her teeth are dark brown. One of them looks crumbly, like old chocolate. I don't shudder or even squirm. Or at least, I try not to.

Appearances aside, Faith is one of the nicest people I've ever met. She puts her other four monstrously large dogs outside. Andromeda trots right up to me and sniffs my thighs, and then my knees, tail wagging the entire time.

I crouch down at eye level with her.

“Sit,” I say.

She sits.

“Down,” I say.

She flattens to the ground.

“She adores you,” Faith says. “Did you bring the papers I asked for?”

I nod and pull them from my purse.

She looks over them while I wrap my arms around Andromeda's neck. She smells like oranges now. So much better than the vomit smell she exuded that night at the Pet Smart.

“Did you miss me, girl?” An enormous pink tongue licks me from chin to forehead. “Ewww, gross!”

Faith chuckles. “She likes to lick.”

I try not to imagine where else her tongue has been. Now that she's clean, it's clear I underestimated her beauty. She may be the most beautiful dog I've ever seen.

“You know she'll require grooming several times a week?” Faith asks.

I bob my head. “I've been researching.”

“The great news is that she never barks, even when surrounded by the horrible miscreants from my mob, and she's already housebroken. Usually the first few days are rough, but she's been perfect.”

An overachiever. I should've guessed. I scratch her behind her ears and after another twenty or so questions, she follows me happily outside and hops into the back seat of my car. Of course, as soon as I put it in drive, she tries to climb into the front seat.

I shout, “No!”

She ignores me, and I shove her into the back. I feel kind of bad about it, but she's too big to hog the front seat. She tries to climb over a half dozen more times, but once we reach the highway, she settles down.

When I reach my house, I'm surprised to discover Trudy isn't home. I spend the afternoon acclimating Andromeda. She sniffs every square inch of the backyard, though what she can smell in all the ice and mud, I have no idea. She lays at my feet while I wrap presents on the dining table. I usually sit down on the floor to do it, but I'm not sure whether Andromeda would chew on anything when my back was turned so I keep the operation up high.

We watch The Miracle on 34th Street, and It's a Wonderful Life while I work, and I swear she's paying attention. She looks from me, to the screen and back again. I've got everything wrapped, including family and friend gifts, and gifts for my assigned family. I leave Andromeda inside while I run out in my slippers to take the trash out to the big black can just outside of the garage when I realize I missed something at the bottom of one of the bags.

The horse plush Amy and I chose for the girl in her family looks up at me accusingly from the inside of one of the bags. My heart stops. I ought to take it to Luke's house. Maybe I should do that right now, and he'll probably still be at work so I could go without seeing him.

Unless he's all done. The ribbon cutting takes place tomorrow morning. He could be working right up until the deadline, or he could be relaxing at home. I think of him playing with Chase, catching balls, or building a tower with blocks only to knock it down. Or maybe he's reading Amy a book.

I shake my head to clear the delusional thoughts. I want to see Amy and Chase again, but I shouldn't. And I have no idea where he is right now. Work? Home? Shopping?

Or maybe he's on a date with someone else. My heart sinks, but I'd have no right to care, even if he was. I stand outside, frozen in thought until I'm almost frozen in body. A whimper from Andromeda, probably upset I left her inside, returns me to my senses. Horse or not, I shouldn't see Luke or his kids again. I can't run it over without the risk of seeing him.

Besides, I'm almost out of time. I glance at my watch and realize I have barely more than an hour to get ready before I need to leave for Foster's wedding. I have to decide whether to dress up and go to this stupid wedding like Paisley thinks I need to, or stay home and feign sudden and dire illness.

I'm waffling between the two when Trudy arrives home, her hair up in a fabulous French twist, and a dry cleaner bag in hand. No three year old anywhere in sight.

“Where's Troy?” I ask.

She bites her lip. “Well, I didn't want to hire a normal kid babysitter because he's so complicated right now. We lined up the continual monitor and a responsible adult needs to take regular reads.”

“Okay. . . So where is he?”

“Chris' parents’ house.”

I slap my forehead. “Is that wise?”

Trudy shakes her head. “I don't know. They're upset about the divorce, but they know it's all Chris' fault. They've apologized to me a lot, and begged to babysit Troy whenever I need help.” She lowers her voice. “I think they're worried that they won't get to see Troy anymore, and they're really the only grandparents he has.”

“I hope you told them about the restraining order, at least.”

She bobs her head. “Of course I did. They understand they can't have Chris over. Troy was sitting on grandma's lap watching The Grinch when I left. Lemme go change and then I'll be ready to go.”

If Trudy's gone to all this trouble for me, I can't back out.

I trudge back to my closet and put on my favorite formal dress, a champagne colored silk sheath dress slit up to mid-thigh. I pair it with my only pair of Louboutins, an almost boring, classic black heel with patent accents to spice them up. Dark shoes to contrast with the champagne of the dress.

Trudy gushes when she sees me. “Oh, Mary, no one will pay any attention to that lying loser once you walk in. Foster's going to wish he hadn't been so intractable.”

I doubt it, but I certainly hope she's right. Even now, even today, I can't help feeling like Foster sent me a message when we broke up. Without the promise of children, I wasn't enough for him.