Page 42 of The Homemaker (The Chain of Lakes #1)
Chapter Forty
Murphy
Choices suck. Avoid them at all costs.
When we were young, my parents would take me and my sister to Dairy Queen every Saturday during the summer.
My sister was boring as hell, always getting a vanilla crunch cone.
But I stewed over my decision. Banana split or peanut buster parfait?
Mom would roll her eyes and tell me to hurry up because people were waiting in line behind us.
Dad would invariably jump in and order one so I could order the other and we’d share.
He’d say, “Life is short, buddy. Why choose?”
He lied.
Life isn’t that short. And since then, I’ve discovered the hard way why choices must be made.
I just never imagined I’d stew over love. Actually, I’m not sure stewing is the right word. I’ve backed myself into a corner, and I will not get out of it unscathed.
“Still in the doghouse?” Hunter asks as we practice on his putting green next to the pickleball court.
“Yep.” I tap the ball into the hole.
“You should buy her something. Nothing cliché like flowers or jewelry. It has to be something that feels well-thought-out, like a Chihuahua or a new car.”
I chuckle, scratching the back of my head as he makes a long putt from the edge of the green. “I’ll uh … keep that in mind. Thanks.”
“Everything you said to her was probably true. But you need a little more tact.”
“Like you?”
He smirks, tossing another ball onto the green. “When you’ve been married as long as I have, you can get away with more.”
“Like hiring a homemaker?”
“Alice is a dream. I hope this guy she’s dating doesn’t try to marry her anytime soon.”
Me too.
“I don’t think you have to worry about that. She’s pretty focused on serving you at your throne,” I say.
“Who’s serving who at what throne?”
My head whips around when I hear her voice.
Alice’s light pink and white dress sashays with each step as she carries a basket of fresh cut flowers toward the house. Perfect auburn ponytail bobbing like a show pony.
“Murphy was just asking me what my secret is to a happy marriage. I told him he needs to worship Blair like I worship Vera, and he’ll have a long, happy marriage.” Hunter delivers his bullshit with a devilish grin .
“I couldn’t agree more.” Alice bats her eyelashes. Her tone has an edge that makes my grin falter.
After she’s out of earshot (I hope), Hunter whistles. “There is nothing as sexy as a woman in heels.”
“I think they cause bunions. We should normalize wide-toed flats being the new sexy.”
“Christ, Murphy. I knew you were pussy-whipped, but castrated too?”
I laugh, handing him the ten thousand-dollar Honma putter that goes with his “older” matching irons he spent over 50K on.
“I need to get some work done before Vera and Blair return from the salon, since it looks like I’ll be going to the animal shelter or a car dealership before the end of the day. ”
“Go for the car. I don’t want a dog pissing on my floors.”
“You should have thought of that before doling out advice. The dog fits my budget better than the car,” I holler, walking away.
Alice isn’t in the kitchen, but there’s a jug of iced tea on the counter. I pour myself a glass and head to the bedroom to work. Do I take a big detour in hope of running into her? Absolutely.
“It was nice seeing your mom,” I say, for a lack of anything more original.
Alice transfers laundry from the washer to the dryer. “Yes. I’m sure you’ve missed seeing her the past eight years. Though she mentioned you didn’t send a Christmas card last year.”
“I’m making small talk.”
She starts the dryer and turns, leaning against it. “Why?”
“Because I need to work, but I’m procrastinating.”
Her perfectly lined red lips twist, and she clasps her hands in front of her, taking slow steps to me. It’s not an exaggeration when I say her nearness takes my breath away. I slide my hands into my pockets to keep them from touching her.
“Where’s Mr. Morrison?”
“Putting away the putters. Why?”
If she’s wondering if we have time to hide in a dark corner and kiss, we do. Sin begets sin. At this point, I’m in so far over my head, what’s one more kiss?
“It’s story time,” she says.
“That is so messed up.”
She smirks and unbuttons the top two buttons of her dress. “I think you’re jealous. Maybe when he’s down for his nap, I can read you a story. Do you have a favorite genre?”
Such a fucking tease.
“Let me guess. Anything with a ripped bodice on the cover?” Alice has always played out of my league.
I glance down the hallway for any sign of Hunter. Then I drag my thumb across my lower lip to mask my grin. “When’s your boyfriend coming home?”
“Yesterday.”
That’s unfortunate.
“Why? Do you want to double date? Maybe go to a movie?” The challenge in her eyes only makes it harder to keep my hands in my pockets.
“That would be fun.” I rock back and forth on my heels.
“Or …” She releases a third button of her dress.
For fuck’s sake, Hunter doesn’t need to see that much cleavage.
“Maybe,” she continues, “the homemaker could cook a nice dinner, then we can play cornhole or bowl. Teams. Callen and me against you and Blair. ”
“What does the winner get?”
“Winner gets to sleep with the homemaker.”
I freeze, then clear my throat to keep from tripping over my words. “I’m not sure Blair would think of that as a prize.”
“Oh, Murphy. I think you’re too busy ogling me to see your fiancée sneaking a peek. She’s an artist. Artists are curious. Perhaps a little kinky.”
I stretch my neck from side to side. Alice loves a good reaction. She’s waiting for me to take the bait.
“Are you enjoying this?” I ask.
“Absolutely.” She winks and saunters toward Hunter’s study.
This doesn’t feel real. Alice and Blair. My past and my future have collided in the present, and I don’t see a way out of this without ripping my heart in two and hurting everyone around me. It feels like I’m falling and there’s a tummy-turning excitement when I think a parachute will deploy.
The adrenaline.
The euphoria.
But what if there is no parachute?
I return to my bedroom and manage to clear my head long enough to complete a project that’s due tomorrow. The small successes matter more than ever. They give me the illusion of control.
“Hey,” Blair says, closing the bedroom door behind her with her hands gripping paper bags from fancy clothing stores.
Vera knows Blair doesn’t splurge on herself that often, so when they’re together, she showers her daughter with gifts.
“Looks like a successful day.” I say, nodding to the bags.
When I look at her, my heart aches. What am I doing? And why can’t I stop? Is Alice a drug? Drugs destroy families.
Blair tosses the bags onto the bed. “I suppose.” She plops down and frowns, gathering her hair over one shoulder to braid it. It’s what she does when she’s nervous. “I hate that we’re fighting.”
“Are we? I just assumed you were upset with me, not an actual fight. I’m not upset with you.”
She deflates like I’m weighing her down with all the blame. It’s not my intention.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive or keep anything from you.
It might take some time for me to perfect running every thought through a filter.
But I’ll try because I’m sure it sounds worse than I mean it to sound.
I don’t have icks or whatever you call them.
Stress is my excuse, but it’s not a good one, and it’s not your problem. ”
Blair runs her fingers through her braid to undo it. “How can you say that? Your problems are mine, and mine are yours.”
Had Alice felt that way eight years earlier, would we still be together? If she would have trusted me with her past and the trauma, would I have been able to prevent her from going to a psychiatric hospital?
“Why so many lines on your handsome face?” Blair finds her favorite spot straddling my lap.
She runs her fingers along my forehead, tracing the craters of worry.
“You’re not going to call off the wedding, are you?
This isn’t a cruel joke where you’re trying to teach me a lesson, right?
” She laughs, but it’s not without a hint of true concern.
“I would never call off our wedding to teach you a lesson.”
“You’d crush me, baby,” she whispers. “ I wouldn’t survive not spending forever with you.” Her hands press to my cheeks.
They’re gentle.
Warm.
Familiar.
I rest my hands on her hips. The proximity to her I’ve craved since we met no longer feels right. Then again, nothing feels right. Whatever internal gauge or natural instinct I’m supposed to have feels broken.