Thought I Knew You(71)

She took a step back. “Claire, I completely understand.” She put her hand on my arm. “If you guys need anything at all, let me know.” She hastily went inside to greet other, but surely less interesting, guests.



Drew turned to look at me in amazement. “Seriously? I think I was wrong. Maybe we do need allies.”

“Welcome to the suburbs.” I laughed. “You thought the city was tough? You have no idea. To be fair, she’s the worst one. Everyone else will be more subtle. And probably genuinely care less.”

“She makes me so sad,” he commented.

I looked up in questioning surprise. Melinda made me a lot of things, but never, ever sad.

“Think about it,” he said. “To care that much about someone else’s life, your own life has to be pretty unfulfilling.”

My mind flashed to Melinda’s half-drunken attempts to seduce Greg two years ago. What must her marriage be like? Steve always seemed so… dull. Drew, an outsider, had shone new light on the whole party with one simple observation. I reached up, not caring who saw, and kissed him. “I love you, Drew Elliot.”

The night before, I had lectured him. “Please, no PDA, okay?”

He replied with his usual sarcasm. “Someday, though, right? Someday, we can make out in the middle of a church barbeque? I’ve always wanted to. Please?”

I smacked him with my magazine. “You are never serious.”

“You’re serious enough for both of us,” he had replied.

He kissed me back, eyes widened in surprise. “You said no PDA,” he whispered.

“That was before. For some reason, I don’t really care that much anymore.”





Chapter 30



A few weeks later, we had our first real fight. The house. The house was the thorn in our sides, the pea under the mattress. Drew protested very little in life, his easygoing side a nice complement to my detail-oriented type-A. I found, through time, that when he did stake a claim, I should take it seriously. I tried to abide by my own self-imposed rule; however, we struggled with the house. We painted the bedroom, bought a new bed, and rearranged the furniture. Nothing in the bedroom resembled the room I had shared with Greg. But Drew couldn’t get past it. He wanted me to sell the house. He wanted us to move and find a new house to make our own. He felt like Greg’s replacement, the new daddy, in the same house, filling the same role.

“Lots of people get married twice. And then, the second husband is always second. It’s in the name!” I protested. “I can’t help that. We’re not even married yet…” I skirted another issue. “… but I feel like I already have to defend having a first husband to you.”

“I’ve never asked you to defend having a first husband. That’s ridiculous. But I feel like I’m renting space in Greg’s life. Can’t you see that? I don’t question your love for me. Asking you to move is not like asking you who you loved more. I need us to start fresh, so I can feel like this is my place in life.”

“It’s just a house. You’re making too much of this,” I insisted. “This is your place in life. If you want it to be.”

He threw up his hands and stomped outside.

Having quasi-lived together for seven months, I knew we were both coming to a head with our purgatory life. He still maintained his brownstone in Harlem, but he stayed with us most of the time, commuting in when necessary. The arrangement worked, albeit for the short term. Admittedly, I saw his point. My hesitation stemmed from my love for my house—the big yard, the barn, the privacy, the house’s age. I knew we could find something that I would love again, particularly with Drew’s income, but my house was my home. Stubbornly, unfairly, I held onto it.



Drew, almost never stubborn and rarely unfair, returned fifteen minutes later. He drew me in and held me. We made no concession, reached no agreement. But the argument had ended.

“I hate fighting with you.” He looked so forlorn, I almost laughed out loud. Having been married, I knew that fighting came with the territory.

I hugged him back and reassured him that a fight was just a fight and I wasn’t even mad. I simply didn’t want to move. He kissed me gently, thumbing my jaw and bringing goose bumps to my arms. The kiss deepened, our mouths parting. So easily ready, willing, and panting for him, I could feel him respond in kind.

Gently, he pulled away. “The kids are upstairs.”

My hand danced along his belly, teasingly. “Later.”

He groaned, looking upward. “You know, I could find a woman without kids,” he muttered.

“I think you tried that for ten years,” I replied, raising my eyebrows.