Man of My Dreams Page 5

  “Either you’re too good to be true or you are the prince Mia’s been waiting for to carry her off into the sunset.” She smiles and then turns serious, pointing a finger in Declan’s face, “you better always be this good to her dude, or I’ll kill ya.”

  It’s the one night of the year that I dread more than going to the dentist and the gynecologist combined: Declan’s office holiday party. Not only is it an effort to dodge the mean spirited “how’d you snag him” looks, but the idea of getting all dolled up to canoodle with some of the most boring people on earth— I cringe at the thought of a table full of Declan’s pretentious coworkers and their ditsy wives. It’s going to take a lot of alcohol and fake smiles to get through this night.

  It still bewilders me how my free-spirited, guitar-slaying husband became an accountant. He’s good at what he does and he seldom complains because, oddly enough, he likes what he does, but it’s not like he fits in with the rest of the number crunchers. What right do I have to second guess his decision anyway? This gig allows me to stay home and raise my kids. When they are both in school full time in a few years I’ll probably go back to teaching, but for now I have Cohen, Marks, & Prussack, LLC to thank for being a hands-on witness to the precious first years of my babies’ lives.

  As we walk into the swanky cocktail portion of the evening, Declan places his hand at the base of my back, leading me into the room. “Babe, you look beautiful. Thanks for doing this for me. I know how much you hate it.”

  What an understatement! “You’re welcome, Dec. You know I wouldn’t make you go stag to this thing. Besides, I need to learn the ropes from Missy and Nadine. You know, for when you make partner.”

  It’s a sore subject and I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it, but Missy and Nadine are already arm in arm with matching glasses of bubbling champagne and sophisticated updos. Note to self: partner’s wives do chignons and pearls for major events such as these. I’m just not a chignon and pearl type of gal, but then again I didn’t think Declan was a suit and tie type of guy when I met him. And being partner at a prestigious accounting firm wasn’t exactly how I pictured him either.

  “Partner? Please, that’s long off, Mia. Plus, I think these guys are jerking me around. This may be the last CMP holiday party you’ll ever have to endure. I’m tired of doing all the work without any of the credit.”

  Yup, still a sore subject. Time to change it. “Babe, the kids are staying at your parents tonight, why don’t you get me a cosmo?”

  “You sure? One too many of those and I won’t be able to trust that mouth of yours.”

  “Exactly,” I wink at him, giving him an insinuating peck on the cheek.

  He kisses me back and ushers me in the direction of an empty table. “I’ll be right back.”

  I sit at the tiny table, which is covered in a black and white damask tablecloth. The elegant fabric is scattered with miniature crystal snowflakes that glisten in the dim lighting. Large vases stuffed with festive springs of holly create a winter wonderland centerpiece. A soothing string quartet plays a peaceful rendition of Greensleeves. It’s just the thing to get me in the holiday spirit. Maybe this party won’t be so bad after all.

  I look over to the bar and see that Phil Price has caught Declan’s ear. That can only mean—yup, I turn to my right and Phil’s wife is on her way over to my table. Okay, I spoke too soon. This is back to being a shitty party.

  Patricia Price is an irritating snob of a woman. It’s not only annoying that she has four J Crew catalogue looking kids, each of which has a first name starting with a P, but Patricia is so full of herself and her perfectly primped Price family that it’s hard to get a word in edgewise.

  “Hiiii, Mia. Happy holidays.” She takes me in, outfit, hair, jewelry and make-up. “You look gorgeous. Where’d you get that dress? Mine is Vera, brand new, custom made, don’t you just love it?”

  See what I mean?

  I wish I had the cosmo to gulp down the bile rising in my throat, but I choke it down, cold turkey, and force a congenial smile. “Hello, Patricia. Yes, you look stunning. It must have cost a small fortune. Nothing but the best, right?”

  She throws her head back laughing and sits down next to me, clutching my hand in her icy claw. “Oh, Mia. You know me too well. So how are Cara and Charlotte? Phillip Jr. is deciding on Princeton or Harvard for the fall, Petey’s science fair project is going to regionals, Penny’s dance company is going to nationals and Piper potty trained herself in three days. Three days. Can you believe it?”

  Oh, I can believe it. She’s trained them like robots from the womb. “Wow, that’s wonderful, Patricia. You must be so proud.” I don’t want to egg her on or feed her over-inflated ego, but I kind of want to know. “How do you manage all four with Phil’s crazy schedule? I mean, last month when Declan was away those five nights, I thought I was going to have to enlist Super Nanny to help me get through it.”

  She purses her lips, squinting her shimmery, made-up eyes, “Oh silly, those kids are my life. I love our alone time. Don’t tell Phil this,” she leans down closer to whisper, “but sometimes I wish he would stay away a little longer. It gives me mommy-time with my babies. They’re growing too fast. Each day is precious.”

  Oh yeah, leave it to Patricia Price, mother and wife of the year—eighteen years in a row. When I was younger, long before Declan and the kids, I had painted a pretty picture of the type of wife and mother I would be too. I envisioned June Cleaver—with edge. Everything would be perfect; I would be perfect. Home cooked meals every night, children with matching outfits and trendy hairstyles, a kitchen floor you could eat off of, and a very satisfied husband. Yeah, not so much. Life got in the way and instead of June Cleaver there are days I swear I’m more like Peg Bundy.

  Declan is nothing like Al, thank God, but with these frequent week long business trips, managing the kids, not to mention all of the other responsibilities, alone is something I’m having a hard time mastering. “I don’t know, Patricia, you make it sound so easy. I like my mommy-time with the kids too, but I look forward to Declan coming home and giving me a hand at night. The girls adore him; their faces light up when he walks through that door after work. So when he’s away for five nights it takes a toll on us all.”

  She sips her dirty martini with wincing eyes. “Why do you keep saying five nights? I’m pretty sure it was only four this last time. I guess it just felt longer for you, hun.”

  Well, yes, it seemed like five months, but I’m positive it was five nights. “No, Patty, it was five. Declan called me the morning he was supposed to come home and said that Robert mandated them all to stay another night for a big presentation. Didn’t Phil have to stay too?”

  Patricia shakes her head, squishing her perfectly shaped brows together. Really? This is news to me. I’m seething, thinking back to how Declan works his ass off without the proper recognition. Why was Phil exempt? Or anyone else, for that matter? Something’s not kosher and I just want to get to the bottom of it before I jump to any unnecessary conclusions. Either the company is screwing with Declan, or Declan is screwing with me.

  Lucky for me, the guys are on their way over to us with our cocktails. Declan leans down and kisses Patty on the cheek, and Phil compliments me on my dress, but instead of responding with the customary, gracious ‘thank you,’ I jump right in for the kill. “Dec, Patricia here tells me that Phil wasn’t mandated to stay over that extra night last month. You told me the whole department had to stay.”

  I’m paying really close attention to Declan’s body language right now. But it’s giving nothing away.

  Mercifully, Phil’s does and he looks as confused as I feel. “Nope, I think you’re mixed up. Everyone packed up and went home Thursday night. We put in a lot of hours that week and we all couldn’t wait to get home to our families. Robert included. Declan, I watched you check out, didn’t I?”

  There’s the body language I was looking for. Declan glances at Phil with the look of death. If I could read his mind,
and I’m almost positive I can right now, he’s telling Phil to shut the fuck up and quit while he’s ahead.

  I stand up, unable to hide the hurt that threatens to pour out of me in the form of crying, shouting and overreacting. “I need some air.”

  I try to remain calm as I rush out into the lobby, past yet another string quartet and a massive Victorian Christmas tree. Screw Christmas right now! I know I’m thinking the worst, but if the worst is what this is I might have a major meltdown in about five seconds.

  I exit the loud entryway through a revolving door, away from all the fur coats, over applied perfume and collagen inflated smiles. I hate every single one of these people right now.

  Declan whooshes through the door, right behind me. He grabs my arm and stops me from stalking off. When I’m face to face with him I don’t like what I see in his eyes: Shame. Remorse. Guilt.

  “Who, Declan?” I know what this boils down to, I will not dance around the reality that my husband is obviously having an affair. Holy shit, he’s having a fucking affair!

  “Mia. Let’s not do this here. Please?”

  Okay, so he’s not even denying it then. How can this be happening? This kind of thing was never supposed to happen to me. To us. I’ve never given him a reason to stray. Have I? And even if I did, how the hell could he do this?

  My body is inundated with too many unfamiliar feelings. Burning heat radiates through my veins, my stomach churns and flip-flops and I’m pretty sure my heart is beating loud enough for Declan to hear. I can barely stand, my legs and other limbs wobbly and unsteady, but a dominant anger empowers me so I wind up and slap Declan across the face.

  He winces and brings his hand up to his freshly shaven cheek. That’s when the floodgates open. Tears dampen my neck as they spill down my painted face uncontrollably, causing me to stifle back unattractive sobs. All the air has left my lungs, like I’ve been punched in the gut. I try to breathe in the crisp, cold air, but my body denies me the ability to do so. Choppy, rapid breaths escape me as I hunch over, like a runner who’s just finished a marathon. Declan reaches over to help, but I swat his hand away, trying to regain composure.

  “Get the hell away from me. I’m calling a cab. I can’t stand the sight of you.”

  “I won’t let you go home by yourself, Mia. Please, let me go in there and make up some excuse. I’ll take you home. We can…talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Declan. You cheated on me, you’re having an affair and my world is falling apart outside your fucking office Christmas party.” I can’t contain the sobs now. Thank God we are out here alone. Aside from the valet attendant, who is getting a pretty entertaining show right now.

  “It’s not like that at all, Mia. Please, let me explain. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to find out like this and I’m—I’m just so sorry.”

  I reach into my clutch and pull out my cell phone to call information for a car service. “No, Declan, you’re just sorry I found out. I’m going home. Go have fun with—wait a goddamn minute. Is she in there? Do I know her?” I start to push my way past Declan, toward the revolving door.

  But he stops me.

  “Mia, please calm down. You don’t deserve to be embarrassed here tonight.”

  “No, I don’t. But you definitely do. Who the fuck is she?”

  He closes his eyes and I watch his shoulders rise and fall with calculated breaths. “She’s not here, I swear. It’s not what you think. It was—it was a one-time thing.”

  Yeah, and I’m an even bigger fool than the one I must look like right now. “I’m sure. Well, in that case, I hope your one night stand was worth losing it all.” I turn my back to him, unable to look at his traitorous face any longer, and I bring my hands up to my eyes, sobbing again.

  Declan tries to comfort me by wrapping his arms around me, but without even thinking my arms flail wildly, punching his arms, his chest, his stomach, over and over again.

  I guess this finally grabs the valet’s attention because he hurries over to us. “Miss, are you okay? Is this man bothering you?” He scans Declan from head to toe, clenching his ready fists at his side.

  “I’m not just some man, I’m her husband. Please, let us handle this.”

  “No, actually he is bothering me. Would you mind calling me a cab? I want to go now.” I know by doing this I’m only running away, but the car ride home with Declan would be like enduring a slow death by boiling.

  Declan makes one more attempt to try to calm me down, to try and explain himself, but the valet attendant is between us now. He shouts over the boy’s head, “Mia, baby, I love you. I never meant for this to happen.”

  I don’t even give him the satisfaction of an answer. I turn to the curb to wait for the cab. After a long and lonely minute the only sound I hear is the clicking of Declan’s shoes on the pavement, getting further and further away.

  It’s not ‘til I get home, walk into my empty house, that the reality starts to sink in. My husband had an affair. An affair. Saying it over and over in my head doesn’t weaken its meaning. What a dumb word to describe—this. What he did. Affair seems too formal, too politically correct, to encompass what it really means. It’s bullshit! That’s what it is. Pure, heart wrenching, holy-shit-this-is-not-happening-to-me bullshit!

  How will I tell my parents? My friends? The girls. This will devastate them. Am I going to be divorced at twenty-eight years old? How did I miss the warning signs? What did I do to deserve this?

  I collapse on the couch, already tired from the unremitting tears and the questions popping up like microwave popcorn in my head. I cry so hard my body shakes, trembling and convulsing. I run to the bathroom because the sobs have lodged themselves in my throat, causing me to gag and heave. I fall down to my knees in front of the toilet and spew my guts up. I’ve had stomach flus, drunken wild nights, and morning sickness, but vomit has never left my body this violently before.

  I rest my head on the toilet, giving in to the self-inflicted mental and physical beating I’ve just taken and I hear the sound of the front door slam shut, followed by frantic footsteps.

  “Mia, baby? Mia? Where are you?”

  If I had the energy to get up and lock the door I would. I would lock myself in here until the hurt and disbelief vanish, but there’s no telling if and when that will ever happen.

  A few seconds later, Declan is at my side, rubbing my back. “Are you okay?”

  Yes, Declan, I’m perfect. Just fucking peachy. “Get the hell out. Leave me alone.” If only it were that simple. I actually don’t want him to leave me alone. I never wanted him to leave me alone, and ironically, now that he’s done the unthinkable, that’s what I’m going to be – all alone.

  Declan’s crying now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry. It’s unsettling, even if I want to see him hurt as badly as I’m hurting. “Mia, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say, but I want to talk to you about it. I need to make you understand.”

  “Understand what, Dec? You lied to me. You cheated on me. You…ruined our marriage and our family…for one night with some…whore. I can’t believe these words are coming out of my mouth. Why Declan? I need…to understand…why?” The sobs distort my speech. I can’t even get the words out without insufferable sniffling.

  “There is no explanation, Mia. But you’re not letting me talk. It’s not what you think. I didn’t…”

  “You know what, spare me all the details and just get the hell out.”

  “Mia…”

  “GET OUT!” I scream so loud my throat feels raw. “Get out, get out, get out!” I can’t say it enough. I need him to leave. I can’t hear one more word out of his mouth. The mouth that was mine, that has now been all over someone else’s body. The thought disgusts me so much I start to wretch again, spilling out more, emptying my body to match the same empty feeling in my heart.

  By the time I’m finally done, Declan is nowhere to be found.

  I find my phone to call Grace. I need to talk to someone. I n
eed to know what to do. I have no idea what comes next. I feel like the world has come to a crashing halt and I’m the only one left to decipher the outcome.

  But I’m not the only one left, and my next move, and all the ones to follow, will affect so many different aspects of my life as I know it. My marriage, my home, my children, my sanity.

  I decide against calling Grace. I’m too embarrassed, even if it is Grace. She won’t judge; she’ll listen, support and comfort. But I’m not ready to speak about it yet. Maybe if I don’t speak about it at all it will go away. Highly unlikely, I know.

  Instead of dialing her number, I text Declan’s mother, telling her to give the kids an extra kiss for me. My beautiful little girls; they’ll be the product of a broken home and the repercussions that unravel because of it. Fucked up relationships, abandonment issues, and resentment towards their parents…all so Declan could get off with some home wrecking bitch.

  I curl up into the fetal position on the couch with swollen, soaked eyes and an empty pit in my stomach. Praying that if I fall asleep I’ll wake up and this will all have been some sick, twisted nightmare.

  After a week of introducing each other to our respective parents, siblings and friends from home, Declan and I are happy to be back at school. All in all, spring break didn’t turn out to be a bust. We left home with all four of our parents’ blessings. As much as I loved bringing him around my hometown, at school we’re used to a certain rhythm, one that isn’t so easy to replicate under watchful eyes of concerned parents and nosy childhood friends.

  When I told them he’d be visiting, my parents were wary. I’d phone them and talk about him and my mother would warn me to be careful—”Don’t put all your eggs in one basket,” she’d say. I knew she was only trying to give motherly advice and save me unnecessary heartache, but Declan and I were already falling hard for each other. I’d read them the riot act, telling them to be nice and make a good impression because I wanted him to stick around.