His Missing Wife by Jaime Hendricks (nice books to read .TXT) 📕

“Actually, Rosita, can it wait? I just got here and left Tessa waiting long enough. We’re about to sit down for dinner and I don’t want to be rude to my date.”

She’s not used to being blown off—I can tell by the way her face twists—and she’s especially pissed by being blown off by James.

“Your date? What about Joanna?” She looks at me, smug. “He already has a girlfriend.”

Wow, what an evil bitch this one is! I thought girls were supposed to stick together. She doesn’t say it as a warning to me for chicks-before-dicks camaraderie; she says it to make me feel bad about myself.

“Joanna and I broke up, Rosita. Tessa knows about her. Now, if you don’t mind?” James says, his hand on my shoulder.

She’s not happy. In fact, she looks like he just slapped her across the face. I have tons of practice with that expression. “Mmm hmm. Well then. I’ll leave you to it.” She turns on her leather high heels and walks off, without saying goodbye.

Turns her down nicely? Check. Lets her know we’re having dinner together? Check. Lets her know I’m his date? Double check. I wasn’t sure in the beginning, but now I am, and I like it. Another tally added to my virtual jail cell wall.

“Sorry about that,” James says. “She can be… difficult. We’re both assistant managers now but one of us will be promoted to manager in the next few weeks.”

“Ah,” I say, because I don’t want to seem nosy getting involved with him and a coworker in the first ten minutes. “I don’t think she liked me.”

“She only likes people who can get her ahead in life. Don’t worry about her.”

When the drinks arrive, we clink glasses and, like a gentleman, he asks me about myself again. The usual. Where I’m from, why I moved, how I got started in interior design, what’s the biggest project I’ve ever had, where do I get my inspiration, was I artistic as a child. The list goes on and on. I’m as cut and dry as can be. South of here. Change of scenery. Designing my ex’s firm. Life around me. Yes.

Yes, I tell him I was artistic as a child, because I can tell he’s into me and I don’t want to spoil it for him right now with the truth. The truth being I barely even got to play with crayons as a young child because my mother spent her money on beer and pot in the beginning, then gin and crack as I got older. I didn’t play with many of the neighborhood kids because I’d be in the same outfit for days and they shunned me, even in the trashy neighborhood I was from. I had Kenny and my half siblings, and we were all in the same boat, albeit together, until my mother really fucked up and we all got separated. Then I got to spend my teenage years being passed around like a sex doll and a social experiment to see how little food I could be given from the monthly check without actually starving to death.

Not exactly marriage material, you know?

“Yes, I used to draw all the time. Then I started writing stories to go with my drawings. Then, I started painting and I liked the way I could complement different hues with one another. I first fell in love with color in a new way after I saw The Wizard of Oz. Seeing the film transform from black and white to color was magical. It’s still my favorite movie.”

That explanation on color was repeated verbatim. Drew had allowed me to go to a one-day conference that was in town, about design careers. Obviously, I wasn’t doing enough to make myself worthy of him, so he tried to make me better. I see now that he was trying to control me. Anyway, the keynote speaker said something along those lines about the color, and I committed it to memory years ago. It’s the same thing I tell everyone.

As we sit for dinner, I defer to asking him about himself, afraid my real persona will shine through. He sounds like he was written from a nineties sitcom. An athlete. A scholarship. A fraternity guy. A traveler.

“Played baseball and ran track in high school,” he says. “Even ran the New York Marathon once.”

“Wow. That must’ve taken dedication.”

“I got a partial athletic scholarship to Rutgers for track. After I graduated with honors, I moved back in with my parents afterward for a little while. Traveled. Ran around with my buddies. Got a job at a different bank, then moved to Hoboken with a girl and got a job at bank in New York. That’s the year I ran the marathon.”

Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask. “What happened with the girl?”

“She got a job in Chicago and took off.” He shrugs. “What’s your ex story? We’ve all got one.”

“I—” I take a sip of Chardonnay. I’m not a fan, but I take another sip anyway. “He was an asshole. I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s okay.”

He places his hand on top of mine and caresses it, comforting me.

I offer to pay for half when the check comes, but he waves me off like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, and I’m grateful. There’s enough money left for dinner, and then some, but I have to watch my spending until I get a job.

When I look at my watch, it’s almost eleven. Where did the time go?

“Have you been to the shore yet?” he asks.

“The beach?”

He laughs. “Here, they call it the shore. Only place in the country.”

How quaint. “No. I know it’s not too far from here, but I’ve been… indoors,” I say, motioning toward my face, which I hope is still hidden under my makeup.

He winces, sympathetic, and holds my hand across the table. “I’m sorry, Tessa.”

I fall for him right then and there. Maybe I did earlier, but something