Honey on Your Mind (24 page)

I felt like I should say something, but I had no idea what. For a moment, we sat there in awkward silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I finally asked.

She shook her head and took a huge gulp of her drink.

“Things don’t always work out the way you think they will, do they,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

I took a tiny sip of my drink and made a face as it stung my insides.

“Do you want a mixer with that?” she asked.

“You have one?”

“There’s orange juice in the fridge. I’ll get it.”

She stood up, a bit unsteadily, walked out of the room, and returned a few minutes later with a carton of orange juice. She leaned over and poured some into my glass, splashing some on the table as she did so.

“Oh, I’m sorry, let me clean that up.” She wiped the table clumsily with her hand. It was a bit sad to watch.

I stood up. “Let me get a napkin.” I was nearly out the door when I heard her say something.

“You’re a nice person, Waverly.” It came out as a whisper.

• • •

An hour later, I was still nursing that one drink. The last thing I wanted to do was get drunk around Wendy Davenport, even if
she
was drunk. If loose lips sink ships, I certainly didn’t need any vodka prying mine open.

“You really missed your train because of me?” she said.

I nodded.

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Waverly. I thought I’d told you I planned to have you on the show today. I really…thought I had.” She stared behind me at the wall, or maybe at nothing. It was hard to tell.

“It’s OK, we all make mistakes.” God knows I’d made enough of them myself. I wasn’t angry anymore, especially after seeing her this way. Now I just felt sorry for her.

“So you’re not getting to Boston until two?”

I nodded. “Looks like it. It’s OK, though. Jake is picking me up at the bus station.”

She kept staring at the wall behind me. “I’m sorry for being so hard on you, Waverly.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry for making fun of you on the set today. I…I don’t know why I did that. And when I first met you on the
Today
show, I was really a pill then too. I’m sorry for that as well.”

Again, I didn’t speak. She wasn’t looking at me, but I got the sense that she wanted to keep talking, so I quietly started tearing up a napkin.

“I get like that sometimes. I’m just…
mean
. I don’t intend to be. I really don’t.” She took another sip of her drink and stared at it. “Living a lie, it’s not easy.”

I looked up from the pile of napkin bits.

Living a lie?

I didn’t know what to say, so I kept silent.

After a few moments, she finally looked up at me. Her eyes were glassy. “Trying to be something you’re not, have you ever done that?”

I thought back to my days in sports PR, when I’d faked my way through meetings, trying to care, wanting to care, pretending like I cared.

“Yes, I guess.”

“Did it make you a little…
crazy
?” she whispered.

It hadn’t, but I didn’t think that’s what she needed to hear, so I nodded. “A little.”

“What did you do about it?”

“I quit.”

“You quit?”

“Yeah, I quit. My job. It wasn’t a fit for me anymore, so I quit.”

She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

Is she talking about her marriage?

“So, um, why are you here this late anyway?” Paige was away visiting her parents in Maryland for Christmas, so shouldn’t Wendy be with Gary and her kids?

She didn’t appear to hear my question. Or if she did, she ignored it. “It’s like my whole career…the show…it’s all…it’s all based on a lie.” She took another gulp of her drink.

One thing I did know was that no matter how crazy Wendy could be—and at times, her elevator
clearly
wasn’t going to the top floor—she was definitely good at her job. Very good.

I| shook my head. “That’s not true, Wendy. You’re great at what you do. People love your show. They love
you
.”

She didn’t appear to hear me. She finished off her drink and set the glass on the table. “My marriage…it’s fake,” she whispered.

I caught my breath.
Oh my God. She does know.

Suddenly, despite all the horrible things she’d said to me since we’d met, I felt overwhelmed by compassion for her. I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, Wendy.”

She smiled but pulled her hand back. “Thanks, but you can’t help me with this.”

I nodded, unsure what to say.

After a few moments, she spoke again. But she didn’t make eye contact.

“Damn her,” she whispered.

I wanted to make her feel better, but I didn’t know how. My mind scrambled for something to say.

Unfortunately, a Waverly moment was the result.

“She’s a nice person,” I blurted.

Wendy looked up at me. “What?”

I bit my lip.
Damn it.

“What are you talking about?”

Oh my God.

She doesn’t know?

Then why did she just say that? And why did
I
just say that? What is wrong with me?

The thoughts bounced around inside my head.

I swallowed. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

Oh sweet Jesus, just shut up, Waverly!

“Waverly, what are you talking about?”

I stood up and looked around the room, wishing someone else were there. Talk about loose lips
.
“I should probably go now, I’m sorry.”
You suck, Waverly.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, the edge suddenly back in her voice. Mean Wendy was back. “You don’t know anything.” She reached for the bottle. How many drinks had she had?

I grabbed my purse off the chair next to me. “I think it’s time for me to catch a cab down to Chinatown. I’m so sorry.”

She calmly refilled her glass, not making eye contact. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Happy holidays, Wendy.” I dashed out of the room.

I slept most of the way to Boston, though I couldn’t breathe for the first hour because of the overpowering aroma of fried chicken engulfing the air space around me. The guy sitting in front of me had a huge bucket of it on his lap, and yes, he ate the entire thing. With his hands.

When the bus finally rolled into Boston four hours later, the city was dark and quiet. Weary and rumpled, I filed out with the other passengers, retrieved my luggage from the storage compartment, and then stumbled into the South Station terminal. As I walked through the doorway, I scanned the crowd milling around the entrance. When I spotted Jake leaning against the check-in counter, I could feel my tired face brighten up.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” I smiled and set my purse on the ground. He was wearing plaid pajamas bottoms and an old Atlanta Falcons sweatshirt. Even in tattered sleepwear, he looked good. (I, however, look homeless in tattered sleepwear.)

“Welcome to Boston.” He walked toward me and opened his arms for a hug. “And merry Christmas. It’s the twenty-fifth now.”

I gave him a quick kiss and then hugged him tight. I pressed my cheek against his chest and inhaled deeply. Jake always smelled indescribably…
good
.

“For the record, I know I look super gross right now, but I don’t care,” I said.

He laughed. “You’ve definitely looked better. But I’m in my pajamas at a bus station in the middle of the night, so I shouldn’t talk.”

“Do I smell like fried chicken?” I looked up at him.

He laughed again. “What?”

I pressed my face against his chest again. “I’ll tell you later. Can we go to the hotel now? I’m exhausted.”

He gave me a squeeze, and then reached for the handle of my suitcase. “Of course.”

• • •

Jake had booked us a room at a bed and breakfast a few blocks from his sister’s house in the Boston suburb of Waltham. As we drove in his rental car through the dark streets, I couldn’t help but remember the last time I’d been there, nearly a year ago, in my
own
rental car. In what could generously be described as a momentary lapse in judgment, but perhaps more accurately as an episode of temporary insanity, after months of emotional hedging, I’d flown across the country—uninvited—to finally tell Jake how I felt about him. After about ten hours of travel, I’d shown up unannounced at his sister’s to declare my feelings, just like they do in the movies, only to learn that he’d left town a few days earlier. Oops. Talk about a Waverly moment. I cringed at the memory and wondered what I’d say to his sister and her husband the next morning at brunch. God knows what they thought of me after that display of semi-stalker behavior.

On the ride, I recounted the night’s events to Jake. He was fascinated. I had to admit, it
was
pretty good gossip, even though I didn’t consider our conversation as “gossiping” because I was talking to my boyfriend, not posting the scoop on Facebook.
No matter how awful she’d been to me, I wasn’t about to throw Wendy under the bus and blab to anyone who knew her.

“Straight vodka, huh? So you think she’s been drinking at work?”

I nodded. “I think so. She let it slip that she’s been drunk a lot lately, and she kept talking about living a lie. She was messed up.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It makes sense, now that I think about it. She’s super erratic, and while she’s usually very professional on camera despite her weird personality, she’s been forgetful lately. I thought she was just nuts, but at least now I know the reason behind it all.”

“That’s really sad.”

“I know. It was disturbing, to be honest. She was clearly hurting, and I had no idea how to help her.”

“Does she want help?”

I nodded. “I think so. At one point it seemed like she wanted to open up, but then I made everything worse by bringing up Gary’s affair.”

He didn’t say anything, which totally said something.

I frowned. “Exactly. I suck. Why did I do that? And why did I let on to Paige that I knew Gary was married? Why do I do these things, Jake? Why can’t I just keep my big mouth shut?”

He laughed and briefly lifted his hands from the steering wheel. “There is no safe response to that question, and you know it. So I will respectfully decline to answer.”

“OK, maybe you’re right about that.” I shrugged.

He laughed. “Oh, I know I’m right about that.”

I yawned. “I can’t believe it’s like two thirty in the morning. What time do we need to be at your sister’s house tomorrow?”

“Brunch is at eleven. Think you can make it?”

I covered my eyes with my hands. “I can’t believe I’m going to meet your parents in a few hours. What if they don’t like me? What if I have huge bags under my eyes? What if I say something totally inappropriate? What if—”

He put his hand over my mouth. “What if you stop worrying and we get a good night’s sleep?”

I spoke into this hand. “OK. You smart. Me not so smart. Have I ever told you that?”

He laughed again as he parked the car. “You’re a lot smarter than you think, Miss Bryson. And that’s just one of the reasons I adore you.”

I looked at him. “You still adore me?”

He reached over and touched my cheek. “Even more than I did yesterday. Now let’s get some sleep.”

• • •

“Waverly, wake up.”

I felt the tap on my shoulder and slowly opened my eyes. “Huh? What?”

Where am I?

Why are the drapes paisley?

“It’s ten thirty, we need to leave in like twenty minutes.”

I bolted upright in bed. “What?” I put a hand on my hair, an unnecessary gesture because I already knew it was going to be a rat’s nest.

“We’re supposed to be at Natalie’s by eleven.”

I threw the covers to one side. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier? Now I won’t have time to wash my hair.”

He laughed. “I tried to wake you up twice. You don’t remember?”

“For real?”

“For real. You were
out cold
. The first time you begged me to let you sleep for another half hour, and the second time you promised you’d be up when I got back from my run.”

My eyes got big. “Wait a minute. You already went for a
run
? And I just woke
up
?”

He nodded. He was showered and fully dressed. He looked like a Ken doll.

“Are you trying to make me hate you right now?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

He laughed and kissed my forehead. “I have something for you.” He handed me a square box wrapped in shiny silver paper with a white bow on top.

“For
me
?” I fluttered my eyelashes.

He nodded and sat down on the bed next to me. “For you. Merry Christmas, Waverly.”

“If it’s another plastic plant, I’m breaking up with you.” I slowly unwrapped and opened the box.

Inside was an antique silver clock.

“Oh, Jake, it’s beautiful.” I held it up to admire it. It was a little smaller than a tea plate, with a white face and black numbers. Its
ticktock
sound made me think of Captain Hook.