The girls went off with Beck while I selected a few more of the smaller vases for the master suite.
“You have such a beautiful family,” a woman gushed to me as I was carefully placing them in my basket. “A handsome husband and two beautiful girls. You’re a lucky woman.”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, feeling blindsided.
She seemed to be waiting for me to say something, and she probably didn’t want to hear the whole convoluted saga about surprise grandmothers, cults, and firings.
“I’m definitely lucky.”
“Enjoy the time while your kids are young,” the woman said, clearly gearing up for a whole speech.
“I definitely will,” I said, backing away. “It was great to talk with you.”
Ugh. I felt weird, like an imposter. And I suddenly noticed all the other young families out and about.
I rubbed at my eye and picked out a piece of glitter.
Beck had been very explicit about how he was going to get rid of me as soon as the girls were officially his. I should have been putting distance between myself and him, not playing elaborate jokes and decorating his bedroom. Honestly, what had I been thinking?
After this was over, I was going to be out of a job, and Beck was going to move on. He would probably find some well-heeled young woman who didn’t eat cake for breakfast or have enough student loan debt to drown in. She would have a real job and have gone to a good school, and she would wear a bra under her tank top.
Beck was standing next to the counter, helping his sisters pile up our purchases. He was attentive and doting as they chattered at him. I was a sucker for a man who was kind to kids. Probably stemming from unresolved daddy issues due to my mother’s terrible choices of boyfriends.
Beck looked over his shoulder at me, a warm smile on his face.
My heart did weird flip-flops.
It’s heartburn, I told myself.You should not have eaten that coaster or secretly ordered Chinese last night.
I set the pots on the counter.
“You need some plants in your life,” I told Beck.
“You know how to garden?”
“I’ll have you know I am an expert mushroom farmer.”
“Mushrooms?”
“They are shockingly easy to grow.”
“We have you all rung up,” the saleswoman said and tapped the cash register. The number for the payment appeared on the little screen.
I felt sick. “Uh, it was really just a joke,” I said, grimacing as Beck pulled out his wallet.
“I thought you said you were decorating your room.” Beck pulled out his credit card.
“Yeah, but I can just go to the thrift store…” I said, reaching out to try and block his hand.
“I don’t want any more of your thrift store finds in my condo,” he retorted, swiping his card.
The saleswoman winked at me as she handed me the bags of the smaller items that weren’t going to be delivered. “I wish my boyfriend was as laid-back as yours!”
I laughed nervously then blurted, “He’s a keeper!”
Beck was slightly smug as we headed out into the spring day. “I’m going to remind you about that the next time you call me uptight.”
“Just because you bought a beanbag chair doesn’t negate all of your freakishly uptight ways,” I retorted.
