Mrs. Perfect

He says nothing.

“Nathan!”

His jaw hardens, and he looks at me with pain and fury. “I don’t work for them anymore, Taylor.”

“Can’t you get your job back?”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? Have you even tried?”

I don’t know if it’s the hysterical edge in my voice or my questions, but, swearing softly, he goes to the closet and yanks a T-shirt out of a drawer and then a pair of baggy sweatpants. Dressed, he turns to face me. “I quit, Taylor.”

I sit on the edge of the bed. “What?”

“Seven months ago.”

My mouth opens in protest, but I don’t make a sound. I’m too shocked, and there aren’t any words anyway. He’s been unemployed for over six months?

No. No. This is all impossible. This can’t happen. This can’t be.

Nathan’s been getting up and getting dressed and going to work every day. He’s been tied up in meetings and busy on conference calls. “Nathan,” I plead.

He shrugs once, a weary shrug, and walks out of the room.

No. No. You can’t just drop a bomb like this and walk out of the room. Absolutely not. I wrench on my robe and fly after him.

Downstairs, I find him in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee. He sees me and reaches for another cup, fills that one, and pushes it toward me. I ignore the coffee, bundle my arms over my robe. “What exactly happened?”

He adds a splash of milk to his coffee. “Is this an accusation?”

“I just want to understand.”

“I did my best, Taylor.”

“But you were making good money. You had a good job—”

“I was redundant, and instead of waiting to be let go, I quit. I thought it’d look better when I was job interviewing to say I’d moved on to better things instead of being fired.”

“But if they fired you, there would have been a severance package, wouldn’t there?”

Nathan looks through me. “I had my pride.”

“But pride doesn’t pay the bills.”

He clears his throat, pain and frustration written in the lines of his face. “Hindsight’s always twenty-twenty, isn’t it?”

“And you haven’t had a job since when? Last January?”

“February fifteenth.”

My legs nearly go out beneath me. Since February? It’s late September now.

Thinking back to February, I remember our winter vacation, the trip to Maui with Patti and her family. We stayed at the Four Seasons, next door to the Grand Wailea, and the kids were so disappointed because they didn’t care for the beautiful groomed Four Seasons resort and pool. The girls wanted the enormous pool and water slide complex at the Grand Wailea and the fancy morning buffet. Both hotels were pricey, over $450 a night before room tax and room charges like cocktails, spa appointments, meals. “You never once said anything on our trip to Maui.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t want to ruin our vacation, and I was confident that I’d get something soon.”

I hear what he’s saying, but my uneasiness only increases. Something doesn’t fit. Something doesn’t make sense. “Didn’t you ever want to talk to me about not having a job? Didn’t you ever feel like . . . sharing?”

“Every day.”

“But . . . ?”

He laughs, shrugs. “I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

I jerk, stung. “You didn’t know how?”

“I was afraid.”

I just look at him, my jaw dropping.

“You have such high standards,” he adds bitterly. “You’re on this quest for perfection, and I’m not perfect. No one’s perfect.”

My throat feels scratchy. “I’m not perfect.”

“No, you’re not, and that’s why you hate yourself. You hate whatever’s not perfect.” He draws a deep breath. “And I didn’t want you to hate me.”

“Hate you? How could I hate you? God, Nathan, you’re my husband.”

“You hate your mom, and she’s your mother.”

I don’t know how to answer. In fact, I can’t possibly answer. I can’t even look at him, my eyes closing at the pain. Only those who know you well can hurt you badly. And Nathan has hurt me. Maybe even badly.

Suddenly everything is too raw, too painful, and I turn away so he can’t see my face.

“See?” he continues. “How can I talk to you, Taylor? You just shut me out when you don’t like what you hear.”

“I’m not shutting you out,” I say hoarsely even as my heart feels as though it’s falling, falling, falling. I shoot him an intense look. “You’re the one who hasn’t worked in seven months. You’re the one who hid the truth, shut me out—”

“I didn’t want you worried. When you worry you starve yourself or binge and purge—”

“Nathan.”

“It’s true. The moment there’s any stress you’re in the bathroom sticking your finger down your throat—”

I turn away and walk out, walking quickly to keep from hearing what he’s saying. But I hear it anyway. This is my fault. I’m messed up, and I’ll always be this way.

Chapter Eight

How amazing that just one phone call can change everything.

I’d so looked forward to Nathan being home. I was so ready to have just a relaxing weekend with the five of us, but the day is horrendous. What’s happening between us is horrendous.

Nathan and I haven’t spoken in hours. Earlier, he took the girls to the club to play some tennis, but now he’s back, closeted in his office, and when he does emerge he doesn’t speak to me.

By four I can’t take it anymore. I’m in knots, my nerves absolutely shot.

I enter his study, bringing him a peace offering in the form of a beer. “Feel like something cold?”

He just looks at me.

“Besides your wife?” I try to joke.

He doesn’t even smile.

“Nathan, we have to talk about this.”

“Yes, we do,” he agrees.

Leaning forward, I set the unopened beer on his desk. “There has to be another option, honey. There has to be—”

“I’ve been interviewing for months, Taylor. I’ve been putting on the dog-and-pony show for anyone who would give me the chance, and now I’ve been given a chance. A chance to work again. A chance to pay our bills again.”

“But Omaha?”

“You say that because you know nothing about the c

ity. Omaha has some beautiful neighborhoods. It’s an interesting city with a strong arts community, and most important, it’s a great opportunity for me.”

I rub my upper arm, glance around his dark-paneled office. The wood paneling cost a fortune, $35,000 for this one room alone. But I wanted the best for Nathan. I wanted him to have a proper study that could also be his library. He loves books so much. He’s always buying books. You should see his side of the bed.

“But this is home, Nathan,” I say in a small voice. “This is where we live.”

His expression doesn’t alter, yet I feel him pulling away emotionally. “Taylor, I’ve already accepted the job. I’ve been introduced around the office and spent Friday in meetings with my department. I’ve promised to be back in their headquarters—permanently—by Thursday.”

“This coming Thursday?”

“Yes.”

“What about us?”

“Charlotte’s a relocation expert. She’s done this dozens of times and will orchestrate the move. She swears she can have you moved out of here and into a new place in less than two weeks.”

“Just like that?”

He stares out his window. His study overlooks the back lawn and has a spectacular view of the lake. I wanted him to have the best view. “It doesn’t have to be complicated, Taylor.”

“But it is complicated. We agreed to move here, live here, because the quality of life was superior to other places. We checked out the different school districts, looked at the different schools—”

“I’ve looked into schools in Omaha. They have great schools and soccer programs, too. We’ll get the girls enrolled this week, and by Thanksgiving it’ll feel like home.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious.” He pauses. “The cost of living is considerably lower, too. It’s the best thing for us. It really is.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not. It isn’t, Nathan.”

He’s silent a moment, and then he looks up at me, his handsome features utterly expressionless. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but the decision’s made. I’ve taken the job. Charlotte will have a moving company come on Monday to schedule the move. The company is paying for the move. The company is handling all the relocation expenses, including three months temporary housing in Omaha—”