Free 0451471075 (N) by Jen Lancaster Page B

three-wheeled bike on the way.”
    Hmm.
    This may not proceed as planned, because I’m not sure Amazon calls anyone. They seem strictly Net-based. What are my other options?
    I Google “How to tell your partner you’ve cheated.” That might be better, as this is sort of a gross violation of trust.
    AllWomenStalk.com suggests I stick to the parameters of being honest, apologizing, and understanding that he might need time to process the news. Their advice feels less useful because (a) I don’t think I stalk anyone—much, and, (b) all I’ve really done is purchase a piece of exercise equipment that will, in theory, make me healthier, add to my longevity, and complete a bucket list item.
    Besides, his is an unreasonable prejudice. I could understand if he didn’t want me to attempt something profoundly risky, like buying a motorcycle or heli-skiing in a mountain inhabited by Afghan warlords. What’s the worst thing that could happen to either of us here? Maybe he’ll have some secondhand shame over my tooling around on three wheels, but he doesn’t have toaccompany me when I ride. (Even though he’d likely fit in the basket if he scrunched up and was willing to hold a cat on his lap.)
    Also, I have to stress that I’m not sorry for buying the bike.
    You know what? I’m being silly about all of this. I’m just going to tell him straight up and that will be that. Our marriage is built on a solid foundation of love, respect, understanding, and forgiveness and it’s not like I’m engaging in anything illegal/immoral/fattening.
    I’m going to barge into his office and tell him right now.
    Or, definitely later today.
    •   •   •
    Or Tuesday.
    You know what? My calendar is wiiiiide open on Wednesday.
    •   •   •
    Shit, my bike is being delivered tomorrow . I’m out of time. I have to fess up before UPS wheels it down the driveway.
    (Sidebar: I wonder if they’ll put a big bow on it for me like in those Lexus December to Remember ads? I didn’t see where I could select a huge ribbon as an option, but maybe it’s an assumed with Amazon Prime? They are really service-oriented, so it’s totes possible.)
    I’m on the computer frantically checking the tracking number to see how many hours I have left before the truth becomes evident when Fletch calls to me.
    “Hey, Jen, can you come into my office?”
    My stomach drops down to my feet, my thoughts race, and I think, OHMIGOD, I’M GETTING FIRED.
    How is it possible I’m getting fired? What did I do badly this time?
    I quickly scan my mental Rolodex of potential transgressions. I did nothing wrong, that’s what! Oh, I will fight this. I’ll get alawyer. A good one, too, not one of those bus bench bozos, and we will have our day in court.
    Fired?
    Bite me.
    I’m not standing for this. Let me tell you something— he can’t fire me because I quit!
    Wait, what am I quitting, exactly?
    I wonder if this flash of insanity is going to be my knee-jerk reaction to being summoned to anyone’s office for the rest of my life? The last—and first and only—time I was laid off was in 2001, but somehow that worry still surfaces every time I’m asked to enter anyone’s office.
    Fletch pokes his head into my office. “Jen? It’s two o’clock. We have a call with Scott.”
    Oh. I forgot we scheduled a chat with my agent. That makes more sense than being fired from a job I don’t actually hold.
    I follow Fletch to the spare bedroom that he’s appropriated as his workspace, with three dogs in tow. I’m not sure what useful information Libby, Hammy, and Loki can offer to our conversation about contract terms and manuscript due dates, but I love that they insist on being a part anyway. Fletch closes the door behind us—who, exactly, is he keeping out, as all the cats are in here as well?—and he dials my agent’s number.
    The call connects and Fletch and Scott share pleasantries while I have a total lightbulb moment. I’ve got it! I should break the