Stuck With You: A Sweet Romantic Comedy

Part 16

Bianca

On the drive back, I stopped off at the grocery store. I had decided to be ambitious and make lasagna from scratch. If Timo could manage four kids and simultaneously turn out a batch of home-made pizzas, surely, I could handle a single pan of lasagna with help from the cooks of the internet.

As it turned out, I should have recruited Adam to do the actual cooking, or at the very least, walk me through the process via video chat. Instead, I tried to go it alone; it didn't quite go as planned.

When Timo arrived at seven, as instructed, the kitchen was covered in a layer of tomato sauce spatters, bits of ricotta, and a skim of dried Italian herbs.

"I don't know what happened with the noodles," I said. "I boiled them just like it said to do on the package, but they've all stuck together."

The lasagna noodles, which had started out whole and separate when they'd been boiling in the pot, were now stuck together in a monolith. Every time I tried to separate one from the doughy block of pasta, the noodle would come off in pieces.

At first, Timo claimed he could salvage something edible from the as of yet unassembled components. He had a pot of water boiling on the stove and was just ready to drop a fistful of spaghetti into it when he decided he'd better confirm that the sauce was edible.

It was not.

"On second thought," I said. "Let's not have Italian. I'm craving Mexican."

Timo suggested we order in chicken enchiladas with green sauce from Tia Maria's Cocina down the street.

Timo

We had takeout enchiladas on the terrace; for a while, we ate in silence. Bianca seemed preoccupied with something. I hoped this wasn't a preamble to a "let's not see each other anymore, even as friends" speech.

"What's wrong?" I finally asked.

"I can't make up my mind about something," Bianca told me. "I just keep hesitating."

She didn't specify that she couldn't make up her mind about us.

"Why is it that you're hesitating?" I asked as I poured us each a glass of wine.

"Hesitating?" Bianca asked like she was trying to buy a little more time.

"Why are you so hesitant to get involved with me?"

"That's not what I was talking about, but I guess I'm hesitating about that, too."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid of hurting you."

"Why?"

"Eventually," Bianca said. "I'm going to leave you."

"How can you know that?"

"I don't ever want to get married."

"And I do?" I said. "When did I ever mention marriage?"

"Don't you want to get married?"

"Maybe. If I meet the right person, and they want to get married. Believe me when I say, getting married again is not on my bucket list."

"Well, not getting married is on mine, so I'm probably not the right person for you."

She wouldn't look me in the eye, but I believed she was being honest with me.

"So, if I promised never to mention marriage, no matter how long we might have been together," I said, "you'd be OK with—"

"You and Chad didn't talk about getting married?"

"No! I'm not the sort who commits to that extent."

"But you started a business with him?"

"Yes."

"And that doesn't count as a major commitment?"

"That's different."

"How?"

It wasn't that different, and she knew it. I could see it on her face. Getting a divorce was often less complicated than breaking up a business partnership.

"Look," Bianca said. "Starting a business with Chad was poor judgment on my part."

"Why?"

"We aren't a good fit. We argue about every single decision that has to be made, large or small, and lately—"

She paused for so long I said, "Lately what?"

"Never mind."

"Was it always like that? Did you always argue so often?"

"Chad and I have always argued a lot," Bianca said. "But, yeah, it's gotten a lot worse."

"I could buy Chad out." The words just slipped out. I'd meant to subtly feel Bianca out on the subject, but instead, I'd just blurted out the possibility without context or preamble.

Timo

After I all but offered to buy out Chad's share of the company, the words hung there in the air between us, vibrating. I think for a minute, Bianca believed I was joking, but the look on my face must have told her I was serious.

"You'd give up being a nanny to work on Pure Threads?" she asked.

"I wasn't ever planning on staying until all the kids were done with high school if that's what you mean. Besides, I could buy Chad out and still keep nannying. I could be a silent partner."

"Thanks," Bianca said, "but no thanks."

"Well, tell me if you can't take it any longer. I'm in a position to make Chad an offer he can't refuse."

"Don't think you can buy everything with money," Bianca said.

I think she was half-joking, but the idea of me owning half her business seemed to unsettle her even more than the prospect of continuing to deal with Chad.

"I know I can't buy everything with money," I said. "Believe me; there's probably no one more aware of that than I am. It's just that for the last three minutes, you've been considering committing to a business partnership with me, but you've never spent a second considering an emotional commitment."

"I have considered it," Bianca insisted.

"How about this?" I said, knowing I was coming off as a borderline aggressive jerk, but I couldn't stop myself. "How about you stop overthinking everything."

"I'm not overthinking anything."

We were in the kitchen. I was throwing away the takeout containers, and Bianca was at the sink, trying to scrape burned marinara off the bottom of the saucepan.

"Can you stop that for a minute?" I said, hovering in the background.

Bianca ignored the question and kept right on scrubbing.

I could feel the tension radiating off Bianca's body as I came to stand behind her.

"You are afraid to so much as kiss me just because you don't want to get married," I said. "You do realize that's not an entirely rational—"

"I never said that!"

It was true; she hadn't said that, but I thought my statement summed up the situation rather well.

I turned the faucet off, took the pan out of Bianca's hand, then took hold of both wrists. One of Bianca's hands was still holding the pot scrubber, and I could feel water hitting my bare ankle where it dripped from the rough sponge.

I spun her around, so she was backed up against the large farmhouse sink.

I didn't intend to kiss her, but I leaned in so close that I was sure she could feel my warm breath fanning her cheek. I knew I should not kiss her, but when she didn't shrink away, I couldn't resist letting my lips graze her neck.

When I pulled away and looked at her, I could see it plainly written on her face. She wanted to kiss me. If I'd asked her she would have said yes.

Except I didn't ask her. I'm not that guy.