Stuck With You: A Sweet Romantic Comedy

Part 26

Bianca

Finding out that Misha was very much not dead was bordering on the surreal. As I devoted half my attention to mentally removing Misha's hands from the back of Timo's neck, I devoted the other half of my attention to trying to remember, word-for-word, precisely what Timo had said when he'd told me about his ex-wife.

I couldn't remember, but I'd clearly heard the words and come to the dead wrong conclusion, no pun intended.

"This is Bianca," said Timo, as he unwound himself from Misha and took several steps back.

For the first time, I noticed how supremely uncomfortable he looked.

"Oh, of course, Bianca!" Misha said as if she'd heard all about me, which I was pretty sure she hadn't. I hoped she hadn't, anyway.

If Misha had heard all about me from Timo, then I had bigger problems than being mistaken about Timo's ex-wife being "no longer with us."

"Lovely to meet you," I said and extended my hand while Timo wrapped his arm around my waist.

Misha took my hand and held it so long Timo reached out and separated our hands by taking hold of Misha's wrist and pulling her hand out of mine. That made me a lot more jealous than it should have.

"We'd better go say hello to the others," Timo said.

"Of course," said Misha. "We can catch up later."

"Sorry about that," Timo said as we walked through the house to where the party was happening on the back deck.

"I thought she was dead," I said.

"You thought who was dead?" Timo came to an abrupt stop. I could see the party through the floor to ceiling glass windows. I wondered where Misha had gone. When I looked over my shoulder, she was nowhere to be seen.

"I thought Misha was dead," I told Timo. "I must have misunderstood your meaning when you were telling me—"

Timo started to laugh.

"I don't think it's very funny."

"You'll have to admit; it's a little funny."

"Well, I don't like it."

"You're right," said Timo. "I'm sorry, but why didn't you say anything? How could I have missed that you thought my ex-wife was dead? That's kind of a big deal."

"Why would I say anything? When someone tells you a loved one died, you don't ask for details."

"I suppose not," said Timo. "You must have misunderstood what I meant when I told you she left us to go into rehab."

"Rehab?"

"That's right."

"Perhaps, you should have come right out and said that."

"Perhaps, I should have."

One of Timo's friends had spotted us through the glass and was banging on the window and calling out to the rest of the group to come to look at us.

I felt like an animal in a zoo, a zoo that observed happy hour and served hard liquor on the tram.

"I was nervous," I said, "now I realize that no matter what I might do or say to make a fool of myself, the other guests will barely remember."

"You're probably right about that," said Timo. "I suggest we stick to soft drinks and sneak out early."

As it turned out, there was no sneaking out early. Timo and I were immediately and forcibly separated by a gaggle of tipsy busybodies.