The Unexpected List (The List Trilogy)

Bwamp-Chicka-Bwamp-Bwamp

June, 2001

Last month, when I arrived back at the cottage after rescuing Kendall’s Puffa-thingy, I was going to tell Leo the truth about how I spent the afternoon. I mean, things are different now, I’m officially divorced and we live together. There’s no reason why I should have to hide the fact that I did something that made Kendall happy, even if it meant coming face to face with my ex-husband, right? Right. But, when I walked through the door to find a very agitated Leo holding the shoebox that I was 99.9% sure I hid so well so he’d never find, I changed my mind.

“Okay…don’t be mad.”

No response. Only the sound of the heavy shoebox going THUMP on the kitchen counter where he threw it.

“Baby, c’mon…you didn’t expect me to throw everything away from the last fifteen years of my life, did you?”

“Yep.”

“Leo, that’s ridiculous! Those are just pictures of all the places I’ve traveled…Europe, Japan, Hawaii…They’re my memories! You don’t expect me to forget I ever had them, do you?”

“He’s in those f*cking pictures.”

I want to be sympathetic because if the tables were turned, I’d be pretty upset too if I stumbled upon pictures of Leo kissing a girl in a bikini. But, I can’t help but be sarcastic. “Ummmmm, yeah! I didn’t go alone!”

“Damn it, Chrissy, I thought we were on the same page about this kind of stuff.”

“We are. But it doesn’t change the fact that we’ve been with other people and that we might’ve shared a few good memories with them. Leo, as pissed as it makes us, you have to accept that I was married, and I have to accept that you…dated a couple of girls.”

I soooo hoped he’d consider that even-steven, but nope.

“Right. You were married. You even dated that guy for what, like almost a decade before you got married! Which I don’t get AT ALL! But Chrissy, I only dated three girls before I met you, and I think the longest I could stand any of them was three weeks. Shit, you don’t even know if I slept with any of them.”

WHOA! Is he insinuating I’m his first? Shit, if I am, the dude must’ve watched a lot of porn because he’s sure got some innate mad skills in the love making department.

“And I don’t wanna know if you slept with any of them! The idea that you might’ve even bought an ice cream cone for one of those girls makes me crazy. That’s what makes us so perfect for each other- we’re completely insane. But Leo, I’m thirty-one years old. You have to start appreciating the fact that I have only been with one person.” Then calmly placing my arms around his neck, “And I was committed to that one person until I met you.”

Kissing his neck, I softly remind him of his old saying, “And if you take care of business…you’ll never go out of business.” He gently, but convincingly, grasped my wrists and in a tone that did more to turn me on than shock me said, “The same rule applies to you.”

Leo’s words were the truly, madly, deeply kind I’ve always craved to hear from a man and two minutes after I started kissing his neck we were in bed. The love spell we cast over each other that night worked and all of my contemplation about telling Leo where I had spent the afternoon and all of his anger over the old photos of me and Kurt went out the window when we started to make love. The only thought racing through my mind as he rhythmically worked his magic on me was, “There’s no f*cking way I’m this guy’s first!”

What? It’s not like I lied about my whereabouts that day! It’s simply another omission. I’m still good with that honesty vow I made. Rest assured, if Leo specifically asks if I drove to Orinda and rescued a stuffed animal from Kurt’s girlfriend’s parents’ house last month, I’ll tell him yes. But, I’m glad that hasn’t happened, and probably never will, because there’s no doubt my honest answer would’ve prevented the last few amazing weeks from happening. Actually, amazing is an understatement.

Even though Leo’s been beyond busy at work since he landed at Robertson Stevens, our weekends have been nothing short of remarkable. Over the last few weeks we made some trips down memory lane with a visit to Mill Valley. And, of course, we rocked out to live music at The Sweetwater Saloon when we were there. We drove down to San Louis Obispo and did all of the things we did at Shell Beach in April, 1998, which included skinny dipping and a brand new wine club purchase, compliments of him this time now that he’s earning a pretty nice paycheck. Then, as if life couldn’t get any more exhilarating, I finally got to meet his co-workers. He’s part of a confident, successful, ass-kicking investment team, and the entire night was something out of a Hollywood movie. Fancy bars, over-priced-artsy-fartsy looking food, hard liquor, dirty jokes, and dirty dancing. And the fast-paced, action-filled night ended with fast-paced, action-filled romance in the back of a limo. After we dropped the last drunken person from his office off on the curb outside his house, Leo opened a bottle of champagne, which we drank while staring at the city lights from Coit Tower. Then, once back in the limo, he poured himself another glass which he took a small sip of and then ever so smoothly deposited into my mouth when he kissed me. It was an unexpected move that once again made me think there’s no way Leo hasn’t been classically trained by a woman twice my age! (Right then and there I made a mental note to learn a few new moves from Slutty Co-worker.) When some of the champagne dripped out of the corner of my mouth and down the center of my chest, Leo didn’t hesitate to clean up the mess by removing the shoulder straps of my dress and tracing the direction of the trickle with his tongue. The driver must have sensed that our make-out session was about to turn into something a little more bwamp-chicka-bwamp-bwamp so he gradually raised the volume of the music and rolled up the privacy window. Frankly, I wouldn’t have cared if he watched. When I’m with Leo, it’s like he and I are the only people in the world. Everything about my time with him, starting from the moment we met, makes me feel seventeen again.