Chapter 6 - The Driveway
That evening I fed Lily, read her two chapters of her chapter book, and kissed her forehead. Then I sat on the couch with a book open in my lap and didn't turn a single page.
At 8:40, headlights swept across the living room wall.
I stood up.
I wasn't going to do this inside, surrounded by our wedding photos. I wasn't going to cry where my daughter could hear me. I was going to meet him in the garage and make him open that trunk with his own hands.
I was praying he hadn't already cleaned it out. If those things were gone, it'd be my word against his, and he could just tell me our daughter imagined the whole thing.
The porch light clicked on as his sedan rolled up the driveway and into the garage.
I was standing on the concrete by the open door, arms crossed, trying to look calm. I wasn't calm.
He climbed out with his usual worn-down smile, bag in one hand, thermos in the other.
"Hey, you," he said. "Coming out to greet me today, huh?"
"Give me your keys."
He stopped mid-step. "My keys?"
"Your car keys, Aaron. Right now."
His face went through about four things in a row — confusion, then a flash of real panic, then a red I'd only seen on him once, at our wedding, when he stood up to give a toast and forgot every word.
"Megan, can we go inside first? It was a long day, I just want to —"
"Open the trunk."
"The — the trunk?" His voice cracked on the word.
"You heard me."
He set the thermos and the bag on the roof of the car like he needed both hands free to think.
"Okay. Funny thing. There's a — look, I can explain, I'd just really rather do it in the kitchen with a —"
"Aaron."
"— or with nothing. Nothing's good too."
I held out my hand. He finally dropped the keys into my palm like they were burning him.
I walked around to the back of the car. He trailed after me making these small, wounded sounds.
"Megan, sweetheart, whatever you're picturing right now, I swear it's —"
"Lily gave the entire Kellerman family a guided tour of what's in here," I said. "Dana called me this morning. Our daughter read Penelope a full inventory over apple slices."
"Oh no." He dragged both hands down his face. "No, no, no."
"'Oh no' is not what an innocent man says, Aaron."
"It's what a man says when his surprise just got run over by a seven-year-old!"
I ignored him and pressed the button. The trunk yawned open.
And there it was.
A platinum-blonde wig, curled and gleaming under the garage bulb. A sequined dress folded neatly beside it, throwing light in every direction. Sunglasses the size of tea saucers. A tube of red lipstick rolling lazily against the spare tire. And tucked under the wig, a printed sheet of song lyrics, half of it buried in yellow highlighter.
I stared. Blinked. Stared some more. My brain kept trying to build a picture and kept coming up empty.
Aaron covered his face with both hands.
"She ruined it," he whispered into his palms. "She actually ruined it."
"Ruined what?" I said, still staring into the trunk.
"The surprise."
"Aaron, I swear on our mortgage, if you don't start using complete sentences —"
He peeked at me between his fingers.
"Lily ruined the surprise," he said. "Not the marriage. I promise. Please breathe."
"I am breathing."
"You're breathing like a tea kettle."
I picked up the lipstick. Then the sunglasses. I held the wig out at arm's length like it might bite me.
"Whose is this?"
"Mine."
"Aaron. God help me."
"They're mine. I bought them. Ordered them, actually. They showed up in a very humiliating box."
"Explain this. Right now. All of it."
He looked at the wig in my hand, then at the lyric sheet, then up at the night sky like he was hoping for a lightning bolt.
"Okay," he said. "But you have to promise not to laugh until I finish."
I gave him a look that could curdle milk and said nothing.
He took the kind of breath he used to take before quarterly meetings.
"Remember that charity thing at the office? The one for St. Anne's — the children's hospital?"
I kept staring.
"The firm's doing a talent show. To raise money for the kids' ward." His ears were glowing now. "The partners told me — they said if the quiet accountant got up on that stage and performed a certain song, in full costume, they'd triple their pledges. Triple, Megan. That's real money for those kids."
I looked at the platinum wig. Then at my husband. Then back at the wig.
"So you've been … rehearsing pop songs."
"Every night after work." He groaned. "I hid the costume in the trunk because you tear this whole house apart hunting for birthday presents, and I wanted you and Lily in the front row not knowing a thing. You were supposed to be my guests of honor."
I started laughing. I couldn't stop it.
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"Aaron, I spent this entire day convinced you had a secret life!"
"I do have a secret life," he said miserably. "It involves sequins."
