Charming Falls Apart

by Angela Terry

  “Hi, Addie. Allie.”

  “Oh, yeah, Allie, Addie. You two should become friends.” Eric jokes looking between us.

  I’m not so sure. Just then another guy comes up and puts an arm around Adeline/Addie’s shoulder. “Oh, hey, hon,” she says. “Mark, this is Eric. The guy I was telling you about who does CrossFit. And this is his girlfriend, Allison.”

  “Uh, friend,” I correct her, feeling a blush come onto my cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Mark.”

  So, wait, Mark and Addie are together? Not Eric and Addie?

  “Oh, sorry. I always put my foot in it,” she says, and I can tell she’s embarrassed as her cheeks now match mine and she looks at me apologetically. “I think that’s our cue to go. It was nice seeing you, Eric, and nice to meet you, Allie.” She nods at me and hustles Mark out the door.

  When they leave, I say to Eric, “They seemed nice. So who were they?”

  “Oh. Adeline is a lawyer. She used to live in the Gold Coast too, but then moved to San Francisco where she met Mark. She liked Mark, but not San Francisco. So she moved back and brought him with her. You two would probably get along.”

  I start laughing from relief and Eric looks at me strangely.

  “Sorry.” I decide to come clean. “I saw her at the coffeehouse and at the 5K, and I assumed she was your girlfriend.”

  “Oh!” He laughs. “No, she’s not. But, uh, truth be told, we did go out on a couple dates a long time ago. It was back when I worked in finance and was looking to get out.” Suddenly, I’m a little less relieved and it must show on my face, because Eric quickly adds, “It wasn’t meant to be, and then she moved to San Francisco. Then recently she came into the coffeehouse and we’ve bumped into each other a couple times in the neighborhood. Mark is looking to get into CrossFit.”

  Though I’m not thrilled, obviously we both have a past, and I shouldn’t let it ruin what I think is a date. Eric must feel the same way since he changes the subject. “So are you ready to blow this pop stand?”

  I laugh. “Sure.” Eric pays the bill, dismissing my offer to split it, and then we head back to our neighborhood in a cab, which he also pays for. In the cab, he grabs my hand and says, “The night is still young. Should we go somewhere else? Maybe walk around the neighborhood?”

  “I’d love that.”

  The cab drops us off at my place, but we walk down to State Street and wander over to the famous Viagra Triangle and back to Nico Osteria. Jonah is working, and he gives Eric the universal nod of, “What’s up, man?” We settle onto one of the sofas in the back of the bar, and while we talk our knees keep touching, and I finally let mine rest against his and he lets his hand rest on my knee.

  “So, I can’t believe you thought I was dating Adeline?” he says, laughing a little.

  Ugh. What a mood killer. I shrug and say, “I think it was a fair assumption. I mean, you’re single.” But don’t tell me if you’re dating other women, please, because I’m having such a wonderful time, I mentally plead.

  “So how about you? Are you dating anyone?” he asks, with the tiniest hint of a raised eyebrow.

  I roll my eyes in response to indicate no. “Please.”

  He squeezes my knee. “I have to be honest and say I thought you were. You had told me you weren’t ready, but it’s been a while now and the last few weekends you haven’t been texting as much. So I assumed you were busy busy.” He lowers his voice on that last part and raises his eyebrows in a question.

  I shake my head, but don’t tell him I wasn’t texting because I thought he was dating. Eric is being enough of a girl for both of us right now. And I like it.

  “So are you ready to date?” he asks.

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?” I tease him. My earlier shyness has disappeared.

  “I hoped, but I wasn’t sure.” He smiles at me. “So if we’re on a date, then I’m pretty sure this is okay.”

  He cups the back of my head and brings me in for a kiss. Eric knows what he’s doing—it’s soft and teasing—and as my insides melt, I want more.

  When he pulls away, I catch my breath and then whisper in his ear. “I live nearby, you know.”

  He nods in understanding and says, “I’ll get the check.”

  Boundaries, schmoundaries.

  SUNDAY MORNING, AS Eric and I snuggle naked under the covers in my bed, we hold hands and he raises mine up, opening and closing his fingers against mine in fascination.

  “Can you believe we’re here?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure yet.” He then pulls me closer to him, squeezing me. “You feel pretty solid, so I don’t think this is a dream.”

  “Stop,” I laugh, but I snuggle in further onto his solid chest.

  How can it be that I’m this happy? Happier than I’ve ever been before? When almost six months ago I was at my lowest low?

  “So my friend Kate told me that I had a charmed life. That even when bad things happened to me, that for people like me, everything would turn out okay,” I say, feeling that everything has turned out more than okay.

  “Yes, well, that’s Kate’s viewpoint. But were you happy before?” Eric kisses the top of my head.

  “No. But I didn’t know it.”

  “Exactly. Because it’s easier for some people to think they have it hard while others have it easy and, therefore, feel that ‘people like her’ have to slog through life unhappy because them’s the breaks. And it relieves her of any responsibility for making changes.”

  He hit it on the head. The Tao of Caulder, I laugh to myself.

  “But in fairness, I didn’t know I was unhappy, and so I didn’t change anything,” I say.

  My old life was based on an illusion. It looked good on paper with my job and fiancé, but it was based on others’ beliefs of what a good life looked like. Though looking at Eric’s physique in my bed, I would say that this also wins as a version of what the good life looks like.

  “When I was sitting at my mom’s house, I realized that I could sit in a chair and spend endless hours thinking of what I wanted to do,” Eric says. “But then I realized that sitting around spinning ideas and going over what if’s wasn’t getting me anywhere. It was only when I started volunteering and then going on the trip with my friend visiting coffee plantations that I learned that most answers reveal themselves by doing, not thinking.”

  It’s true. Once I stopped with the recruiters and searching for the same job, opportunities came to me—Eric, Girls Run It, the consulting business. It wasn’t even a drastic life change, but it was enough that it brought me right here to the right life.

  “Speaking of doing and not thinking …” I let my hand travel down his six-pack until I find what I’m looking for and when Eric suddenly pulls me on top of him, I think he catches my meaning.

  Finally, it’s time for the last person I need to have some closure with. While it’s easy to let go of people like Neil and Stacey, I still need to have some understanding with the woman who birthed me. Which is why I invited her to lunch at my place. I worry that things might get heated because we won’t have an audience; but then I also worried that things would get heated and we’d have a restaurant full of people to witness it. I prepared us a gazpacho soup and spring rolls, and earlier Eric dropped off some raw chocolate-coconut truffles to have for dessert.

  When my mother arrives, her demeanor is icy, and she walks in without saying a word. She looks around the place, noting the changes but still doesn’t say anything. Her eyes rest on my kitchen table, where I strategically placed the fertility clinic pamphlets she gave me. I see a small smile cross her lips. I don’t say anything about the pamphlets, but a look of understanding passes between us, and she accepts my peace offering.

  “Would you like something to drink?” I offer.

  “Do you have any iced tea?” she finally speaks.

  “I do. Would you like some sweetener?” I know she doesn’t, but I ask anyway just to keep this conversational ball rolling.

  “No,
thank you.” When I bring her iced tea, she comments. “You redecorated.”

  “Just a little bit. To make it more mine now.”

  She shakes her head and harrumphs. “It’s you career girls. You want it all, but—”

  “Mom, we haven’t talked in ages,” I say, cutting her off. “Can you please not criticize?”

  She snorts. “Criticize? Darling, I’m just stating my opinion. Don’t be so sensitive.”

  There is no way to respond to this without sounding “so sensitive,” so I don’t say anything.

  As she sits down at the kitchen table and settles in with her iced tea, she says, “Criticizing? You want critical, you should’ve met your grandmother. Now she was a critical mother. A very difficult woman. You have no idea how hard that is to live with.”

  I have some idea, but again feel that silence is my best option right now.

  “I swore I’d never be that type of mother,” she continues. “But when you watch your children growing up, you want them to have everything. You don’t want them to suffer. For example, you were such a meek child, and I worried about you. So, yes, maybe I pushed you sometimes, but that’s because I wanted you to reach your potential.”

  Here’s the thing: I’m thirty-five, and I can’t keep living for my mother’s approval. What she thought was my potential may have been misguided, but I can’t be angry with her anymore. I understand now: she controls because she cares.

  “Mom, I wanted to have lunch with you because I’ve missed you. But also because I want you to see that I’m okay, and that you raised someone who can take care of herself, and who, when bad things happen, can fall on her feet. I know you worry about me, but this is really the happiest I’ve ever been.”

  She shakes her head at me. “Is this what they taught you at that yoga retreat? Have you joined a cult? And what’s with your hair?” She picks up a strand of my hair. “What happened to the blond?”

  I gird my stomach. “Too much upkeep. I’m going back to my natural color.”

  She looks at me more closely. “I like it. It reminds me of when you were younger. The blond was too brassy anyway.”

  I know this is her way of apologizing, and I’m okay with it.

  “Thank you, Mom.”

  She nods and then reaches over for one of the pamphlets on the table.

  And though I’m no longer worried about her approval, when the time is right, I can’t wait for her to meet Eric. I know she’s going to love him, almost as much as I do.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  While the act of writing is a solitary endeavor, turning that writing into something pretty and publishable takes a village.

  Thank you to the amazing team at SparkPress—Brooke Warner, Crystal Patriarche, Shannon Green, Julie Metz, Samantha Strom, Jennifer Caven, Krissa Lagos, and Stacey Aaronson—for your care, expertise, and enthusiasm in ushering my first book baby out into the world. You are Dream Makers!

  A huge thank-you to everyone who provided detailed editorial feedback on my manuscript in its various stages—Christina Henry de Tessan, Amy Sue Nathan, Chrissy Wolfe, Mary Chris Escobar, Heather O’Neil, Brett Jackson, and, lastly, Annie Tucker, who helped take this manuscript to the finish line. And a special thank-you to the readers at The Spun Yarn—you gave me that extra boost of courage I needed to actually publish this book.

  To my “Zoomies”—Kari Bovée, Kristin Noel Fischer, and Mindy Miller—you’re all incredible writers, women, and friends, and I’m so grateful for your cheerleading and advice.

  Many thanks to my Book Club Ladies (present and past). Our meetings ensured that I emerged from my writer’s cave at least once a month, and I’ve appreciated all the entertaining, insightful, and therapeutic book discussions over the years. I’m also extremely grateful to all the authors who have called in or visited our book club, with special thanks to Meg Donohue, Allie Larkin, and Maria Murnane, who have generously shared their writing and publishing wisdom with me.

  To my parents, Catherine and Richard Terry—thank you for everything! You gifted to me your love of reading and learning, taught me that hard work and persistence pays off, and have supported me in every endeavor. You told me that as a child I used to talk to imaginary people; as a writer, I still do, and now I can finally introduce them to you.

  Big thanks to Edward and Lori Terry for answering all my texts with questions on Chicago (any mistakes in the book are my own!). Also, much love and gratitude to the Greenwell clan and my extended family (aunts, uncles, cousins, and then some) for your enthusiasm about this book. And big hugs to Beata Osmondson and Maryam Ghaffari-Ragan for being the best besties all these years.

  And, finally, thank you to my handsome, hilarious, and real-life romantic hero-slash-husband, Ray Greenwell. I’m not sure if you totally knew what you were getting into (wife- and/or writer-wise) on that day in wine country ten years ago, but every day I’m grateful to you for your love and support, and for giving me the space and security to write. I love you and our life at the cat ranch.

  (And, okay, one more! Thank you to you, dear reader, who picked up this book. I hope it added some joy to your life.)

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo credit: Sarah Deragon

  ANGELA TERRY is an attorney who formerly practiced intellectual property law at large firms in Chicago and San Francisco. She is also a Chicago Marathon legacy runner and races to raise money for PAWS Chicago—the Midwest’s largest no-kill shelter. She resides in San Francisco with her husband and two cats, and enjoys throwing novel-themed dinner parties for her women’s fiction book club.

  SELECTED TITLES FROM SPARKPRESS

  SparkPress is an independent boutique publisher delivering high-quality, entertaining, and engaging content that enhances readers’ lives, with a special focus on female-driven work. www.gosparkpress.com

  That’s Not a Thing: A Novel, Jacqueline Friedland. $16.95, 978-1-68463-030-1. When a recently engaged Manhattanite learns that her first great love has been diagnosed with ALS, she is faced with the impossible decision of whether a few final months with her ex might be worth risking her entire future. A fast-paced emotional journey that explores whether it’s possible to be equally in love with two men at once.

  And Now There’s You: A Novel, Susan S. Etkin. $16.95, 978-1-68463-000-4. Though five years have passed since beautiful design consultant Leila Brandt’s husband passed away, she’s still grieving his loss. When she meets a terribly sexy and talented—if arrogant—architect, however, sparks fly, and neither of them can deny the chemistry between them.

  Firewall: A Novel, Eugenia Lovett West. $16.95, 978-1-68463-010-3. When Emma Streat’s rich, socialite godmother is threatened with blackmail, Emma becomes immersed in the dark world of cybercrime—and mounting dangers take her to exclusive places in Europe and contacts with the elite in financial and art collecting circles. Through passion and heartbreak, Emma must fight to save herself and bring a vicious criminal to justice.

  The Sea of Japan: A Novel, Keita Nagano. $16.95, 978-1-684630-12-7. When thirty-year-old Lindsey, an English teacher from Boston who’s been assigned to a tiny Japanese fishing town, is saved from drowning by a local young fisherman, she’s drawn into a battle with a neighboring town that has high stakes for everyone—especially her.

  Sarah’s War, Eugenia Lovett West. $16.95, 978-1-943006-92-2. Sarah, a parson’s young daughter and dedicated patriot, is sent to live with a rich Loyalist aunt in Philadelphia, where she is plunged into a world of intrigue and spies, her beauty attracts men, and she learns that love comes in many shapes and sizes.

 

 

 
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