Before We Were Strangers

by Renee Carlino

  “How about I call you Father for now . . . since you are my father.”

  “That’s fine with me. Do you want to get breakfast tomorrow?” I didn’t want to be away from her ever again.

  “I can’t, I’m going shopping with my friend.”

  “Okay, what about the next day?”

  “School, and then I have chess club.”

  “Chess club?” I arched my eyebrows.

  “Yeah, it’s my goal in life to beat Mom. She’s so good.”

  “Okay then.” I was starting to wonder if there was really room for me to step into her life.

  “Dinner on Tuesday?” she asked.

  “Perfect,” I said. “Wear your pajamas. I know a great place.”

  “You’re weird.”

  “You are, too.”

  “Cool.”

  I walked home, hoping, sadly, that Grace would be able to stop crying.

  I honestly didn’t know what I was going to do except try to get to know Ash while I was in New York and be a dad, even though I knew nothing about what that entailed.

  On Monday, I went to the library and read every parenting book I could get my hands on.

  I texted Grace that night.

  ME: I’m trying to wrap my head around all of it.

  GRACE: I understand.

  ME: I’m going to see Ash on Tuesday night for dinner.

  GRACE: Okay.

  ME: I want to see her regularly.

  GRACE: Of course.

  ME: Does she have a college fund?

  GRACE: Yes.

  ME: Can I give you some money?

  GRACE: That’s not necessary.

  ME: I want to.

  GRACE: Okay then. You can put it in her college fund. I’ll get the account info for you.

  A part of me wanted to say more, but I wasn’t capable of talking to her about anything beyond the logistics of coparenting.

  The next day I was slammed with work stuff but I managed to get out and have lunch with Scott. When he started talking about Singapore, I told him about Ash. He didn’t say anything; he was just shocked. He told me to take the rest of the week off. I didn’t realize I really needed to until that moment.

  When I returned to my building, I found Monica sitting on a bench near the elevator. She had the family bassinet balanced on her lap.

  Her eyes were full of compassion, but her nostrils were flared and her jaw was set in a rigid line.

  “Monica, don’t say it.”

  “I was going to stab her in the eye with my heel.” I looked down at her five-inch stilettos. Yep, those would get the job done. “I’m so sorry, Matt. Alexander’s in Tokyo, otherwise he’d be here. I came in his place.”

  “Thank you, Monica. I see you paid Elizabeth a little visit. You didn’t actually hurt her, did you?”

  “Of course not, but I did give her a piece of my mind. I wasn’t gonna let her off that easy.” She pointed her long index finger at me. “That woman took a shit inside the soul of this family.”

  “I know.” I had already resigned myself to that reality, but I could tell Monica was still fighting it, or at least trying to figure out how to fix it. “It is what it is. I just have to try to be a part of my daughter’s life from here on out.” I nodded my head toward the door. “Take a walk with me?”

  She hiked her large Gucci bag over her shoulder and picked up the bassinet. “Can we stop by Grace’s?”

  “You’re going to give that to Grace?”

  “Of course. As a gesture of apology for that wretched Elizabeth.”

  “I don’t know if she’s home, but we can go by there and see. Here, I’ll carry it.” I took the bassinet from her hands and looked at the ornate wooden legs and fading varnish and wondered what Ash would have looked like as a baby sleeping inside, peacefully.

  As Monica’s heels clacked down the sidewalk beside me, I laughed at the fantasy of her taking her shoes off and throwing them at Elizabeth. “What did you say to her?”

  “Oh, I just told her that she was a thief and a liar. She stole something more precious from you than she could ever comprehend. Of course, she denied it and acted like she knew nothing. I told her I wouldn’t believe anything she said. She is the worst kind of person, Matt. A self-deluded, self-involved bitch.”

  “Do you think maybe she didn’t know?”

  We got to the corner and waited for the stoplight to turn. Monica sighed and pulled an envelope out of her bag. “She knew something, but she didn’t open the letters from Grace. She threw them away, all except for this one.” She handed me a sealed envelope. “If she was getting a letter every year and going to such great lengths to hide it from you, she must have known Grace was trying to tell you something. I don’t know if she really would’ve kept such a secret from you if she knew what it was, but denial through ignorance isn’t an excuse.”

  I set down the bassinet, folded the envelope, and stuck it in my pocket. “You might be right.”

  “You’re not gonna read it?”

  We were approaching Grace’s building. “I’ll read it. Just not right now. This is it.” I looked up to the front door of the brownstone and then held the bassinet out to her.

  “Aren’t you going to come with me?”

  “No, Ash isn’t home yet. She’s still at school.”

  “You don’t want to see Grace?”

  “I can’t, Monica. Just go, I’ll wait here.”

  I turned around and watched an old woman walk her dog down the street, but I couldn’t help but hear Grace answer the door. “Monica?”

  “Hello, Grace. It’s good to see you. It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes it has. You look great. Life has been well for you?” Grace was still being sweet, even under the shittiest of circumstances.

  “It has, but it got even better when I learned that I was an aunt.” Monica’s voice didn’t waver. She was determined to stay strong. “That’s why I’m here, to deliver this to you. I know Ash is a big girl now, but I wanted you to have it until the next baby in the family is born, wherever or whenever that might happen.”

  “Thank you.” Grace sounded choked up, but I still couldn’t turn around.

  There were a few moments of silence and then Monica said, “Here’s my number. Please keep in touch. I know you tried, and I’m sorry about you and Matt and this whole big mess.”

  “I am, too.”

  “You’re family now, Grace. Please know that.”

  “Okay.”

  A few seconds later, Monica was at my side. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Matt, why are you taking this out on her?”

  “I missed my daughter’s entire childhood, Monica.”

  “But that wasn’t Grace’s fault.”

  “I don’t know. It’s confusing and I can’t think about that right now.”

  The truth was that I couldn’t face her, knowing that she had spent the last fifteen years raising our child, mostly on her own. And for all of that time, she thought I was just a selfish asshole ignoring her letters and calls. She had no faith in me.

  “I have to stop. My feet are killing me.”

  “Well, Jesus, it’s those shoes. They’re unnatural,” I said.

  She took them off and shoved them into her bag. “I know; stupid, isn’t it? The things women do in the name of high fashion.”

  I put my arm around her shoulder. “You’re all right, you know that? I’m glad my brother married you. Thanks for coming out.”

  She kissed me on cheek, “I love you. Now hail me a cab, would ya? I’ve got some shopping to do.”

  I flagged down a taxi and opened the door for her. She ducked her head and got in. “I’ll be at the Waldorf Astoria if you need me.”

  Back at my loft I opened the envelope.

  Dear Matt,

  Our daughter is ten today. I said before that I wouldn’t send any more letters, but I have an important reason this time. I’m very sad to tell you that Dan is sick. He’s been having sev
ere heart problems over the last year, and his condition is likely terminal. He so desperately wants to adopt Ash, and I’m writing to ask you if you would please consider signing over your parental rights, as you were named on her birth certificate. Ash is a wonderful child, witty and beautiful, with a great sense of humor. She is the joy of my life. I never blamed you for the choices I made a decade ago, but now I can change things for her and Dan by making it official with the adoption.

  I know you’re very busy, but would you please get in touch with us?

  Regards,

  Grace Porter

  212-555-1156

  The life she led, the tragedy, despair, and rejection, was all because of me. I could have blamed Elizabeth, but it wouldn’t matter in the end because Elizabeth meant nothing to Grace. I knew that if you followed the trail of pain, it would lead to me, at least in Grace’s mind, and my pain led to her.

  Staring at my phone, a question popped into my head. I shot off a text immediately.

  ME: Why were you looking in the Missed Connections section?

  GRACE: I wasn’t.

  ME: How did you get the note?

  GRACE: A student of mine recognized the title “Green-eyed Lovebird” when he was looking for his own missed connection and brought it to me.

  ME: So you didn’t really want to find me? Was it just for Ash?

  There was no response.

  Two hours later, I was on their doorstep, wearing plaid pajama pants, slippers, and a coat. It was six p.m. and the sun was beginning to set. Ash came to the door wearing white flannel PJs with a green turtle pattern on it. She swung the door open wide and announced, “Hello, Father!”

  “Hello, Daughter.”

  She pointed behind her with her thumb and lowered her voice. “Should I ask if she wants to come with us?”

  I shook my head. Ash looked down for a second, as if figuring out what to do, and then yelled, “Bye, Mom! Love you, be back later.”

  “Love you. Be careful!” Grace yelled from the other room.

  “Ready?”

  “Yep.” She bounced out the door.

  “We’re going to a restaurant that serves breakfast anytime,” I told her.

  “Oh cool. I’m gonna get blueberry pancakes during the Renaissance,” she deadpanned. I stared for a beat and then she started cracking up.

  “You scared me for a second. I was concerned about your IQ.”

  “I got that joke from a TV show.”

  I laughed. “Now I’m really concerned about your IQ.”

  The place Grace and I used to go to was long gone, so I took Ash to a diner in our neighborhood.

  “Mom told me you guys used to do this breakfast-for-dinner thing all the time in college.”

  “We did.” I smiled at the memory but didn’t want to dwell on the past. “How was school?”

  “Good. Boring, except for ceramics.”

  “You like pottery?”

  “I love it.”

  “My mom—your grandmother—loved it. She had a little art studio set up behind her house in California. She called it the Louvre.” I chuckled at the memory.

  “I know.”

  “Your mom pretty much covered everything, didn’t she?”

  “Why didn’t you want her to come tonight?”

  This daughter of mine didn’t pull any punches. “Like I said before, things are complicated.”

  “You guys love each other, so why the hell aren’t you together?”

  “It’s not that simple, Ash. I need time.”

  “Well, I think you’re wasting it.”

  Why was the fifteen-year-old the smartest one in the room?

  Because she doesn’t have decades of bullshit clouding her judgment.

  We ordered pancakes and milk shakes, and Ash told me about school and a boy she liked.

  “Boys are pigs. You know that, right? Stay away from them.”

  She sipped her milk shake thoughtfully. “You don’t need to do this. Seriously.”

  “I do. I want to meet your friends and come to your school events. And that’s not a request.”

  “I know.”

  After we totally stuffed ourselves with pancakes, I paid and we headed out. On our way to the door, Ash stopped in front of the refrigerator case.

  “You want a piece of pie?” I asked.

  She dug into the little purse slung across her chest. “No, I’m gonna buy a piece for Mom.”

  “I’ll buy it. What does she like?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You know what she likes.”

  “One piece of chocolate cream and a piece of peanut butter to go,” I said to the woman behind the counter. She bagged it up and handed it to me, and I led Ash out of the diner.

  Ash and I talked about music the entire way back to her house. It was no surprise that Ash had great taste and vast knowledge across genres. We agreed that we would see Radiohead together the next time they played in New York. I wondered how many times Grace had played Radiohead or Jeff Buckley to Ash over the years. I hadn’t been able to listen to either one since college.

  I followed Ash up the steps. She swung the door open wide, turned around, and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner, Father.” She left me in the open doorway, holding the pie, as she ran up the stairs and called out, “Mom, some dude is at the door with pie!”

  I swallowed, frozen in the doorway.

  Sneaky little thing.

  24. Once, We Were Lovers

  GRACE

  Every time I laid eyes on Matt, I’d instantly be overcome by two conflicting feelings: shock at how handsome he was—lean, strong, defined, and somehow sexier with age—and total disbelief that he was even there. I was convinced I would wake up and things would be back to the way they were before.

  But I wanted to be strong around him. I had spent a week crying over how he took the news. I’d done enough falling apart for all of us. Frankly, I was getting tired of mulling over all this shit; I had been doing it for a decade and a half. If he wanted to blame me for what his psychotic ex-wife had done, then so be it. I was done crying and I was done apologizing.

  Strutting toward him, I watched as his eyes scanned me from head to toe. I was wearing a short, silk nightgown and a devil-may-care look in my eyes. I took the bag from his hands. “Chocolate and peanut butter?” I asked, drily. He nodded. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Okay, well, it’s late.” He just blinked at me then looked down at his slippers.

  “Um . . . all right, I’m gonna head home.”

  “Okie dokie.”

  He headed for the door and I followed to close it behind him. But just before he stepped out of the doorway, he turned, placed his hands on my silk-clad hips, and kissed me right below the ear.

  I whimpered.

  “Night, Gracie,” he whispered, and then he was gone. I stood in the doorway for several moments, trying to catch my breath. Just when I was learning to hold it together . . .

  * * *

  AFTER SCHOOL THE next day, I went to Green Acres, which didn’t remotely embody its name. It was a subpar convalescent facility in the Bronx, where Orvin’s daughter had placed him after his wife died a few years earlier. The place really needed renovation. The walls were painted that heinous shade of vomit-green from The Exorcist, and the whole place smelled of putrid yeast from the bread-making factory next door. Green Acres was awful. There was a small yard in the back for residents to get exercise, but not a single blade of grass. I broke Orvin out of there at least once a week. We’d go to a nearby park and play chess, and even though he couldn’t remember my name anymore, I was fairly certain he knew who I was.

  As we sat in the park, we listened to the wind whistling through the trees. “Do you still listen for it?” I asked.

  “For what, doll?”

  “The music.”

  “Yeah. I do. I always hear it.”

  “What do you think it means that I don’t hear it anymore?”

 
He took my second knight. “Check. I don’t know what it means. Maybe you’re not listening hard enough.”

  How does he beat me every time? I moved my king. “I’m listening.”

  “No, you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “I’ve never felt sorry for myself.”

  “Maybe not before, no, but you are now. Checkmate.”

  I reset the board. We played with a cheesy plastic-and-cardboard chess set that folded up and fit into my purse. “I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I’m just tired and kind of sad.”

  “Why are you sad?”

  I studied Orvin’s face. It was hard not to feel like Orvin didn’t belong in Green Acres because he seemed so spry and alert. Yet oftentimes he would forget everything and ask when he had to be at the shop, which sadly had been closed for more than a decade. This was one of his good days, but he could slip easily into forgetting.

  “Do you ever wish you weren’t stuck in Green Acres?”

  “My darling Grace, let me share a proverb with you.”

  I was startled. He hadn’t called me by my name in . . . I didn’t know how long. “Okay.”

  “ ‘I used to think I was poor because I didn’t have any shoes, and then I met a man with no feet.’ ”

  I smiled sheepishly. “I am feeling sorry for myself, aren’t I?”

  “More than that. You’re being ungrateful. You have the man you always wanted in your life again, a beautiful daughter, and a great job.”

  “Yes, but that man doesn’t want me.”

  “He will. Just be yourself. Find the music.”

  * * *

  ASH AND I ended up at Tati’s for dinner that night. Tati was trying her hand at being domestic; she had met a man she actually wanted to date, and was bound and determined to impress him. It wasn’t the first time Ash and I had been guinea pigs, though I can’t say we enjoyed it. Tati was a terrible cook. Period.

  Tati came to the table with a large platter. “Lamb tagine and Moroccan couscous!”

  “Oh Tati, I hate eating lamb.”

  She looked affronted. “Why?”

  “They’re just too cute to eat.”

  “Well, this one’s not cute anymore.”

  I shook my head and took a small serving. Ash wrinkled her nose and took an even smaller one while Tati ran around, looking for a wine key.