by Julia Kent
“Come on,” he says, and takes off down the hill, pushing my daughter with him, holding on to the carriage like it’s a lifeline.
What else can I do?
I follow.
Nick
Holly stares up at me from her stroller with eyes that trust the world.
Chloe looks at me with eyes devoid of trust.
Half-blind with rage, shaking like I’m primed for battle, I navigate the sidewalks, moving the carriage around trash bins and recycling containers, until we’re on our way to a park down the street. I need air. Space. Land.
“Nick!” Chloe gasps from behind. “Slow down!”
I’m half a block ahead of her, the baby beneath me in the stroller, her little fists settling on top of her blanket, eyes closed.
I stop and close my eyes. I see my pulse, like a visual bass drum, the colors behind my eyelids a symphony in blood.
“Here.” She peels my fingers off the handle, taking my place, one hand on the stroller, the other slipping Holly’s exposed hands under the thick blankets. Chloe rights the baby’s pacifier and moves forward, eyes straight ahead, not looking at me.
“Can we talk?” I ask, realizing I haven’t extended that basic respect to her. The image of Simone’s self-satisfied smirk won’t leave me.
“What’s there to talk about?” she asks, facing me dead on, eyes accusing.
Everything.
“Plenty.”
She nods, slowly, blinking hard as if fighting tears. Her cheeks go pink in the cold, or maybe that’s from anger. It’s hard to tell.
“Yes. But let’s be civilized and do it with caffeine and carbs in front of us.”
Chloe steers the carriage toward a little coffee shop with a doorway just wide enough to fit the stroller. One step up and we’re in. I order two lattes and can’t get Chloe’s attention, as she soothes a fussing baby. Biscotti and coffee will have to do.
The savagery inside me diminishes as these civilized transactions take place. Pleasantries, directions, the exchange of money and food, and the walk to the table carrying a tray all require parts of my brain that aren’t warrior mind to function.
As I sit, my leg taps with nervous energy. Haven’t done that since I was a teen. The coffee scalds my throat but the pain feels good. Focused.
And I’m the Focus Man, right?
Chloe’s slipping away from me. I feel it, a physical tug, like someone’s cutting a rope that ties us to each other. Not Simone, not Joe – some other force, intangible and unnamed. If you can name a demon, you can vanquish it.
Let it remain without definition and it thrives on chaos.
I struggle to say the right words. The right line. The magic phrase that clears up the mist of confusion that clouds Chloe’s face.
Instead, I torture my throat with more scalding coffee and tap my leg like an idiot.
Holly cries.
Chloe fumbles.
And we drift further.
I reach for the baby, to offer some help, but Chloe shakes her head, blinking hard, this time to hold back tears that won’t stop.
My tapping stops.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
She looks up sharply. “Are you so sure?”
I jolt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your ex still wants you.”
“I had no idea. None.”
“Please.” Her look cuts me to the bone. “You’re a smart guy. You had to know.”
I stay silent. Finally, I open up. I have to. It’s only fair.
“Simone’s been here for two days.”
Chloe looks up sharply. “Two days?”
“She came for Amelie’s senior concert.”
I watch the calculations in Chloe’s eyes. I can almost see timelines that look like a stock ticker, numbers shooting past. “The other night, when you came over. She was here?”
I nod.
“Your booty call—”
“Don’t call it that,” I snap. “It was anything but.”
“You were escaping her?”
One end of my mouth curls up. “I needed to see you.”
“It’s meet the ex-wife day,” she says with a long sigh. Holly’s crying, the sound piercing, and Chloe bounces her on one knee, grabbing her coffee with a desperate hand. “Two in one day. I’m not sure what I did in a prior life to deserve this, but it must have been bad.”
“Two ex-wives?” The cloud of confusion just thickened.
“Long story,” she says, her mouth twisted in pain. Her coffee must be as hot as mine.
Holly’s screaming goes up a notch.
I start tapping my leg again.
This is too much.
“I want to hear it.”
Chloe’s attention is split between me, the baby, her coffee, and the unsuccessful attempt to stop tears from flowing down her cheeks. Ten minutes ago, I was yelling at my past.
Now I’m listening to my present scream.
What sound does the future make?
“I—”
Holly won’t stop crying. Chloe’s eye dart to mine, then close, twin tears rolling down her face. Like someone is slowly rolling my gut inside out, I tighten, curling inward, turning to granite.
Inaction is unacceptable.
“Let me hold her,” I insist.
Chloe clings to the baby. “No.” She stands, upsetting the plate of biscotti, one sliding to the ground and cracking in half. “I need to go. Holly needs to be home.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
The look she gives me breaks my heart.
“Please. No. Nick – this day. This—” She looks everywhere but at me. “This is too much.”
I want to beg her. I want to make her stay. I want to take the baby and calm her down. I want to kiss Chloe’s tears away.
I made her cry.
I can’t undo that.
But I can respect her wishes. I can give her what she needs.
I nod, standing, helping maneuver the carriage outside. The cold slap of air makes Holly whoop, the look on her face precious. Even Chloe laughs through her tears.
“Let me walk with you part of the way?”
Chloe shakes her head. “It’s been one hell of a day. Let me – let this all sink in.”
“Chloe.” I hold her elbow, my heart in my throat, my mind ragged around the edges, unraveling. Think, Nick. Say the right words. Find the core element here that fixes this.
Make this whole again.
“Nothing Simone said is true.”
“I know.”
“I would never lie to you.”
Her eyes narrow, the look deepening between us. “I know.”
“Do you?”
She gives me a sad smile. “Yes.”
I tip her chin up, “Then why does this feel like we’re falling apart?”
Chloe grabs the stroller and begins walking. I keep up.
“Nick, I can’t. I just can’t right now. I went to work today and met Joe’s ex-wife. I came here to talk and be with you and instead I get a second dose of ex-wife karma. It’s too much.”
“Joe’s ex?”
“It’s a long story.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it is.”
“Tell me. Tell me the story.” A part of me knows that if she walks away, this is over. There’s no reason to think that. None.
But it feels true.
“Let me go home. Settle Holly down. Think.”
“Sure.” Her eyes have a hunted look, like I’m right on the brink of pushing her over the edge. Focus Man kicks in.
My focus needs to be on doing the right thing.
Not on winning.
“Text or call any time.”
“When I’m ready.” She says the words with such sadness.
“I’ll be there. What we have, Chloe – I don’t want to lose you. I feel like I’ve been looking for you for most of my life. When you’re ready, I’ll be here. This is worth waiting for. We
’re so close.”
Her eyes fly open and her face flushes, jaw set, nostrils flaring.
And then she marches off without another word.
Chapter 18
Chloe
“Remember that party game, Twister?” I ask Jemma. Henry is only half-listening, since the Pats game is on, fourth quarter. Harold is with my mother, off at the Four Seasons again. By the time I arrived home with a still-hysterical Holly, there was only time for an air kiss and a promise to visit again.
I escaped to my safe spot.
Even if it involves football.
“Sure,” she answers. “There was a big plastic mat with colored circles, and a spinner, and you had to put a certain body part on a certain circle. And everyone was on the mat at the same time. Eventually someone couldn’t reach, or couldn’t hold their position, and they collapsed. That caused everyone else to collapse with them.”
“I loved that game,” Henry says fondly.
“Says the seven-foot-tall dude,” Jemma notes bitterly. “I hated that game. I was too short to ever reach the outer circles.”
“Well, Twister is what dating in your thirties and forties is like.” I take a sip from my bottle of Corona Light.
“What?” she laughs.
“Sshhhhh!” from Henry.
“The circles are all the different parts of your life,” I explain. “So you each have a hand for your kids, and a foot for your job. Maybe the other foot is your former relationships, your exes.”
I move to the floor to demonstrate. Henry looks up from the TV screen. I’m stretched out and arched like a spider. I wave my spare hand in the air.
“Now I have this one hand left for a new relationship. The spinner points to a red circle, but it’s just a little too far to stretch. I try hard, but I just... can’t... reach...” I collapse dramatically on the carpet. “I fall down, and Nick falls on top of me. Game over.”
“Yes! That’s the whole point!” Henry says, astonished. “Did you not understand that?”
We both glare at him.
“It’s a metaphor,” I sigh.
We are sitting in the living room of their loft. Henry needs a lot of room, so the loft is perfect. Super-high ceilings, wide-open space, and it accommodates their large-scale furniture. Holly is sound asleep in the center of their California-king-size bed, blocked all around by pillows.
“The point is, trying to start a new relationship at this point is different from dating in your twenties. Our lives are full of other responsibilities and experiences, and we can’t just let go of them. They make us who we are, but they don’t leave a lot of room for more.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Jem says thoughtfully. “At least, I hope it’s not true. I think we have an infinite capacity to add love to our lives. You had room for Holly. I think you have room for Nick.”
“Holly arrived all by herself. She didn’t bring a French wife and three kids who call during sex.”
“Wait a minute.” Henry’s paying attention now. “Ex-wife. But that’s not the point. You’re not exactly free of baggage yourself, girlfriend.”
I squint at the ceiling.
“In fact, Nick spent quite a bit of money buying up some of your baggage online, as I recall.”
I begin inspecting my pedicure.
“And he seems pretty willing to play Twister with you. He doesn’t mind putting his hand on your red circles.” He pauses. “I mean... you know what I mean.”
“We all have to live our lives, Chloe,” Jemma chimes in. “We experiment and take some detours, probably make a few mistakes. That’s how we learn and grow and figure out what’s right. We can’t just sit and wait for some perfect person to come along.”
I look up.
“Worth the wait,” I whisper.
“What?”
“Nick said this was worth waiting for. He said he would wait.”
“Why would you want to make him wait?”
“I don’t know,” I say miserably. “But Joe said I was worth waiting for, and I believed him, and then he said it to someone else.”
“Even a baby can see that Joe and Nick are nothing alike,” Henry observes.
“Speaking of babies, I should go check on mine.”
Jemma follows me to their bedroom. Holly’s still out like a light, lying on her back with her arms flung wide, totally secure.
We stand and watch her for a moment in peaceful silence.
“I have to find someone to take care of her, for when I go back to work,” I sigh. “But I can’t bear to think about leaving her all day long with a total stranger.”
“I know,” Jem agrees. “Henry and I were talking about it. She’s precious to us, too.”
We tiptoe out of the room.
“We had an idea,” she says tentatively. “It’s just a thought, and it might not work for you, but… I already work at home, and I could just as easily write at your house as here… and she knows me… and I’ve spent so much time with her already…” she pauses. “And I love her so much.”
“Jem. You’re not serious.”
She studies my face. “Of course you probably want a trained professional nanny, I totally understand, no worries. Someone who speaks three languages or has a degree in babies.”
“Jemma! Are you kidding? Henry! You would seriously do this? I cannot imagine anything more wonderful! It’s such a weight off my shoulders – oh how can I ever thank you?”
Without taking his eyes off the television, Henry suggests “A great benefits package?”
“Anything!” I laugh. “A car, your birthday off, Henry’s birthday off, a dry cleaning allowance! I’d offer free massages, but you already get those.”
I throw my arms around her, then bend down and hug Henry, who struggles away wildly as the stadium crowd begins roaring. “Chloe! I can’t see the play!”
Thus he misses the winning touchdown. He’s mad, but I don’t care. I scored.
We move to the kitchen for chili, which smells fantastic. Jemma starts ladling it into bowls while I plug in the baby monitor and adjust the volume.
“So how did you leave it with Nick?”
“He said to text or call anytime. I will when I’m ready.”
“And just when do you think that might be?”
Is that sarcasm I detect?
“Chloe, I don’t really understand.” She puts down the ladle and turns to face me. “He’s doing everything right. He seems to really like you, and you really like him. The sex is good - “
I make an involuntary sound. She rolls her eyes.
“ - okay, the sex is great. He’s unmarried and gainfully employed and has no arrest record that you know of. You make each other laugh. You belong to the same political party. He can change a diaper and sail a boat, and he likes Sofia Coppola movies. None of your ex-boyfriends could say all of those things. Joe couldn’t even say the first three. What exactly is the problem here?”
“I’m so scared,” comes out of me in a tiny voice.
“Of what?”
“I do really like him. I like him too much. He’s too good. You know that saying, ‘If it’s too good to be true,’...”
She joins in and finishes it with me.
“...‘it’s too good to be true’!”
“Jem, I like him too much,” I repeat slowly. “When I’m with Nick, I am perfectly happy. It’s terrifying. I recently had my heart ripped out, and I remember how it felt. I can’t do that anymore. I have a baby now. I can’t have a man come into our lives and make us happy, and then go out of our lives and make us miserable. We need emotional stability.”
She’s quiet for a minute.
“I understand that, and I respect it. Part of a mom’s responsibilities involves making good choices, and not taking unnecessary risks. But there are other responsibilities, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s your job to show Holly what life can hold. I think you have a moral responsibility to live your fullest life,
full of love and new experiences.”
She holds up a bowl of chili. “Look at this – thick and full of good stuff, tomatoes and meat and tons of spices. It’s all been simmering together for a long time over a low flame, so it’s got intense flavor. Chips on the side for texture, sour cream for contrast. Delicious. Or instead, I could have served chicken broth. Perfectly good, healthy even, but thin and boring. And you’d be just as hungry after you finished.”
You can see why she is so successful as a health journalist. She makes unusual connections to illustrate her points.
“If Holly grows up seeing that you are scared of a loving relationship, she will learn that love is something to avoid. None of us want that little girl to ever have a single unhappy moment, but she will. What she needs to know is that she’ll get through it. Sadder but wiser, as my grandmother used to say. So you have to be her model. You have to be brave for her. You have to teach her that love is not chicken broth!”
This is not in my parenting books.
Henry comes in, opens three fresh beers, and settles himself at the island. He regards the steaming bowl in front of him.
“Looks great,” he says happily. He has no idea it represents his entire life. “You know your Twister idea?”
We both look at him in surprise, our spoons halfway to our mouths. He really was paying attention.
“There should be another version called Married Twister,” he continues. “Or maybe just Twisted Together. Because when you’re together, the problems are shared. There are four hands instead of just two. If one of you has a hand on the mother-in-law circle, for example, the other person can cover the kids circle. You help each other stay balanced.”
Jem hops off her stool and runs around to kiss him on the cheek. She can reach it when he’s sitting down.
“In Married Twister,” he chuckles, “I always have a free hand.” He holds it up, then reaches around and places it on her ass, which he squeezes.
“Chloe’s going to call Nick,” she informs him. “She’s going to play the game. You can’t win if you don’t play.”
So I guess I’m going to call Nick.
Nick
“Is this going to take long? Because you’re making us miss part of the Pats game,” Jean-Marc grouses. I get all three kids into the living room, bracing myself.
