VEGAS TO VARANASI
By Shelly Hickman
Cover Illustration by Shelly Hickman
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this novel
are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright 2013 Shelly Hickman
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or
distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
One
“You’re so nice, Anna!”
I’ve heard this all my life. Not “you’re too nice”; that always has a hint of insult to it. “You’re so nice” is meant to be a compliment, I think, but somehow I often detect a bit of pity when people say it.
Okay, I admit it. I am nice. Not perfect, but nice. I can be impatient, snarky, whiny, but I’m very uncomfortable making another person feel bad, even if they deserve it. Someone has to really push my limits before my nasty side shows itself. And when that happens, it’s usually because they weren’t being nice.
When my daughter was younger, she came home from school in tears a number of times because this “friend” or that “friend” said something really scathing and spiteful, and she was heart-broken. That’s when I would begin my rant. “I wish someone would please explain to me why it has become so fashionable to be a colossal bitch!”
Don’t even get me started on all those reality shows where the whole plot consists of horribly behaved women wagging their clawed finger in someone’s face while doing the cocky head gyration.
To this day my daughter, Carly, now twenty, rolls her eyes when I go off on one of my how hard is it to treat people decent tirades, so I try, unsuccessfully, to stay off my soapbox.
“Mom, Tessa’s gonna have dinner with us tonight, okay?” Carly is helping me unload groceries from the bags on the kitchen table.
“Wait,” I say, as I’m about to open a box of Cheez-Its. “I thought you and Hayden were having dinner with your dad tonight.”
“We were, but something came up, and Richard has to be at some important dinner for work. So he wants Dad to go with him. Actually, I think the story is that Richard forgot to tell him about it, so Dad was kinda peeved.” Richard is my ex-husband’s partner.
“Did I hear you say Tessa’s coming over?” Hayden enters the kitchen, grinning, and grabs a handful of crackers from the box in my hand.
“God, give it a rest, would you? She’s not into you,” Carly says.
“Yet.” Hayden playfully takes her face into his hand and mushes her cheeks. “Yet.”
“Knock it off,” she says with a smirk, swiping her older brother’s hand away and brushing crumbs from her face.
Hayden leans against the counter. “Yeah, seems like Dad and Richard are experiencing a little tension lately.”
“No, they’re not,” Carly argues. “It was just the dinner thing.”
Hayden shrugs.
“I didn’t have anything particular planned for dinner,” I say. “I thought it would be just me and David tonight.” David is my boyfriend of five years, who now lives with us. “I guess I could make some spaghetti.”
“I can make something, Mom,” Carly offers as she puts a carton of milk in the refrigerator.
“No, let me,” Hayden chimes in.
Carly and I look at each other. There’s horror in her eyes. “Not a good idea, bro.”
Hayden closes the box of Cheez-Its and puts it in the cupboard. “What? I can cook, too.”
I grimace in response to his remark. “No, sweetie. No. You can’t.”
He puts his hands on his hips and appears genuinely hurt. “But I need to do something to impress Tessa.”
“Well, cooking for her ain’t gonna do it,” Carly says.
“Geez, Carly. Could you try a little more tact?” I ask.
“You guys are never gonna let me live down the stromboli thing, are you? Man, you’re a tough crew to work for.”
Carly laughs a little demonically. “You have to admit it was funny. Who puts half a jar of yeast into bread dough?”
Hayden grabs a bottle of Gatorade from the eight pack on the dining table, removes the lid, and takes a swig. “One, I was like thirteen. Two, I have successfully cooked some things since then.”
I give Carly an ease up on him look. Hayden likes to come off like everything rolls off his back, but he’s pretty sensitive.
Carly takes the hint and walks over to him, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “You’re right. You did do a pretty decent job on the hamburger gravy once.” That was a complete lie. “I just have to give you some crap every once in a while.”
“Oh, yeah?” He jumps out of his chair, picks Carly up, and flings her over his shoulder.
“No! No, don’t!” she begs. “You know it makes me sick.”
Hayden heads with her to the living room and almost trips on one of the flip flops he’s wearing.
“If you drop her and crack her head,” I warn, “I’m gonna crack your ass!” That actually sounds pretty stupid.
He ignores me and starts spinning in circles.
“You’ll regret this when I barf all over your toes!” she cries.
“A little barf on my toes would be worth it to put you in your place, Miss High and Mighty.” He sets Carly back down. Still wobbly, she clutches his tank top for balance. “That’s right,” he taunts, before kissing his biceps. “I will make dinner tonight, and it will be good.”
Two
I met the kids’ father, Luke, in high school, and for a long time we were just good friends, although I’d always had a secret crush on him. He looked just like John Taylor from Duran Duran. Dressed like him, too, with his funky new wave clothes and big ’80s hair. He was gorgeous. Still is, in fact.
We were inseparable, and every weekend we’d go dancing at That’s Entertainment, a night club for people under twenty-one. Whenever I hear “Melt with You” on the radio, or smell clove cigarettes, I’m sixteen again on that packed dance floor with Luke.
All the girls loved him. In addition to his looks, he had that kind, sensitive thing going for him. Quiet and unassuming, but always with some pretty girl who idolized him.
I was just the opposite. There was nothing impressive about me in the looks department. Still isn’t. I’m kinda bony, shaped more like an adolescent boy, and have an ordinary face with a nose that’s a little too big for the rest of my features. But I had the “nice” thing going for me, too. I never had trouble making friends, probably because girls didn’t see me as a threat.
And boys? I had a few boyfriends here and there, but they weren’t exactly busting down my door. My problem was often the clueless oddball that followed me around like a puppy dog because I didn’t have the heart to tell him to get lost.
I remember one guy in particular. His name was Frank and he had albino white curly hair. We were on a bus ride to California for a school drama trip, and he had invited himself into the seat next to me. For nearly an hour he chattered my ear off, and in the course of that time briefly laid his head in my lap, made strange whinny noises like a horse (I didn’t quite get why he thought it was funny), and then pulled out a strand of my hair and put it in his wallet.
I wanted to scream, “Leave me alone, ya weirdo!” but couldn’t because he wasn’t a bad guy, just socially inept, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
Luke sat across the aisle one row up, watching the exchange with mild amusement, when I pleaded silently with him to help me. That was when he casually walked over and put a friendly hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy, I really need to talk to Anna
about something. Do you mind?”
“Sure!” Frank was apparently thrilled that Luke referred to him as a buddy. “No problem whatsoever!” But before he moved to another seat, he had to do the mock punch to Luke’s arm.
“You are so mean!” I said to Luke, once Frank was out of earshot. “What took you so long?”
He just chuckled, put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.
It wasn’t until college that we were officially a couple. Looking back, there were definite warning signs, even then, that Luke was gay, but they were subtle enough to be easily dismissed. For one, he always came up with some reason to break up with his numerous girlfriends. I guess I had fooled myself into believing it was because he had feelings for me, but he also seemed uneasy hanging out with the guys, like he didn’t really know how to act. He was very guarded.
Unable to bear the thought of losing him, I told myself it was all in my imagination. After all, there was nothing overtly feminine about him. So I did what any normal, twenty-two-year-old woman would do. I said yes when he asked me to marry him. And like two young, stupid people in total denial, we started a family right away. Hayden was born almost a year after our wedding.
Our lovemaking had always been tender, but infrequent, mechanical, and never, ever passionate. Although I’d dated others before Luke, I’d not had sex with anyone else. Just some heavy make-out sessions, so what did I have to compare it to?
After two years of marriage, though, I could no longer deny my worst fear. I had to lay it on the table or go crazy, all the more difficult because I was pregnant with Carly by then.
He was in the kitchen of our small apartment, drinking coffee and reading the paper, when I sat down beside him. He looked up at me and smiled. When I didn’t smile back, he knew. We both knew, and the long-rehearsed contentment in his face dissolved.
The oddest thing was, we didn’t even say anything at first. I took his hand in both of mine and squeezed it, without taking my eyes from his. I tried really hard not to cry, but could feel the tears creeping up.
Luke pulled his hand away and swiped it over his face before leaning on the table, shielding his eyes. It seemed like forever before he spoke. “Anna,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry I let you down. I’ve let everyone down. You, Hayden, the baby—”
“Stop! I’m the one who let you down. Pretending to be blind for selfish reasons. Ignoring the fact that you’re not happy, making you be someone you’re not.”
“You never made me.” He touched my face. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I choked. Hit with the reality that our life together was ending, it felt like some heavy object pressed upon my lungs. “But we have to let go.”
He shook his head. “No.”
I crouched down in front of him and placed my hands on his knees. “Everything’s gonna be okay. I promise.” My words were meant to convince me, as much as him.
“What am I gonna tell everyone? How do I tell my parents?”
“Luke, they probably already know. Just like I did. They’re just waiting for you. They love you no matter what.”
His shoulders trembled with the release of the burden he’d been carrying for God knows how long. I sat on his lap and wrapped my arms around him while he buried his face in my neck, holding on to me with a death grip. Oh, how I would have given anything to take away his pain! I’m not sure how long we stayed there like that, both of us bawling like babies.
That night as we lay in bed, we discussed how to make the best of the agonizing situation we’d gotten ourselves into.
“How do you feel about still living together?” Luke asked. “At least until the kids are in school?”
I was already a stay-at-home mom with Hayden, and the original plan was that I would stay home for at least a couple of years after Carly was born, maybe longer. But things were different now. “I can’t continue to be your wife, Luke.”
“No, I mean, we’ll still... separate legally—”
“Divorce,” I said, since he didn’t seem to want to use the word.
“Right, but stay roommates, for the kids’ sakes. At least for now.”
I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know which would be harder—seeing him every day or not seeing him every day. I rolled from my side onto my back and stared at the ceiling. My throat hurt.
“You hate me, don’t you?” he asked.
“I couldn’t hate you if I wanted to. And why would I want to?”
“Because I ruined your life.”
I turned to face him and propped my head on my hand. “Yes, you’ve loved me, treated me like gold, and given me a beautiful child with another one on the way. You so ruined my life.”
I won’t lie. I felt like crying my eyes out all over again, but still, somewhere deep inside me, there was always an understanding this day would come. Although I wished things could have been different, I was so blessed to be loved by him. Blessed that my kids were partly him.
“If you decide you’re okay with living together, I want you to still be able to stay home with the kids. I’ll pay for everything.”
I shook my head emphatically. “Absolutely not. You are not going to keep supporting me.”
“Why not? If we lived in separate homes, I’d have to pay someone to take care of them anyway, and I’d rather it be their mother.” Luke made pretty decent money at the time. He studied commercial design in school, and a family friend with a very successful advertising agency hired him straight out of college as a graphic artist.
“No, it wouldn’t be right. I need to get back to work. Start putting my degree to use.”
We lay there quietly, at a loss as to how to work things out so our kids would suffer the least. “What if...” Luke rubbed his forehead. “What if I checked to see if Jeremy would let me start working evenings? Or maybe work from home? I bet he wouldn’t have a problem with it. Then I can be with the kids during the day while you’re at work.”
“There’s just one problem with that. When will you sleep?”
“Ah, sleep’s overrated anyway.” He smiled sadly.
We both laughed, despite everything. I don’t really know why; it wasn’t all that funny. I think it was more of a laugh or cry sort of laugh. A this is bloody awful sort of laugh that escapes your mouth when you can’t digest the enormity of a problem.
However, his idea turned out to be the solution to our predicament. I went to work during the day as a physical therapist, and thankfully, his boss was comfortable with Luke working from home most of the time. We agreed to remain roommates until the kids were old enough to be in school all day, and if one of us met someone along the way, we’d cross that bridge when we came to it.
Honestly, I had no desire to meet anyone else for a long time. I couldn’t even fathom loving someone as much as I loved Luke. Just the thought of it scared the living shit out of me.
Three
It’s the morning after our dinner with Tessa, which Hayden cooked and did an admirable job. It’s kind of hard to screw up spaghetti, but he may have scored some points.
I meander to the kitchen for my dose of caffeine. Carly is already sitting at the bar, waiting on the Keurig machine. “Mom, we need to talk.”
I grimace. She knows I can’t stand any kind of conversation when I first wake up. I feel like a prune. My eyes are dry, my throat is dry. The joys of living in the desert. I’m a person who needs to ease into my morning, but Carly’s expression is all business. She’s always been serious and analytical, and her blue eyes reveal her impatience for my lagging transition from slumber to consciousness.
The coffee machine makes its last few sputtering gurgles, and I grab Carly’s mug and hand it to her with a forced smile. “Thank you,” she says. She waits, then raises her eyebrows at me, like I’m the one that’s supposed to start this conversation.
“What?” I whine, and put my hand on my hip. I have no idea where this is going, but apparently she thinks I do. “If you’ve got something to say, then say it
.”
She sighs and pulls on one of her coppery curls. Carly has the most gorgeous, perfectly formed spirals, and I’m actually jealous of how naturally pretty she is in the morning.
“It’s David. Did you happen to see the half empty bottle of bourbon in the office? He just opened it last night, and it’s a pretty damn big bottle.”
David moved in two years ago, when Carly was eighteen. Hayden was nineteen. When Luke and I split up and eventually moved into separate homes, I had made up my mind that no man would live under the same roof with my children until they were adults. I know that sounds really paranoid, but I didn’t want to subject my kids to some potential child molester. You hear those kinds of stories all the time, and I wasn’t going to be one of them.
Plus, if I were to live with someone while the kids were young, it would only be fair that he be able to discipline them, and I wasn’t sure how I would deal with that. So I just avoided the headache all together.
I turn the Keurig carousel to make my selection, then pop a cup into the machine.
“Mom, aren’t you going to say anything?”
“I don’t think it’s such a big deal.” How did I get stuck in this conversation first thing in the morning? It’s already making me uneasy. “He says alcohol gets his creative juices flowing when he writes.”
Carly takes another swallow of coffee. “If he needs to drink half a bottle of whiskey to get his creative juices flowing, then maybe he shouldn’t be writing.”
Of course she’s right, but it isn’t something I want to discuss with her. I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to him about it, but I am horrible with confrontations.
Carly steps down from her barstool, walks over to me and puts her hand on my arm. “You know I love David, but he’s got a problem. Talk to him, okay? I gotta get ready for class.”
She leaves me standing in the kitchen, waiting for my coffee, and I get a sick feeling in my stomach. After dinner last night, he went straight to the office. I don’t know what time he came to bed, but it was late, and now he’ll probably sleep half the day.
Vegas to Varanasi (Fortytude Series Book 1) Page 1
