“Charlie?” she says, clearly confused. She probably was ready to give whoever picked up a piece of her mind. “Charlie Goldwyn, is that you?”
“Yes,” I say with a little laugh. “Who else would it be?”
Long, deafening pause. “Oh. I’m sorry. I just got a call from this number so I called back.”
“Really? How weird! Sorry, I must have pocket-dialed you or something.”
“Oh!” Her voice floods with relief. “Oh, okay. No problem. I’m sorry. I picked up, but there was no one on the other line.”
“Oh, sorry to scare you. You must’ve thought I was some crazy stalker or something.”
“No, no,” she says, though that is clearly the case. “I’m embarrassed to bother you so late. I just didn’t know who was calling.”
“No problem at all. Listen, now that you have my number, call me anytime. It would be great to get the kids together for a playdate.”
“Yes, I’d love that. Any chance you guys are free the day after tomorrow?”
I pause a beat, pleasantly surprised.
“If not, no worries, of course,” she adds quickly.
“Oh, no, we’d love to. Why don’t you guys come over in the afternoon? Three or so?”
“That would be great. Thanks. I’d invite you to our house, but—”
“It would be our pleasure, really.”
“Oh, that’s great,” she says happily. “I know Lucas will be so happy to see Caleb again.”
“We’re excited to see you both.”
“Sorry again about calling so late.”
“Please don’t apologize. It’s great to hear from you.”
“You’re too nice. All right, good night.”
“Good night, Elise.”
My hands are still shaking a little when I hang up. A smooth save, admittedly, but still a mortifying mistake to begin with. And poor Elise! Now she’s going to bed thinking she’s the asshole.
“Ugh,” I mutter aloud. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
I hop out of bed and head to the kitchen.
I almost scream when I swing open the door.
There is Caleb, hands on hips, a superhero cape knotted around his neck. But for the cape, he is completely naked.
“Buddy!” I squeak, then slap my hand over my mouth. “What are you doing out here?”
“What are you doing?”
“I was getting a glass of water. You need to go back to bed.”
“I want water, too.”
“Okay, I’ll bring you some water.”
“And also there’s a man in my closet. He spilled on my bed.”
“I don’t think that’s the case, but I’ll come make sure, okay? Where are your pajamas?”
Caleb’s face scrunches up. “I don’t know,” he mutters, crossing his arms across his chest.
Suddenly I get the picture. “Bud, did you have an accident?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’m going to get your water and some new sheets, just in case.”
“Okay. Daddy?”
“Yeah, bud?”
“Don’t tell anyone, promise?”
“I promise. Just between us guys.”
Caleb nods. Even in the dark, I can see his eyes welling up with tears.
I crouch down and reach for him. After a second he opens his arms and wraps himself around me, his bare torso pressed on mine. He squeezes me so tight that I can feel his heart beating against mine.
“Wanna know a secret?” I whisper.
He pulls back a little. “Yeah,” he says.
“I wet my bed until I was twelve.”
“You did?” His eyes perk up, like this gives him hope.
“Yup. All the time. Lots of guys do.”
“Okay.” Caleb nods, considering this. Then: “Will you still check my closet?”
“I will. Listen, bud, it’s pretty late. Maybe you want to just sleep in my bed tonight instead?”
Caleb hesitates, like maybe this is a trick. “Are you sure I’m allowed?”
“Totally. In fact, I’m having trouble sleeping myself, so you’d be doing me a favor. I don’t really want to sleep alone tonight.”
“Okay,” he says. “Just for tonight.”
“Just for tonight,” I say, and drape my arm around his caped shoulders in the darkness.
The Survivalists
“What do you think?”
I’m wearing a purple polo shirt and cargo shorts, nearly identical to Caleb’s. I strike a pose and make my best Blue Steel modeling face.
Caleb squints his eyes. “I like the shirt,” he says.
“But?”
“The shorts have too many pockets.”
I look down, then back up at him. He’s sitting cross-legged on my bed, applying Dora Band-Aids to his fingers, like a football player taping up before a big game.
“Your shorts have that many pockets,” I point out.
“Yeah. But I’m a kid.”
I nod, turning back to the mirror. He’s right, I realize. I look like an overgrown frat boy in these shorts. “Fair enough.”
I dig around in my closet. After a minute’s hesitation I hold up chinos in one hand, my nicest pair of jeans in the other. “Okay, Michael Kors. Which one?”
“The jeans,” Caleb says without looking up from his Band-Aids.
“You sure?”
“Daddy.” Caleb stops what he’s doing and lets out a sigh. “It’s just a playdate.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You look nice. You should get sneakers like mine, though.” Caleb points to his pink Converses. “They look cool with everything.”
“Not sure they make those in my size, bud. At least, not in that color,” I say with a forced smile. I’m considering suggesting that he might want to change shoes before the playdate, when Caleb hits me with:
“Why do you care so much about your clothes, anyway? Just wear what you want to wear.”
“You’re right, buddy.”
“If someone doesn’t like you because of what you’re wearing, then they shouldn’t be your friend.” Caleb frowns and picks at the edge of his thumb. “That’s what Aunt Zadie says.”
“She’s absolutely right,” I say with a quick, embarrassed nod. “So, are you excited to see Lucas?”
“Yes.”
“He seems really nice. I’m happy you guys are friends.”
“I’m glad he’s coming over to play,” Caleb says with a thoughtful nod. Then: “You know what I think, Daddy?”
“What’s that, bud?” I sit down beside him on the bed.
“I think that sometimes it’s good to meet new people.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.”
• • •
“Look at you two!” Elise says when I open the door. “Twins!”
“Yeah, looks like Lucas got the memo.” I point to Lucas’s purple Spider-Man T-shirt. “We’re a purple-only house, unfortunately.”
She holds up her hands in surrender. “I can go home and change.”
“We’ll make a onetime exception.”
“Phew.” Elise wipes her brow. “We’re new in town, you know. Still learning the rules.”
“More than happy to show you around. Come on in. Make yourselves at home.”
“Thanks,” she says. She steps inside and smiles at me. I glance nervously away. Staring at a woman that beautiful feels wrong somehow, like looking directly into the sun.
“Great place,” she says.
“Oh, thanks,” I say, kicking myself for not straightening up more. With Zadie gone, the house feels like it’s Scotch-taped together. Elise steps over my loafers and into our living room. A pair of Caleb’s spaceship underpants hangs over the back of the couch like an accent blanket or throw pillow. How did I miss them?
“I’m making an emergency survival kit,” Caleb announces, “in case of an earthquake or a hurricane. It has PowerBars and a flashlight and soap and toilet paper and Band-Aids and a poncho. I wanted
to get a solar blanket, but Daddy said no.”
Lucas offers him a polite, mildly confused smile.
“Caleb,” I say gently, “why don’t you show it to Lucas? It’s pretty cool.” I turn to Elise. “We actually set up a camping tent in his room this morning. Caleb wanted to make sure we knew how to use it, just in case. We Goldwyns like to be prepared for anything.”
“That’s very cool,” Elise says, and actually looks impressed. “Doesn’t that sound cool, Lucas?”
“Can I go see, Mama?”
“Of course, sweetheart.” She smiles as the boys trot off down the hall.
“He’s very attached to me lately,” she says, her voice quiet. “Sometimes it’s like he’s afraid to leave my side.”
“Totally understandable. A move is a big change.”
“A move, a divorce. I feel terrible. I know it’s so much for him to take in all at once. But we just couldn’t stay in D.C. Things were just too complicated with my ex.” She shoots me a guilty look. “I’m sorry. That is way too much information.”
“Please. You’re talking to the king of the overshare.” I pause for a second, wondering if she’s seen the video. “You should have seen the speech I gave at my firm’s office party a few weeks ago,” I add with a nonchalant chuckle.
She bursts out laughing. From the look in her eye, I can tell she’s seen it. Dammit, I think. My heart sinks, but there’s something about the way she’s smiling at me that makes it feel okay.
“I loved that speech.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.” She nods emphatically. “You said everything that every working parent is thinking, basically all the time. It really resonated. And not just with me. The crowd went wild.”
“I think they were just trying to cut me off.”
“No, they were cheering because you were honest.” She steps closer; my heart thumps a little harder. “Working at a big law firm is tough. I only lasted three years myself. I left on maternity leave and never went back. I actually enjoyed the work, but it was the hours I couldn’t take. The idea of being away from Lucas all week was just too much for me to bear.” She lets out a sigh. “Of course, here I am now with a five-year gap on my résumé, trying to find a job. And it’s tough out there.”
“I hear that.”
“So, did you quit Hardwick completely? Or are you just taking some time off?”
“Neither. They fired me.”
Her eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Because of the speech?”
I nod.
“Wow. I can’t believe they would do that to you. What jerks.”
“Well, some of them are, anyway,” I say, thinking about Todd. I make a mental note to check in with Alison as soon as this playdate is over. “Fred Kellerman—he was my mentor at the firm—he’s doing his best to convince the other partners to un-fire me. And I’m building a case against the guy who posted the video in the first place. He was just trying to steal my spot for partnership.”
Elise raises her eyebrows. “So you’d want to go back to Hardwick, then? Even after the way they’ve treated you?”
“Well, yeah, of course. I mean, I need to work. And I put in ten years at that firm. Ten hard years.”
She nods, but says nothing.
“Anyway, Fred’s terrific,” I add quickly. “I really only work with him. And hopefully Todd, the asshole who posted the video, will get fired. So, you know . . . It could be worse.”
Elise presses her lips together and nods. I can tell she has something else to say, but she holds back. After a second she tosses me a playful wink. “I bet you have loads of fans now, huh?”
“Fans?”
“Yeah, fans. Because of the video! Tom said the women in his book club were chattering on about how good-looking you are.”
“He didn’t tell me that,” I say, my cheeks flushing.
“Well, you should look at the YouTube comments. There’s a lot of female feedback on there.”
“It’s actually hard to imagine anything I’d like to do less than read the comment section on that video.”
Elise chuckles. “I’m just saying. There’s probably a line of women forming at your doorstep as we speak.”
“Yes, because as we all know, women in this city really dig unemployed men.”
“Mama!” Lucas calls out from Caleb’s bedroom. “Come see Caleb’s tent! It’s the coolest!”
Elise nods her head towards the hallway. “I can’t miss this! Let’s go.”
“Let’s.”
When she rounds the corner into Caleb’s room, Elise’s face lights up. Caleb has rolled himself up in a sleeping bag. Lucas is wearing Caleb’s emergency survival kit (Zadie’s backpack) and a pair of old hiking boots that I didn’t know I still had.
“You two are having fun.” Elise crouches low and peers into the tent. “Wow, Caleb, this is impressive.”
“Daddy did it for me this morning. It’s Buck’s tent, but Daddy knows how to set it up really good.”
“We did it together.”
“Not really,” Caleb says, and gives me his goofiest grin. “Mostly I just watched.”
“If there’s one thing law school taught me how to do, it’s follow pages and pages of directions.”
Elise grins. “Don’t joke. That’s an essential parenting skill. These kids come with so much gear! I’m useless with a screwdriver.”
“I am good at gear. Gear is one thing I can do.”
“Good at gear, super-organized. You guys are even in matching outfits! You make this single-parent thing look easy.”
I start to protest, but stop myself. “Thanks,” I say instead. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“He just needs shoes like mine,” Caleb pipes up. “His are lame.”
Elise laughs. “Caleb, yours are definitely cooler,” she says. “I like the pop of color.”
“Duly noted,” I say with a sigh.
“Mama, can we get a tent?” Lucas asks. “Just like this one?”
“Sure we can.” Elise turns around and mouths Yikes to me. “Lucas goes camping with his dad sometimes. I’ve actually never been, and I don’t know the first thing about all the equipment. But I’m willing to learn.”
“We can show you,” I offer.
“Yeah, we can show you!” Caleb shouts. “We can go camping together.”
“Yeah!”
“And where should we go camping?”
“Central Park!”
“Museum of Natural History!”
“Grand Central Station!”
“Space!”
The two of them dissolve into a fit of giggles.
“Space, huh.” Elise chuckles. “You guys are getting pretty silly in here.”
From inside, Lucas zips up the tent door, blocking our view. “We’re camping!” comes his muffled voice. “No parents, please!”
Elise stands up and presses her hand to her lips, suppressing a chuckle.
“Charlie,” she says to me, “have you seen the boys?”
“No, I haven’t. Should we go look for them in the kitchen?”
The tent shakes with laughter.
“Yes, maybe they’re in the kitchen. Let’s look there.”
We slip out of Caleb’s bedroom and into the kitchen.
“I haven’t seen Lucas this happy in a while,” Elise says when we’re out of earshot. “This is the best. You guys are so nice to have us over. It’s so civilized over here. Living in boxes . . . well, it’s been tough on both of us. It just doesn’t feel like home yet, you know?”
I open my mouth to tell her that she needn’t thank me, that this is the first playdate that Caleb’s had in at least a year, that it’s me who should be grateful to her for making today happen. I want to tell her that I haven’t seen my son this happy in far too long, and that, while we’re on the topic of happiness, I’m feeling strangely good myself ever since she came around. I open my mouth to say all those things, but she�
�s staring at me with those crystalline eyes and her lips are parted just so, and as she runs a slender finger along the length of her clavicle bone I forget myself entirely.
“No prob,” I say instead, and fix my gaze on my feet. “You want a drink or something? Water? Glass of wine?”
She smiles. “It’s two in the afternoon.”
“Right. So water, then?”
“Water would be great.”
“Well, maybe a glass of wine another time.” Before she can turn me down, I add, “So you want me to tell you everything you need to know about camping?”
“Yes, please. I can use all the help I can get.”
“I know that feeling well.”
“I don’t know,” she says, and cocks her head to one side. “You seem like you’re doing just fine on your own. I mean, a tent in the bedroom? Lucas is in heaven.”
“What can I say, we’re outdoorsmen. Just living off the land, really.”
“Survivalists?” Elise says with a laugh.
I smile. I couldn’t think of a better term for us if I tried.
Hamptons Wedding
Mira and I had a Hamptons wedding. It was, believe it or not, her idea. I was surprised when she suggested it: Mira rarely did anything in a traditional way, and she was the furthest thing from stuffy. When I decided to propose to her, I assumed—well, feared is probably more accurate—that she would either want to do something wild and free-spirited and totally out of my comfort zone—get married on a beach in Bali, maybe, or on a mountaintop in Nepal—or that she wouldn’t want to do anything at all, and we’d end up at City Hall on a Tuesday afternoon. A part of me worried that Mira would eschew the idea of marriage entirely. Her parents’ marriage had been a disaster. They divorced when Mira was five. Her mother retreated to a commune in upstate New York where she raised chickens and grew wheatgrass; her father remarried three times, each time to a woman who was younger than her predecessor. By the time I met Jack, he had more or less settled down with a former Knicks City Dancer whose main interests appeared to be shopping, sunbathing, and plastic surgery. Her name was Francine, but Mira only ever referred to her as “Stitches.”
Unlike most of the women I’d dated in my twenties, Mira never mentioned marriage. She never dropped hints about weddings or honeymoons or babies. She didn’t comment on other women’s engagement rings, nor did she dreamily recount stories of extravagant proposals in Paris. Most refreshingly, she refrained from asking probing questions about “our future together” or “where I saw things going.” If anything, I could barely pin her down for a dinner reservation. It wasn’t so much a commitment problem as it was a planning issue. Mira hated plans. Instead of a reservation at La Grenouille, Mira preferred to stumble into some random dim sum shop in Chinatown and take our chances. While I was an early user of Fandango, Mira thought it was fun to just show up at a movie theater on a Sunday afternoon and just see whatever happened to be playing next. Once, she called me at work and told me to meet her on the corner of Fifty-Seventh and Fifth at six p.m. sharp. I thought we were going to dinner. Instead, she showed up in a borrowed Volkswagen and we drove to Vermont. We spent the weekend in the first B and B we could find that had availability—no easy task given that there was some kind of maple syrup festival happening at the time. Mira would be the first to admit that the weekend was an utter disaster. The B and B was less of a hotel and more of a shrine to the owners’ cats, who roamed the property with impunity. Framed portraits of them lined the stairwell, and everything from the linens to the toilet seat covers (yes, there were toilet seat covers) were feline-themed in some way. It rained so hard that we were forced to spend most of the weekend there, me muttering about my allergies and Mira gleefully snapping photos of our cat-shaped Jacuzzi and posting them on Facebook. It was a disaster, but it was a fun disaster. Mira made it fun. Mira could make anything fun. If there was one thing you could say about her, it was that she truly knew how to live in the moment.
This Was Not the Plan Page 14
