This Was Not the Plan

by Cristina Alger

  “I was going to call you later,” I say, realizing I never responded to her last text the previous morning. “Glad you guys made it out okay.”

  Elise rolls her eyes in the direction of Lucas. “It was, shall we say, a challenging drive,” she says dryly. “The iPad died just as we hit Exit 60.”

  “Ouch. Been there.”

  “Ouch is right.” She turns to my father and Ives and extends a hand. “Hi, I’m Elise Gould. Forgive me for looking this way. My son and I had quite the epic drive out here.”

  My father laughs, just a little too hard and with an aggressive snort towards the end, and I have a sudden flash of what he must have been like in his younger, single years. Not nearly the smooth operator I imagined him to be.

  “The gas station was a war zone. We had to wait for twenty minutes, and then, just as I was pulling up to the pump, a guy in a Land Rover swoops in and cuts us off. And then he has the nerve to just stand there, pretending I don’t exist, taking his sweet time at the pump while he munches on Cheetos. I couldn’t believe that.”

  “I can’t believe that!” Dad exclaims loudly. “Charlie, can you believe that?”

  What I can’t believe is how awkward you’re being around Elise, I want to say.

  “Incredible,” I mutter instead, feeling my neck flush with embarrassment. Elise shoots me a conspiratorial wink, one that says, Don’t worry about it. I get this all the time.

  “So, where are you all staying?” Dad asks. “We’re right over there”—he gestures towards the beach with a clawlike hand—“on Further Lane.”

  “Dad,” I murmur. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any more awkward, now he sounds like he’s bragging.

  “Charlie mentioned that,” Elise says kindly.

  “Big white house right next to the Maidstone Club.”

  “That sounds so lovely. We’ve got a little place in the woods. North of the highway. Nothing fancy. We bought it so that Lucas could spend time with his grandparents during the summer.”

  “Who are Lucas’s grandparents? I probably know them. Been in East Hampton for twenty-five years.”

  Elise looks down at the sidewalk. “Uh, the MacAndrewses,” she says quietly.

  “Nathan and Amelia? Well, of course, everyone knows them,” Dad says, obviously impressed. “I mean, they’re in the paper all the time now, what with—what’s his name? the son? J. P., is it?—running for Congress. Wow, Charlie. You didn’t tell me you had such fancy friends.”

  “Which is odd, because we talk so often about my personal life,” I reply. To Elise I mouth: I’m sorry.

  She shakes her head, waving me off.

  “Yes,” she says with a forced smile. “J. P. is Lucas’s father.”

  “Now, isn’t that a small world!”

  “Charlie and I were classmates at NYU Law School.” Elise smiles, tactfully transitioning the conversation away from her ex-husband.

  “You don’t say? You know, that was my alma mater, too.”

  “I didn’t know that. How lovely that you and Charlie went to the same school.”

  “Only for law school,” I interject. “Dad went to Harvard undergrad. I went to SUNY Albany.”

  “It’s great to meet a young woman who is not only beautiful but is also so academically minded,” Dad says, ignoring me. He grins at Elise. “You sure don’t see that every day.”

  “Jesus, Dad. It’s not 1936. Women do attend law school with some regularity these days, you know.”

  “Oh, you’ve made my day.” Elise laughs lightly. “Just being called young these days is enough, but beautiful! Well.”

  “Beautiful, brilliant, and absolutely charming. The trifecta.” Dad raises his palms innocently. “And, of course, spoken for. No big surprise there. All the good ones are taken. J. P. MacAndrews is a lucky man.”

  “Dad. Elise is in the middle of a—” My eyes fall to the boys. “Never mind.”

  Elise nods. “A D-I-V-O-R-C-E,” she explains.

  Dad smacks his cheek indelicately. “Well, shit,” he says, eyes wide. “Don’t I feel like the asshole.”

  “Yeah, you’ve got a real way around the ladies. And children. Could you watch the language a little bit, please?”

  “No need to apologize,” Elise says, shaking her head.

  “He didn’t actually apologize,” I point out. “Though obviously he ought to.”

  “I’m no good at apologies,” Dad announces. “How about I invite you over for dinner instead? How’s tonight? You got plans? We’re supposed to be having a clambake at the house. Charlie here’s got a new job, and his sister, Zadie, is about to be married. I just got engaged myself. So we have a lot to celebrate. Ives is going to drive to Montauk to pick us up some fresh lobsters.” Dad nods at Ives, and Ives nods back in confirmation, though I imagine this is news to him. “Nothing says ‘I’m sorry’ like a good lobster. Right, Charlie?”

  “My father, master of the apology.”

  “Charlie, you didn’t tell me about the job! That’s great news!” Elise says.

  “It just happened,” I mumble. “It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a huge deal. I’m so happy for—”

  “So how about it, then?” Dad interrupts. “Lobster and champagne?”

  “Lobster and champagne sounds terrific. But please, you must allow me to bring something. Perhaps dessert?”

  Dad shakes his head. “Absolutely not. This is supposed to be an apology lobster. If you bring pie, it cancels out the whole thing. Around six sound good to you?”

  “Six it is.”

  “Daddy, look!” Caleb shrieks with joy. “The ice cream store is opening!”

  Indeed, a woman in an apron is standing on the front steps of South End Creamery, rolling out its red-and-white-striped awning.

  “Ice cream, Mama,” Lucas says, tugging on Elise’s hand. “Please?”

  Elise ruffles his hair. “Not right now, sweetheart. No sugar before lunch, okay? But how about we go get some veggie burgers for the grill?”

  “Okay,” Lucas says quietly, nodding in resignation.

  “I’m going to have rocky road and chocolate chip!” Caleb screams, already halfway inside the store. “Okay, Daddy?”

  I look to Elise, wondering if she’ll think less of me as a parent if I let my kid eat ice cream before noon. For a brief moment our eyes meet. Elise winks at me. I feel the hairs on my arms stand at attention.

  “Live a little,” she says. “Rocky road for lunch never hurt anyone.”

  “I knew I liked you,” Dad says.

  “All right,” I say, nodding affirmatively to Caleb. “Go ahead. I’ll be inside in a minute.”

  “Yeah!” Caleb cheers, and like a flash, he’s gone.

  “I guess I’ll see you tonight, then,” I say to Elise. I shove my hands deep into my pockets, the way I used to in grade school when I was talking to a girl I happened to like.

  She steps closer to me, her hand finding its way to my elbow. I feel a shiver of excitement when she leans in, allowing me a whiff of her perfume.

  “Charlie!” We both turn.

  There, sitting in the driver’s seat of a Mercedes convertible, is Alison. Like a panther, she’s managed to approach us without a sound.

  “Babe!” she cries, and waves frantically. She’s wearing only a bikini top, Daisy Dukes, and sunglasses pushed up on her head.

  Dad lets out a low whistle under his breath. I shoot him a look. Elise’s hand, I notice, has fallen away from my arm. When I look up at her, she gives me a small, unreadable smile.

  “Hey, Alison,” I call out with a short wave. Never in my life have I been less pleased to see someone. It occurs to me that I haven’t really thought about Alison—or, more to the point, about my plan to destroy Todd’s life—since I got out to the Hamptons. Maybe it’s because I have a new job. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been too distracted by Caleb to care. Either way, seeking revenge on Todd no longer feels all that important.

  “Babe, you have to call
me!” Alison shouts across Main Street. “I have great news! I spoke to Marissa! She wants to talk to you. She’s so over Todd.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I say, willing her to move on, to drive out of my life forever. “I’ll call you.”

  “Totally.” She blows me a kiss. The light has changed. The car behind her honks. “Gotta run! Love you!”

  “Bye,” I say lamely, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

  “Wanna invite her over tonight, too?” Dad says as Alison pulls away.

  “Absolutely not.” To Elise, I say, “Long story.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “So we’ll see you tonight, then?” I lean in to hug her, but she turns away from me.

  “I guess you will,” she says, and leans down to give my father a kiss on the cheek.

  The Shark

  “You’re welcome,” Dad says, grinning at me like the cat that ate the canary.

  “I told you I would have paid,” I grumble into my mint chip cone. I didn’t want ice cream myself, but Dad insisted. The first few licks weren’t bad, but it’s already beginning to melt in the July heat, dripping onto my fingers like sludge.

  “Not for the ice cream, nimrod. For the girl!” Dad waves his empty cup at Ives, who quickly steps in, snatches it, and tosses it in the nearest trash can. “I told you there’d be babes in town. You going to finish that?”

  I hand him my cone. “Elise? Yeah, about that. Are you always that awkward around women?”

  Dad furrows his brow, considering. “Only the really pretty ones,” he says. “Look, Caleb. Here’s the toy store!”

  Caleb, now jacked up on sugar, propels himself into the store like the Road Runner. I wince as he narrowly misses colliding with a stroller.

  “Great kid,” Dad says. “Really, he’s got such spirit.”

  “That he does,” I say, sighing.

  “He’s been through a lot.”

  “He has.”

  “You both have.”

  I shrug, blinking back tears.

  “I wish I could have been there for you guys.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, my voice short. Of course, we both know it’s not.

  “Daddy, come look at this!” Caleb calls from the bowels of the toy store. “It’s a princess jewel box!”

  “Ives, could you go find him?” Dad says. “Buy him whatever he wants. I just want a few minutes with Charlie here. Charlie, that’s okay, right?”

  I bite my lip, then nod in assent.

  “I did call, you know,” Dad says once Ives is gone.

  “I know.”

  “I understand why you didn’t call back. I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “I begged Zadie to put in a good word for me. But she kept saying you weren’t ready. I respected her opinion. I didn’t want to force myself on you, especially during a difficult time.”

  “Well, I’m glad you two were able to reconnect,” I say, feeling terribly diplomatic. “It was really hard on her when Mom died.”

  Dad nods. “It was hard on us both,” he says, his voice wavering. The emotion in his voice throws me a little. I’ve been preparing myself for this conversation for years, the way I would for an oral argument in the courtroom. I’ve anticipated his arguments. I’ve studied the facts, memorized the statistics, and carefully crafted my rebuttal. The case against him, I know, is airtight. And yet, here I am, feeling a strange rush of compassion overcome me. I ache with it. I want, I realize now, nothing more than to have my father convince me that I’m wrong about him.

  For a minute we’re silent. All around us, the store is filled with the sounds of children and parents crying, laughing, whining, begging, negotiating with one another.

  “I was in love with her,” Dad says. He doesn’t look at me but instead stares straight ahead, into a shelf stuffed with bats and balls and Frisbees and kites. The words stick a little in his throat.

  “With who?” I say, staring at the Frisbees.

  “Your mother.”

  “Ah.”

  “I wanted to be with her, you know. Desperately.”

  “You were married, though. To someone else.”

  Dad bows his head. “I know,” he says glumly, staring at his hands. “It was complicated. Helene and I were heading for a divorce no matter what. She hated how much I worked; I resented her for spending all our hard-earned money. We were living apart most of the time. Anyway, the timing was poor, I agree with that. I should have just waited until Helene and I had officially separated. When I started things with your mom, see, I told her I was divorced. That was wrong. I lied to her. She could never get past that.”

  “And then she got pregnant. With Zadie and me.”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And I wanted to marry her!” Dad blurts out, frustrated. “You can ask Zadie: your mother told her that before she died. I asked her nearly every goddamn day. But she was stubborn, your mom. And fiercely independent. She said she could handle things on her own, and my God, did she ever. That was what I loved about her so much. She did everything in her own way.”

  “Why didn’t you help her? Send her money? Anything.” I narrow my eyes at him. I can’t let him off the hook with just a couple of easy words and an ice cream cone. “Do you have any idea how hard things were for us, growing up? Mom worked all the time. Her sister had to move in with us to help out. Raising twins on her own—you just have no idea what you put her through.”

  Dad looks up at me, mouth open. His eyes shine with hurt. Then he looks away and shakes his head. “Zadie didn’t tell you, did she,” he says quietly.

  “Tell me what?”

  “I did give you money. I tried, anyway. She wouldn’t touch it. She kept sending back the checks.”

  “I don’t believe you.” I fold my arms across my chest. I can feel my heart rattling in my rib cage. Don’t let him get away with it, a stern voice inside my head whispers. Don’t be stupid. He’s got nothing to support his case. It’s all just words. “I don’t believe that. Mom wasn’t that stubborn. Did you know that I got into Harvard?”

  “I know.”

  “And you know why I didn’t go? Because we didn’t have the money. I got a full ride to a state school. That’s how I made my college decision.”

  “And you graduated number one in your class.”

  “Fuck you,” I snarl, loud enough to draw stares from several parents. I lower my voice. “Is that how you sleep at night? By telling yourself that it all worked out okay in the end? That maybe it was good for me to have to scrimp and scrape and save all my life instead of having things handed to me on a silver platter?”

  “I don’t sleep at night. And I don’t tell myself anything of the sort.”

  “What did you spend that money on, anyway? A private plane? A tennis court? A vacation? I hope it was worth it.”

  “It’s sitting in a trust with Caleb’s name on it.”

  This stops me in my tracks. “What?” I say, flustered. I had so many more choice expletives that I wanted to throw at him first.

  “It’ll be his when he turns twenty-one. Before that, it can be used to fund his education. I was going to tell you about it”—he hesitates, as though choosing his words carefully—“when the time was right.”

  “I don’t need your money,” I say, though my voice has lost some of its venom. I feel like my head’s spinning. Everything I thought I knew about my family is unraveling like a giant ball of twine rolling down a hill. Is it possible that I’ve had this whole thing wrong all along? That it was Mom who walked away from Dad and not the other way around? Was it by design that she raised us as she did, and not necessity?

  “I know you don’t, Charlie. That’s why I put it in trust for Caleb. You’ve worked hard for what you have. I hope this doesn’t sound condescending, but I’m so proud of you.”

  “Even though I work for a dickhead like Fred Kellerman?”

  Dad sighs. “I shouldn’t have
said that. Look, he’s a first-rate lawyer. He’s just a shark, that’s all. That guy would eat his young.”

  “That’s an interesting characterization, coming from you.”

  “I’m not saying I was any better. I was a shark, too, in my day. You have to be to survive in that kind of environment.”

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t agree with that. You don’t need to be a bad person to be a good lawyer.”

  Dad shrugs. He disagrees, I can tell, but he’s not going to fight me on it. “So, when do you start the new job?” he says, trying to get the conversation back on track.

  “I don’t know. Soon. Fred’s taking all his clients with him, so there’s definitely work to be done.”

  “They let him take his clients? That’s generous of them. That certainly wasn’t the case when I went out on my own.”

  Maybe that’s because you were more of a dickhead than Fred, I think to myself.

  “Is he taking other Hardwick associates with him? Or just you?”

  “No, he agreed not to. I’m fair game, though, because they let me go.”

  Dad raises his eyebrows. “What convenient timing,” he says.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that Fred got lucky. His best guy gets fired just as he’s starting his own firm? He couldn’t have planned it better himself.”

  “Well, he didn’t. I got fired because I screwed up.”

  “Whatever you say, Charlie.”

  “He’s not a shark. And even if he is, I can take care of myself. I have always taken care of myself.” I’ve been waiting to say that to my father for my entire adult life. But somehow it comes out wrong, making me sound vulnerable and sad instead of confident and strong.

  “I know you can. I know you have.”

  Dad looks away, swiping at his eyes with his shirtsleeve. Then he gestures at me, and I realize he asking me to get him a tissue from the bag Ives has slung over the handle of the wheelchair. I take one for myself before handing it to him.

  “Thank you,” he says, and blows his nose. “Look, Charlie, you have every right to be angry at me. Hell, I’m angry at myself. It hurts me every day that you kids wanted for things—things I could have so easily provided. But your mother had some pretty strong opinions. As you probably know.”