This Was Not the Plan

by Cristina Alger

  I snort a little, recognizing the truth in his words. Still, I don’t want to give my father the satisfaction of sharing this little moment with me. So I turn my chuckle into a cough and frown at him, reminding him that I’m not quite ready for jokes.

  “She didn’t want you guys to be spoiled,” he continues. “She thought I’d screw you up. And, to be frank, she was probably right. At the time we met, I had just been made partner at my firm. My hard work was finally paying off; the money started to roll in. And I let it go to my head. I started buying nice clothes, a sports car . . . silly things, really, but they made me feel good about myself.

  “Your mother, she was salt of the earth. I loved that about her. She was the opposite of me—just a no-bullshit, tell-it-like-it-is kind of gal. I tried to impress her with my big Park Avenue apartment and my fancy friends, and it all backfired. She didn’t want any part of it. She said she’d rather die than raise her kids with silver spoons in their mouths. It was this constant push and pull between us. The more I tried to shoehorn her into this life I was creating for myself, the more she pulled back. I had a big chip on my shoulder, you see. I was angry a lot. I tried to bully her into seeing things my way. But the whole time I think deep down I knew she was right. Does that make any sense?”

  I nod dumbly.

  It does. It makes perfect sense.

  I know this story.

  It is, I realize with bone-chilling clarity, the story of Mira and me, just with a different ending.

  Guilt rises up in my throat like bile. I pushed Mira, too. I pushed her to get on that plane, and now she’s gone, and I can’t ever get her back.

  “Maybe I should have tried harder. Worked to see you kids more. Maybe even fought her in court. But I loved her. I knew if I got too aggressive, I’d lose her altogether. At least, when I let her do things her way, she was willing to stay in my life. That’s why she worked for me for all those years. She’d show me pictures, tell me stories about you guys. I lived for that. It was her way, I think, of throwing me a line. Anyway, I didn’t think I’d be much of a father. I know that’s probably something you can’t relate to, seeing how good you are with Caleb. But in those early days, when you and Zadie were just babies, to be honest, I didn’t really know what to do with you.”

  My phone buzzes. I slide it out of my pocket and take a sharp breath when I see who is calling.

  “Who is it?” Dad asks.

  “Fred Kellerman.”

  “You should take his call.”

  “I know,” I say, but I don’t.

  “Do me a favor, Charlie. Forget what I said about Fred. What do I know? I’m just an old guy in a wheelchair. Listen to your gut. You gotta do what’s right for you.”

  I answer the phone. “Hey, Fred,” I say, my heart racing.

  “Hey, Charlie. Is now a good time to talk?”

  I hesitate. It’s hard to hear him from inside the store. His voice sounds far away, drowned out by the sound of Ernie singing “Rubber Duckie” over the store’s loudspeakers and the screams of jubilant children playing with a dozen different musical devices all at the same time.

  A month ago I would’ve said, “Of course,” and walked out of the store.

  Instead, I say: “I’m in a store with my father and son. Can I call you back this evening?”

  “Sure, sure,” he replies, sounding mildly surprised.

  “Okay, thanks.” I hang up. To my father, I say: “So how about you show us that bookstore you mentioned?”

  He smiles, delighted. “I’d love to.”

  “Daddy!” Caleb comes careening around the corner, his arms laden with toys. On his head, perched slightly off-center, is a glittering tiara. “Look what Ives bought me!”

  “Wow, buddy,” I say. “That’s a lot of stuff!”

  “I know!”

  “You shouldn’t have,” I say to Ives.

  He shrugs and looks at my father as if to say, I don’t make the rules.

  “Really, it’s too much.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dad says, sounding genuinely apologetic. “If Ives went a little overboard this time, it won’t happen again.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I say, nodding at Caleb. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you!” Caleb sings. “Thank you, Grandpa and Ives!”

  “It was our pleasure,” Dad says. “Now, let’s go put this stuff in the car. Caleb, you’re going to need both hands to push me around town. There’s a lot to see.”

  “There’s more?” Caleb looks up at me incredulously.

  “There’s more,” I reply, and drop my arm around him.

  “How much time do we have, Daddy?”

  “All the time in the world, bud. All the time in the world.”

  Just Like You

  We return home several hours later, flush with presents and sugar. Caleb, still wearing his tiara, streaks into the house, whooping with joy. The sun has brought out a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks, just like the ones Mira used to get every summer. I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. I also got some color. My hair’s too long and I’m in need of a shave, but the tan has improved my appearance dramatically. The bags I’m used to seeing beneath my eyes have receded, and I don’t look so damn old and stressed. I look better than I have in a long time.

  My phone rings again. I hesitate, hoping it’s not Fred or Alison. I don’t want to talk about work, and I definitely don’t want to talk about Todd. Alison’s already texted me since seeing me in town; I deleted the text as quickly as I read it. My anger towards Todd now feels embarrassing and childish; trying to get him fired from Hardwick is clearly an epic waste of my time. Anyway, I’ve decided that slaving away at Hardwick for the next four decades is probably punishment enough for anyone.

  When I see that it’s Moose, I pick it up right away. I owe Moose more than a call: I owe him an apology. He’s called me so many times over the last few weeks that I’ve lost track.

  “Hey, man.” I say, half expecting him to chew me out.

  “Chuck!” he shouts, sounding joyful instead of angry. “Holy shit! You’re alive!”

  I laugh, letting out a sigh of relief. “I’m alive.”

  “Alive and answering your phone! This is good! This is great! This is progress!”

  “I’m sorry, dude. I know I’ve been MIA. I’ve just—”

  “You don’t need to explain, Chuck. Unless of course, you’ve been in witness protection, and then I obviously want to hear every detail.”

  “I’m not sure they do witness protection for idiots. But it’s a good suggestion. I’ll look into it.”

  “Happy to help.”

  “You’ve always got my back, Moose.”

  “You are correct, sir. I do always have your back. Which is actually why I am calling you today. I mean, I’ve been calling you every day, I realize. I wouldn’t call it stalking, necessarily, but definitely harassing. In a loving way. I like to think of it as a fun little game we play with one another. I try to come up with things that are so hilarious or touching or heartwarming that you can’t help but respond. You ignore me, and then I try the next day. Sweet, right? What can I say? It’s just part of my charm.”

  “With moves like that, you must have ladies just lined up at your door.”

  “Yeah, I do. With restraining orders. Which is weird, right? Is it too much? Am I coming on too strong?”

  I wipe a tear from my eye. “Holy shit, man, you make me laugh.”

  “This is not funny, Chuck. This is serious. We’re talking about my love life and your career. Which brings me back to the original point of this phone call. I have incredible fucking news.”

  “Hit me.”

  “So check this out: Fred Kellerman is leaving Hardwick. To start his own firm.” Moose pauses for dramatic effect.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “You know about this already? Damn. News travels fast, I guess. Anyway. Chuck! Get excited! This is a huge development. You need to call him up. He’d hire you in a s
econd.”

  “He actually already did. He called me yesterday.”

  “Yesterday! Well, shit. Way to bury the lede, Chuck!”

  “Thanks, man,” I say with a laugh. As always, Moose’s enthusiasm is completely infectious.

  “So, do you feel good about the job?”

  “Yeah,” I say, trying to ignore the gnawing sensation that’s been growing in my gut since the chat with my dad at the toy store. “We still have to work out some of the details. But yeah, I’m pumped. Of course.”

  “That’s terrific. Man, I’m so happy for you. I’m glad it’s all working out.”

  “Yeah, looks like it’s going to.”

  “Do you get to take some time off before you start? You definitely deserve a vacation.”

  “I think so. A few days at least. I’m actually out in East Hampton with Caleb and Zadie. We’re staying at our father’s house, believe it or not.”

  “Yeah, I heard. How’s that going?”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “You heard? From who?”

  “From Zadie,” Moose says, sounding sheepish. “I was worried about you, man. So I reached out to her, just to make sure you were okay. You’ve got one cool sister.”

  “That I do.”

  “She invited me to the wedding. I can’t believe it’s next weekend.”

  I laugh. “She did?”

  “Yeah. She said it was no big thing, more like a party than a wedding. She said they were too lazy to do proper invites.”

  I roll my eyes. “They’re too lazy to do a lot of things.”

  “Should I come?”

  “You should absolutely come. It would be great to see you. And it means a lot to me that you’ve been reaching out, Moose. Really.”

  “You’d do the same for me.”

  “Yeah.” I bite hard on my lip to keep myself from tearing up. “I would.”

  “Okay,” he says abruptly, “I gotta jam. Hafta pick out my outfit for the big Hamptons wedding next weekend. Never know what kind of honeys are going to turn up, am I right?”

  “You’re hilarious.”

  “You should go work on your speech, dude. It better be epic.”

  “My what?”

  “Your speech! You’re best man, right?”

  “I . . .” I pause for a second. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “Well, then, you’re going to have to give a speech.”

  “Oh, shit,” I say, wincing. “You think?”

  “For sure! Don’t sweat it, though. You’re going to bring down the house.”

  Good God, I think as I hang up the phone. The last time I did that, I got fired.

  • • •

  I’m nervously pondering the possibility of a toast, when a text from Elise pops up. As I read it, my heart sinks:

  bad news on tonight. sitter just canceled on me.

  Before I can respond, she pings me again:

  AND the A/C in our house is broken. FML.

  Bring Lucas! I respond, trying to sound casual. Will be fun!

  I would love to, but he goes to bed super early. Like 7 pm early. I’d have to walk out in the middle of dinner to go put him down!

  I dash off another text before I have time to overthink it:

  Do you guys want to stay over? We’ve got A/C and plenty of rooms. That way you can have a glass of wine at dinner and not worry about driving home.

  When she doesn’t instantly respond, I add:

  PS: I hope you know I mean this in the most platonic way possible.

  PPS: I saw your apology lobster in the kitchen. It is HUGE.

  Seven minutes pass. I’m starting to panic, when:

  You sure? I really don’t want to impose, but . . . I’m not going to lie, A/C and wine make for a pretty tempting offer.

  I smile, even give myself a little fist pump.

  No imposition whatsoever. Just bring change of clothes, etc—we have everything you need here. Looking forward.

  Likewise! Thank you SO much—you’re a lifesaver! xE.

  I sigh with relief. Crisis averted. Now I just have to clear this with my family in a way that makes it seem like no big thing, which, of course, it is.

  “Elise and Lucas are coming to dinner, but their A/C is broken so I said they could just stay over,” I blurt out when I bump into Zadie in the hallway.

  She stares at me quizzically. “Okay. Who are Elise and Lucas?”

  “Elise is an old friend from law school. Lucas is her son. He’s buddies with Caleb. Anyway, we ran into them in town, and Dad invited them to dinner.”

  Zadie shrugs. “Cool,” she says, and starts down the hall again.

  “Do you think Dad will be mad?” I ask, trotting after her. “I probably should have asked him if that was okay first, right?”

  “Do I think Dad will be mad? How old are you right now, twelve?”

  I laugh, letting out an embarrassing snort. “Yeah, stupid question, I guess. I just figured, we have so many bedrooms here, what difference does it make? And Lucas—you know, he goes to bed early, so this way Elise can not worry about having to leave in the middle of dinner to take him home.”

  “Charlie, are you drunk?” she says. She leans into me, frowning. “You’re being weird.”

  “No.” I pull my face away from hers. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Oh my God!” She snaps her fingers and beams up at me with an irritating grin. “I know what’s going on.”

  “What? Nothing’s going on.”

  “Charlie!” Zadie punches my shoulder. “You like her!”

  “What? What are you talking about? I like who?”

  “Charlie, look at you! You’re turning purple as we speak! Oh my God, I’m so right!” Zadie claps her hands with glee.

  “Shut up,” I mutter. “You are not.”

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” Zadie’s squealing now like a sixth-grade girl at a sleepover. “Charlie and Elise, sitting in a tree—”

  “Seriously, Zadie, shut the fuck up.” I push her into one of the guest rooms and shut the door behind us. When I turn around, Zadie is cowering, eyes wide, and I feel instantly guilty.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, chastened. “I was just joking around—”

  “No, I’m sorry,” I say, draping my arm over her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just didn’t want Caleb to hear you.”

  “Caleb’s helping Buck with the lobsters,” Zadie says quietly. I can tell she feels bad, which makes me feel even worse. “I promise, I’d never say something like that in front of him.”

  “No, I know. I just—I’m not there yet, Z. I’m not.”

  “Hey,” she says, and gives me a squeeze. “It’s totally okay.”

  “Is it? Sometimes I feel like there’s something wrong with me. Rationally, I know I should move on. It’s been almost two and a half years. But it’s like I don’t even see women. That doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

  “Charlie, you lost your wife. There’s nothing about this situation that makes sense.”

  “But don’t you think most people would say it was time for me to move on?”

  “Who gives a fuck what other people would say?” Zadie says fiercely. “There’s no manual to being a widower. You have to do everything in your own time, in your own way.”

  “Yeah, I know. I just—I worry sometimes that I’m doing it wrong.”

  “Doing what wrong?”

  “Everything.”

  Zadie sighs. “Honestly, Charlie, that’s been your problem since you were, like, four years old.”

  “Thanks a lot. You always know just what to say.”

  “I’m serious, you big dork. You were always so obsessed with doing everything right. Straight As in school. Captain of the tennis team. Order of the Coif in law school.”

  I smile. “It’s pronounced koi-ef.”

  “What?”

  “Coif. It’s pronounced koi-ef, not kwa-off.”

  Zadie scowls. “See? You are such a perfectionist, it’s disgust
ing. That’s why that job thing fucked you up so much! You’ve never failed at anything, Charlie. It’s not healthy to go thirty-five years without failing. You know, sometimes Mom used to say, ‘I just wish he’d fail at something once in a while.’ But you never did.”

  I roll my eyes. “So glad you and Mom were in my corner.”

  “She was in your corner. She wanted you to fail so that you’d see that life goes on.”

  “Jury’s still out on that.”

  Zadie shoots me a look. “It will. It always does. Take it from me. I have a PhD in failure.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t say that.”

  “What? It’s true. I’ve failed so many times, I’ve stopped counting. Most schizophrenics have résumés that make more sense than mine. I’m certified in both Reiki therapy and pastry baking, for fuck’s sake. But you know what? I’m okay with that. My path is a winding one and I’m going to enjoy the ride. Life’s a journey, Charlie, not a destination. If you never fail, it means you’re not taking enough chances.”

  “You sound like Mira. Or a bumper sticker.”

  Zadie purses her lips and nods. “Yeah, Mira was cool like that. She really knew how to live in the moment.”

  “Well, she was a yoga instructor, after all.”

  “She was so fucking good for you, Charlie.”

  “I know.”

  “She hated that job of yours.”

  “I know.”

  “She would have wanted you to just loosen up. Embrace this time with Caleb.” Zadie pauses, crossing her arms nervously against her chest. “Look, I know you’re going to freak out at what I’m about to say, but I’m your sister and I love you and, really, what are siblings for if not for the occasional piece of unsolicited feedback? So I’m just going to say this one thing and then you can tell me to shut the fuck up and we can all move on. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.

  “I know Fred’s been like a father to you and everything, but I’m worried that you’re rushing into this job without even thinking about it. You haven’t taken any time off since Mira died. Hell, you haven’t taken time off ever. I don’t want to get all metaphorical on you and say that you got fired for a reason, but maybe you did, in fact, get fired for a reason. Maybe this is the universe’s way of letting you take a step back. So that you can reassess and figure out how you actually want to live your life. Don’t look at me like that, Charlie. Say something.”