Rugged

by Lila Monroe

  “Laurel!” Callie looks honestly happy to see me, which softens my total horror of the situation. I straighten up, and we hug. “Mind if we join you?” she asks, not waiting for a reply and quickly pulling up a chair, helping herself to the pitcher of mimosas. “I’m starving.” She takes a good hard chug from her glass. Her high volume enthusiasm, plus her sucking down champagne cocktails, is attracting some annoyed looks. Thomas appears bemused as Flint sits between the two of us.

  “Nice to meet you,” he tells Flint, holding out his hand, his silver Rolex flashing in the sun. “Thomas Beaumont.”

  “Flint McKay,” he says, that muscle in his jaw doing its unhappy-flex. Maybe he’s not a fan of white shirts. He’s certainly never had a problem with men like Thomas before.

  “What are you doing out here?” I ask Callie. “The show premiere’s not for a couple of weeks.”

  “Oh, I just wanted to visit. It’s still so cold and gray in Massachusetts right now,” she says, browsing through the menu. Her chestnut hair is ruffled, like she hasn’t put a comb through it. “Wanted to see my little brother again before he becomes a world famous star.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Flint says, sounding irritated. Probably an argument they’ve had before.

  “Where’s David?” I ask, stopping to look back for him. Callie’s husband is a nice guy, but kind of easy to get lost in a crowd.

  “Oh, David doesn’t care if I travel across the country.” Callie’s smile is half grimace, half frown. I’m not entirely sure it’s a smile, actually. “He doesn’t care if I take the kids. Just so long as he gets to work on time and can turn on Fallout 4 in the evening, he’s happy. So I figured, hey, why not let him cook for himself for a little while and go live it up in the sunshine?”

  At that moment, Callum and Lily start bawling in their stroller. I mean screaming, crying, pounding their little fists on the plastic tray, zero to sixty. A few of the customers make exasperated noises, and I kind of want to tell them to shut up and enjoy their organic kale lattes. Flint takes the children out one at a time, trying to soothe them, but it does not work. Their little faces go red; we are achieving DEFCON Toddler level four. One of the waiters comes over, wearing a sour expression.

  “May I remind you, cherished guests, that this is a place designed for relaxation,” he says. Flint starts to stand, and the guy quails.

  “She’s a mother of young children. She doesn’t get a lot of relaxing time either,” he snaps. Even while balancing two squalling babies, he’s intimidating.

  “It’s okay,” I say, grabbing Flint’s arm and pulling him back to the table. The waiter hustles off.

  “What kind of business lets the staff be rude to the customers for no damn reason?” he grunts.

  “Deplorable,” Thomas sighs. He’s still checking out Flint’s ass.

  Callie grunts, weary, and waves for Flint to hand her the kids.

  “Actually, put them back in the stroller. It’s probably diaper time,” Callie says, putting down her empty glass.

  “Uh, need any help in there?” I ask, watching with concern as she wheels the children around Flint’s chair. He’s not volunteering to help; in fact, he just keeps looking at Thomas. His focus is intense, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of the perfectly tanned stylist. Great, now is he going to fall in love with everyone who isn’t me?

  “I was born prepared,” Callie grumbles, and pushes the stroller back through the melee of Sunday brunch. A bunch of diners glare at her as she runs over their Gucci bags and knocks into a trellis covered with ivy. The sound of the kids’ crying dies away.

  “So,” Flint says, looking back and forth between Thomas and me again. “What have you two got going on here?”

  “Well, Laurel and I were having a wonderful time catching up,” Thomas says, winking at me. “But it got even better now that the gang’s all here.” He looks at Flint again, but Flint’s glowering at a cup of coffee.

  “Wonderful time, huh? Sounds…wonderful.” Man, someone brought their A level brooding game. I don’t know if there’s any way to make him truly happy without Charlotte here to perk him up. That thought makes my stomach lurch.

  “What about Callie?” I try to get the topic to someplace where Thomas and I don’t spend the whole meal making googly eyes at Flint while he hates on his French press. “She just showed up?”

  “Out of nowhere.” He sighs, runs his hand through his (perfect, shining) hair. “I’m getting ready to fly back there and kick David’s ass for him.”

  “He’s not doing anything terrible, right? Cheating, boozing?” Thomas asks, chin in hand. Flint snorts.

  “If he were doing that, I wouldn’t be sitting here considering going to get him. No, he’s a decent guy.” Flint sighs. “But he’s not there as much as Callie needs him to be. I think they’re both too burned out, what with the twins and Callie staying at home and the mortgage. I wish there were something I could do to help them.” He grunts and shoves the coffee away. Bad, bad cup, offending him so. “But I can’t think of anything.”

  Damn. Poor Callie. I hate seeing her like this, frazzled and despairing, boozing on an empty stomach on a Sunday while her children sit by and watch. I feel like I owe her something, dammit. Whatever problems and awkwardness Flint and I have had, this show and my career wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for her. I want to help her. But how?

  And then I become brilliant.

  “Hold on,” I say, feeling my brain light up, all sparkly and what not. “Maybe there’s something we can do. Thomas and me.” I grin at my very stylish friend. “Can you think of anything that screams romance?”

  “With the inspiration at this table, how could I not?” He puts on his best ‘straight guy’ impression, adopting an impossibly deep voice. He winks at me again, wiggling his eyebrows at Flint, who doesn’t seem to notice. He’s scowling even deeper now. “Oh! I have it!” Thomas cries, reaching over and grabbing my arm. “Call me insane and wonderful, but what about this: the Peninsula, the Mandarin Garden suite, with a bucket of iced champagne and room service?”

  “If you wanted to sweep me off my feet, you could have just said so,” I say, fake flirting and batting my eyelashes. We grab each other’s hands and laugh. Flint clears his throat. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, and is going all alpha male grumpy bear on the table. Even Thomas notices, fake-tugging at his collar in concern.

  “Don’t you think it’d be a good idea?” I ask him. Honestly, you’d think we just suggested hogtying Callie and David together and throwing them off a cliff.

  “The Peninsula is hard to get into?” he asks, looking at Thomas.

  “Well, of course,” Thomas says. “You can’t just waltz in there, especially not if you’re trying to book a stay in the Mandarin Garden. That baby has a sauna, a hot tub, a staff of full-time massage therapists, and the toothpaste is made out of gold dust.”

  “Then you probably can’t get them in,” Flint says, challenging.

  “Au contraire, mon frenemy,” Thomas says, noting the cool way Flint is looking at him with amusement. “I work for only the ritziest people in the ritziest part of town. Getting two burned-out parents into the hottest resort hotel for a long weekend?” He snaps his fingers with a flourish. “Done.”

  “What about the kids?” Flint mutters. “They going, too?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, rolling my eyes. “We can babysit them.”

  Flint looks over at me, curiosity and interest in his eyes. “We? So we take care of them together?”

  Oh God. We’d be practically alone all over again. Should have thought that through before you jumped right in there, mouth. Thanks for all your help.

  “Well, I know all the sights to see around here,” I tell him with a shrug. Keep it neutral, Laurel. Don’t freak out and start dribbling orange juice down your blouse. “We could have a day of it, then drop the kids back off with Callie and David afterward. I’m sure the hotel has nanny services.” />
  Thomas scoffs. “Do they ever. Those children will be speaking fluent Mandarin and understanding quantum mechanics by the time they leave. Along with getting toddler massages.”

  Flint grimaces. That sounds a little creepy to me too, so I think we’ll cancel the massages. But the rest sounds amazing.

  “Settled,” I tell Flint, and squeeze Thomas’s shoulder. “You’re the greatest.”

  “Only because you inspire me to be,” he says, his straight-guy flirting imitation hilarious. He kisses my hand, which sets me giggling.

  Flint says nothing, probably still pining for Charlotte. I see him pick up his phone and start typing in his lap and can only assume he’s checking in with his lady love. Barf.

  “What’d I miss?” Callie asks, wheeling the children back to the table. She sits down, looking even more tired than she did five minutes ago. “Don’t gossip without me.” She grabs Flint’s coffee and downs it in one gulp. I get up and push my chair back.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. Would you excuse me one second?” I leave them all and head into the restaurant to call David. I’m pretty sure I can get him out here tomorrow on the production’s dime, first class all the way. Shouldn’t be that hard. All I have to do is title him a show consultant, and he’ll be drinking complimentary champagne at thirty thousand feet by nine AM. This business does have its perks.

  30

  “God, why are you bringing me here? To show me all the amazing things I’m missing out on in life?” Callie mumbles as she meets me in the lobby of the Peninsula. The walls are white marble and pastel tile, and the air smells like gardenias. All around us are bellhops in crisp uniforms wheeling the luggage of Beverly Hills elite. Gorgeous, suntanned women waltz over to the Palm Court to have tea. Callie smiles and looks down at the twins. “Auntie Laurel says we’re going to go sightseeing, but mommy really thinks she could use a nap for the rest of her life.”

  “Oh, there it is! I knew I dropped it,” I say, rushing back to pick up the phone I ‘accidentally’ let slip out of my purse. “Phew! I sure was worried.” I even mime wiping sweat off my brow. Man, I’m an acting god.

  “Laurel, come on. Let’s just go,” Callie moans. “You used the bathroom. Twice. Let’s get some lunch.”

  “Oh, we’ll be going in just a minute,” I say, laughing a little falsely. Yep, I’ll be leaving with your kids, Callie. Then you get to have some wild afternoon delight with your husband. Not the greatest visual I have ever treated myself to, but it’s meant with love. “I just need to check that all my, er, data is still there. Like. That none of it fell out.” I check the phone again. I am not the world’s greatest liar.

  Callie crouches down over the kids to wipe their faces—apparently you can spit up at any time of the day if you try hard enough—and I look back over my shoulder. Come on, Flint. Another few minutes of this and I’m going to have to literally tap dance to get us to stay.

  “Laurel?” Callie sounds more than tired; she sounds sad. “What if my marriage really is falling apart?” She looks up at me, her eyes bright with tears. “What if David is tired of me? Of us? All of it, the kids, the house, the—”

  “Hey.” I crouch down next to her, giving Lily a dropped bottle. “No one could get tired of you. You’re a gorgeous, fun, snappy woman. I mean, who doesn’t love that?”

  Callie sighs and takes the tissue I offer. “I’m just afraid we’re never going to get back to where we were before the kids were born. You know? Rested. Happy. Having sex. Happily having sex.”

  “Well, there’s always another chance,” I say, grinning as we get up and I point to the doors. “Look who just waltzed in.”

  Callie turns around, a puzzled look on her face. The bemused expression evaporates when she finds that the mystery man, standing there with a suitcase in hand, is none other than David. Flint’s next to him, looking from his brother-in-law to his sister with quick, calculating glances. I can practically see the thought bubble over his head: ‘Okay, no one’s killed anyone yet. Things are going smoothly.’

  “David?” Callie’s voice is soft and startled. She looks a lot younger when she’s surprised—the almost permanent frowny V crease in her forehead lifts entirely. David comes toward his wife slowly, looking like he’s walking into a dream.

  “Callie?” David sets his bag down. The two of them stare at each other for a minute. Neither moves; it’s almost like they don’t dare to breathe.

  “David,” she says, her voice soft with wonder. A small smile.

  And then the toddlers in their stroller squeal, “Dada!” Callum shrieks and kicks his legs, and Lily starts crying. Both David and Callie blink, as if coming out of a trance. Their children’s squeals are all it takes to get the potential lovebirds to start pecking at each other.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Callie snaps, reaching down to shush Lily. She bounces her daughter on her hip while glaring at David. “Don’t you have to work? Isn’t that what you always have to do?”

  I sidle away from them and next to Flint. “This was a good idea, right?” I mutter out of the side of my mouth.

  “Last I checked, it was your boyfriend’s idea, not mine,” Flint answers, sounding gruff. That stuns me for a minute; he thinks Thomas is my boyfriend? I mean if I had a penis, he might be right on the money. Still, not the time to think of it. I might have to step in and referee before one of the Winstons kills the other.

  “At least I put a roof over my family’s head with all my terrible goddamn work,” David snaps, picking up his bag again. Uh oh. Ten four, he’s leaving the hotel. “I don’t sit around all day watching bad television, wishing my life was different.”

  “Oh, because being neglected all day long with no one over the age of 2 to talk to and an endless load of housework is such a picnic!” Callie steps into David, and he looks a little startled. Well, to be fair to him, Callie angry is a pretty terrifying sight. I think her face is actually turning a shade of puce.

  “I just want to be appreciated,” David says, straightening his shoulders and meeting Callie glare for glare.

  “So do I!” she says. Okay, more like she shouts. We’re starting to attract attention from hotel guests and the concierge. I step in quickly, before we get asked to leave and have to dump a squalling David and Callie at the Motel 6.

  “I have an idea.” I hand them a key card, which David takes. He stares like he doesn’t know what it is. “What say Flint and I take the kids and leave the pair of you in the Mandarin Penthouse? They have a spa hot tub, champagne, and soundproof walls in case you want to continue this conversation in private.”

  “Champagne?” Callie says, looking at David with amazement.

  “Soundproof walls?” he asks, incredulous. Then, together, they say,

  “You’ll take the kids?”

  I get the stroller away from Callie, and Flint and I slowly make our way to the hotel doors. Lily and Callum don’t mind being away from Mom and Dad, now that they have Uncle Flinty with them. I pause at the doors to look back, make sure Callie and David haven’t started throttling each other in five star splendor. But they talk for a minute, then head toward the elevators, a bellhop taking David’s luggage. I heave a sigh of relief. Fantastic. That’ll at least give them a chance to talk.

  “What do we do now?” Flint asks when we’re outside. He picks up a fussing Callum, who gleefully tugs on his uncle’s hair. “You know the area better than I do. Is there a ball pit we can throw these tikes into?”

  “Tikes?” I say, laughing. Flint puts Callum back in his stroller, and I lead them toward the parking lot. “Well, if you’re in the mood for some fresh seaside air, I know a good spot.”

  “Let me think,” Flint says, helping me load the fussing kids into their car seats. “Do I want to enjoy the great outdoors, or do I want to be stuck inland breathing in Los Angeles’s finest exhaust fumes?” He weighs his hands in the air, like it’s a tough decision. “Hmm. How the hell do I pick?”

  “Maybe you get in the car
and stop mouthing off like a smartass,” I tease. Then I look back at the kids in mock panic. “Oh no. I meant smart-butt!”

  “Auntie Laurel’s a potty mouth,” Flint tells the kids as he slides into the car. “That’s what we like about her.”

  My heart beats quickly at his words while I struggle with my seat belt. What we like. What we like, not what I like. There’s a difference, Laurel. Learn it and fast.

  I drive us out of the smoggier, traffic-clogged parts of the city, until we hit the glorious Pacific Coast Highway. We drive along, marveling at the nearby sand and the sparkling blue waves. Flint rolls down the window and lets his hand trail in the breeze. For the first time since coming to the city, he looks at home, an easy smile on his face.

  “You might be part golden retriever,” I say, grinning as I think of Flint running around in a collar. That is, not a fun kind of kinky collar. More like a dog collar, like…I’ll shut up now, brain. Thanks.

  We turn up the ramp to get to the pier, which welcomes us with a bright, flashing sign. Once parked, we rumble down the boardwalk, lifting Lily and Callum up to see the sights. Look, there’s a man selling pink and blue cotton candy! See, there’s people riding on a giant Ferris wheel! Look, over there, that’s a couple of drunk guys arguing about who gets the best fishing spot and hitting each other with empty clam shells!

  We have to leave once the men start throwing punches. Some things little kids shouldn’t see.

  “This was a good idea,” Flint says, as we do our best to help Callum and Lily eat strawberry ice cream. Callum seems like he prefers dunking his face into the cup and coming up with a pink smeared nose. He chortles, then puts a sticky hand in Lily’s hair. I laugh as I wipe their faces with a wet wipe from their diaper bag.

  “I always thought the pier was the nicest place for a family gathering,” I tell Flint, then instantly wish I’d shut up. Flint clears his throat and looks down at the ice cream, carefully spooning some for the kids. Right. Not family. Not even close. We’ve known each other biblically, yes, but not the same thing.

  “Was that a carousel back there?” Flint asks, looking at the pink and blue domed building near the front of the park.