by Owner
I pull the cart up next to the offending fruit. James gets to his feet and grabs my hand. “No, Mommy! Please, no bananas!”
“What’s wrong, Buddy? Don’t you like bananas?”
“Yes, but I don’t want them!”
“You had one for snack today at school didn’t you?”
“No, I threw it in the trash.” He sits back down with a pout, examines his jeep in his lap.
“Now, why would you do that?”
James considers me a moment. “Jaden and William were calling me monkey. They made funny noises and scratched their armpits.”
I take a moment to formulate the best response. It’s always hard when someone takes your child’s happiness. You want to tell them to fight back, to stand up for themselves. But you never know how far they will take it. I decide to be politically correct. “That wasn’t nice of them. Next time you tell them to please stop.”
“I told them this time and they didn’t. They called me a baby.”
“Oh,” I say, stalling for time. My brain stutters, working on two hours of sleep. Ben had me up five times with his fever. Thankfully it broke, but only in time for us to get up in the morning. “Well, maybe you should play with someone else.” The little bastards don’t deserve to play with you, I wanted to say. “They don’t sound like very good friends.”
“But they’re the best at mini-basketball,” he says with concerned eyes.
Growing frustrated, I grab a bunch of bananas and put them in the front next to Ben.
“Nanos, Nanos, Nanos,” he says.
“James, sweetie, I won’t make you take a banana to school.”
A wide smile materializes on his face.
“But…don’t let your friends tease you and remember something for me.”
“What, Mommy?”
“You can be the best at mini-basketball, too.”
James’s brows knit together as he takes that in. I never want my children to settle, or feel they’re not good enough. I constantly remind them that the world is just beyond their fingertips. And soon they will grow and learn and grab hold of whatever they want in life. Ironically, I spend my days killing myself to be a good mother and my nights dwelling on my mistakes.
We finally make our way to the medicine—the reason we came here. I snag a bottle of Motrin off the shelf and toss it in the basket.
As we wait in line, my cell pings. A text from Sage displays. I remember that she and Jax are having lunch today, and I try not to be jealous. With Eric’s schedule and the kids, I need a week and a personal assistant to leave the house alone. Jax and I see each other more since we live close by, so I’m happy they get some time together. I figure it’s not the time I’m jealous of, but the ability. They are both free to spontaneously grab lunch with a friend, to catch a movie, or try a new restaurant. Guilt fills me when I realize I don’t see myself as free. But the reality is that I’m not. I’m on call twenty-four seven, working the most crucial, demanding, and thankless job in the world. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
The cashier tells me my total, and I reach for my bag which sits between Ben and the bananas. He has been playing with the magnetic snap the whole time we are in line, so he’s not too happy to give it up. I dig inside to grab my wallet, and the panic hits me. My hand pushes around the inside as I silently pray that Ben moved it to another pocket. I peek back at the three people behind me and then the cashier. Her name tag says, “Lauren,” I note in case. “Sorry, just one sec.” Shit, this is the last thing I need. My brain races to compile possibly scenarios. Did Ben pull it out and drop it somewhere in the store? Did I forget it at home? It’s possible it fell out in the car. I pray it’s the last one as I look up at the woman who is now growing impatient. “I’m really sorry, but my wallet is gone.”
A man behind me in a business suit lets out an, “Aw geez” and glances at his watch.
The clerk registers the distress on my face, eyes James, and decides to abort the attitude. “Could you have lost it in the store?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible.” What I do comprehend is that I have two mini time bombs in my cart that can only sit for so long without entertainment.
She says to the bag boy who has just set the bags next to James, “Get Andy and check lost and found while you’re there.” Then she looks back at me. “It’s okay. Why don’t you stand over there while we figure this out?”
I’m mortified that I’ve held the line up, but I’m doing everything I can to keep calm. Business man eyes me, shakes his head and glances away. To further accentuate what an inconvenience I am, he checks his watch three more times and sighs. Asshole. I’d like to see him be up all night with a screaming toddler and still function properly the next day. Thankfully, another cashier appears in the next aisle and directs the three customers her way. A woman behind assman gives me a sympathetic nod.
Lauren sticks a closed sign on the conveyor belt which for some odd reason causes my stomach to flop. It really shouldn’t be a big deal. Mishaps happen in life, but when they happen to me, I spend days recreating the events. I ponder where I went wrong, even with something like this. I swallow a lump forming in my throat and berate myself further for being such an emotional cow. If I’d had my freaking list this might not have happened.
“Up, up, up,” Ben says, breaking me from my downward spiral. I don’t make him say please because I want to hold him. I need him, knowing this is the last place I want to lose it. I lift him up and bring him to my chest. His warmth and smell is comforting, calming the chaos fighting inside me. I take a few breaths and smile at my angel, James, who always seems to sense when I need him to cooperate…when I need a moment.
Clarity returns, and I suddenly flash back to the car ride over. Ben was crying, overly tired from the rough night. I started singing his favorite song, “The Itsy Bitsy Spider.” Each time I sang, he stopped. But after five rounds, I couldn’t take it any longer. I handed my purse back to James. “There’s a fruit snack in there somewhere,” I’d said to him. “Find it and give some to your brother.” Sometimes, in the midst of chaos, you forget the obvious. Food. My wallet must have fallen out then.
I relay my story to the cashier and head to the van for a check. I set both kids inside and take a quick glance around. Given that I don’t put them immediately in their seats, they think it’s some kind of party. Ben climbs in a seat and stands with his hands against the window. He spots a dog in the car next to us. “Goggy, goggy, goggy.” He bangs his hands on the window. James runs up the middle and dives into the far back seat, falling into a puddle of giggles. I let them be, not minding that my misfortune has turned into an unexpected treat for them. Not only that, but I pull my phone out of my pocket and begin filming my little hellions in action. I often fear that someday I won’t be able to access these memories. That time is rushing by faster than a freight train. I want every precious moment at my fingertips, to relive and savor over and over.
After the video I snap a couple of stills and resume searching for the wallet. I grope under every seat and finally, my hand touches something bulky and leather. Relieved, I yank it from under James’s chair and smile. What a day, I think, and it’s not even noon.
CHAPTER 5 - SAGE
“Oh. My. God. Jax, you can see that guy’s butt cheeks.” We are in Jax’s ancient excuse for an automobile, headed to lunch at George’s at the Cove in La Jolla. Jax wants to eat at Juan’s, but I’m overdressed and not in the mood for grease. I insist and say it will be my treat, so she insists on driving.
“Where?” she asks.
“Right there.” I point out the window to a homeless man. He’s wearing a tie-dye tank top, tan corduroy pants that are shredded in the seat, no underwear. He’s pulling a small wheeled cart behind him. “So gross.” One of the downsides to living in one of the best climates in the country is that everyone wants to live here, including the homeless.
“Oh, that’s Crazy Carl,” she says. We pass him, and the car begins to slow an
d veer toward the curb.
“You’re not stopping. Why are we stopping?” Jax has had wounded-bird syndrome since I’ve known her. Friend of the friendless, hope for the helpless, aid to the less fortunate. I don’t remember a time when she’s talked about her own aspirations, making a life with career and family. I never understood it. I’ve worked hard to keep my nagging to a minimum, but I haven’t lost hope for her to try for something bigger.
“I may have some back up underwear for him. Let me pull over and check?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. You’re going to give him your underwear?”
“It’s not my underwear,” she says. “I keep a few things in the car in case I see someone who needs it.”
She jams the brake down and glances in the back seat. A small box holds snacks and toiletries. She turns back and reaches under her seat. I hear the crumple of plastic, and her hand reappears holding a three-pack of boxers. I blink thinking I must be imagining this, but it’s Jax and I know better.
“He could be dangerous,” I say. Not to mention the germs and diseases that could be taking up residence on his person.
“Sage, he’s harmless.”
“Uh, did you not just call him Crazy Carl?”
“Yeah, but that’s because he says crazy shit. You’ll see when we talk to him.”
“We?” I have no desire to do this, and it confirms another reason I was hesitant to let her drive.
Carl reaches the car, stops, and bends over so he can see in the window that Jax has just reached across me to roll down. I am still in protest mode. “That you, Jax?” he says.
“Carl, your ass cheeks are hanging out,” she shouts across me. “You wanna get pulled in?”
“That might be nice.” Carl’s tan looks as if he recently returned from a month in Jamaica. He dons a scruffy beard of dishwater blond to match his wild, unbrushed hair. When he smiles his teeth are splashed with light brown stains. I’m not exaggerating; his chompers are an array of leopard print.
“What happens when they let you go?” Jax says. “Are you going to walk all the way back here?”
He sets his hand down on the door where the window goes down, inches from my face. I glance at his hairy, dirty knuckles for about two seconds before I pull my head back against the headrest. I search the backseat for a distraction and something catches my eye. Sticking out from under the box of toiletries is a brochure about HIV. A chill runs down my spine at my first thought. I wonder if I should ask. If Jax needed someone to talk to, wouldn’t she come to me or to Emily? Then I remind myself that I haven’t exactly been sharing lately either. Jax helps a lot of people in a lot of different ways. This must be part of some program where she hands out information…for a clinic or maybe the church. I’m sure it’s something like that; I try to convince myself.
Carl slams his hand down on the door, startling me from my deliberation. I snap my head in his direction. “I might just do that, pumpkin,” he says. Then he peers up, floats a hand to the sky. “Or, maybe I’ll wander aimlessly around the city doing good deeds and rescuing damsels in distress. Like this fair lady.” He nods at me.
“I like that idea,” Jax says, sounding so sincere. “But, your ass cheeks will still be exposed and you could get sunburned. Don’t let this overcast fool you.” She tosses the package out the window, and he catches it in both hands. “Go into that McDonalds over there and put those on.”
“All right, sweetheart. For you, anything.” He tucks them under his arm. “I owe you one, girl.”
He walks off and as we pull away, I say sarcastically, “Owe you one? What could he possibly do for you?”
“He volunteers at the soup kitchen sometimes.”
“Him?”
“Yeah, when upstanding citizens such as yourself are too busy, they’ll take anyone who is willing to help, even Crazy Carl.”
“It’s not like I don’t believe in charity because I do. But I also believe in hard work and pulling yourself out of your circumstances.” I worked my ass off for every dollar that is hibernating in my bank account, waiting for the next great depression, or my future children’s education. Because that’s what we do in our family—save our money, protect the principle, get insured, make smart decisions. Growing up we had plenty of money and a home nicer than most of my friends. But what I didn’t have were the warm family memories. The yearly family trips to Disneyworld like Emily’s family took. I learned that money wasn’t for having fun; it was for security. And there was only one thing that could get me to part with my money, even before it was my money, and that was my friends: Jax and Emily. I would do anything for my girls.
Jax doesn’t reply to my comment. I hang my arm out the window as we head down Pacific Coast Highway. It’s the only way to go. Along the way we see surfers, locals walking dogs or jogging. In the summer, you’ll get the Disneyland crowd—folks from all walks of life. I feel a sense of pride knowing that people from all over the world, rich and poor, want to be here where I grew up. It’s a place where every day is like summer vacation whether it’s hot or not.
When we reach George’s, there is a short wait so we head to the bar. It’s is the hot spot in La Jolla, the rodeo drive of the San Diego beaches. The restaurant is three stories high, cut into the cliffs overlooking the ocean. The bottom floor is fine-dining amidst floor-to-ceiling windows, the middle houses a lively bar, and the ocean terrace is reasonably priced food, with an incredible view of the La Jolla cliffs and ocean. A favorite in our family for years.
We order drinks and grab a seat at a small high-top table. The whole back side of the bar area is open, and a pleasant breeze wafts in. I lower my head and check out the horizon. The sun is clear of the clouds but battles the breeze to warm the air. It should be sunny enough by the time we get our table and order lunch.
For the first few seconds after we sit, we stare at each other and smile. Jax looks exactly the same every time I see her. It amazes me that no matter how many hair styles she goes through, her face never changes. Her hair has grown back to a reasonable length and is sporty, cut just below her chin. It reminds me of when we first met as young girls. Her soft, light skin and genuine smile always have a glow that reminds me of a lantern on a summer night.
And then she opens her mouth.
“It’s about time you got your ass down here,” Jax says.
I sip a skinny mojito and cock an eyebrow at her. “I have a spare room, you know?”
“I know, but everybody’s here. This is home.”
She’s right, but that’s not the point. “Still, you could visit me once in a while. In the five years I’ve lived in LA, how many times have you or Emily come to visit?”
She picks up her beer and points it at me. “I was there for your birthday last year.” Then she takes a long drink and sets the bottle on the table. “So how’s your bitchy boss?” she asks, trying to change the subject.
“She’s not a bitch,” I say. I work for Chase Bank as a private client advisor. Christine’s been hard on me since day one, but the last month or so it’s gotten exponentially worse. She says the finance industry has always been a man’s world, so we need to think and act like men. Other than grabbing my crotch and sleeping with every person that offers it up, I thought I was doing that.
“Has she let up on you since the last time we spoke?”
I shrug. “Not really.”
“Then she’s bitchy. You go above and beyond for her and that company. Does she ever show appreciation?”
A sigh comes out because I’m frustrated that the answer is no. But more than that, I don’t want to tell Jax the whole story. I don’t want her to hear what happened at the Christmas party and that I’m worried Christine knows. I decide to change the subject back on her. “You still seeing that guy…what’s his name? Dan?”
“It’s Dale and no. He’s reconciling with his wife.”
“Ooh, does he still work at the bar? That could be awkward.”
“No, he quit a few weeks ago.�
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“I thought they were divorced,” I say.
Jax glances away, tries to down her beer. “They were, but I guess that doesn’t matter now.”
I can’t read the expression on her face. There’s something there, though—sadness or regret. I miss the days when there were never secrets between us. I miss the times when I could look at Jax or Emily and know exactly what they were thinking.
As we finish our drinks, the server brings two more and sets them on the table.
“We didn’t order these,” I say to her.
She flashes a knowing smile and points over to the bar where two men stare at us and nod. It’s not the first time free drinks have come our way.
I give Jax the eye and say, “I wonder what they would do if one of us went over there and wrote our number right on one of their foreheads.”
She shakes her head. “Nice try. You know I don’t do that stuff anymore.”
“Whatever you say, Wonder Woman.”
The hostess calls our name for a table and we pop up and grab the drinks. We pass the two men on our way out, smiling our thanks as we hold up the drinks. The perfect timing makes us laugh. One guy slumps in disappointment, the other shakes his head and laughs. We both giggle as we head upstairs to the terrace, traces of nostalgia washing over me. Emerson said, “It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.” Nothing applies more to my relationship with Jax and Emily. I’m in my own world in LA, mostly working and trying to live life day by day. But sometimes I feel as though I’m treading water until I can see my girls and start swimming again.
Every table on the terrace is a winner, but we are seated along the wall with a view of not only the ocean, but the steep cliffs poured into rocks lined with birds and seals. I glance around and am reminded of the atmosphere on this rooftop; everyone is engaged in lively conversation or enjoying the spectacular view. When you’re on the terrace, nothing else seems to matter—as if the ocean breeze carries a magical calm that blankets everyone below.
