by Beck, Jamie
I leaned back when Hannah showed up with our drinks and a softball-size muffin. The dense, bright-green, moist pistachio treat was coated with crystallized sugar and loads of crushed pistachios. Utter decadence.
“Hannah!” Mimi immediately cut into the muffin. “How’s it going?”
“Terrific, thanks. You?”
“Hanging in there.” Mimi scrutinized Hannah’s hair. “I think it’s time we touch up the pink, and maybe brighten the roots, too?”
Hannah heaved a dramatic sigh. “Being this good lookin’ ain’t easy or cheap.” Then she cackled before wandering back to the counter, her psychedelic handmade knit sweater flowing behind her as she called over her shoulder, “I’ll book an appointment next week.”
Mimi gave her a thumbs-up before turning back to me. “Where were we?”
“Kimmy entering puberty,” I replied ominously.
“Ah. Yes. Listen, Grace. No one—boy, girl, or gender-fluid person—would be as easy as Carter. I swear, he’s all the best parts of you and Sam shoved into one body.” She sipped her drink and then sucked in air, waving her hand rapidly in front of her mouth. “Hot!”
“Thank you.” My son always brought a smile to my face—until recently. “Sadly, he’s shy like me. More so, maybe, so he’s never developed a gang of friends. He could really use one, especially now.” If anyone could empathize with that, it should be her.
Mimi leaned forward, her chin on her fist. “Why especially now?”
My mother would tell me not to meddle, but Carter was suffering, and I wouldn’t stand by and watch it another day, the way she’d done with Margot and me. Until he developed better coping tactics, I would be Carter’s advocate.
It took two heartbeats before I spoke up. “Well, it’s delicate because it relates to the budget debate, which I know we agreed not to discuss. I alluded to it on Monday night when I mentioned how some boys have been picking on kids like Carter. I feel awful because he might’ve been spared if I hadn’t gotten involved, yet you know I’m trying to teach my kids to stand up for their beliefs so they don’t have my regrets.”
“Are you trying to say Rowan is bullying Carter?” She frowned.
“No, Carter’s never mentioned Rowan.” Rowan didn’t go out of his way to be considerate of Carter, but he had never been rude that I knew of.
“Good.” She blew out a relieved breath.
As much as Mimi adored her son, when she’d had a second glass of wine, she’d confide her worries that he’d turn out like his dad—a car salesman who wasn’t keen on taking responsibility for much, including child support. For the most part she was a terrific mom, except I sometimes worried that she overcompensated for Dirk’s absence by letting Rowan run wild. Mimi rarely lectured him. Sometimes it seemed like she’d rather be his friend than his mom. By the end of his freshman year of high school, her permissiveness was legendary—no curfew, serving alcohol at parties, not grounding him when he cut classes.
Other moms would question me or expect me to say something, as if it were my business to tell Mimi how to parent. Even though I secretly believed she should rein him in, I defended Mimi’s right to raise her son as she saw fit. Every mother has that right, and Mimi’s encouraging style had often brought out the best in all our kids.
She tapped a finger against her lips. “I already warned him that I won’t tolerate any kind of revenge.”
“I wonder . . . Do you think he could get teammates to lay off, too? He’s so charismatic and a team leader, so he could make a difference. Besides, he can’t be comfortable watching Carter suffer.”
Mimi’s gaze dipped to her coffee. “You’re assuming he’s got more power than is true. Rowan’s only a sophomore—pretty low in the pecking order. Even if he wanted to help, I doubt he could do much. And if word gets out that Carter complained or you’re fighting his battles, it could get worse for him. Maybe it’s best to let the boys handle it themselves.”
I’d hoped for more. If she’d asked for my help, I would’ve given it. In fact, I’d demand it of my son simply because bullying of any sort should not be tolerated. And frankly, Carter tutored Rowan for free, so Rowan should want to repay that favor.
I almost pressed her, but wouldn’t criticize her decision. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m sorry.” Mimi scrunched her nose. “I don’t mean to be unhelpful. Truthfully, now isn’t the best time to ask Rowan for anything. He’s been in a crap mood all week thanks to Dirk. That damn man is blowing his son off again.”
Ah. This must be what she’d wanted to discuss.
“I’m sorry, Mimi.” Dirk could be selfish, like my father. It’d take hard work for Rowan to overcome the scars inflicted by that man’s neglect. Same for Mimi.
“I swear, every day I feel Rowan drifting away from me. Whenever I offer any advice—about school, or anything—he rejects it. Thinks I’m a nag instead of appreciating how I’m looking out for his future . . . trying to teach him to be a better man than his father is. Not that I say that last part. It galls me how much he worships Dirk yet gives me a hard time.” She dropped her forehead to the table for a moment before popping back up, shoulders slumped.
“I’m sorry you feel defeated, but Rowan loves you. He’s a teenager, so he won’t show it like he did at six. When he’s matured, he’ll reflect your values of kindness and caring.” I reached across the table to squeeze her shoulder in solidarity. Nothing about parenting was easy, and she’d been doing this on her own for almost five years. I couldn’t imagine raising my kids by myself or, worse, with a distant partner. Sam’s and my parenting styles and values were in sync, which made everything easier. Of course, Kimmy would likely challenge us. Heaven help us if she really was Margot 2.0. “In the meantime, how can I help?”
“You can’t, but thanks.” Mimi pinched the bridge of her nose with those lengthy rainbow-colored fingernails. “Guess I’m exhausted. He’d be failing history without Carter’s help. Seriously, if he doesn’t get a football scholarship, he’s got almost no shot at a better life than mine.”
Now wasn’t the time for another conversation about putting all her eggs in one basket. Rowan could be a better student with a little more effort, as proven when I’d tutored him, and more recently with Carter’s help. But I knew the pain of worrying about your kids, and I hated the way she sold herself so short, so I patted her hand. “We all hope our kids surpass us, but he’d be lucky to end up like you—a small-business owner who’s great at her job.”
“Thank you.” She stared at me, a thin smile tugging at her mouth and a sheen coating her eyes. “Listen, I know we promised to keep the budget debate out of our friendship, but I also don’t want unsaid junk putting up walls between us, so can I be honest with you?”
A flash of heat hit me. I sat back, nodding with bated breath. “Sure.”
“Everything you said at the hearing made sense, but Carter will have a dozen great choices by the time he’s a senior no matter what shape those labs are in.”
Like Rowan would have college coaches looking him over no matter what shape the fields were in. “It’s not only about Carter—”
She tipped her head. “You aren’t looking to move anytime soon, so your property value doesn’t matter, either.”
“No, but in a global market, we need our kids to be well educated, so school budgets should be weighted toward academics, not sports. I’ve got Kim to think about, too.”
Mimi stared out the window before returning her gaze to me. “The deck is already stacked in favor of smart kids. Sports are some kids’ only shot.”
“Mimi, do you really believe Rowan has no other skills or talents? Because I know that’s not true. I’ve worked with him. So has Carter. When Rowan puts his mind to something, he succeeds, so is it possible you might be selling him a little short?”
Mimi’s posture stiffened. “I know you mean well, but kids like Rowan don’t learn the same way Carter does. His brain is different. ADHD makes organization a thousand t
imes harder, too.” She dragged a hand through her hair, which she often did when frustrated.
This conversation had shoved me onto thin ice at the center of a deep pond.
“You’re right, I don’t know how hard that is to manage day after day.” I’d only meant to give her hope, not to make her feel responsible for Rowan’s struggles. “But even if he gets into college on a football scholarship, he’ll need decent grades to stay. Wouldn’t it be better in the long run if the high school allotted some of its budget to provide struggling athletes with free tutors and organizational support rather than buying a new scoreboard? It seems to me that, no matter how you look at it, academics matter most.”
She waved me off again. “Athletes get tons of support at the college level.”
“Exactly.” I turned my hands over with a shrug. “Why not start that early so the foundation of his education is stronger?”
Mimi pushed her mug away, frowning. “Sometimes it feels like people are jealous because athletes take spots at good schools away from their kids. Maybe some athletes don’t have the same grades and SATs, but they earn their way, too, giving up summers, breaks, and holidays to playing and practice. They’re committed, working as hard to excel in their sport as others do with grades. And sports bring in real money to those colleges that helps pay for all the other stuff.”
None of that was new ground, nor did it change my opinion. We would never see eye to eye, so it’d be better dropping it altogether.
“I promise, I’m not jealous and I’ll be thrilled to celebrate when Rowan leverages his talent that way. In the meantime, if Rowan wants help with math or English, Sam and I are happy to step in.” I picked a sugarcoated pistachio off my plate and ate it, concerned that my offer came out wrong. “I’m sorry you’re upset. I’m not sure what else to say. You asked me to be honest . . .”
“It’s okay.” She checked the time on her phone and blew stray hair from her face. “You’re entitled to your opinion. I’m just dealing with so much on my own, and now the one thing my son loves is being threatened.”
“Mimi, whatever happens with the vote, you don’t have to go it alone. I mean it. Lean on Sam and me.” That also might’ve sounded smug when I hadn’t meant it to. What we needed was something to look forward to, like the old camping trips and minivacations our families had taken when the kids were younger. “We both could use something fun to plan, so let’s organize one of our family-combo trips for Memorial Day weekend . . . or Fourth of July?”
“Maybe, although I’ve been pinching pennies saving up for when Rowan goes to college, so it’d have to be within driving distance, like Deep Creek.” She inhaled through her nose and released it in one quick huff. “What are you and Sam up to this weekend?”
“Kim’s party.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.” She made a face. “When’s the last time you and Sam got out on your own?”
“Meh, you know us. We’re homebodies. A roaring fire, Netflix, and pizza suit us as well as any fancy restaurant.” I sipped my coffee and snagged a bit of the muffin.
“That’s nice. I want that—or at least I’d like that option.” That’s what I wanted for her, too, but before I said as much, Mimi’s expression shifted as she broke off a hunk of the muffin. “I haven’t gone on a date since the disaster that was Tony.”
Tony Brickmont, a personal trainer who specialized in football conditioning. After Dirk left, Mimi’d first had a brief affair with a guy named Boo McDonough from Chesapeake Beach, who’d turned out to be married. She found that out only after an unplanned pregnancy made him confess the truth and end things. She’d considered terminating the pregnancy because, in her own words, she “had enough on her hands dealing with Rowan and Dirk without adding the stress of raising another cheating married man’s child,” but her religious upbringing made her waffle. Ultimately she hadn’t needed to make the choice because she’d miscarried. At the time, she’d seemed more relieved than sad, but I sometimes wondered if she now wished she had another little boy or girl to love.
A year after Boo, Mimi had hired Tony to help Rowan build up strength and speed for eighth grade football. She could afford only a few lessons, but he’d formed a crush on her and bartered extra time for Rowan in exchange for Mimi’s promise to do his sister’s highlights and haircuts for free. The summer before our boys started high school, she’d felt ready to date again and gave in to Tony’s pursuit.
At first it had seemed to be a good match. Tony and Rowan got along, and Mimi liked Tony’s energy level. But at only twenty-seven—a decade younger than Mimi (not that she looked it)—Tony had been fit, handsome, and not exactly interested in settling down. She ended it nine months later, after getting wind that Tony had been coming on to a female colleague at the fitness center where he worked. I’d cleared my schedule to help her cope, but unlike how she’d cried over Dirk, she moved on from Tony without many tears. Maybe divorce had toughened her heart, or worse, conditioned her to be let down. That was my fear: that she’d keep settling for less than the love she deserved.
“‘Disaster’ is a strong word. He was too young.” I sipped my tea.
She nodded again. “Rowan missed him when that ended. That’s one reason I’ve avoided dating. It’s hard enough to trust someone not to cheat, but to drag Rowan through it all with me?” She grabbed her head as if trying to keep it from exploding, then shrugged and sipped more coffee. “But I’m lonely.”
The little ache in her voice hurt to hear. “I’m sorry, Mimi. You deserve a good man more than most. He’s out there somewhere. In the meantime, let’s plan a girls’ night next weekend.”
“Thanks, but I’m lonely for things you can’t give me.” She chuckled.
“Oh!” A flush rose in my face. “Well, I’m not sure I can help with that.” I couldn’t imagine going without physical affection month after month. “What if you dated casually but didn’t introduce anyone to Rowan until you knew the man was worthy?”
“That’s a problem, though, ’cause my radar sucks. I thought Tony was worthy. Same with Dirk. And men like Sam aren’t attracted to me.” Her rainbow-colored nails tapped against her coffee mug.
I raised a brow. “Finding a good man who is attracted to you isn’t the problem.”
“Oh?”
“Getting you to find a good man attractive—that’s the issue. Anytime I’ve pointed one out, you’ve begged off. The truth is, you think you’d be bored with someone like Sam in five minutes. But while he might not be flashy on the surface, there’s a lot to be said for a steady guy. Think of how our differences bring balance to our friendship. You might also find that with a man who is more like me than you.”
She slumped. “You know I love Sam, and you two are so great together, but I’m a sucker for outrageous charmers.”
“Even I’ve fantasized about being swept off my feet by a James Bond type. But deep down we know those guys are too self-absorbed to be good partners.”
“And I’m not getting any younger.”
It couldn’t be easy to be approaching forty as a single mom. “You’re gorgeous and you know it.”
“Men don’t take me seriously because of how I look—so it’s a catch twenty-two. I shouldn’t have to dress like my mom to be respected.”
“Agreed.” I sighed, unsure how to help. “Do you want me to ask Sam about his single colleagues?”
“No!” Mimi shook her head. “How awkward for him. Anyway, I’ve joined Bumble.”
My eyes widened. “When, and why am I only hearing this now?”
“I just did it this week. It’s not ideal, but between work and Rowan, I’ve got zero chance of meeting someone organically. I wasn’t going to tell you if it didn’t lead anywhere.” She opened her phone and started thumbing through her apps. “But I want your opinion on this guy.”
She showed me a picture on her phone of a middle-aged man in a navy crewneck sweater, with deep-set yet kind brown eyes and slightly thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “Rich
Polanti. Forty-two, divorced father, fashion designer.”
“Ooh, fashion! He looks friendly, too.” And nothing at all like Dirk, Boo, or Tony: all alpha-male types more suited to romance-novel covers than monogamy. “Why him?”
“He seems sincere.” She grimaced. “He’s not my physical type, but we’ve already established that my type sucks. He’s nice. Asked a lot of questions about me instead of bragging about himself, but”—she shivered in her seat—“I don’t know. What do you think?”
“Those sound like good reasons to take a chance. You love fashion, so at least you’ll have lots to talk about. What’s the worst that could happen? Even if he’s not ‘the one,’ he could become a friendly companion for dinners and movies. You can’t have too many friends.”
“You’re my voice of reason, as usual.” She smiled and then swallowed the last bit of muffin with coffee before tossing her phone in her purse. “Well, I’d better go get ready for my first appointment. Thanks for meeting me, and I’m sorry about bringing up the whole budget thing.”
I stood to gather my things, too. “It’s okay. I always want us to be honest with each other.”
“Same.”
Relief washed through me. We’d had a difficult conversation, and while I wasn’t any closer to solving Carter’s current problem, I was relieved that our friendship would survive this budget thing.
We tossed some cash on the table and waved to Trudy, Anne, and Hannah on our way out the door. When we parted ways on the sidewalk, Mimi said, “I’ll talk to Rowan about sticking up for Carter and the others.”
“Really?” Pleased that she’d changed her mind, I grabbed her into a hug. “Thanks, Mimi.”
She eased away, shrugging one shoulder. “Don’t get too excited. It might not turn out like you hope.”
On the way to my car, I considered her earlier warning that things could get worse for Carter if I interfered. Like a boomerang, history snapped back to sting me. At thirteen, Margot had pulverized some of Mom’s sleeping pills and poured them into Dad’s bottle of Jack Daniel’s hours before he stumbled out the door, fell asleep near the road, and got hit by a car. His death had kicked off the downward spiral into drugs and alcohol that killed her and haunted me.
