by Jane Porter
The next day, I’m so buried with work that I totally forget I’m supposed to be helping with Eva’s class Halloween party until she calls me at one-forty.
“Where are you?” she whispers tearfully into the phone. “Everyone’s here but you, and you’re in charge of the drinks.”
“What?”
“The drinks. Mrs. Young said you volunteered to bring the drinks today, and we have our cupcakes and popcorn and treats, but there’s nothing to drink and everyone’s sitting around with an empty cup and Mrs. Young is mad.”
Frankly, I’m more worried about Eva’s feelings than Taylor Young’s, and right now, I can’t believe I’ve let her down. Again. Things are just so stressful right now. It’s like I can’t get a break and can’t catch my breath.
“Give me two minutes,” I say. “I’ll be right there. Okay? Two minutes. I promise, baby.”
As I hang up, everyone looks at me. “You going somewhere again?” Chris asks flatly.
“Eva’s class party. I’m in charge of the drinks.”
“What about the Ewes and Lambs call?” he asks pointedly, placing his hands on top of his head. “What do I tell them now?”
“That I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Marta. This is a business.”
“Yeah, Chris, I know it’s a business because this is how I pay for my house and my car and my groceries.” I yank on my coat, nod at the others, my jaw flexed. “I’ll be back soon.”
I grab whatever sodas we have in the refrigerator in the garage—a case of 7Up, a case of Coke, a case of A&W root beer—load them in the truck, and head up to school in a pouring rain.
I stack the sodas and carry them, three cases high, through the school to Eva’s classroom in the fourth-grade wing.
Eva’s delighted to see me, but Taylor Young pulls me aside and tightly asks me what I plan on doing with the “soda pop.”
I rip open one of the cartons and look at her. “The soda pop is for the kids’ party.” I smile with lots of teeth to show I’m not in the mood for her fun and games right now.
“Do you really think the kids need more sugar now?”
I turn and face her, one hand still resting on the soda boxes. “Do you think they needed all the cupcakes and treats, Taylor?”
She folds her arms, her chin lifting righteously. “They always have treats for Halloween.”
“Fabulous! And now they’re having another.” I turn my back on her and see a boy getting a drink from the water faucet near me. “Would you mind helping me pass these out?” I ask him, dropping the case of root beer into his arms.
As he heads off, Eva comes running, and I give her the 7Up cans. Another girl shyly asks if she can help, and I hand over the Cokes.
There. Mission completed. I find Eva, tell her I’ve got to get home, to have fun and I’ll see her later. Grabbing my keys, I’m out of there.
Who said working moms can’t do it all?
I’m away from the studio for the Halloween class party for maybe twenty, thirty minutes total, but when I get back to the studio, Chris is gone, and Allie, Susan, and Robert look at me gray faced.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, dropping my coat on my chair and turning to face the others.
Allie shakes her head. Robert shuffles the papers around on his desk before clearing his throat. “Chris quit,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
It’s that gob-smacked feeling again. Crazy, disorienting, off-kilter. I sit down heavily, my hands falling to my knees. “Quit?”
“He said he couldn’t work here like this.” Allie’s voice is small.
“Is it that bad?” I ask, leaning back in my chair, my gaze moving from one face to the other.
“No,” Susan says loudly, briskly, from her desk across the room. She lives surrounded by copiers, faxes, printers, and filing cabinets. “It’s not bad at all. This is just life, and Chris isn’t living in reality.”
I’d smile if I weren’t so stunned, and sad. Chris is a huge part of this company. A big part of what I do.
Sitting at my desk, I pick up the phone. I hear the beep that says I have a voice mail on my personal line and check messages. Luke called. He said it’s late there in Germany and he’s going to bed, but he wishes me a Happy Halloween and will try again tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty-Two
With Chris gone, I start having to travel to New York for the Trident meetings. They’d said travel would be minimal, maybe a few days every month, but it’s not even December yet and I’ve already been to New York twice, for a total of a week.
The first trip to New York, Susan had Eva stay with her for the Friday and Saturday I was gone. The second time, November 12 through 14, my dad and Allie juggled Eva between them. Eva wasn’t thrilled with living out of her backpack, but I promised her that I was trying to hire someone new to fill Chris’s position, and as soon as I had someone new, I wouldn’t have to travel anymore.
But filling Chris’s shoes is harder than I anticipated. One, he was really good. Two, apparently my team is working as slave labor. No one with a good résumé is interested in what I’d pay.
The third weekend in November is dark and gray and rainy. I’m home this weekend but working, and when Eva asks if Jill can come to our house for a sleepover, I readily agree. I’ve got so much to do that if Eva’s occupied, I can work without feeling as guilty.
Now Jill stands on our doorstep with her sleeping bag clutched beneath one arm and her pillow under the other. “Am I too early?” she chirps. Jill’s a small, round-faced girl with apple cheeks, dense dark eyelashes, and light brown eyebrows that arch delicately over startling blue eyes.
“Nope,” I answer with a smile.
Jill smiles back before bounding into the house.
The rain is pelting down as I walk outside to the car, where Lori’s trying to calm her youngest so she can make it to the door to greet me.
“Hi,” I say, leaning down to wave at the preschooler in the backseat. The boy stares at me and then bursts into tears all over again.
“He wants to join the sleepover,” Lori says apologetically.
I bend down again and look at three-and-a-half-year-old Mike. He’s cute. He looks just like his big sister. “Mike, it’s just girls. It’s not going to be that much fun.”
But Mike only cries harder.
“You’re getting wet,” Lori says, sliding regretfully behind the wheel. “And I better go. I’ve got to be at the restaurant by five. We don’t have a cashier tonight, so I’m working.”
“What about Mikey?”
“He’s going to his aunt’s house.”
“Do you want me to watch him?”
Lori looks over her shoulder, monitors the ear-splitting tantrum for a moment, then turns back to me. “No. And you don’t want to watch him, either.” With a cheerful wave, she’s off.
Luke comes over later after he arrives back in Seattle following a week-long trip to Dallas, Raleigh-Durham, and Boston, that trip coming only three days after the ten-day trip to Germany. We’ve been apart far more than we’ve been together, but every time Luke walks through the door I’m absolutely thrilled to see him.
The girls and I went out earlier for Chinese, and Luke now stands in my kitchen eating the leftovers straight from the white cartons.
“I wish I had more,” I say as he finishes off the chow mein and spicy beef. “I should have realized you’d be hungry.”
“It’s okay.” He leans over and kisses me, tasting like Mongolian beef. “I’m just glad to see you.”
Looking into his face and those light blue eyes that I always find so reassuring, I reach up to touch his cheek, and a little spark goes through me. “I could make you something. I’ve got pork chops and ground beef—”
“I’m not that hungry. I’d rather just be with you.”
We sit on the couch and find a cable movie to watch, but halfway through the movie I notice Luke’s fallen asleep. I go to cover him with a fleecy blanket I took from the linen closet,
but Luke catches my hand and tugs me back onto the sofa again. “Come here,” he growls, pulling me closer.
I settle in his arms. He’s warm. Hard. Muscles everywhere. I sigh appreciatively. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” he answers, moving my hair off to the side to kiss my neck.
Shivery sensations race up and down my spine. “And I’ve missed that, too,” I breathe unsteadily.
“So I’m not just a one-night stand?” he asks, his voice humming against my skin.
I turn around on the couch to face him and place one hand on his chest. I can feel his heart. His heart beats steady and strong. “You’re not a one-night stand.”
His hands slide from my hair to my face. He pushes one long strand back behind my right ear and then another strand behind my left, and all the while he’s studying my face. Then his lashes lower, and I can tell he’s interested only in my mouth now.
Luke pulls me forward onto his lap, so that I feel the heat in his jeans, the rigid length of him, and the sinewy strength of his thighs. He’s aroused, but then so am I.
I take his face in my hands and kiss him, my thumbs stroking across his amazing cheekbones and then down the hollows between cheekbone and jaw. He feels so good. He feels so right.
I love kissing him. I love being this close with him. “You’re not,” I repeat, sitting up to look down at him, “a one-night stand.”
A lazy heat burns in his blue eyes, and color darkens his skin. “Then what am I?” he asks, touching my mouth with his finger.
My lips part, and I touch the tip of my tongue to his finger. The blue light in his eyes burns hotter, brighter.
“Mine,” I whisper wickedly, flicking my tongue across his finger again. “You’re mine.”
Suddenly the door to Eva’s room opens and the girls’ voices sound in the hall. Luke immediately lifts me off his lap and back onto the couch. He picks up a magazine, and I reach for my computer. The girls run toward us with their pillows and sleeping bags.
“Can we watch a movie in here with you?” Eva asks.
I look at Luke. His eyes flash at me.
“Of course,” I answer.
Luke leaves partway through the movie. I walk him out onto the front porch. The rain is still coming down, and it’s cold. I shiver in just my T-shirt. After shutting the door, Luke turns me so that my back is against the house, and as he kisses me, he leans against me, one of his knees between mine.
I can feel his thighs, his hips, his chest, and I hold on to him, my hands clasping the thick cut of his bicep.
“We need more time together,” he says, his voice hoarse.
“I know.”
“How?” he demands.
“I don’t know.”
“Not good enough.”
I reach up, touch his cheekbone. “We’ll find a way.”
But we don’t find a way, at least not anytime soon. The grueling pace continues, but at last it’s now late November and we’re facing Thanksgiving weekend.
After too many hours on airplanes and in hotels, in taxis and in conference rooms, I’ve promised Eva it’ll be a traditional Thanksgiving Day with Grandma and Grandpa and then a girls-only weekend.
“Well, you can invite Luke over,” Eva says. “He’s okay. I just don’t want you to do e-mail and work on your computer.”
“I promise.”
“And no conference calls.”
“Scout’s honor,” I vow again.
Eva looks at me suspiciously. “You were never a Girl Scout.”
“No, I was. For one week. And then they kicked me out.”
“Mom!” She shrieks with laughter, and I just smile with her.
I fully intend to keep my promise to Eva, too. There will be no business phone calls. No e-mail. No faxing. No photocopying. It’s just going to be mother-daughter stuff, girl stuff. Bake cookies and paint our toenails and shop and go see the newest Amanda Bynes movie.
But then Thanksgiving Day arrives and my cell phone and house phone won’t stop ringing.
I’m in the middle of making gravy and trying to mash potatoes, and all I can hear is the telephone ringing, ringing, ringing.
“Eva,” I finally shout, “can you please answer that for me?”
“But what if it’s work?” she answers, emerging from the pantry, where she’s been looking for the perfect set of candle holders for the table.
“It’s Thanksgiving. Can’t be work.”
I’m wrong. It is work. I turn down the heat beneath the gravy, turn off the mixer, pray the potatoes won’t get cold, and go outside to take this call. “What do you mean they’re calling everyone into the office? It’s Thanksgiving weekend.”
“The meeting’s not until Saturday.” It’s Eric, the VP of sales with Trident. “You’ll still have tomorrow off.”
“I’d have to fly out first thing tomorrow to make the meeting.”
“That’s okay.”
I close my eyes and hold my breath, feeling nothing, nothing, because if I stay very calm, this will be a non-issue. “No, it’s not okay. It’s Thanksgiving weekend.”
“It’ll just be a quick turnaround. Out, meeting, home again. No one will notice.”
Not notice? Who is he kidding? “Eric. There’s no way.”
He pauses, and then when he speaks his voice is flinty. “Your attendance is required. Everyone on the team must be there.”
“On a Saturday.” My voice drips venom. “Thanksgiving weekend.”
“Sucks, I know.”
“Eric, I have a daughter—”
“We all do.”
You all have another parent at home, too. You all have someone else to be there to comfort your son or daughter. I totally get the whole stay-at-home mother or father thing. One person works, the other stays home so kids aren’t alone. Got it.
But that’s not what I get.
It’s not the path I took, and right now I don’t know how to swallow that when I’m asked to make sacrifices, especially when it’s Eva being sacrificed.
I go back inside. Turn the heat up under the gravy. Finish the potatoes, even though they’re lumpy. It’s okay, Marta, everything’s going to be fine.
But as I dish up the stuffing and sweet potatoes, I glance at Eva, who is putting the finishing touches on our Thanksgiving table, and my heart just falls. I’m letting Eva down again.
The turbulence during the flight from Seattle to New York has us buckled into our seats for three of the four and a half hours.
The cab ride from the airport to the hotel isn’t much better.
The taxi driver has adjusted his rearview mirror so he can look at me while he drives, and he spends more time staring at me than out the window at the road.
I just want to get to my hotel. Alive.
The Saturday meeting goes well enough. Although I still don’t know why I had to be there, as it had very little to do with anything I’m doing for them.
After the meeting I hop on a late night flight back and get home that night, pay the sitter, someone Lori Hunter recommended, and then fall exhausted into bed.
The morning after I’ve returned from New York, Eva and I meet my parents at the club for Sunday brunch, and she watches the families around us with more wistfulness than usual.
On the way home from the club, she turns to me. “Mom, do you ever think I’ll have a brother or sister?”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “I don’t know, Eva. I really don’t know.”
“But if you marry Luke, you and Luke will want a baby, right?”
Oh God. What a question. If I married Luke. If Luke married me. If we even see each other enough to get that far. . . .
“I don’t know if Luke and I will ever be that serious,” I finally answer.
“But you like him. You’ve kissed him.”
“Eva!”
She gives me a long-suffering look. “Relax, Mom. It’s okay to like a man. Especially since you aren’t a lesbian.”
That night after Eva’s gone to bed, I work for a few hours in the studio before turning in. On the way to my room I stop at her door, open it, and peek in.
She’s curled up in a little ball, her baby blanket nestled in her hand.
She’s had that blanket since she was born. It used to be pink. It’s somewhere between gray and grungy now.
I go to her bed and adjust the comforter to make sure she’s covered. Just looking at her makes my heart hurt. I used to think I could never love anyone as much as I love her, but what I’m finding is that what I feel for Eva is so different from what I feel for Luke.
Eva’s my baby. Luke’s . . . my man.
And yet my baby won’t be my baby forever.
One day, this gorgeous, divine human being will leave me.
Sometimes it blows my mind. Imagine falling in love with a man, an amazing handsome loving man who makes you feel like the best thing in the world, who gives your day purpose, hope, and yet you know from day one of meeting him that you’ll have only eighteen years with him.
One day, about eighteen years after meeting him, falling in love with him, he’ll go. Move on. Do whatever it is he was meant to do.
And this is my job as a woman, as a mom, to love her, prepare her, and then, once she’s ready, push her out of the nest and make her fly.
Heart in my throat, I lean over and kiss her cheek. She’s so warm, her skin’s soft, and in sleep she’s my baby again.
I watch her for another moment and then go to my room, the master bedroom, the place that says I’m the adult here. I’m a woman. And this woman very much wishes a certain man were here to spend the night with her.
December arrives and I’m scheduled to head back to New York. This time Jill’s mom, Lori, invites Eva to stay with them the four days I’m to be gone. “Are you sure?” I ask Lori. “That’s a long time to have to watch her.”
