Michael had to put the key in the lock. It’s not that I couldn’t; it’s that I couldn’t. Lock holes were much smaller and more tedious when slightly buzzed. It’d been forever since I’d done any serious drinking. Wine sometimes maybe, but I had no idea what Liz kept filling my red cup with. My guess is it wasn’t legally sold at your local ABC store, and should’ve been nowhere near a church or synagogue.
“Are you sure you’re okay to operate the shower? I realize the door lock has tumblers, but a shower can be so complicated.”
“Thanks for taking me home, Mikey.” I felt a cheesy grin strap to my face, and I even touched his cheek while saying it.
“Wow. I haven’t been called Mikey since forever.”
My eyes felt heavy. “No? What do they call you? I thought that was your name.”
He guided me to the living room. His hands rested on my waist. “I think you’re feeling no pain, Sarah. Where is Rose?”
“She is having pizza and movies. She has a bestie. I wish I had a bestie—a boy bestie. And pizza, she’s having pizza.” I was starving. Seems Meg and Tyler didn’t figure on feeding the community. There was hardly any food when I finally made it through the line.
I plopped down and put my feet on the coffee table. He disappeared around the corner. I figured he’d gone to the kitchen. I closed my eyes for all of what felt like an hour. When I opened them, I jumped up. Looking for a clock, I wondered whether it was time to get Rose. Wondered whether Michael left. I traipsed to the kitchen, stretching my toes between steps. The heels I wore were new, and they had a few more weeks of wearing before my toes didn’t feel like hostages. I peeked around the corner to see Michael making a pot of coffee. It was gurgling and hissing in the pot.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m making you coffee. I’m sure Rose will be home soon, and you can’t be like this.”
“Aww, how sweet.” I did a second cheese smile and leaned against the chair.
He rested his head against the cabinet door. “You okay?”
“I’m making it.”
I walked over to him. Just the smell of ground coffee beans was sobering enough. I put my hand on his shoulder. He turned around slowly. His eyes were full of expression—sadness, needfulness, and confusion.
“I’m holding it together, I guess.”
“I think you’re doing a valiant effort with going to counseling. I’m super proud of you both.”
“Hold on to those Boy Scout badges. I’m only going through the motions, Sarah.”
“Well, that’s not cool. You have to actually try, Michael.”
“It’s not going to work.”
“Marriage is hard stuff.”
“Yours didn’t work.”
“Well, that’s another story.”
“Did you notice how she said she’d have John drive her home?”
“Yeah, so?”
“She likes him, Sarah. That’s who she wishes she married. Him or her boyfriend from college. Do you know she even keeps a picture of him in her nightstand? She thinks I’ll never find it, but I did. I was looking for the TV remote and there it was, as plain as day. They were standing by a fountain. And her look…she looked like she’s never looked standing next to me.”
“And how would you know? You’re not looking at her stand next to you.”
“Oh, I don’t have to. I feel the disconnect. The glacier wind. She was practically oozing lava at this guy in the picture. Then to hear her talk about him. Her mother came over a couple months ago and said she found some old postcards. I guess they went on vacation or something. You should’ve seen her, Sarah. She was in a trance, looking at those cards. I’m sure she wouldn’t be in counseling if that’s who she married.”
“It bothered you—that’s good.”
“That’s bad. You see, it didn’t bother me. I mean, maybe it should have. We’re so different. Her old lost love…John Jones—they’re her speed. He was wearing plaid shorts, for crying out loud! I’m never even going to wear plaid boxer shorts. They might break me out in a rash. Give me torn jeans and an old tee shirt.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“It’s obvious I’m not bothered by pictures of old boyfriends, and that can’t be overlooked anymore. At least with one or both of us not hating the other.”
“Nonsense. You all were good once. You can be again. You bring out the crazy in her, and she brings out the stable in you. It’s a good mix. Trust me. Every kite needs a string to ground them.”
“It’s good to fly, though, right? Once in a while?”
Oh brother, who needed coffee to bring me out of my drunken, fun stupor? I had Michael and his failed marriage talk. Total buzzkill. I didn’t have a clue about my own life and its future—what did I seriously know about his?
“Okay, so you want to hear about strings? Strings make sure the cereal boxes are all facing in the same direction, and cut open with scissors. Because you can’t just pull the plastic bag. No, it has to be cut. And strings tend to make you feel as though everything you do is wrong. And then does it their way, after you’ve tried to make them happy. And strings don’t make you go to bed alone. Every night.”
I backed up and leaned against the counter beside him. I had no idea they were in so much turmoil. Sure, there was the new information of jock itch cream, but they must’ve been putting up a good front. This didn’t just happen overnight.
The kitchen was quiet. The coffee had stopped brewing, and the five-dollar clock on the wall was ticking manically. Vibrating in my ears. Yep, I was totally sober now. Nothing like a depressing wedding, a dance around the floor with Mr. College, and a pity party in the kitchen to do in a weekend right.
“You know, I was more jealous of that kid dancing with you than I am of John Jones taking home my wife.”
Oh my. “What?”
He turned to look at me. “Hear me out.”
“I better not. You’re drunk.”
“I haven’t had a drink, Sarah! Liz was ticked at me. She wouldn’t share her secret supply. You girls and your bonds of sticking up for each other.”
Perks of a best friend, but she missed it on this one. Michael wasn’t the bad guy. He was just a guy in a bad situation. Been there, done that.
“I think you better go home, Michael.”
We were, after all, standing in the exact same spot as his first offense. Maybe it was magic kitchen tiles. If I could pull them up and throw them down the next time I find myself with a prospective suitable mate, it would work him into a kiss.
“No. Not yet. Not until I tell you what I’ve wanted to since I left here the last time.”
“Michael.” I put my hand on his chest.
“Sarah, I’ve always liked you. I’ve been attracted to you since you moved back and started coming over to the house to see Maggie. And before you say anything, our marriage was in trouble back then. We just thought having a baby would solve the problems.”
“Michael—”
“No, listen to me.” He took my hand and held it. I would be lying to say it didn’t give me a tickle in my stomach. A sick, ready-to-puke tickle or a whoozy, I’m delirious tickle—I wasn’t sure.
“Counseling is only prolonging the inevitable with me and Maggie. We’re not happy and we’re not going to be. The best we can be now is great parents to Charlie. And I’m going to be that.”
“Okay, well, then—”
“I just want you to consider for a moment…me.”
His dark eyes penetrated me. His lingering cologne swayed me. Okay, so if he weren’t Maggie’s husband, he would be totally hot, and totally my type. The fact is, he was still her husband—and Charlie’s dad. No matter what, there was a code. A girlfriend code. On a different planet, in a different time warp…maybe. Not even then. What am I thinking? Why am I thinking anything?
“I know we’re…well, we’re friends, and the timing couldn’t be worse, but I’ve kind of had a crush on you forever. It’s not a stalker-type crush, bu
t a fondness. A great fondness. You have such awe-inspiring strength. Raising Rose on your own. Never having a man to take care of you. The way you have to have a tomato, a piece of cilantro, and some corn on your tortilla chip before you eat it. And the way you make everyone a tiny birthday cake at work. And leave sugar fruit wedges on Jessie’s truck. I see it all. And through the years, I’ve fallen for all of it.”
Jessie is the janitor, and newly widowed, and he loves sugar fruit wedges. I’m a sucker to see someone smile.
“Slowly, Sarah. I’ve fallen for it slowly, almost not even recognizing it for what it was.” He seemed to be stressing the slow part, and held my hand tightly.
I closed my eyes, hoping this isn’t what it was. Hoping all the complications Michael was piling up on my kitchen floor wasn’t really happening. They were the perfect things to say, from the most imperfect person to be saying it. He was Maggie’s. He slept next to her at night, carried her bags in when we had a gathering, carried her child when he was sleeping or cranky beyond fruit puffs…their child. They had a child together, for crying out loud! He taught math every day in order to pay their mortgage and keep Charlie in baby Skechers and tiny polo shirts. He drove their four-door navy-blue Volvo, which he probably secretly hated and wanted more to drive a Harley-Davidson. This man was not mine. Could not be mine. No. Yet with every slow, meaningful word that was coming out of his sultry lips, I was getting the tingles. Low, deep down in my stomach. Coming on slow and strong. How could Maggie want to infiltrate jock itch into his dental hygiene?
Then he leaned in very deliberately and kissed me. I opened my eyes the last second to see his go shut. Then I felt his mouth. Wet. Smooth. Warm. It was fully on mine. Spontaneously, I parted my lips as my heart took off. Then I raised my hands and pushed his chest. Which only made his kiss deepen. My hands eased. The day I felt the most sorrow for what my life had turned out was transforming into an emotional breakdown of a very masterful kiss. Ultimately, I pulled away.
“Sarah,” he said in a husky whisper. His eyes were half-open.
“Michael, you’re married to my best friend.”
“Does she want it to work?”
“Well…” I heard everything she said at the table again. Like regurgitated leftovers describing how she felt when he smiled after agreeing to cut the lawn. No, the fact was, she thought their marriage was a mistake. I remember quite distinctively her saying, “What was I thinking when I said, I do?”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
He pulled me in again.
“That doesn’t mean we can…or we should…or that ‘we’ is even a choice. Michael!” I pushed him away.
He backed up, adjusting his neck. “Fine. We’ll give it time to air out. I’ll move out and find an apartment.”
“Hold up,” I almost screamed.
There was a knock on my door. I took a quick peek out the window to find it was Bea on the back step. She was holding Rose. I tried my best to wipe off my adulterer look and hoped I didn’t reek of betrayal. I did a quick smell of the front of my dress, pulling it up to my nose before I opened the door.
“The girls had a blast. Thanks for letting Rose come along.” She handed me my sleeping girl.
“That’s great. I’ll just take her on to bed. No need in waking her for a stinking bath.” I smiled and laid Rose’s head on my shoulder.
“Okay, well, thanks again for letting her go.” She clasped her hands and smiled politely. I could hear the motor of her car running and saw the car lights reflect on the shed wall in the back yard.
Bea left and I turned to see Michael. He stayed beside the counter, out of sight.
“Michael, I think you should go home,” I whispered.
“Just tell me you don’t feel even a pinch of something for me. Tell me and I’ll never bother you again. I’ll go back to my loveless marriage, and I’ll come and eat once a month and pretend not to know what your lips taste like. Tell me that, Sarah.”
Rose wasn’t exactly light. I holstered her on my hip, trying to keep her head from bobbing. The truth was, I was jealous of Maggie. Michael was handsome, a true gentleman, funny as crap, and sensitive. A couple of students confided he was giving them advice on the side—guys without a dad role model. And it helped them greatly. I did like Michael. I just didn’t know if I could like him after Maggie liked him. There was an unwritten rule to stuff like this. No matter how she probably had to fake smiling at him every night. This wasn’t an episode of Sister Wives. You could get shunned for this crap. I could see it now: the pizza den would stop deliveries to my address, Jenson’s market would lock their doors when they saw me heading their way, and Michelle at the Daily Grind would start spitting in my mochas. Just because she was divorced too and could feel Maggie’s agony. No, I had too many strikes against me for returning home with a fatherless daughter already. Suddenly hooking up with Michael would put me on the platform Sister Hester stood on a couple of centuries ago.
“I can’t tell you anything, Michael. It’s unfair of you to ask me. This is not something that can even be attempted…tried…or fathomed. Maggie could have a picture hanging in her bedroom closet where she throws darts at it daily, and you’d still be off the list for someone I could want to date. Don’t you understand? Not only that, but how weird would that be?” Was this only known to women? Did men trade women like baseball cards? I tried to wrap my head around what was happening.
“She probably does,” he muttered under his breath. Then his head hung, and he took a step toward the back door. “I guess I’ll go home then.”
He pushed the back door open and I watched him walk out. I had no idea what to think. And my best friend wasn’t exactly in the position to offer me any advice. She was busy harboring her own feelings of him, herself. Although most of hers probably involved laxatives, push pins, and daggers.
Word on the street was that Michael moved out of the house. He was living with a single buddy from work—Gary. Gary never found the right girl, either. Now they were two bachelors holed up in a two-bedroom, half-bath house down off Spruce Court. Maggie called the day he moved out. Suddenly, after a few times shared with Michael in my kitchen, I didn’t feel right about talking to her about their relationship. I felt I had a stake in it, or rather a part. But I kept reminding myself that what went wrong between them happened a long time ago. My taking up space on this earth had nothing to do with the crumble of their relationship. According to Michael, it all happened about two minutes after Charlie was born. Maggie had morphed into someone he didn’t recognize anymore, and it’d only gotten worse.
“I watched as he drove off, Sarah. It was so surreal. Not like when he goes to the store because I’ve run out of parmesan cheese, but this time I knew he wasn’t coming back. There would be no time I’d just call and tell him to pick something up on the way home. Because this isn’t his home. My house feels very empty. Not that it didn’t before, but now I’m really, truly by myself.”
There was silence. I tried to imagine what sort of shoulder she needed. An understanding friend whose quiet, a man-hater who says he’s the scum of the earth, or a sponge, telling her to let it all out—I could take it? Did she sound broken up?
“How are you feeling?”
“Numb.”
Hmmm…where to go from there? “Did you feel like chasing down the car and begging him to return?”
I waited. And waited. Finally…
“Um, I don’t know. There’s been so much venom. So much truth being told in counseling—here at home, mutters under the breath when I toast the bagel too brown. I get it—he doesn’t think I’m the same person he married. Well, hello, I’m not. I’m a mother now. Things need to be put before his needs. Schedules must be followed. We aren’t single. We just can’t go out and catch a movie and dinner. We have Charlie. And he never seems to get that fact. Life has changed. I swear, did I ever see his two-year-old behavior before I actually had a kid of my own? Just once I wish I felt like I had a husband and a child—n
ot two kids.”
“Certainly other couples go out. Even after children. I think it keeps relationships fresh.”
“I don’t know, Sarah. I think it’s easy for you to say that, because you never had a husband.”
“Uh, yeah, I did.”
“I mean one who’s involved in rearing your child. You’ve been a single parent. You haven’t had to go through anything I’ve had to.”
“Which is more difficult than being a single parent?” I was getting steamed, tapping my foot even. What did she know about my world? What did any of them know about my world? It’s been challenging being a mother and a dad to Rose. When she was sick all night, it was just me. Me, who stayed up all night worrying and pacing, using my own judgment on going to the ER, or seeing whether the Motrin would kick in. Searching online for bizarre prognoses on bug bites that could’ve been Lyme disease. There was no one to talk me off that ledge when I was convinced she had meningitis because she slept on two pillows and could barely move her neck the next morning. And did I ever get a morning to sleep in? Ever get a meal cooked, or parmesan picked up at the store because I forgot it? No. Give me a break. Don’t even get me started on the night I heard a noise and had to take a can of hair spray to arm myself. I figured I’d blind whoever it was, and then knock him out with the can. It was an economy size, and evidently the only thing I kept in the house that acted as both a weapon and frizz control.
“I’m just saying it’s a lot to juggle. I have to tend to Charlie, and find time to stroke all the needs of Michael. It’s a headache. Especially when he comes home and ignores the fact I’ve been with a toddler all day, and he wants my attention.”
“Shouldn’t he want some sort of attention? Isn’t it healthy to spend time with each other?”
“When you aren’t dead on your feet, I suppose. I don’t have the luxury of a job that doesn’t require every moment of my life watching to make sure someone doesn’t bump their head, or swallow a rock, or get stung. It’s exhausting. Michael has the easy part of going away every day and being a teacher. And I’m stuck here.”
Pursuing Sarah (Sarah Series Book 2) Page 9
