Me Tarzan, You Jane

by Camelia Miron Skiba

  “The guys invited you to go out with them. It’ll do you good to do something else.”

  He smiles and bends to kiss me. Grabbing my neck he presses his forehead on mine and whispers, “Do you know that your touch has a calming effect on me?”

  “You don’t play fair, Lucas Oliver. I know all kinds of touches that instead of calming you, they cause pain. Get out of here.” I laugh and push him away so I can close the door. Letting the car roll from his driveway I open the window and say, “I’ll let you know when Ella is asleep.”

  * * *

  “Jane, I really don’t understand your reasoning. Why do you refuse to go out with him?” Mom hands me an empty salad bowl.

  Done rinsing lettuce, I turn off the faucet. I move onto chopping veggies. “Because.”

  “Ella has better answers than you and she’s only four,” Mom shakes her head. “You and Lucas are both adults. What’s the harm of going out in public with him?”

  “Think about it, Mom. When he’s back to normal, not grieving over his mother, he won’t need me anymore. It’s obvious why Lucas wants me. He leans on me. I’ve been through what he’s going through now. We have something in common that brought us together but it’s not what will keep us together. It’s not enough. I’m simply enabling him to get out when he’s ready without the complications of a public relationship. I’m not the kind of woman Lucas needs next to him.”

  “Dear God, Jane! You’re talking as if you’re the ugliest woman in the world.”

  “I’m not ugly, Mom, I know that. But I’m not one of those ravishing beauties he’s been surrounded with his whole life either. He belongs in their world, not in mine.”

  “Cut the crap, Jane Audrey Sullivan,” Mom says my whole name fast, which stops me in the middle of slicing a cucumber. “I’m your mother and I know you better than that. I think you’re afraid. That’s what it is. This thing about enabling him to get out is baloney. You know it and I know it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Mom shakes her head and walks away into the dining room. I follow to see her setting plates and silverware on the table.

  “Mom, I asked you a question.”

  Placing the fifth plate down she says, “You’re afraid to be hurt again. You’re afraid he’ll leave you one day like Evan did.”

  Her words deliver a blow I didn’t expect, my insides clenching in pain. “Evan didn’t leave me, Mom. He died.”

  “Fine, call it whatever you want. Bottom line, Evan is not here. Possibly one day Lucas might disappear as well. He might be here one day and gone the next one. A week, a year, ten, who knows? But he is here now. You can’t let the fear of losing someone stop you from being with that person. It’s common sense, human nature, whatever you want it to be.” Mom stands behind the chair at the end of the table. Dressed in red capris and a floral shirt she reminds me of one of those mature models for Chico’s.

  “I slept with him.” Blood rushes to my cheeks and a wave of heat cruises through me. I don’t look at my mom but rather at my own fingernails. Not even when I see her bare feet in front of mine do I lift my eyes. I’m embarrassed admitting this out loud, but if I had to choose between confessing to my priest and telling this to my own mother, the latter seems easier.

  Placing one finger under my chin, Mom forces me to look in her brown eyes. She smiles when she says, “And thank God you did it. That’s what a man and a woman do, Jane. Normal people.”

  “Mom, I’m normal.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re broken and stuck in the past. You’re guarded, keeping your feelings fenced up. No one can jump over those walls, are you kidding me?” She walks into the kitchen and once again I follow her. She puts on oven mitts and bends to open the oven. The smell of lasagna tickles my senses. She tries some of the homemade tomato sauce and motions me to try it, too.

  “That’s not true, Mom. I’m seeing Lucas when I can, I spend time with him, sleep with him. I invited him today for dinner here with you guys. What else do you want me to do?”

  “I’d bet my next pension if it weren’t for Ella and us picking you up at the airport when you returned from Paris, you would’ve never told us about him.”

  “You’re not fair, Mom. Besides, there was nothing between us then.” I return to the salad, dicing and slicing so fast I hope I won’t lose a finger to it. “It’s been a month since—” I almost blurt “having sex” but that would really mean giving out more details than I want my mom to know. Having sex and sleeping with someone have different connotations, one more explicit, the other a little bit . . . veiled. Clearing my throat I say, “Since we . . . became close. I’m not gonna rush into doing something that people think I should do. I like my privacy.”

  “Privacy and publishing books don’t go together, Jane. You really need to think this through. You won’t be able to go to the grocery store without being recognized and—”

  “For crying out loud, Mom.” I throw the knife down. “Do you really think people will know who I am just because my name is on a few books? First of all, I use a pen name. No one will know it’s me. And if they do, authors are not the same type of celebrity as actresses or singers where people climb all over you for an autograph. Secondly, who I am as a writer is not one and the same with my private persona. I’ll be professional and keep a certain distance between the two. That’s all. You see? I’ve everything under control.”

  With a confident smile I push my chin up then return to finishing the salad. The truth is I’m ready to pull my hair out. I don’t know what got into my mom, but she freaks me out. As if she has nothing better to do than to play devil’s advocate. She rarely pushes me nor argues about my decisions. Why all of a sudden this zealous interest in wanting me to go out with Lucas?

  During dinner I put on a brave and relaxed face. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit Mom’s words hit home. Knowing that Lucas will be gone tomorrow brings me to the same place I was when we returned from France and I asked him to stay overnight. I’m nervous to see him gone. If I could, I’d shrink to fit in one of his pockets just to be with him all the time. I’m insane, I know, to want to be with him that much, but it scares me because no one in their right mind would be so obsessed to be with someone the way I want to be with Lucas. The irony of it all? Months ago I couldn’t even stand the man’s name.

  Ella clings to Lucas before, during, and after dinner. He doesn’t seem to mind it, quite the opposite. From coloring sprawled on the floor to reading fairytales to playing Uno, Ella monopolizes his attention. After dinner Pete takes them both for a ride through the neighborhood in his restored Ford, but they end up driving farther and returning home with several bags.

  “Ella couldn’t decide which ice cream she likes more.” Lucas places the bags on the countertop, next to the sink where I stand and rinse dishes. He kisses my temple, which has me frantically looking for Ella in case she saw it. I hear her down the hallway telling my mom she luuubs Pete’s car.

  “Five types of ice cream? You couldn’t say no? She totally played you,” I laugh.

  Lucas leans in once again and kisses me, this time on the corner of my mouth. “Not so much as her mommy,” he whispers.

  “Yeah, right. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” I elbow him.

  “Oh yeah. She plays hard to get, but when she opens up, she’s definitely . . . fiery.” He lifts the hair away from my ear and kisses my lobe.

  With goose bumps all over my skin I mouth, Stop it, as Pete walks in. “The game is on,” he says on his way to the living room.

  Ella skips in and stands on her tippy toes, trying to reach for the ice cream.

  “Why are you in your jammies, honey pea? We aren’t spending the night here. Are you tired?”

  “I’m not tired,” she wrestles to open the first container. “I want to stay at Grams tonight. We’re going to the park tomorrow for a picnic.”

  My eyes lock with Lucas’s.

  It’s a ten second exchange but I bet we t
hink the same. I know that twinkle in his eyes and the little pull at the corner of his mouth when he tries not to smile.

  I try to catch my mom’s eyes but she avoids me, keeping busy with bringing bowls and silverware to the table. I wonder if this is her doing, convincing Ella to stay tonight so Lucas and I can spend it together without sneaking out of the house as soon as the sun goes up. Maybe I can take him to the airport.

  “I want one scoop of this, then this, this, this and this,” Ella points at each container. Of course she wants all of them, what else?

  I honestly don’t know where she packs all this ice cream. Earlier she ate lasagna and a few salad bites. I have to force the bowl out of her hands before she gets the chance to lick it. Cuddled in Lucas’s arms, the two of them join Pete in the living room. Mom and I follow.

  Ella falls asleep before halftime. Leaning on Lucas, she has one thumb in her mouth and her favorite dolls on her lap. I show him where to take her, down the hallway into my old bedroom. Sitting on the bed’s edge he covers her then sighs. “I didn’t realize until tonight how much I missed her. Are you sure you can’t come along? We can work on the column. I’ll pay a babysitter to stay with Ella. We’ll get separate rooms, anything you want, just come with me.”

  “I can’t. I’m booked for two commercials next week. Ella has a ballet recital. Plus I really have to focus on my writing. This new group of authors I’m exchanging critiques with is amazing. They write really fast and I need to do my share of reviews before I can ask them to take a look at my chapters. I’m sorry.”

  Lucas shrugs. He pushes one hand through his hair, and returns his eyes to Ella. She sleeps on her side with both her palms under her cheek. My little ice cream addict.

  “Sorry, I’m such a baby,” he shrugs. “These days . . . since Mom’s gone I feel really weird inside. I’ve always been surrounded by people but . . .”

  “There will be a ton of people surrounding you this time as well. You won’t even have time to sleep.” I pat his arm, a little pang of jealousy stabbing at my heart. All those women fawning over him, pulling him in all directions . . . the parties he’ll go to, the photos he’ll be asked for, the interviews. Part of me is glad I won’t see it all in person; I don’t know if I could really take it. Part of me doesn’t want him to go at all.

  Lucas places a hand atop mine and rubs my skin. It’s calming, relaxing me to the point I want to lean on his shoulder and close my eyes. He speaks in a low voice, “For some reason I can’t explain, it feels like Mom’s death makes me aware of things I took lightly.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How lonely I am.”

  Loneliness.

  How well I know this feeling. No matter where I tried to escape it, it found me, taking residence in my heart, reigning over it. How well I know its icy breath, turning a bright day into a long, empty night. Far too empty and far too long.

  But not tonight.

  “Come,” I stand, kiss Ella’s forehead and, taking Lucas’s hand, we leave the room. We say goodbye to Mom and Pete, promising I’ll come the next day to pick Ella up. We drive separately, stopping at my house to grab a few things, then on to Lucas’s house.

  It’s the first time I’ll spend a whole night in his house, not sneaking in, not afraid of waking anyone. Cameron spends the night at his girlfriend’s so we have the house to ourselves. It’s also the first time I take charge. It’s the first time I leave the lamp on, undressing Lucas one button at a time. No rush. No time. No care. Instead, I take it all in: the wonder of a touch, the warmth of a kiss, the softness of an embrace.

  “You’re making it very hard on me,” Lucas says later, kissing my shoulder and brushing his hand over my side.

  “Hard how?” I have my back to him, half asleep.

  Pulling me tighter to his chest he says, “Hard to leave you.”

  Chapter 22

  “I’m not sure what’s wrong with Ella lately.” Mrs. Edelman breathes hard, inviting me to join her at her cluttered desk. She browses through papers, “Last week I thought it was one of those random incidents. Maybe she had a bad day; she’s not an aggressive kid. But today Ella hit Gavin again and it wasn’t just once; she hit him several times until I stopped her. I had to put her in timeout, which of course she wasn’t happy about, but I had no choice. Is everything okay at home?”

  “Of course, everything’s okay,” I sound defensive. “Did you ask her why she hit Gavin?”

  Mrs. Edelman huffs as she interlaces short chubby fingers on the table atop a pile of colored papers. Her black eyes swim in layers of fat when she focuses on me. “I did and her answer was because she wanted to. I couldn’t get anything out of Gavin, either. Anyway,” she starts shuffling through papers again, scrunching her bushy gray eyebrows and muttering, “Where did I put that? Oh, here it is.” She hands me a piece of paper. “I had to file a report and inform Gavin’s parents as well. This is your copy of the report. I’ll keep an eye on Ella, but I suggest you find out what’s going on with her. I can’t have chaos in my class.” Mrs. Edelman stands, a sign the meeting is over.

  I take the paper and stand, reluctant to leave just yet. Mrs. Edelman and I never had a great relationship, but Ella loves being in her class. It’s a weird vibe she gives me, reminding me of a female version of Hagrid: shoulder-length gray, wiry hair, baggy clothes, and wheezed breathing. I once asked Ella why she likes Mrs. Edelman and she said because she’s Santa’s sister. That’s reason enough for me to not request another teacher. Just because I don’t like her doesn’t mean Ella can’t be in her class.

  On my way home I try to get Ella to talk about the incident, but she gives me only monosyllabic answers. By the time I open the garage door she has me very alarmed. It’s obvious she’s struggling with something, and not knowing what it is drives me insane. What’s going on with my daughter? When I offer ice cream and she refuses, I know there must be grave reasons, whatever it is that preoccupies her.

  Lucas joins us within minutes of our arrival and, although I don’t have time to tell him what happened at daycare, he figures out quickly something’s wrong.

  “Would you like to play fashion show?” I ask.

  Ella shakes her head. She sits on the rug in her room, combing her Cinderella doll’s hair.

  “How about going to the beach?” Lucas offers, sitting across from her and handing her a pink rubber band. “We’ll make sand castles.”

  She takes the rubber band and throws it away, not answering, only shaking her head.

  “Are you tired?” I join them on the rug, gathering Ella in my arms. I bury my nose in her curls, and love the familiar smell of peach shampoo. “Maybe if you take a nap you’ll feel better. How about we both take a nap?”

  “Not tired,” she mutters. She’s done with Cinderella and moves on to Snow White. She pulls at the doll’s hair—not that it’s tangled or anything—but she combs it faster and faster, tiny grunts coming out of her pouty lips.

  “You know what?” I stop Ella, cradling her hand with mine. She looks over her shoulder at me, not smiling. “We need to get a present for Lillie. You’re going to her birthday party tomorrow, remember?”

  “Not going.”

  Lucas and I exchange worried looks over Ella’s head. He mouths, “Why?” but I say the question out loud, “Why is that?”

  She shrugs. “Gabin said I can’t come. Lillie is his sister and she can’t be my friend anymore.”

  I have a feeling I’m closer to finding out what’s going on with her and why she hit Gavin. Kids can be cruel, and while I don’t agree with Ella’s behavior, something triggered her violent reaction. I ache for my daughter and want to cry, but I can’t give in to emotion, not without risking upsetting her more. I caress her hair and move my position so that I can see her frowning face. “Why doesn’t he want you to be her friend?”

  Another shrug. “Because I’m an orphan.” Tears well up in her eyes and, with a quick tremor of her chin, Ella laces her arms around my neck and cries
one of those cries that convulse her body.

  “Oh, Ella!” I squeeze and rock her, my voice a mixture of fury, and sadness. “Honey, you are not an orphan!”

  Lucas comes closer and rubs her arm, “Princess, you are not an orphan. You have us.”

  She lets go of me and rubs her eyes with chubby fists. “Yes, I aaaaam. Gabin said soooo!”

  “Do you know what orphan means?” When she shakes her head I say, “An orphan is a child that lost both his or her parents. You did lose your daddy, but you still have me. Right? Even without Daddy being here, you’re not alone. There’s nothing wrong with having just one parent. Actually, it gives me that much more room to love you. Gavin was just being a naughty boy, teasing you.”

  “He iiiiiiis mean!” Ella decrees. With tears glistening on her rosy cheeks, she sighs, crying loudly. By the look on her face, I’m sure my words had the exact impact I expected. I hold her for a while until she calms down, rocking her from side to side.

  Lucas clenches his jaw and shakes a fist in the air. He mouths, “That little bugger.”

  I press a finger over my lips then say, “Is this why you punched Gavin?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you didn’t know what orphan meant. Why did you punch him?”

  “Because when he called me orphan the kids laughed and didn’t want to play with me anymore. I thought orphan was something bad.”

  My daughter’s logic amazes me once again. She associates the word “orphan” with the children’s unwillingness to play with her. Deep down I’m glad she stood up for herself, for not taking Gavin’s bullying. But I need to ensure she won’t take matters into her own hands and punch kids anytime she thinks she can do that. I’ll end up being called to the principal’s office for the next twelve years, for sure.

  I’ve one more thing to find out. “When did Gavin say you’re an orphan?”

  “Last week.”

  “What did he say to you today?”