Better Off Without Him (Romantic Comedy)

by Dee Ernst

  I felt Mitch’s hands on my shoulders. “Sorry,” he said in my ear. “She usually doesn’t come barging in like that.”

  My shoulders started to shake with laughter. “At least I managed to keep my underwear from sliding down to my ankles.”

  He was laughing too. “Yeah, that might have given us away. Where were we, anyway?”

  “I think we were about to do a Glenn Close - Michael Douglas move on your kitchen counter, which, on reflection, would have ended in disaster.”

  “You mean you can’t be erotic and agile on granite?”

  “I do much better on soft surfaces.”

  He grinned. “Just as well. I don’t have any condoms within reach here in the kitchen.”

  I grinned back. “Not very forward thinking of you.”

  “Follow me.”

  I did. The bed was huge. The pillows were plenty. And I didn’t have to teach him a thing.

  I didn’t need to call him the next night. I just wanted to. “Hi, Mitch? It’s Mona. Is this too late to call?”

  “It’s only ten o’clock Mona. Sometimes I’m awake ‘till midnight. What’s up?”

  “My Aunt Lily just told me she’s off to Brooklyn on Monday.”

  “Yeah? Are they posting ‘Welcome to Earth’ banners?”

  Mitch thought the whole Aunt Lily thing quite funny. “I think it’s just lunch with cronies. But the girls will be in school and the house will be empty.”

  “Poor baby. Maybe we could meet for breakfast?”

  “That would be great.”

  “Then maybe a little afternoon delight?”

  “I was thinking more of a mid-morning delight.”

  “But then I couldn’t sing to you.”

  ‘Maybe we could try afternoon as well.”

  He chuckled. “Your faith in my recuperative powers is touching.”

  “Actually, I’m counting more on my powers of persuasion.”

  “After last night, I’m not too worried.”

  “Me neither. We were pretty terrific.”

  He chuckled again. “See you Monday.”

  “Will you really sing to me?”

  “You bet.”

  “Your voice is awful.” We were lying on my bed, sun streaming through the windows, and Mitch had just finish the last verse. During his performance, the vocal one, that is, I had been pressing my hand, fingers splayed, against the dark and springy hair on his chest. During his previous performance, the sexual one, I had other things to do with my hands.

  “I’ll have you know I played Nathan Detroit in my high school musical.”

  “You were a geek even then?”

  “Pretty much since birth.”

  Lana jumped on the bed, gave Mitch a quick look, sniffed his pubic hair, and jumped back off the bed, tail high. He looked after her.

  “Was that some sort of critique?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But her tail held up like that usually means she’s happy about something.”

  “Good to know.”

  “I like your chest hair.”

  “I look like a doormat.”

  “You’re perfect.”

  “Thank you. You too.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  I hadn’t heard from him in two days. I was practically sitting on my hands to keep from dialing, when the phone rang a little after seven. I scurried into the living room to be alone.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, Mona. How are you?”

  “Good.”

  “Yeah? What are you wearing?”

  Oh boy. Our first trashy phone call. But I couldn’t lie. “Gray sweat pants, an LBI sweatshirt and sneakers. Why?”

  “Oh. That’s a little disappointing. I thought all you romance-writer types lounged around in silk negligees and mules.”

  “Mules? You know mules?”

  “Aren’t they high-heeled slippers with fuzzy things on the toes?”

  “Wow. You do know mules.”

  “Can I see you tomorrow night?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well,” he said slowly, “we could get Thai food and eat it off each other’s stomachs.”

  “Hmmm. What if I don’t like Thai?”

  “Mona, please. I could never consider a relationship with any woman who did not like Thai food.”

  “What if I don’t like to eat naked?”

  “Who said anything about eating naked? Maybe I just have terrible table manners. I think you spend way too much time thinking about people getting naked.”

  “Well, it was sort of my job for eighteen years. Does it bother you?”

  He chuckled. “Hell, no. I consider it a perk. How about seven-thirty?”

  “I’m there.”

  “Are you seeing this Mitch guy again?” Jessica snarled. She had a new boyfriend and they needed a ride to the movies.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I’ll take you both one way. Can’t his parents pick you up?”

  “No. We need a ride both ways.”

  “Well, I can’t give you a ride both ways. I’ll be with Mitch. We’re having dinner. Thai.”

  “Why is your date more important than mine?”

  “Because I’m the grown-up, that’s why, and this ride you want is in my car that I pay for, with my gas that I also pay for. I do not feel obligated to compromise my social life for your social life. I can take you there. That’s as good as it gets. Yes or no?”

  “If Daddy were here, he’d give me a ride.”

  “Then call him.”

  She stormed out. Aunt Lily, leaning against the counter, made a small noise.

  “Do you think, Mona, I should try and get a driver’s license?”

  “No,” I blurted, then got my panic under control. “No, Aunt Lily, really. These kids are spoiled into thinking every wish is their command. They can walk to town or change their plans. I’m not changing mine.”

  “So, you’re seeing this Mitch guy again?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

  “Yes. I promise I’ll invite him to dinner soon so everybody can get to know him.”

  “Dear,” Lily murmured, “don’t feel you have to do that. You don’t want to send him running in the other direction, do you?”

  “Now, Aunt Lily, we’re not that bad,” I protested.

  She shrugged. “How old is he again?”

  “He’s forty-two.”

  She nodded. “Good age.”

  “That’s what Patricia said. Why is that a good age?”

  `“Because he’s three years younger than you, and a woman’s life expectancy is three years longer than a man’s. So, if you do end up together, and there are no unforeseen illnesses, you should both die together.”

  “How romantic.”

  “Romantic hell. I’m a practical woman, Mona.”

  “That you are, Aunt Lily.”

  We did not actually eat off each other’s stomachs.

  “The girls are with their father this weekend.”

  “Really? Does that mean you don’t have to leave in the middle of the night and go home?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s great. Let’s plan something. I’m in the store ‘till 6 on Saturday, but we could go into the City and walk around Times Square.”

  “Have dinner someplace small and romantic?”

  “Just like the tourists. Then we could get a room, someplace very expensive, like the Pierre.”

  “The Pierre? How rich are you?”

  “Then we could have brunch and do more touristy stuff.”

  “Walk down Fifth Avenue.”

  “A carriage ride around Central Park.”

  “Oh, I haven’t done that since the girls were little.”

  “Then tea at the Plaza. Like that little girl in the books? I kinda always wanted to do that.”

  “Tea? Like Eloise? My God, you’re worse than I thought.”

  “What’s wrong with tea?”

  “Nothing. Should I tie a red ribbon in my hair?”
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br />   “Perfect. But the best thing will be waking up in the morning, and there you’ll be.”

  “I have really bad hair in the morning and my skin gets all pinky.”

  “Now, there’s a picture. Next you’ll be telling me you have elephant breath in the morning.”

  “Dying elephant breath.”

  “Enough. Let me live the fantasy a few more days, okay?”

  “While you’re at it, put me in mules.”

  I was getting nervous about my book. I had met the October first deadline, sending Frannie a hard copy FedEx and e-mailing her the file. I was waiting for her to call me, and although it was not unusual for her to take a week or two to get back to me, I was feeling very anxious, and by day five I was jumping at loud noises. She finally called on a cloudy Thursday while Anthony was out getting Chinese food for lunch. I saw her number and pounced on the phone.

  “Frannie? What did you think? Did you like it?”

  She sneezed. “Hi, Mona. I’ve actually had a terrible cold, thanks for asking, but other than that, I’m fine. And you?”

  “I’ve been feeling crazed. Seriously. What did you think?”

  “Well, I was out sick when it got to my office, but Becca, my assistant, took it home and read it. She thought it was a riot, and she’s one of those Sarah Lawrence grads who think the last great female writer was Virginia Woolf. She actually brought it to my house and I read it from my sickbed. I loved it. Congratulations, Mona. I laughed, I cried, I was a complete idiot. I was also on medication, but I read it a second time and still loved it. The whole office wants a look.”

  I felt weak from relief. I sank back into the couch. “Thank God. I was so afraid you wouldn’t like it.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s great. So funny, but a really honest story and wonderful characters. Sticking to your guns paid off big time. Always trust your instincts, Mona.”

  Anthony had come up and was pulling little white take-out boxes out of a paper bag. I gave him the thumbs-up.

  “I’ve got a few suggestions, of course,” Frannie went on. “Nothing major. But give me a few more days. We’ll talk.”

  “Okay, Fran. Thanks a lot.” I hung up and grinned at Anthony. “She loved it,” I told him.

  He punched the air. “Yes. Yes. Good. This is so good. Mona, you’re a rock star. Honest.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “I know. I need to call Patricia. And MarshaMarsha. We’ll eat out tonight to celebrate. I may even take the girls shopping. I am so happy. And relieved. And hungry. No scallion pancakes?”

  “Here they are. Can I come too?”

  “Of course. You may have to drive in case I start celebrating too hard.”

  “My pleasure. Lo mien?”

  I dialed Patricia’s number, slurping noodles happily.

  Fred was in love. The first time Mitch had come by the house, all Fred got at first was a quick peek before the bedroom door got shut in his face. But after Mitch had stopped by the house a few times, he and Fred formed a real bond. Mitch would actually get on the floor and rub Fred right behind his left ear, Fred’s favorite spot. But the breakthrough came one Thursday morning, early in October, when the girls were at school and Lily was at her knitting class. I was looking forward to lots of nakedness, but Mitch looked out the window and suggested that we take a nice long walk first. With the dog.

  That’s all Fred needed.

  “My dog is going to follow you home,” I told Mitch.

  “Fred drives?”

  “Only if the car is already running. He has a problem turning the key, but if the van’s in gear, he’s off.”

  “This is a great neighborhood for walking.”

  “It’s a great neighborhood, period.”

  “You must be very happy with your life here.”

  I thought about that for a minute. Yes, I was happy. The thought surprised me.

  When Brian first left, it seemed like my life stalled. There were things that had to be done, the day-to-day chores of getting through the weeks and months, but my mind seemed frozen. Down at the shore, where Brian had never been around for weeks at a time, I felt a sense of normalcy return. Coming back to Westfield, getting back to a routine of school and going places and doing everyday things felt odd at first, because Brian was so definitely gone. But I realized, thinking about what Mitch had said, that I was in fact happy.

  “I am happy,” I said at last. “It’s a different kind of happiness, because it’s new. I’m living my life pretty much the way I always did, but it feels different. I don’t miss Brian anymore. At all. I’m not angry all the time any more either. I’m working hard. I made a few changes to the manuscript, and I’m waiting to hear from Frannie again, but I’m already working on something else, something new. It feels really good to be alone, not that I’m ever really alone, but I mean, well, single. Single feels okay.”

  “Plus, you’re getting fabulous company, not to mention great sex, from a hot, young stud.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right. My hot, young stud. I’m the envy of the neighborhood.”

  “Does Fred look thirsty?”

  “Parched. I think we need to turn around right now and get him home. He may need emergency care.”

  “I’m very good in emergencies,” Mitch said.

  Mitch was very good. Period.

  Against my better judgment, I thought I should introduce Mitch to the girls before they built up such an elaborate fantasy around him that I’d have to kill him off and hide the body rather than try to ask him to live up to it. My initial thought had been Sunday brunch. Eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning is the teenage equivalent of the crack of dawn, so the girls would be slow to the point of sluggish, and they would be so ravenously hungry they would be incapable of complicated speech because they’d be too busy shoveling down goat-cheese omelets and croissants. However, I knew that I’d need more than a fluffy Mimosa as fortification, and no straight vodka before noon is a personal written-in-stone rule for me, so I went to Plan B.

  Plan B was dinner, but without anyone knowing. Mitch would just show up. I hoped that the element of surprise, plus homemade dessert on a weeknight, would be enough to keep at least Lauren and Miranda off-balance. Jessica was never off-balance. Aunt Lily was just a case of “Pray for the best”.

  I decided on lemon chicken, roasted asparagus, and risotto, with pears poached in red wine for dessert. Since the risotto would require my constant attention, I could safely keep Mitch in the kitchen with me. My daughters stay out of the kitchen except when actually eating, because they’re terrified I might ask then to put away a dish or, God forbid, wipe a counter, so I figured I could keep him safe until we were all at the table. By then, I would also have had a martini or two, to deaden the pain of whatever carnage might follow. The trick would be keeping them apart after he arrived. One at a time, my girls can be brutal but charming. As a single unit, however, they are just plain deadly.

  I had told Mitch to come around to the kitchen door. Without the tolling of the doorbell, he might get into the house unnoticed. If the girls stayed in their rooms, which was their usual early evening routine, and if I could keep Fred from going ballistic with joy, Mitch’s presence would go undetected until it was too late for planning, plotting, or going to Google for incriminating information. Not that there was any. I had Googled him myself and he came up clean. But Jessica would probably know of a secret website that stored fifty years worth of high school bios from across the country where she could dig up teen-aged transgressions at a click of the mouse.

  He arrived just after six, a little early, but with flowers and wine. He drank beer, so I popped open a Rolling Rock for him while I tried not to mainline vodka tinged with vermouth. I stirred risotto, laughing with him, my ears straining for telltale footsteps. Six thirty-five came and went. I set out serving dishes, calling for the girls to come to dinner, and was feeling very smug. Mitch was pouring wine as they filed in. Only Miranda stopped to stare, then threw me a vicious look. Lauren and Jessica ba
rely blinked, as though having a relatively strange man at the dinner table was no big deal. Aunt Lily, who’d been back in the garden, gave me a satisfied little smile.

  “Everyone,” I said casually, “this is Mitch Wallace. Mitch, do you remember my daughters?”

  He smiled and nodded his head.

  “And this in my aunt, Lily Martel. Aunt Lily, this is Mitch.”

  “Yes, I thought so,” Lily murmured. “Very well done, Mona.”

  “Pretty sly, Mom,” Lauren said.

  “Thank you, honey.”

  “Mitch,” Jessica announced, “has been to the nude beach at Sandy Hook.”

  Lily raised an eyebrow. “Recently?” she asked.

  Mitch shook his head blandly. “Years ago.”

  “Ah,” Lily said. “I imagine there were a lot of old men running around with very white, flaccid penises.”

  Mitch cleared his throat. “Pretty much.”

  “Aunt Lily,” Lauren whispered loudly,” that’s gross.”

  Lily shrugged. “Lauren, dear, you’re not a child. I shouldn’t have to worry about censoring my vocabulary in front of you. There’s nothing wrong with discussing penises.”

  “No, Aunt Lily,” I managed. “But maybe not at the dinner table.”

  She shrugged again and passed the risotto.

  “Do you live around here, Mitch?” Miranda asked, her eyes never leaving his face.

  “Chatham,” he answered. “Not far.”

  “So,” she continued, “I guess you’ll be stopping in for dinner quite a lot?”

  Mitch smiled. “I hope so, because this chicken is delicious.”

  “Thanks,” I said, smiling into my dinner plate.

  “But,” Mitch continued, “I didn’t just stop by. I was invited.”

  “Really?” Lauren looked at me with narrowed eyes.

  “Yes,” I told her. “I invited him last week.”

  “I can’t imagine why you didn’t tell us he was coming,” Miranda groused.

  “Oh, I can,” said Lily, sipping wine.