Some of our discussions were predictable. For example: “That wagon wheel table is not that bad.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I said as I brought a freshly opened bottle of wine and two glasses into the living room.
“I’ll grant you, you don’t want it in the middle of your living room,” Scott conceded as I poured him a bottle of red from the BevMo! nickel sale. “But as a piece in and of itself…”
“It’s still ugly,” I insisted.
Some moments were awkward: when Meg Ryan leaned in to kiss Billy Crystal for the first time, I snuck a glance at Scott. He was staring right at the screen, his face pensive, his eyes narrowed. I have no idea what was going through his mind, but that was definitely not the time to move in for a kiss. And the dinner scene afterward where they both admit their one-night tryst was a mistake made me certain that nothing would ever happen between Scott and me.
So the two of us watched the rest of the movie in silence. The wedding fight, the prolonged days when a lonely Harry tries to apologize, and finally the scene where Harry realizes he’s in love with Sally and says to her, “I love it that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich.”
Of course—that scene never happens in real life.
In real life the guy goes on his merry way and leaves you to haul the Christmas tree home all by yourself.
As the credits roll, Scott turns to me, his face still very serious and pensive. “I love that you read a new novel every other week.”
I don’t know what that means. Scott continues, “I love that you put rainbow sprinkles on your ice cream every chance you get, because it reminds you of being a kid. I love how shiny your hair is, even when it’s the end of the day and you have it twisted up in a bun with nothing holding it up but two chopsticks. I love how you look up the lottery numbers every week, to make sure the numbers you didn’t play didn’t get picked. I love that you stay up on the phone with me until all hours of the morning, even though you have to go to work the next morning. Because you are the last person I want to talk to at night. I love—”
I fling myself across the couch and pounce on Scott, giving him a giant kiss.
And lo and behold, he’s kissing me back.
He’s kissing me! Right now Scott has his arms around me, and his tongue is in my mouth, and I’m getting light-headed at the thought that the man of my dreams actually wants me too.
I pull away from him, a surprised smile plastered across my face. “Oh my God—it worked! You actually let me kiss you!”
Scott leans in, his face serious and sexy.
And this time I let him kiss me.
It wasn’t the last time I said “Oh my God!” that night, but it was the last time we actually talked.
Forty
Nicole
Around eleven o’clock that night, Mel and Danny (his real name—I soooo checked his driver’s license)—were still making goo-goo eyes at each other, Nick (also his real name) had told me his life story, and I was ready to head home for a pint of Häagen-Dazs and a bag of Chips Ahoy!
I got home, had a quick call with Jason, who was still hanging out with some former players at the NBA fund-raiser, then settled in for the night.
The first thing I did after talking to Jason was check Facebook to see if Kevin was on.
It’s not like how it sounds. It was just such a relief to get to talk to him last night. To get to be honest with my feelings about my life, no matter how ugly they were. I tried talking to Mel tonight—her response was to check out and hook up with a guy.
And that is fine—she is allowed to have one night where we focus on her. God knows we focused on me for months on end leading up to the wedding, and she gets major points for not only coaxing me out of the bathroom that day, but never breathing a word about it to any of my guests.
But I need to talk some more. I need to figure stuff out.
I click on Facebook.
KEVIN: You’re home early.
NICOLE: Mel hooked up with someone. You know what they say: two’s company, three’s kinky. What did you do tonight?
KEVIN: Watched six episodes of The A-Team back-to-back while eating a balanced diet of Hot Pockets and potato chips.
NICOLE: Still blocked, huh?
KEVIN: Indeed. And now I plan to weep in the dark because I’m not hooking up with someone tonight. I’m jealous of Mel. Ever miss it?
NICOLE: What? Hooking up? Nah.
KEVIN: The first kiss? Really. Oh, I missed it when I was married. That excitement of everything being new, everything having possibilities. Remember that place in Malibu?
I know exactly what he’s referring to and quickly type:
NICOLE: Barely. It was a lifetime ago.
KEVIN: Hold on. My microwave burrito is ready.
As I wait for Kevin to come back, my mind wanders back to the fish restaurant in Malibu he referred to. A memory floods through me of him pulling me into a kiss on our first date.
We had gone to this little seafood place just over the Ventura county line, a funky run-down shack on the Pacific Coast Highway with amazing views of the ocean and even better food. We were drinking beers and eating fried fish, and somehow I was so comfortable with him that I brought up the subject of first kisses.
“Oh, there’s so much to worry about,” I had complained at the time. “As a girl, you have to do the lean-in thing, so he knows you’re interested. But you don’t actually want to lean in and kiss him, because then you look too easy…”
“You look easy giving someone a kiss?” Kevin had asked, amused.
“Well, no, I mean, not easy,” I clarify. “It’s not like you’re sleeping with the guy. But you have to let the guy make the first move, because if he doesn’t then he’s not interested, so you don’t want to waste your time on a second date. But then—”
“Wait,” Kevin stopped me. “Why do you think a guy would ask you out on a second date if he wasn’t interested?”
I knitted my brows and thought about that. “You know, I’m not really sure. Why do guys do that?”
“I don’t know any men who do that,” Kevin admitted. “If we ask you out on a second date, it’s because wére interested. So maybe if the guy doesn’t kiss you that first night, he’s just being a gentleman.”
“No, he’s being a wuss,” I blurted out. “I mean, it’s bad enough we have to play with our keys and kill time waiting in front of our locked door.”
“Stop,” Kevin commanded again. “Why are you in front of a locked door? If you like the guy and want to kiss him, why not invite him in for a drink?”
“Because then I look like a slut,” I said succinctly.
Kevin’s eyes bugged out. “Over a drink?”
I looked up and stared at the seagulls hovering over the restaurant while I thought about his question. “Well, maybe I could get away with coffee or something,” I decided. Then I looked back at him again. “I don’t know. See, but this is what I mean by how awkward and awful first kisses are. I mean, you just can’t—”
And Kevin promptly shut me up by leaning in and kissing me.
As I think back to that moment, I realize that I am smiling and a little short of breath. A man who was my absolute idea of perfection back then kissed me. That moment of shock and excitement and the thrill of the conquest all mixed into one … it was perfect.
Turns out I do miss first kisses.
And I know I’m not supposed to feel this way, but I guess I am a little sad that I’ll never have the thrill and excitement of a first kiss again.
KEVIN: I’m back. Okay, so you don’t miss first kisses.
NICOLE: No.
I type back instantly.
KEVIN: Fair enough. Back to what we were talking about last night: best and worst part of marriage. Start with best.
I think about the best part of marriage for a moment.
NICOLE: I love him.
KEVIN: That’s not a best.
NICOLE: Sure it is. I love him. I l
ove how I feel when I’m around him. I get to feel like that for the rest of my life because I’m married to him.
I hit send, then ask Kevin:
NICOLE: What about you? Best part of marriage?
KEVIN: Better tax status.
NICOLE: Sweet-talking devil.
KEVIN: What can I say? I’m not a strong supporter of marriage. Maybe if I had married you, things would have been different.
NICOLE: Yeah, but if you had married me, you never would have had the nerve to follow your dream and move to New York.
KEVIN: True. But as I pointed out last night, sometimes the path to happiness isn’t what you thought it would be. Sometimes it doesn’t go directly forward, it curves around, doubles back, hits a tree … Anyway, worst part about marriage?
NICOLE: That’s easy. Somehow that ring on his finger is a magical tourniquet that stops the flow of blood to the part of his brain that knows how to put dishes in the sink and throw socks in the hamper. You?
He takes a moment before he writes back.
KEVIN: No more first kisses.
That’s all he types. I let it lie there for some reason.
KEVIN: Wanna go meet me for a drink somewhere?
NICOLE: I shouldn’t.
KEVIN: Why not?
He has a point. Why not? No one’s home, no one will miss me, and I’m still wide awake. What’s it going to hurt to have a drink with an old friend?
KEVIN: Why not?
Kevin types a second time.
NICOLE: I have stuff to do around here. Maybe I’ll get some writing done.
KEVIN: Come on! If Mel hadn’t hooked up, you’d still be out, right?
NICOLE: Yeah, but Mel’s not an ex. Plus, I’m an old lady. I’m going to bed soon.
KEVIN: Don’t think of me as an ex, think of me as a friend. And quit being such an old lady. Plus, with all of your responsibilities these days, when is the next time you’re going to have the opportunity to be out until past two?
I think about Kevin’s question for a moment. He’s right: when will my next opportunity be? And the truth is, I would like to see him. And it would be nice to be out late. I was disappointed that my big night out was over by eleven.
NICOLE: Okay, one drink. But nowhere trendy, and it has to be somewhere near my house. Thoughts?
KEVIN: My place.
NICOLE: Good night.
KEVIN: I’m kidding! Don’t leave, I’m totally kidding. How about that little place in the Valley on Ventura with the lounge couches?
NICOLE: Going to be mobbed on a Saturday night. Oh! Bowling! What about that bowling alley on Ventura above the deli?
KEVIN: Eaton, are you seriously suggesting bowling?
NICOLE: It’s Washington now. And I like bowling.
No response from Kevin for a while.
NICOLE: So, are you in, or what?
KEVIN: I’m in. See you in thirty?
NICOLE: Awesome.
Kevin clicks off. I click off, then run upstairs to grab my bowling shoes. (Yes, I have bowling shoes. It is the fabulousness that is me.) I’m so excited! I haven’t been bowling in I don’t know how long. In Los Angeles, bowling alleys tend to be booked by leagues until ten at night, and by then the girls are in bed and I can’t go. So it’s been months and months since I’ve been bowling.
Come to think of it—maybe even years.
My home phone rings. It’s Jason. Damn it. I really love him, but I really want to go bowling.
I pick up.
“Hey,” I say quickly, hoping this is a one-minute call. “How’s the event going?”
“It’s done for tonight, and I am exhausted and in bed. How are you? What have you been up to?”
“Good,” I say, nervously looking at the clock. “Nothing much. I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” he says sweetly. “Listen, Jacquie called. She wanted to know if she could drop the girls off at four, instead of six.”
I audibly sigh.
“Problem?” Jason asks.
“You know? Kinda, yeah,” I admit. “I planned a day tomorrow. I know my job isn’t as important as everyone else’s, but I…”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Sweetie,” Jason interrupts. “Your job’s not less important than ours. If you have plans, it’s fine. I’ll just tell her no.”
“No. Because if you do that, then she’ll just show up at five all stressed out, and then the girls will pick up on the stress, and then they’ll get all stressed…”
“The girls have had a career mom for a long time. They’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“You know what? It’s fine,” I say quickly. “I can be done with my stuff by four. It’s fine.”
“You don’t have to be,” Jason insists.
“No. I want to be. I need to take Megan shopping for a new leotard anyway. It’ll be fine.”
Jason pauses for a second. I take the time to grab my iPhone and text Kevin:
Don’t leave yet. Jason’s on the phone.
“Are you okay?” Jason asks me. “You sound weird.”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “I’m just thrown at having my plans changed.”
Which is true. So I don’t quite know where it’s coming from as I blurt out, “I just … it would just be nice if someone acknowledged everything I do around here. I mean, Jacquie doesn’t even call me, she calls you. You don’t even know Megan needs a leotard, you certainly won’t know I got her one unless I point it out, which I’m doing now, which I know even as I’m hearing myself talk just sounds petty and insecure, but…” my voice trails off. “I don’t know. I guess maybe I’m having a bad day.”
“Did something else happen with the job search?” Jason asks me.
I sigh. “Man, I don’t even want to talk about that.”
“Is that a ‘I don’t want to talk about it, ask me questions’? Or a ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Seriously, if you bring it up again, I’ll rip out your throat’?”
I smile. “Second one.”
“Okay,” Jason says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
I miss him. I can just see him right now, lying in the hotel’s king-sized bed with a pair of flannel pajama bottoms on but no top (a quirk of his; his lower half gets cold, but not his upper half), drinking a glass of milk that he always orders from room service, even though it’s got to be ten bucks plus tip.
“You want to stay on the phone with me for a while?” Jason asks me.
“Sure,” I say softly.
“Sweetie, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I just wish I knew what I was supposed to be doing with my life. I wish God would send down a lightning bolt: this is your place. This is where you belong. This is your path. Now knock it off, I’ve sent you enough signs.”
“You do know your path is with me, right?” Jason asks me.
“Of course.”
“Okay. Just checking. Because I can go down a lot of roads, but I plan to be with you no matter which one we choose.”
It’s nice to hear that. With all of the craziness of his work, his parenting, and my coparenting, I think maybe I had forgotten that.
I spent the next hour talking to Jason. I texted Kevin a few times, finally telling him I couldn’t go out tonight because I was talking to my husband.
But there was still a small part of me that wanted to go. Wanted the excitement of someone paying attention to me, and not just because I could be home by four to make everyone’s life a little easier. And I will admit when Kevin wrote his final text of the night:
Sorry I missed you. Coffee at school Monday?
A small part of me was excited for Monday.
Forty-one
Melissa
Nothing quite makes you feel as self-loathing as a one-night stand. Particularly if you’ve never had one before (seriously).
I open my eyes, and sigh. Crap. This is so not how I thought I’d feel the next day. I thought I’d feel empowered. Now I just feel clueless.
/> I look over at Danny, naked next to me in his bed. He’s a very fine-looking man. That chest is perfect. Muscular, but not overly so. And his face is exquisite—perfectly chiseled features and flawless skin. Much more handsome than Fred.
Why am I thinking about Fred?
I try to figure out how to politely extricate myself from this situation. I am a fucking idiot—I have no idea what you’re supposed to do the morning after a one-night stand. Maybe I should have looked that up on Bing or something.
I lift the sheets, and look down at my own body. Yup, naked all right.
Crap, crap, crap.
I slowly peel the blanket off of Danny and step out of his bed, careful to keep myself completely covered. Then I start a vain search for my underwear.
Yeah—this is a good place to be in my life. When I was a teenager just discovering boys, this is exactly where I pictured myself at thirty-two.
“Morning,” I hear Danny say behind me.
I jump a foot, startled, then turn around, and try to act nonchalant. “Good morning.”
He rubs his eyes. Checks his watch on the nightstand. “What time is it?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, my eyes madly darting around the room in search of my black satin underwear.
Danny reads his watch. “Wow. It’s almost ten. Do you want to go get brunch?”
“Brunch?” I repeat. “I’m not sure what the protocol is here. Are we supposed to get brunch?”
Danny sits up, and the sheet over him slides down to reveal his perfect, naked torso. “What do you mean ‘Are we supposed to’?” he asks me.
I sigh. “I know this is going to sound like a line, but I’ve never done that before.”
Danny smiles. “Never done which part before?”
“Oh God!” I nearly shriek as I cover my reddening face in embarrassment. “I’ve never had a one-night stand before. You can believe me or not believe me, but I haven’t.”
Suddenly I notice my panties are draping the lamp on his nightstand (good Christ). I race over to his side of the bed and yank them off.
There's Cake in My Future Page 25
