“Yeah,” she said, “He’s nice looking. He looks like a big teddy bear.”
“He’s cute,” said my mother, leaning in, “He’s definitely not Jewish, but look at those pretty eyes.”
“Click on his profile page,” said Laura.
The three of us silently read his profile. Den0507 was divorced with two kids and was a mortgage broker. He lived in our town, and was forty-three years old.
“Do you think his name is Dennis?” Laura asked, “That’s kind of a bad name.”
“Denny’s a good name,” I answered back, trying to sound hopeful.
We read on. Den0507 liked to work out, go to movies, go out for nice dinners, mountain climb, kayak and…
“Oh my God!” I practically shouted, “It says here his favorite food is chips and salsa!”
“And look at this,” Laura exclaimed, pointing to the text, “His favorite movie is The Hangover!”
“What’s The Hangover?” asked my mom.
“It’s one of Emma’s favorite movies. She’s obsessed with Bradley Cooper.”
Mom smiled, “Interesting. Maybe it’s fate.”
I looked at Laura. “No, he’s for you.”
“No way,” she answered, “Salsa and The Hangover? He’s yours.”
“But what about Preston?”
“You mean, your little boy toy?”
I gasped as dramatically as I possibly could to make it clear to her that I was deeply offended.
“Oh, please, I’m just being honest.”
“He’s more to me than that.”
“I know, but come on. He’s not your soul mate.”
“I’m sorry, am I looking for my soul mate?”
“He’s serving a purpose in your life,” said my mother.
“Look, I’m not trying to be a jerk,” said Laura, “but honestly, you’re in a relationship that’s mostly physical, and the other man in your life is Luke, your new best friend.”
“What’s wrong with being friends with Luke?”
“You can’t be friends with Luke.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a classic When Harry Met Sally scenario,” she said.
“I loved that movie,” said my mother.
“Well, you’re wrong,” I snapped, “We’re actually going running again tomorrow morning. He hasn’t asked me out. I’m telling you, it’s platonic.”
“He’s either involved with someone or he’s gay,” she said.
“Luke Sullivan is not gay!”
At that moment, the weirdest thing happened. My mother, a normally strong, energetic, happy woman began to cry. Both Laura and I gasped, as we’d rarely seen her break down.
“Oh my God, Mom, what is it?” asked Laura.
“Is it the pants?” I asked, “We just want you to look good, I swear.”
Mom looked up at us, her face looking so sad and distressing, it was frightening.
“Please, tell us,” I urged.
She cleared her throat and said softly, “Your father’s having an affair.”
.
Chapter 10
Gold Medal Gymnastics is the filthiest, most disgusting place imaginable. I would have to bet that the thirty-some year old gymnastics studio hasn’t been cleaned since it opened. That being said, it just so happened to be one of Isabelle’s favorite places to go.
She had attended birthday parties there in the past, and after each one would beg me to sign her up for classes. I never did, though, because we always seemed to have too many other activities to fit in gymnastics. Plus, would you send your child to classes at a pig sty?
“Mom,” she had said to me a few weeks earlier, “My friend Katherine is going to camp at Gold Medal Gymnastics.”
I smiled at her hopeful tone and replied, “Oh, they have a camp there?”
Izzie had obviously done her homework, because she knew every detail about the interim camp offered for the weeks between the end of summer camp and the start of school. “Katherine is going Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, from nine to noon.”
“Interesting,” I said.
“Can I go, Mom?”
“Hmmm…” I said playfully, pretending to be contemplating my decision and watching her hopeful little face, “I guess that might work.” I figured even though the gym was beyond dirty and germ ridden, no one ever died from going there, and if it would make my daughter happy, why not?
So I signed her up and here I was, dropping her off at the Petri-dish for influenza and every other illness on the planet. After I signed the release forms, I asked a member of the staff if the counselors were pretty diligent about having the kids wash their hands before snack.
“Oh yes, Mrs. Bloom,” replied a little brunette girl, who was very apparently trying to model herself after Mary Lou Retten, and doing a great job, since she really did look like her. “We make sure of that,” she added with a wink.
Mary Lou seemed extremely insincere, and I was sure she rolled her eyes the second I was out of sight. So just as another precaution, I said a silent prayer to God that Izzie wouldn’t bite her nails over the next three hours.
The second I left the place, I called my parents house. After hearing the horrific news just twelve hours earlier that my seventy year old father was “banging Mrs. Feldman,” a widowed seamstress who was doing a lot more than just hemming his pants, I couldn’t focus on anything else but making sure my mother was okay.
Helene and Stan Bricker had been together for 45 years. Regardless of the bumps along the way in their path of life, the two had managed to stay together. They had survived both of their parents’ deaths, my father’s hip replacement, and their daughter’s husband’s death. They were a strong couple, and I wasn’t going to let Mrs. Feldman with her needle and thread break up a long-term, not blissful, but certainly happy union.
When there was no answer, I tried my mother’s cell. No answer. Then I tried my dad’s cell, wondering what on earth I was going to say if he actually answered, which he did.
“Hi, Em.” I knew immediately by the tone of his voice that he knew my mother had told me what was going on.
“Hi.”
Silence.
“Em? Still there?” he asked.
“Yeah, Dad, I’m here.”
“Look…I don’t know what to say.”
“How about ‘I’m a jerk’ and what I’m doing is horrible and I’m not going to do it anymore?”
“It’s complicated, Em. I feel terrible about it, but I need to figure out what’s going on.”
“It’s pretty clear what’s going on, Dad. You’re sleeping with another woman.”
“Look, Emma, I already got an earful from your sister this morning. How about cutting me some slack?”
“Really? That’s all you have to say? How’s your wife? How’s Helene?”
“Your mother and I have to work this out.”
“No, you have to work this out. Dad, I love you, but why are you doing this to her? To us? Our family?”
“Please don’t judge me, Emma. Please? You have no idea how I feel.”
I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t.
“Look, I have to go. I’m at the dentist and I’m about to be called in.”
“Okay, where’s mom?”
“She went to get her hair done and then shopping, I think.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Emma, wait.”
“What?”
“I love you. I’m really sorry, sweetie.”
With tears in my eyes I responded, “I love you too, Stan. I’m mad at you, but I love you.”
I hung up and fought back tears till I reached the grocery store parking lot. I would soothe my pain once again by buying mangos and then making the latest concoction in my head, minty mango salsa.
Once in the produce department, I gently weeded through the mangos, thinking about how conflicted I was about my dad, the cheater. How was he any different than Alan? Perhaps he was worse. I couldn’t even imagine what Laur
a must have said to him. She was most likely ten times as angry as I was. Then again, he was my dad. How could I hate him for anything?
At his moment, I got a text from Preston. “Thinking of you…” it read.
I stood there, mango in hand, feeling like a spell had just been cast on me. ‘How did he do it?’ I wondered. What kind of magical power did he have on me? One little text and all thoughts, problems and issues vanished. Temporarily, of course. My heart was now pounding and thinking of only one thing: P.C.
I put a few mangos into my cart, smiling and feeling happy and giddy. The three words Preston texted had me in a frenzy, and I was bursting with joy and excitement. By the time I got to the check-out line, I realized what I desperately needed to do.
“Can you come over?” I texted back, my shaking fingers making it difficult to text.
I paid for my fruit and walked to my car.
“When?” he texted back.
“Now.”
Two minutes later, now in my car, another text. “I’ll be there in ten.”
So there it was. Basically, Preston got my text and then made the decision to leave work and come to my house for one simple reason: sex.
Who had I turned into? Here are some names that came to mind: Cougar, MILF, Horney housewife. That being said, I was so frantic about seeing him, I felt as if I was losing control, and the only person who could calm me was the person who was causing my craziness. And while feeling this way scared me to death, I loved it, too, because I felt alive.
I pulled into my driveway. Seconds later, Mr. Gorgeous pulled in behind me. I got out of the car, took the grocery bag out of the back, and smiled at him. He gave me a wide grin back, but neither one of us spoke a word. Not even hello.
What happened next seemed like something out of a movie. Without either of us uttering a single word, Preston followed me into the house. Once inside, I turned to him, feeling almost as if I was at his mercy. He took me in his arms and began to kiss me. I dropped the bag, put my arms around his neck and kissed him back with passion I never knew existed within me. Clothes came off on the living room floor.
Keep in mind, this was a Monday morning. A thought popped into my head, which was that all over town, people were sitting in their offices, drinking their morning coffee, gossiping about the weekend with co-workers, sifting through e-mails, and basically beginning the work week. And here I was, half-naked on the stairs, my hands covering the tanned six-pack abs of a man I couldn’t get enough of.
At this moment, I realized something important. I was really, really living. How many people could actually say they texted their boyfriend at work on a Monday morning and he came right over on demand? It made me feel sexy and young and special.
Eventually, we made our way to my bed. We made love for a long time, during which he whispered, his body on top of mine, “Look at me.”
I did what he said, but a second later he repeated himself. “Look at me, Baby,” he said with intensity, “look into my eyes.”
“I sort of thought I was doing that,” I wanted to say, but I complied and looked as directly at him as I possibly could.
It was scary to stare so intently into his dark brown eyes because they were almost haunting me now. I felt like in return, Preston was able to see right through me and into my soul. ‘How much of my core could he see?’ I wondered. Could he tell that I felt like the happiest woman on the planet? Did he surmise that at this moment in time, I felt like I had no past? It was as if there had never been a tragedy. I truly felt like every worry, every care, and every negative feeling I’d ever experienced (included my most recent worry, my dad’s infidelity and my parents rocky marriage) was far, far away. Preston Christiansen was bringing hope and courage back into my body. Strength and will were returning to me.
I was experiencing the feelings of pure ecstasy and bliss that most people don’t have during their entire lives, and for the first time, perhaps since Sam died, I felt like I was being given a gift. Yes, I was now a single mother, having to deal with loss and with the stress and pressure of handling life alone. But on the flipside, I had the kind of excitement and adventure reserved only for a woman in my situation, and in that regard I felt extremely lucky.
“If I ask you to do something for me,” he whispered, “Would you do it?”
“Anything,” I replied instantly, my voice filled with desperation to give to this man whatever he needed or wanted.
“Would you let me watch you with someone else?”
I froze. ‘Anything but that,’ was the first response that popped into my head.
Preston must have sensed how I felt, because he gave me a gentle smile and kissed my forehead. “Sorry, Baby, I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
“It’s okay,” I lied. Shocked and now somewhat dazed, I got up and put on a tee-shirt. “I better get going,” I said with a nervous smile, “I have to get Izzie soon.”
“Hey,” he said with a chuckle, pulling me back to bed, “Please don’t be upset about this. I would never want you to do anything you didn’t want to do.” Now he was kissing my collar bone, and I was returning to my desire for the man whom I’d adored unconditionally, pre-threesome suggestion.
He continued, “It’s just that you’re so beautiful. Everything about you. And I would be completely in heaven if I could watch someone else touch you, and then have you for myself.”
I silently said to God, “I promise I will never actually go through with it, but just let me appease this person I’m mad about.” Then I whispered to Preston, who had now begun kissing each of my ribs, “Let me think about it, okay?”
The rest of the morning in bed was still amazing, but I was having difficulty blocking out Preston’s request. The line had been crossed, the boundaries had shifted, and I felt foolish for thinking that I knew Preston, when in reality, he was a stranger. And I was a little bit scared of him now. Not scared because I thought he would force me to do something I didn’t believe in, or that he was a bad person for being into group sex, but afraid to admit the realization Laura had brought to my attention not too long ago.
Preston and I weren’t soul mates. We were not going to get married and live happily ever after. Our relationship was physical and not much else. Not that that was such a bad thing, but I had to face the truth that our time together would be ending someday, and that in and of itself was very scary and sad.
I picked up Isabelle and spent the rest of the day at the pool with her, swimming and relaxing in the hot sun. At the snack bar, she saw a little girl sitting on her dad’s lap and eating an ice-cream cone, and I could have sworn I saw tears in her eyes.
“Hey, Izzie?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she answered, her lower lip quivering.
“Want to talk about something?”
“No, mommy,” she said, “I just want to see my daddy.”
“I know,” I consoled her, lifting her onto my lap, “I know.”
We sat there in silence for a few moments until I said, “Hey, Izzie, I’ll make you a bet. I bet you can’t jump off the high dive.”
“Yes I can!”
“I bet you can’t,” I teased.
“You’re on!” she laughed.
This led us over to the diving boards, and I spent the next hour watching Izzie, who was happy again, not thinking about how she didn’t have a dad, but rather jumping off of the boards, alternating between the high dive and the low dive. As for me, Sam was on my mind the entire time. If he was alive, would we still be married? Who knew? But what I did know is that my daughter would be so much better off if she still had a father. Survivor’s guilt. It was truly exhausting sometimes.
When we got back to our lawn chairs, I received a text. “I can still smell your perfume on me. I love that.” As usual, my heart began to beat and my desire for Preston reignited instantly.
I texted back, “I’m wondering, will I ever get enough?”
“I hope not”
he answered.
I smiled while reading the response, but I found myself in somewhat of a fog, finding it difficult to stop thinking about the weird proposal he’d put on the table. Would I ever have a threesome? And what was he talking about? A guy or a girl? And why did that matter? I would NEVER have a threesome! ‘NEVER!’ I told myself. ‘Never say never,’ myself answered back, startling me.
Relaxed on the chair, watching my daughter doing hand stands in the pool, I began to actually consider what Preston requested. Maybe I could be with two people at the same time. Maybe I was being what I always accused Laura of being: closed minded. I mean, I’d never dreamed of being in a relationship like I was with Preston, so anything was possible, right?
Confusion was setting in. On one hand, I didn’t want to change who I was, and the bottom line was that I was a good girl. Threesomes were just not me. Then again, I was beginning to think I would do just about anything to keep the interest and heart of the man whose visits I was now dependent on as much as oxygen. In other words, I wanted Preston Christiansen to love me, and I couldn’t deny that any longer.
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I quickly had to wipe them away when I heard my daughter shout to me from the pool.
“Mommy, mommy! Come swim with me!” she yelled, “I want to see you do a hand stand!”
I smiled at her and stood up. “Okay, here I come!”
Her face gleamed with excitement. How wonderful it was to have a little person love you like this.
I got into position to dive into the pool. Maybe a good plunge into some cold water would clear my head. If not, maybe a stellar hand stand would cause all my uncertainty and confusion to fall out of my head. Hopefully, it would stay at the bottom of the pool forever.
“Come on, mommy!” she shouted, “Dive!”
“Okay! Here I come!”
I lunged forward, and the second my hot skin made contact with the cool water I had the strangest thought. ‘Did I miss my period?’ I wondered.
When I came up for air and looked at Izzie, I must have had a really weird look on my face because she asked, “Mom, what’s wrong?”
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