Everything had suddenly become so confusing. How could I have craved him and wanted to have his baby one minute, and felt so disconnected the next? I was beyond mixed up and messed up and screwed up. I was a basket case who needed one thing at this moment: more sleep. I went upstairs and plopped down on my bed, my eyes closing seconds later. And then I slept. And interestingly enough, I dreamed about Luke.
His arms were wrapped around me and I was kissing him, not only with my lips but with all of me, my core, my bones, my veins and my blood, as if I needed him to know that although we were technically platonic friends, he was already buried deep in my heart.
We kissed and kissed, and Luke made me feel secure and protected and out of danger. I felt a sense of calmness, as if being in his arms would make everything okay. Ironically, though, the intensity of my feelings were making Luke dangerous to me. As long as his soft lips were on mine, covering them and keeping them warm and cozy, I was anything but calm. I was panicky, actually, unable to deal with the intense feelings and vulnerability taking over my soul.
All of a sudden, Luke stopped kissing me. He put his hand on my belly and asked, “What do we have here?”
I looked down and suddenly I had this big round pregnant stomach. I was eight months pregnant. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Luke,” I said, “It’s gone. There’s nothing here.”
Luke looked down again. “Are you sure?”
That’s when I woke up. My heart was pounding. I sat up, realizing I was dreaming. I felt unbelievably relieved, but it was a bit strange that I had just had such an intense kissing dream about Luke. Then again, spending time at the beach with him had been incredible, and even with everything going on, he was lodged in my head. Or let’s be honest, maybe in my heart, too.
.
Chapter 17
Ironically, just like the day Laura moved in with me, it was pouring down rain with thundering and lightning the day Helene packed up and left her husband of more than four decades to move in.
When she called my cell phone to tell me she was five minutes away, I told her to wait in the car, and that I’d pull my car out of the garage so she could pull hers in. That way, we’d be able to unpack the car without being outside.
The minute Mom got out of her car, though, no one unpacked anything. Instead, Helene started to cry. Right there in my garage, I held my mother in my arms while she sobbed for what seemed like a long time.
“Where’s Izzie?” she finally asked.
“She’s inside reading a book with Laura.”
“I don’t want her to see me crying,” said Helene.
“Okay,” I said, wiping my mom’s tears with the sleeve of my shirt.
“I just can’t forgive him,” she said, “And I’m not so sure he’s sorry for what he did.” She was no longer crying, but the look of sorrow on her face was almost worse.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I said, putting my hand on her arm, which seemed so little to me now, so fragile. The rock solid, strong mother I had known all my life now seemed weak and wounded all of a sudden.
“Go inside and relax,” I said, “I’ll bring the stuff in.”
Laura told me later that the second Mom walked in, Isabelle asked, “Grandma, are you crying?”
“Oh no,” Helene lied, “I have awful allergies.”
“I think my dad had allergies, right Aunt Laura?” she asked.
“Yes, I remember that,” my sister answered.
That night, the four of us had dinner together and my mother explained to Izzie that she was going to be staying with us for a little while.
“I know. I saw the suitcases.”
“Oh.”
“Why?” asked Izzie, “Did you have a fight with Grandpa?”
“They’re just taking a little time apart from each other,” I explained gently.
“Are you getting a divorce?” she asked.
“No!” I interjected.
My mother looked at her, “Maybe, sweetie.”
Izzie looked really scared.
“But please don’t worry about it,” my mother continued, “Grandma’s very strong. Whatever happens, I’ll be okay. And I’ll always love you. And so will Grandpa.”
Izzie got tears in her eyes and then so did I. ‘How much more could she take?’ I wondered. First, her dad dies, then her aunt gets separated and moves in with us. Now, her grandparents were splitting up, with her grandmother becoming another houseguest. If I was still pregnant and had to tell her she was also going to have another sibling, I wasn’t so sure she could have handled that piece of news. I found myself thinking that there really was truth to the statement, “Things happen for a reason.”
After three games of Operation, seven hands of Uno, and four books, I put Izzie to bed.
“Is Grandma going to be okay?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“Will I ever see Grandpa again?”
“Yes! He’s my dad. Why wouldn’t you see him?”
“At least he’s not going to die.”
“What?”
“Well, divorce is better than dying.”
“Yes, I suppose it is, smart girl.”
“I am smart, just like my dad, right?”
I leaned over and kissed her on each cheek. “Yes, you are very smart just like your dad.”
When I came downstairs, two women were seated at the kitchen table eating salsa. That’s when I decided to tell my mother about the pregnancy and the miscarriage. Laura actually held my hand while I spoke.
My mother listened the whole time, never interrupting with comments or questions. A look of shock was on her face throughout my entire story.
“So, are you completely disgusted?” I asked.
“Disgusted?” my mother responded, her eyes welling up with tears, “No, I’m not disgusted. I’m very sorry that happened to you.”
“Thanks for being such a cool mom,” I said. She really was. Here was a woman in her late sixties, who had slept with one man in her life. Now she had two single daughters. “Cougar” and “boy toy” weren’t in her vocabulary until I became one and got one. My good-hearted mother, who was naïve until the day her husband chose to cheat on her was not passing judgment on me for anything. Not for having casual sex, not for becoming pregnant, and not for deciding to have a baby with a young womanizer.
I went on, “I hope you know that I realize how careless I was.”
“That’s good,” she said.
“But,” I said with a tearful smile, “I have to admit, I’ll miss him. I enjoyed every minute of that relationship.”
“How do you know it’s over?” asked Laura.
“I just think it is.”
“Well, you enjoyed him. Isn’t that what life’s all about?” said my mom, “And isn’t it better than sitting around feeling guilty over a dead man you didn’t kill?”
Now I cried on my mother’s shoulder, literally. I felt like I was five years old again, and it felt safe and comfortable and wonderful. I needed my family beyond belief at this moment, and they were here for me. They had always been here for me and for that, I felt very lucky.
My dad called a few minutes later. Laura picked up the phone.
“Hi,” I heard her say in a cold, unemotional voice. He must have asked her what she was doing because she then said, “Just sitting around with YOUR family, kind of wondering why YOU’RE not here.” After a few moments of what I suspected was dad apologizing, Laura said, “Look, I don’t really have anything to say to you right now. My husband just left me for another woman. You’re pretty much just like him.”
I glanced over at my mom, who had her head down. Then I heard Laura say, “Hold on.” She handed me the phone.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Do you feel the same as your sister?” said Dad.
“No, of course not. But, I am wondering what you’re thinking.”
“Can we get together and talk, Em? I haven’t seen you in awhile.”
“Sure.”<
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“Sure, what?” said my mother.
“I can hear your mother. Is she sitting right there?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay, can we have coffee tomorrow?” he asked.
“Let me have a little more time. Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
There was silence, and both Laura and my mother were just staring at me.
“I love you, Em,” said Dad.
Right then, I caved. “I love you too, Stan.”
Laura shook her head in disapproval and I couldn’t even look at my mother, because I felt like I was being disloyal. But he was my dad!
I added, “I’m really mad at you right now, but I still love you.”
“Thank you, Em.” It was at this moment, I could have sworn my dad was crying.
“Talk to you later. Tell your mother and sister I love them.”
“Okay, bye, Dad.”
I hung up. “He said he loves you guys,” I said softly. Both of them just sat there.
The next couple of weeks at my house included lots of wine drinking, salsa eating, talking, crying, laughing, and bonding. Three heartbroken women and one adorable, innocent child were living together, sharing each other’s lives, and it all seemed to make sense, as if God had put us all together to learn from each other and help one another. And I have to say, I found it unexpectedly enjoyable, under the circumstances of course.
There were nights the three of us would sit up and talk for hours, my mother mostly listening, and seemingly reflecting on things, and my sister exploding with her newfound sexuality. Yes, Miss Prim and Proper was now sleeping with Dan, and finding out what it was like to actually have great sex.
“He is so hot!” she told us, “I never thought sex could be like this.”
“It’s pretty fun to sleep with a guy who’s actually attractive, huh?” I joked.
Laura and my mother burst out laughing.
“I’m really happy for you,” I said, “I mean that.”
“Thanks,” she said with a smile. Then she looked at our mother, “Do you think I’m a slut, Mom?”
My mother answered to both of us. “You girls don’t think I know anything, do you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Just because I was a virgin when I married your father, it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate good sex!”
“Please don’t go here,” said Laura.
At that moment Laura’s phone rang. “Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars…let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars…in other words, hold my hand…”
“Thank God!” I shouted, “Interrupted at the perfect moment!”
“Is that Frank Sinatra?” asked my mother.
“Yes,” exclaimed Laura as she went to answer it, “Dan and I both love Frank Sinatra.
When my sister answered, we could hear Alan yelling at her in the background. “What the fuck?” I heard him say. Strangely enough, Laura was not fazed by it. In fact, she was smiling.
“It was a joke, Alan,” she said calmly. Then I heard more shouting on his end, and Laura continued to smile, almost holding back laughter at this point. “Don’t be mad,” she said, “I apologize.” More yelling. “I have to go now,” she said, “It’s late. Good-bye Alan.”
She ended the call and then burst out laughing.
“What was that all about?” we asked her.
“I was over at the house today and Alan was upstairs…and his cell phone was sitting on the kitchen counter…” She began laughing again. “…and I changed his ring tone!”
“To what?” I asked.
Laura started singing the Dean Martin classic, “You’re nobody till somebody loves you…you’re nobody till somebody cares…”
Giggling and singing, I joined in, “You may be king, you may possess the world and its gold…”
Suddenly Helene joined in, and now the three of us were blaring out, “but gold won’t bring you happiness when you’re growing old. The world still is the same, you’ll never change it. As sure as the stars shine above…you’re nobody till somebody loves you. So find yourself somebody to love.”
The image in my mind of the three of us singing and laughing together will be etched in my brain forever. Two sisters whose philosophies in life were at opposite extremes, and their mother, who was somewhere in the middle, were now connected by the thread of heartbreak. And we were making the best out of the cards we’d been dealt. In retrospect, we were actually flourishing.
The loss of my baby was still raw, the sadness gnawing at my gut twenty-four seven. But during these days of living with two additional roommates, I also found great solace in spending time with my daughter. There were only a handful of days left until school started, so I took advantage of Isabelle’s time off and did all kinds of fun kid things.
I found it easy to temporarily forget the heartbreak of not hearing from Preston while sitting close to my daughter, holding her tight, going twenty-five miles an hour down a mini-roller coaster at Great America. Examining giraffes at the Lincoln Park Zoo, holding her hand while she stuffed popcorn in her little mouth was a quick fix and a means to not think about my parents’ and my sister’s splits. And thoughts about what might have been, my second child, were somewhat easily put on the back burner while we walked through the Harry Potter exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry.
Perhaps the best form of therapy for my delicate mental state were my daughter’s kisses and hugs and giggles, and the funny little comments that came out of her mouth. “Mom?” she said to me one day while she happened to catch me coming out of the shower and toweling off, “Why are your boobs so ugly?” I burst out laughing.
One night, she came over to me, put her hands on my hair and kissed my cheek.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
She looked at me with her big blue eyes and long eyelashes and answered, “You’re a good soul, Emma.”
With a child like mine, I was sure I could survive anything. I had to. She was my number one responsibility in life. Actually, she was my life. And she was the reason I was able to accept the loss of my baby and begin to move on. That being said, healing was certainly a process.
The Saturday before school started, Laura took her into the city for tea at The American Girl Place. As for Helene, she said she had some errands to run, and then she was going to the Lexus dealership to look at cars. Apparently, her lease was up in a couple weeks and she was deciding what car to get next. So here I was, home alone for the first time in a long, long time.
“Do something fun for yourself,” Laura told me before they left, “Go get a massage, or workout, or go shopping!” Although very appealing options, none of those things were how I chose to spend my afternoon. No more than ten minutes after all of them were gone, I made a phone call. I called the person who had been on my mind since that lovely day at the beach. I called Luke.
.
Chapter 18
“Is this the hottest girl in Willow Ridge?” is how Luke answered his phone.
As I giggled, all I could think was, “if you think I’m hot, why aren’t we dating?”
“Are you up for a run?” I asked him.
“Right now?”
“Yeah.”
Luke hesitated for a moment and then said, “Sure, why not? Can I bring Lucky?”
“Of course.”
“Although,” he said with hesitation, “Is it going to rain?”
“Don’t be a wimp.”
“Fine.”
Not more than twenty minutes later I was on the neighborhood running path with Luke and his dog, jogging at a pretty good pace and loving the feeling of the very light misty rain that had just begun to come down. I felt as if my entire body was getting a facial, cleansing away all the dirt from my recent and not so recent past. Add to that, I was with Luke, who in the handful of times I’d been with, never failed to make me feel great. I felt contented, calm and safe, yet full of enthusiasm, almost bubbly.<
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“So, tell me something good,” Luke said.
What was good? Hmmm… Do I tell him my parents were on the outs and that my mom was living with me now? Do I share the fact that the same applied to my sister? Or, how about telling him that I’ve been avoiding my dad for weeks? Then there was the miscarriage. Do I tell him about that, and that the father is M.I.A? Would Luke enjoy hearing that? Tell me something good, he had said. What was good? I wondered. Then, it hit me.
“Isabelle,” I answered, “She’s good.”
This began a long conversation about children, both Luke and I sharing stories, bragging and joking about our kids, and offering each other advice about similar kid problems and issues.
It was fun to compare stories. As much as I enjoyed the conversations I had had with Preston, we never really talked about my child, and it took being with another single parent to make me realize how much of a void that left in the relationship. Being in the same shoes gave Luke and me a commonality, a bond that Preston and I would never share. That didn’t make Luke the right guy for me, or Preston the wrong guy for me by any means, it was just another connection I felt with Luke. He would understand me in a way Preston never could. And it made the pull to him even stronger.
A few minutes later, Luke’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at caller-ID, and then ignored the call and put it back.
“Nothing important?” I asked, sensing almost with certainty it was a girl. And again, I seethed with jealousy.
Luke chuckled nervously. “Patty.”
“Oh.”
“You were right. She does think we’re more than friends.”
“But you’re really not?”
Luke looked at me. “No, we’re not. I swear! Friends. That’s it.”
“Friends.”
“Yes!”
“Like us?”
Luke abruptly stopped jogging. Lucky stopped too, and then so did I. Little raindrops began to take the place of the mist. He turned to me and said, “No, not like us. Emma, I really like you. Do you know that?”
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