I had no idea this would ever matter again.
“We both should have listened to our hearts more,” I added. “We just didn’t know it at the time. Neither of us knew it.”
“I think it sucks,” Cam concluded.
“It did.” I went and gave her a hug. Suddenly this conversation was too heavy for me to carry. “Now you know everything you need to know about my deep, dark past. So go clean up your room and stay out of my private stuff from now on, would you?”
“I’m sorry. I really thought it wouldn’t matter because it was so old.”
“Hey. Calling me old isn’t going to help!”
She laughed, then sobered and said, “So tell me one more thing. When did everything change?”
“What do you mean?”
“When did you decide not to listen to your heart anymore?”
“Who said I’m not?”
“Are you in love with Rick? I mean, I think you’re talking about marrying him, but I don’t see you acting like he’s the big love of your life or anything. You haven’t doodled Mr. and Mrs. Rick Samuels or Erin Samuels on anything.”
Another diary reference. I could tell these were going to get old fast. “Yeah, well, I also haven’t doodled Erin Lawson anywhere in a while either, so your example proves nothing.” Except it did. I hadn’t even toyed with our names together, Rick’s and mine, in my head. Rings, names, retirement plans … none of the stuff that usually came with marriage had entered my mind at all. “So, Cam, I have a question and I want you to answer it honestly. Please.”
“Okay…?”
“If things didn’t work out with Rick and me, would that be a problem for your friendship with Amy?”
I thought she’d think about it for a moment, maybe wince or pale or have some other telltale sign of concern, but instead she looked at me like I was nuts. “No!”
“No?”
“Um, no.”
“Okay, elaborate. I need more than no. How could that just be okay for you two?”
“Because we’re not friends because of you two. Jeez, Mom, I’m not a baby. You don’t make or break my friendships.” She looked at me and her tone softened. “I mean, I appreciate that you care, I really do, but Amy and I were friends before you and Rick got together and, in some ways, we’d probably be better friends if you weren’t together.”
“Really?”
She shrugged. “Well, I don’t know, obviously it’s cool if we become, like, sisters. But there’s a little bit of my-real-dad-versus-your-dad, and my-real-mom-versus-your-mom between us, and it would be kind of cool to not have that.” She paused for just a second before adding, “Not that it’s a problem. I mean, don’t break up with him because of that. But, Mom, seriously. If you never got over someone else—not that I’m saying you never got over someone else”—she looked at me pointedly—“but if you didn’t, you would be stupid to marry Rick.”
Stupid.
The mouths of babes.
“I’ll take that into consideration,” I said, already considering Nate for the forty millionth time that day. His lips, his tongue, his hands, his … everything. His everything. “Now go,” I said, because I wasn’t really holding it together all that well. I wanted to be alone. “You’ve got things to do that don’t involve violating my privacy.”
“Fine, fine, fine. But promise me you heard what I said.”
“Oh, I heard you. Loud and clear.”
“Good. And good night.” She went.
And as I put the letters back in the box, touching them slowly and with great sadness, I wondered when, exactly, I’d gotten to be such a basket case.
And how, in the process of me trying to explain to her that she needed to keep her life fun and light for as long as possible, I had instead ended up explaining how very dark mine had gotten because I lost a boy at a young age.
Instead of encouraging her to believe the very thing I wished I’d believed and followed with my whole heart—when you’re grown up and truly ready for it love will find you—I’d ended up telling her I’d lost the love of my life as a teenager and I never found another one.
As things go, this was not my greatest parenting moment.
But it was a decent human being moment and my talk with Cam had served to remind me how important it was for me to treat Rick with the respect he was due, instead of just thinking about how all of this affected me.
It was time I learned from my own mistakes.
And then, just like that, I broke down. Sitting there, a grown woman, surrounded by the relics of a life that didn’t even feel like mine anymore, I cried like I hadn’t cried in twenty-three years. It was the kind of sobbing that just propelled itself: I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t do anything except cry out this deep, primal grief.
When it finally subsided, I was spent. I lay down on the floor where I was and just closed my eyes until the past receded and I fell asleep.
* * *
So when I asked Rick to come over and talk the next night, and sent Cam to her grandmother’s place instead of off with Amy, it wasn’t because my nerves were raw and I was at the end of my rope. That wasn’t the right place to make this decision from.
I made the decision because I’d realized that Rick deserved to spend his life with someone who loved him so much that, if they were separated, she’d spend two decades pining for him.
Clearly that wasn’t me.
The ugly truth was that I had considered accepting his proposal even after I’d realized I would never love him enough. It would have been easy. Good on paper. He had a good job, good benefits, if we decided to have more children and I wanted to stay home with them I could. He was good-looking, smart, and just about everything a woman could want in a man.
Believe me, I was not proud of the fact that I had to be the exception who wanted something else. It wasn’t because I took him for granted or didn’t see his assets for what they were.
Rick was in his mid-thirties. He had a long life ahead of him and he deserved passion and romance and blind, loving devotion.
I couldn’t give that to him.
That didn’t make it an easy conversation.
“Have you come up with an answer?” he asked eagerly after I ushered him over to the sofa.
Oh, no. He thought this was going in a different direction. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Somehow he missed the clear signal in my tone. “Okay.” He looked at me expectantly. “What’ll it be? Yes or yes?”
“Oh, Rick…” I touched his hand.
“Erin.” He really wasn’t getting it. Every syllable he uttered was confident.
I guess we really believe no news is good news on a very deep level.
So I had to just get it out quickly. “You don’t want me to marry you,” I said. That was awkward. Backward.
He frowned. “Yes, I do. That’s why I asked.” He reached for my hands, as if to reassure me, then stopped. “Wait a minute, is this a blow-off?”
“No, I’m not blowing you off,” I argued, adding quickly, “I’m trying to be fair to you.” Even as I said the words, I could hear what a hollow consolation they were, however sincerely I meant them. “You need more than I can give you.”
His expression hardened. “So it’s no, then.”
“It’s no, but it’s because I really care about you and want you to have everything in life that you deserve.”
He paused, then sighed heavily. “May I ask if there’s someone else in the way?”
Someone else in the way.
That sounded so easy to push aside.
“No,” I said. Because, really, I was the only one “in the way” of this. “Of course there isn’t.”
He looked dubious. “Are you sure?”
“This isn’t about someone else. It’s about you and me. It’s about me not loving you the way you should be loved if you’re going to commit your life to someone. You deserve someone who will love you with all her heart and soul fo
rever, not someone who will take your life, and your love, and ‘make do.’”
Okay, the minute I said it, I knew it had come out way worse than I’d intended. I mean, it was true, and I did mean what I said, I just didn’t mean to imply that I had been “making do” with him in the time we’d been together, or that I would have had any right to continue to do that into an indefinite future.
“All right.” He stood up. His face was grim.
“Rick, please don’t—”
He held up a hand and I stopped.
Instead I nodded. “I’ll be at work all day tomorrow. That VTV thing.”
“Great.” His voice was flat. “I’ll leave the key on the counter when I go.”
I felt immeasurably sad and stood up to walk him to the door, but again he stopped me.
“I’m so sorry,” I said idiotically, standing in the middle of my living room. “I know it sounds like a cliché, but I’d really like for us to be friends. Maybe not right away, I know that might be hard, but someday.…” That was a shitty thing to say at a time like this. Even though I meant it sincerely, that kind of thing could only sound like the offer of a lame consolation prize.
A white “participation” ribbon instead of the blue.
“I’ll pass,” he said briskly.
I sighed and watched him go. There was nothing else I could say. Anything nice I tried to eke out would only sound condescending. I just had to let him go.
And actually I knew from experience that anger was preferable to tears. Lucky Rick—he could huff out and tie one on, grousing about how awful I was, until finally some pretty young thing distracted him.
Honestly, that was my biggest hope. It would be a huge relief for me to know he’d moved on with someone better for him.
In the meantime, here I was, alone in the wreckage of another failed relationship. I didn’t want to be a bitter old curmudgeon at my age, but I really had to wonder if this was worth it. I’d been breaking up with guys for twenty-three years now.
It was getting old.
I went into the kitchen and heated up water for tea. While I stood there, bare feet on the cold linoleum, I remembered Pete Hagar suddenly. That had been, what, eleventh grade? I’d gone out with him for a month and then broke up with him in his car at the end of a date.
Then I’d run to Nate’s house and begged him to take me back.
I’d wanted to break up with Pete for at least a week before doing it in that case, but had put it off, dreading the fallout. We went to school together and it was bound to be awkward afterward.
And it was.
But the only regret I had was that I’d ever gone out with him in the first place. I’d come so close to losing Nate that even after he’d taken me back that night and told me he loved me, I went home and cried like I’d watched Brian’s Song three times in a row.
I wished I could run to Nate now.
I wished I could run anywhere that would make me feel safe and sane and less alone.
Instead I just went to bed.
* * *
I had warned everyone it might rain. Obviously, it might rain. The forecast said there was a fifty percent chance.
They should have had a contingency plan.
But no one would listen to me when I suggested that, so when Roxanne was carted in as a “mermaid,” in her giant fish tank pulled by the cab of an eighteen-wheeler, I was hoping against hope that there wouldn’t be any thunder and lightning.
Her guests waited, shivering and cold, in the downpour and watched Roxanne do a little swim show that had the overall impression of being a stripper show. Then she climbed the ladder and was assisted out of the tank by two gorgeous gay actors I’d hired for that purpose.
Unfortunately, the rain made the edge of the tank even more slippery and she stumbled, falling back into the water with an unceremonious crash.
To her credit, though, she did a little flip like the whole thing had happened on purpose and climbed out again. I was probably the only one who noticed how white her knuckles were as she held on to her escorts.
They helped her off the float and led her to her date for the evening, Troy, who hooked his arm through hers and led her like a queen into the indoor water-park area.
Everyone else followed gratefully.
As she passed me she muttered, “That was not cool. You should have made sure it wasn’t slippery.”
I simply smiled and held my hands out. Surrender.
“Turn up the heat in the pool area,” Jeremy said into his walkie-talkie as he came over to me. “The guests are freezing to death.” He put it away and gave me a look. “That? Was a disaster.”
I shrugged. “Could have been worse.” Thunder rumbled in the distance as if on cue. “See?”
“Let’s get inside before we’re killed,” he said, taking me by the arm.
We went into the pool house and there was faint music playing in the corner. Kind of like a cheap tinny music box. “Is that the band?” I asked, cocking my head and listening.
“Yes.” Jeremy rolled his black-lined eyes. “One of their speakers blew, so that’s as loud as they can play.”
“What a weird problem,” I said. I’d never run into this before. Having a band playing quietly was more annoying than having them play too loud. It created the impression of ignoring someone, which was a subtle distinction—but important—from talking over them. “We have to have someone bring the sound system from inside and set it up out here.”
“Obviously, I have already gotten the men working on that,” Jeremy said. “In the meantime maybe we should sing along, loudly.”
I laughed. “Yeah, because that’s what we want to see on TV. You and me caterwauling like drunk karaoke barflies.”
He appeared to consider that for a moment before agreeing. “That wouldn’t be very hot.”
I looked at him. “No. Not hot. Not cool. Now, you check on the activity, since that’s where the cameras are most likely to be, and I’ll check on the food.”
He gave me the thumbs-up and went off in search of his close-up.
The next thing I knew, Pippa had sidled up next to me. “I really thought there was going to be lightning when she was getting out of the tank,” she commented.
“Oh, I know, can you imagine?” I looked at her and saw that, yes, she had imagined.
And she was apparently disappointed that it hadn’t come to fruition.
“Wow,” I said despite myself, and shook my head. “This is an ugly business.”
She glanced at me sideways. “Someone’s got to do it.”
Yes, and unfortunately there was always someone willing to have it done to them. Front, back, and sideways.
The thing that sucked here was that it was the parents who had to consent and the kids who might regret it all later.
“I’m going to check on the food,” I said, and didn’t wait for an answer before leaving. If I’d let fly with what was really on my mind, she would have magically summoned a cameraman and I would probably become the next YouTube idiot making the rounds for a few days.
The food was beautiful, I’m glad to say, even the small seashell-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Roxanne had requested. But I noticed as I looked it all over and talked with the caterers that it was getting oppressively hot in there.
I summoned one of the waitstaff and asked him to go tell the engineer to turn the heat down. Five minutes later, he returned with a message that the heat was malfunctioning and engineering was working on the problem.
What better time for them to wheel in the ice sculpture of Roxanne as the little mermaid?
Everyone cooed and clapped and Roxanne stepped up to the sculpture to admire its “likeness” … except it really looked more like Daryl Hannah, which was probably who they had an old mermaid mold of.
It didn’t take long before someone said, “Look! The ice mermaid is crying!”
Dread clutched my chest.
Roxanne’s glance shot to the ice sculpture, which
was, indeed, beginning to melt. From the top down.
At the moment, it looked a little like a Miracle from Lourdes. My aunt and uncle would have been thrilled.
I grabbed a waitress. “Get a fan. Quick!”
She looked at me uncertainly.
“Ask someone, if you can’t find one,” I said, then practically shoved her away. “It’s warm in here,” I told Roxanne. “But they’re going to take care of this. Meanwhile, how about…” I racked my brain, trying to think of some reasonable diversion, but none came to mind.
Which didn’t matter, since I was interrupted by Roxanne, wailing like a siren. “You’ve made my mermaid cry!”
Now, what do you say to that?
The cameras, of course, swooped over like vultures over roadkill.
A waiter was running toward us with a fan, but it was too late to save anyone’s dignity. The high points of the sculpture were melting first, which meant it also looked like Roxanne’s mermaid was lactating.
Or, as she put it, “What’s with the boobs?”
The fan proved to be little help. The pitiful small breeze only nudged the melting water into strange rivulets down the mermaid’s body; it didn’t do much to stop the melting.
At this point, even the ink images of Roxanne on the M&Ms were starting to melt and look more like the Jesus image people claimed to see in pancake burns, grilled cheese sandwiches, and misshapen potatoes.
“Open the doors,” I told the servers, then got on the phone and called the engineers myself to find out what the progress was on fixing the air-conditioning.
“Not there yet,” said Carlos, who had worked there longer than I had. “The system hasn’t been used since March and we really should have cleaned it up and serviced it before turning it on.”
“Can you send in some more fans?” I asked, watching the ice melt like the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz. “As many as you can find?”
“Sure thing.”
The combination of the fans and open doors alleviated the problem somewhat, but not enough to make it what you’d call comfortable.
Jeremy got the band back in business, though, and once they started blasting Lady Gaga the party loosened back up some. Roxanne stopped crying over the sculpture and led a group of her friends like the Pied Piper back to the other end of the room, away from the smell of rapidly ripening food.
Always Something There to Remind Me Page 28
