One True Theory of Love

by Laura Fitzgerald

  “How are you, Meg?” She smiled at his voice, even as she wasn’t exactly happy to hear it.

  “I’m doing great.” She turned down the radio. “The birds are chirping in my world. What’s up?”

  “You’re just on my mind today, that’s all.”

  Meg couldn’t help herself. “Why am I on your mind today?”

  “Probably because I’m standing right outside your door,” he said.

  “No, you’re not.” Stupidly, Meg went to it, unlatched the chain and flung open the door.

  Sure enough, there he was.

  “Oh,” she said into the phone. “I guess you are right outside my door.” She stood dripping before him, dressed in only a towel. They simultaneously hung up their phones.

  “Well, hello!” His eyes popped as he hammed up the awkwardness of the moment. “It’s been a while since you welcomed me in such a manner.”

  Meg laughed. They’d gone through a sex-as-soon-as-you-get-home phase at one point, one of their better phases. “I suppose I should invite you in.”

  She stepped back to allow him entry, feeling naked in just the towel. She was naked in just the towel.

  “Henry’s not here, I take it?” Jonathan asked.

  “He’s at school.”

  He entered and glanced around, then peered at her. “And why aren’t you?”

  “Personal day,” Meg said.

  “But you never take personal days.”

  “I’m a changed woman,” she said.

  Jonathan had one particular smile that came out in moments that had the potential of turning a certain way, like when an argument was ready to escalate or when they reconnected at a party where they’d been separated. It always stopped the traffic in her heart. It was a hey-wouldn’t-you-rather-go-have-great-sex smile. The smile had always, always worked on her.

  And he was smiling it now, and all that was between them was a towel held up with a shaky, perhaps disloyal hand.

  Ahmed, Meg reminded herself.

  Yes, there was Ahmed to consider. If he showed up right then, he would not be happy. She could imagine the look in his eyes. They’d be dark, hardened. Like the flat surface of a lake that had just sunk a boat with no apologies to offer or accept.

  Yes, there was Ahmed to consider.

  “Knock it off with that smile,” Meg told him.

  Laughing, Jonathan knocked it off.

  “I’m going to go change,” she told him.

  “I’ll stay here.”

  The smart-ass. “Damn straight, you will!” she said.

  She locked her bedroom door behind her, kept the towel clutched about herself, bent over at the waist and gave a long, silent scream. What was this all about? Who’d asked for this—had she given permission for such a moment to be happening?

  No, she had not.

  And yet here it was, happening nonetheless.

  This was Jonathan. The guy who’d left her. The guy who, by coming back a few weeks ago to tell her in person something he could easily have told her over the phone, had nearly ruined things between her and Ahmed.

  Not true, she told herself. He’d had nothing to do with that. She’d been the cause of the rift, the creator of the void.

  Straightening, Meg threw on an old, unflattering pair of jeans and the baggiest sweatshirt she could find, slapped on some foundation, and twisted her hair into a ponytail. The brightness in her eyes she couldn’t dull, but she would not dress up for him.

  When she came back out, he was sitting at her dining room table. Not being a believer in feng shui, he sat with his back to the door, his customary position. He gave her a once-over and said, “You don’t look a day over thirty-four.”

  Meg grinned at him. “That’s because you’re not around to age me. Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  She got him a cup, refreshed hers, and joined him at the table. “I’m surprised I didn’t come in to find you looking at the photos on the mantel. Aren’t you curious about your son?”

  Without taking his eyes from hers, Jonathan lifted his coffee cup, blew on it, then took a sip and set it down. “You two vacation in Coronado, I see.”

  “I guess that answers that question,” she said.

  His eyes gleamed with memory. “Do you stay at that same crappy hotel we stayed at?”

  Meg laughed. The summer after their senior year, before he’d gone away to college, they’d driven all night to see day-break at the ocean. “They tore that place down years ago,” she said. “We stay at an equally crappy one a few blocks down. I think this summer we’re going to stay at the Hotel Del. I came into a little money recently.”

  Jonathan gave her a pleased smile. “The check’s no good unless you cash it.”

  “It’s on my list of things to do today,” she said. “Which reminds me, are you going to start sending monthly child-support payments? Because you really should.”

  “I will.” He nodded. “And I’ll even go so far as to say you should file an order with the court to amend the paperwork, because the payments should be based on what I make now as opposed to what I made when I was just out of law school.”

  “Okay,” Meg said, rattled by his decency. “I will.”

  “You don’t have any pictures of your boyfriend up there on the mantel,” he pointed out.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t.”

  Jonathan examined the blackness of his coffee before meeting her gaze again. “You think you’ll end up marrying him?”

  His tone was even, neutral, but Meg felt a weight behind his words. She took a slow, deliberate sip of coffee, keeping her eyes on his. “For me, it’s not about the ring.”

  “You have changed,” he said. “But then, I already knew that.”

  “Why’d you come?” Meg asked.

  There was pain in Jonathan’s flaming blue eyes and he didn’t need to say anything. Meg knew exactly why he’d come.

  “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t do this.”

  “I’m not doing anything,” he assured her. “I’m just . . .” He stopped to sigh, to summon the right words.

  “I’m with Ahmed now,” Meg said.

  It came out weak.

  It felt like a lie.

  He nodded. “I’d rather you were with me, instead.”

  Meg sank her face in her hands, a peekaboo baby, wishing that since she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her. With her fingertips, she caressed her forehead, traced her fingers over her eyebrows, soothed herself. Ahmed’s hands had done the same thing. Jonathan’s, too, many times more.

  She was with Ahmed now, it was true.

  But it was also true that in the most secret corner of her heart, Meg had dreamed of this moment for years—ever since Jonathan had left her.

  You left me,” she said after she’d collected herself. “How could I ever think you wouldn’t leave me again?”

  “I’m a different person now,” he said. “I’m ready to be the husband you deserve, and the father Henry needs.”

  Isn’t that what men always said?

  “I’m with Ahmed,” Meg said. “Firmly. And forever, I hope.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” Meg said. “You can’t just come back after all this time and think you can pick up where you left off.”

  “I don’t want to pick up where we left off,” he said. “I want to start over.”

  Meg shook her head. “We don’t need you.”

  Jonathan reached and took her hand. “But I need you.”

  Wow, Meg thought. Just . . . wow.

  Sadness overwhelmed her as she looked at their intertwined fingers. She was holding hands with Jonathan Clark, the first boy she’d ever loved, the first man she’d ever hated.

  “You were the first person outside my family to think I was something special,” she said. “That means something very profound.”

  “I still think you’re something special,” he said.

  Meg slipped her hand from his. “We don’t share the same
values, Jonathan. You said it yourself at the park. I am still the same person I was back then. I still want the same things. I’m only different in that I’m far, far stronger. I’m older and wiser and a little beat-up by life but better for it, I hope. You forced me to be strong when you left me.”

  “The fact that you fell apart after I left has haunted me all these years.”

  “You call it falling apart,” Meg said. “I call it surviving.”

  “See?” He smiled. “You can rewrite history. You just have to look at old things in a new way. Take what’s useful, leave what’s not.”

  Meg studied him, the man who’d given her Henry. Part of her would always love him. But his desire was selfish.

  “I can see why you’d want to be with us,” she said. “All the hard work’s been done. We’ve put years into becoming who we are, and now you want a ready-made wife and son. Ahmed’s all about what he can add to our lives, and you’ve always been someone who takes, takes, takes.”

  “I want to add to your life, too.”

  “My answer’s no, Jonathan.”

  She got up and walked away from him to let him collect himself, and from the fireplace mantel she picked up her favorite photo from Coronado. Henry’s baby teeth had fallen out and his adult ones had grown in. He’d be losing his molars soon, and then he’d shoot up tall and his voice would deepen. Everything about him would change, yet in his mind his father never would. He’d always be just a face in an old photograph. The guy who came to town once but neglected to see him.

  I’d take a flawed father who loves me over a nonexistent father any day of the week.

  Ahmed—a man she loved, a man whose judgment she trusted—was right. Meg went back to the dining room table and handed Jonathan the photograph. He studied it, memorizing it.

  “I was thinking of taking Henry to Rincon Market after school for a snack,” she said. “Do you want to meet us there? Would you like to meet Henry?”

  “You’d really let me meet him?” His eyes widened with surprise, then softened with gratitude.

  “Sure,” Meg said. “Today’s a gift, right?”

  “Won’t he hate me?” he asked. “I’ve been an absent parent, and I hurt his mom.”

  “All fathers are flawed,” Meg said. “This happens to be a very good time for Henry to learn that.”

  Rincon Market, five hours later, the Sam Hughes neighborhood hangout, with a small section for grocery items but a killer bakery and café. Henry sat at a table with Jonathan and Meg and ate two bananas, a peach and an apple as he peppered Jonathan with questions about his life. Did he ever get lost in such a big city as New York? How cool was it to ride the subway? In his job, did he ever help bad guys get away with stuff? Had he ever been in Times Square on New Year’s Eve to see the ball drop, and did he know Donald Trump?

  Jonathan loved the questions and gave great answers. Yes, he did sometimes get lost, but it wasn’t scary because he just waved down a cab and so far he’d always been able to find his way back. Riding the subway was very cool. Sometimes bad guys did get away with stuff, but often they got exactly what they deserved. Yes, he’d seen the ball drop in Times Square on New Year’s Eve, and while he didn’t know Donald Trump, he had met the mayor.

  At that, Henry’s eyes popped.

  “Me, too!” he said. “I went to lunch with the mayor, me and Ahmed!”

  As they talked, Meg studied the two of them and marveled at the way their mannerisms mirrored each other’s. Both quirked their heads to the right when intrigued by a question. Both used their eyes to underscore a point. Both presented themselves as quick-witted while disguising their serious intent: each wanted the other to like him, desperately. Meg could see it because she knew them both so well.

  Jonathan questioned Henry as well. What was his favorite subject in school? Had he read The Mysterious Benedict Society? Besides Harry, Ron and Hermione, who was his favorite character in Harry Potter? Did he have a best friend? Were girls good or gross?

  Henry grew more animated with each answer he gave. His favorite subject was none, because he didn’t like his teacher or his school, but next year, if Meg and Ahmed got married, he was going to Sam Hughes, where he could play on the chess team and join the orchestra. He’d never heard of The Mysterious Benedict Society and, anyway, he liked movies more than books. Snape was his favorite other Harry Potter character, because Snape loved Harry’s mom so much that he died to protect her son. Violet was his best friend. And girls were good, not gross. My mom’s a girl, he said. And so’s Violet. Both good.

  “Have you kissed her yet?” Jonathan asked, glancing at Meg.

  “Who, Violet? Or my mom?”

  Jonathan looked at Meg to indicate I see we’ve got a smart-ass on our hands. Meg’s look signaled back He inherited it from you.

  “Violet,” Jonathan said. “I’d hope you kiss your mom many times each day.”

  “Of course I’ve kissed Violet,” Henry said.

  This was news to Meg. When and where and how often and had there been tongue involved? All questions for another time. Or not. Some questions were better left unasked, she decided.

  “Can I give you some advice?” Jonathan said. “Be good to her. Be as good to her as you can possibly be, and try not to break her heart.”

  Henry nodded, very seriously. “I’m really going to try to get it right.”

  It was then—as Meg and Jonathan locked eyes, as Meg came full circle in her forgiveness and in her appreciation of the absolute rightness of the moment—that Ahmed walked into the market.

  Henry saw him first. “Mom.” He grabbed her arm. “There’s Ahmed.”

  When Meg had picked Henry up from school and told him on the drive over that they’d be meeting Jonathan at Rincon, Henry had asked if Ahmed knew. Don’t worry about Ahmed, Meg had said. You leave him to me. To which Henry had replied, Yeah, but remember what he said about a lie by that other thing.

  A lie by omission, Meg had said. Yes, I’m quite familiar with the term. You just enjoy this moment, and I’ll deal with Ahmed later.

  A match lit inside Meg when Ahmed, having just stepped through the market’s automatic doors, glanced idly around. She stood to intercept him.

  “Henry, you stay here.” She made her voice low and dead serious. “If there’s ever a time for you to do what I say, this is it. Got it?”

  He nodded. “Got it.”

  Jonathan’s eyes were cool. “Let me know if you need me,” he said. “I’ve got your back.”

  Just then, Ahmed caught sight of them. He looked from Meg to Jonathan to Henry, and then back to Jonathan again. The same blue eyes, same blond hair that curled at the ends, the same little forward curve of the shoulders. There was no mistaking they were father and son.

  As Meg walked to Ahmed, his body was fighter-tense.

  His fists were clenched.

  His eyes were the flat surface of one very pissed-off lake.

  This time when Ahmed turned and left her, Meg didn’t just close her eyes.

  She went after him.

  She caught up to him outside the market. “Ahmed!” She grabbed his arm. “Don’t be this way.”

  He jerked his arm back. There was a half second in which he nearly raised a hand to her in anger, but it turned into a point of accusation. “I have one question.”

  He trapped her with his eyes, cornered her inescapably. Spewed hate. Meg found herself gripped with anger.

  “If you’ve got a question, just ask it,” she said. “You don’t need to announce you’ve got one.”

  When Ahmed dropped his mouth open, astounded by her flippancy, it angered Meg more. “Well?” she said. “Ask your question.”

  “Were you planning to tell me?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Or did you think I wouldn’t find out you two were seeing him?”

  Meg narrowed her eyes back. “That’s actually two questions.”

  Ahmed’s eyes widened. He had a bomb triggered, ready to detonate, and Meg could tell her taunts we
re not helping in his struggle to restrain himself. Good, she thought. It was about time he unleashed himself. Time he lived raw, which Meg was coming to think was the only worthwhile way to live.

  “Maybe you should check your voice mail once in a while,” she said. “What were you doing that was so important you couldn’t call me back? I’ve been leaving you messages for five hours. I’m going through something important here, and you flaked on me. You let me down, Ahmed. I expect better from you.”

  He blanched. Physically stumbled backward. “You left . . . ?” He shook everything, everything, out of his head. “I left my phone in my locker at the racquet club again.” He looked devastated. “You left a message?”

  “About twenty.” Meg pulled her cell phone from her pocket and displayed the screen that showed the calls she’d made that day. It was littered with Ahmed’s name. She held the phone out to him. “Call your voice mail. Pick up your messages. You’ll see.”

  He didn’t take the phone. “Oh God. Shit, Meg. I’m so sorry.” He covered his face with his hands and rubbed hard, as if to peel away his hateful thoughts. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. I should not have doubted you.”

  “No,” Meg said. “You shouldn’t have. We both know Henry can’t keep a secret. Do you think I’d leave my fate in the hands of a nine-year-old and expect him not to blab to you that he’d met his father? I’m not trying to hide anything.”

  There was an empty table to Ahmed’s left and he slipped into a seat, weakened. Depleted. Meg slid into the seat across from him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Apology accepted,” Meg said instantly. “Now buckle up. Jonathan came to town to ask me to get back together with him. To give it another shot. To see if we could get it right the second time around.”

  Could this day get any worse? was the question Meg saw in Ahmed’s eyes. She smiled to reassure him: it would only get better, as long as they were willing to work for it.

  “What did you tell him?” His face was a mixture of reluctance and hope.

  “I told him that he’s my yesterday and you’re my forever,” she said.