Pushing the curtain of hair out of her face, Joely scanned the basket’s contents. “Some people believe simply longing to be with someone else is emotional cheating.”
“I think it’s only human to notice an attractive man once in a while, especially if he’s different than the man you’ve committed yourself to. An article in Psychology Today said that boredom is a key reason why people cheat. That they usually go after someone the opposite of their mate.” Was that why she kept thinking about Evan and his dragon tattoo? Mitch’s idea of a rush was bargaining with a vendor for a watch at the flea market. He would never ride a motorcycle without a helmet. He would never smoke pot. He would never offer to make love to her on the rug in an abandoned classroom. Thank God she’d had the good sense to turn Evan down.
“Boredom, huh?” Joely asked, dabbing peach polish along her big toenail. A silver ring encircled her baby toe. For some reason, Joely didn’t like to paint her fingernails, but only her toes. Kate, however, never felt more put-together than with a shiny, fresh manicure.
Kate selected a bottle of red polish named “Lipstick on His Collar”. She shook the bottle furiously. The little beads inside clinked against the glass. “It would be unlikely to go your whole life and never notice another man’s smile or another man’s body, don’t you think?”
She fantasized about Evan’s kiss again. She imagined that she had wrapped her arms around his neck and kneaded her fingers into his muscular back. Mitch still had a trim body, but sitting at a computer all day didn’t exactly give him much of a work out. She supposed when a man had the face of a Ralph Lauren model and the brains of Einstein, he didn’t need to worry about silly things like six-pack abs.
She smiled to herself, thinking that Mitch would humbly deny both comparisons.
“You can stop shaking that bottle now,” Joely’s voice brought her back to the present.
Kate looked at the dark red bottle in her palm. She unscrewed the cap and tried to steady her shaking hand. “It’s what you do with the urge to cheat that matters.” Joely would probably consider this another one of her overbearing lectures, but Kate was giving this one to herself. She had to avoid Evan. She needed to focus on Mitch and remind him that they had been happy once.
Joely tossed her irreverent curls back over her shoulder. “You mean, try to make your relationship stronger if you feel the urge to cheat.”
“Sure.” With the second swipe, Kate got some of the paint on her finger. It looked like blood. She wiped away her mistake, but a little red still tinged her skin.
Joely finished all five toes on one foot and looked up. “But should you confess? They say confession is good for the soul.”
Kate froze. Could Joely see the guilt on her face? “I know everyone says that, but the truth is, you just end up hurting the other person. And if you want to make your relationship work, I think you need to keep some things to yourself.”
“So if Mitch cheated on you, you wouldn’t want to know?”
“Of course I would.” It made sense that she’d given in to fantasies now that sex had become a means to an end. An end that she kept failing to achieve. But she had even been tempted a while back when things seemed perfectly fine between her and Mitch. Mitch had simply become embroiled with work and she’d begun joking and hanging out with Evan. What scared her was that they say men were far more likely to cheat.
She thought of Evan’s long-ago comment. That the thing that initially drew her to Mitch was the thing she would grow to hate. She had fallen in love with the way her husband combined his practical side with his fun-loving side. Like on one of their first dates, he’d grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. They’d learned to do the Electric Slide together. Even though she nervously bumped into other dancers, she’d laughed until her belly hurt. Now practicality dominated Mitch’s thinking and spontaneity remained a distant memory. Was it more practical for Mitch to find another woman to start a family with? Yes, it was.
Kate couldn’t handle the worry any longer. “Why are you asking me all of these questions?”
Suddenly Joely seemed very interested in blowing on her toes. “No reason.”
Disillusioned, Kate looked at her manicure. Her quivering hands had made more than one flub. She decided to open the foul-smelling nail polish remover and start over.
LILY
Dear Dayna,
Mrs. H and her sister are painting their fingernails. How silly is that! I hope you don’t turn into a prissy girly-girl when I’m gone. People used to call me a tomboy. That’s because I wasn’t worried about looking pretty. Looking pretty gets you in trouble. Remember that.
It’s more important that you know how to fend for yourself, that you can handle being by yourself. Truth #3: Being alone is better than being with someone who only likes you when you’re pretty.
Lily
CHAPTER THIRTY
KATE
Kate used to judge parents who filled out college applications for their kids, thinking the mothers and fathers overly involved, unable to cut the cord. She’d wondered how badly the students really wanted to go to college. But now she stamped down those doubts, telling herself that this situation with Lily was different.
She finished Lily’s college forms and wrote a check for the application fee. She had already stopped by Foxworth High and picked up a copy of Lily’s abysmal transcript. In an attempt to compensate for those grades, Kate had written a glowing recommendation, explaining how bright Lily was and that she was ready to take her education seriously.
Now all she needed was Lily’s signature and she could put the application in the mail.
She looked at the clock on the wall in her office and wondered where her next client was. Zoe Gorman was the girl with cancer and she’d never been late. Kate’s insides twisted, worried that the little girl with big blue eyes had taken a turn for the worse. She picked up the phone and called her house.
“I’m sorry I forgot we had an appointment,” her mother said softly. “She’s taking a nap and I had no idea she’d stay asleep this long.” Zoe’s mother usually spoke in a more confident, authoritative tone, a carry-over from her job as a police officer.
“That’s OK. How’s she doing?”
“Medically, nothing’s changed. How’s she doing in therapy?”
“I think she’s coping in her own way. She doesn’t cry because that only makes her feel worse.” Just like therapists used to encourage anger management patients to punch pillows, but later discovered that hitting things only exacerbated their rage.
“Isn’t it healthy to cry?” Officer Gorman asked.
Kate tapped her pencil’s eraser against her desk. “Sometimes. Just like you probably try not to cry in front of her, she’s trying to be strong in front of you. But don’t worry about it too much.” She wanted to offer this woman reassurance, comfort. “You and your husband are great parents. You have enough on your plate. Let me take this one burden away from you. Let me worry about your daughter’s unwillingness to cry.”
The woman made an almost inaudible sound of acceptance. “Thank you.”
“Tell her I said hi and if you’d like, I can get her in later this week.”
They rescheduled and Kate realized now she had two hours until her next appointment. It was almost lunch time. Maybe this was her chance to put the spark back in her marriage. She called Mitch’s work number.
“Hello?” his secretary answered.
Kate exchanged quick pleasantries with her before asking, “Is Mitch there?”
“No. I’m afraid he went out for lunch already.”
Mitch usually ate with the other engineers in the break room, feeling that going out wasted too much time. He always claimed he wanted to get his projects done so he could come home to her. She rubbed her forehead. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“No. He said he might be gone a while. He was with a young woman. I think she might have been his sister.”
Kate’s heart jumped. “
What makes you think that?” Mitch didn’t have a sister.
“They kind of looked alike. Uh, did I say something wrong?”
She told herself not to overreact, but worry pressed in the back of her mind. She hung up the phone. So much for a romantic lunchtime rendezvous with her husband. She couldn’t wait to ask him with whom he’d gone out. Now she really couldn’t focus on work.
She called his cell phone, but it went to voicemail.
Her gaze fell to the college application on her desk. Maybe if she swung by the house, Lily would be able to sign the forms and they could go out in the mail today.
Fifteen minutes later when she pulled into her driveway, she noticed a white sedan blocking her path. She parked the van next to the strange car and used her key to enter through the front door. “Lily?”
The Dave Matthews’ Band’s “Dream Girl” wafted through the air. It was Mitch’s CD, but he didn’t mind if Lily played his music. Kate heard voices, a male and a female’s, coming from the living room. Had Lily invited Butch over when she thought none of them would be home? Kate took a deep breath, ready to confront the selfish guy who continued to use Lily for sex, but not take responsibility for his own child. She heard the girl giggle. Lily never giggled.
As soon as she rounded the corner, she saw the couple sitting on the love seat. It was Mitch. The papers fell from her hand.
Mitch jerked his slouching shoulders back into alignment. The color drained from his face, the left dimple disappeared from his smile. “Kate.” It almost sounded like a question.
Sitting next to him was a young woman, barely in her twenties with sun-kissed hair cascading down her back. She had a few freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and nose. Her youth and innocence enraged Kate. This was Mitch’s lunch date.
The room started to spin with stars.
Mitch rose to his feet. “What are you doing home?”
“I thought I’d come home and talk to Lily.” She gripped the doorframe to keep her balance. “What are you doing?”
Her heartbeats came too fast. One on top of the other. This answered her question. Mitch had become bored with their relationship, and ultimately with her.
The young woman fidgeted, straightening her shirt. Mitch raised his hands as he came toward Kate, as if to cushion the emotional blow. “This isn’t what it looks like. Give me a chance to explain.”
She backed away. He had secretly invited his girlfriend to their house when he knew Kate would be at work. “There’s nothing to explain. I get it.” Dizziness overwhelmed her. She needed to escape.
“No, you don’t. This is Heather.” The CD player shuffled and launched into “American Baby”.
Kate’s hands trembled. No, no, no. It couldn’t end this way. After fifteen years of marriage. . . she should’ve seen the signs—his staying out late, his lack of interest in sex—all classic red flags. She had recognized the signs, but allowed him to make excuses. Now Heather stared at her as if watching a six-car pile-up on Route 30.
Mitch spoke quickly. “Heather is an egg donor. She’s the same one the Thomkins used. Remember, they came over for dinner on Anna’s half-birthday?”
Kate leaned against the library table. Her vision blurred. “What?”
Mitch gripped her biceps and helped her to the couch. He took his place beside her, while Heather sat catty-corner from them on the loveseat. He rubbed Kate’s knee, like he did to calm her when they watched a scary movie. “Kate, you would carry the baby, using my sperm and her egg.”
This was worse than a scary movie. It was her life. “You were doing this behind my back? Were you planning on keeping it a secret when they implanted her egg in me, too?”
Mitch lowered his bushy eyebrows. “Of course not. I wanted to meet her, see if she would be a good match for us.”
Kate shook her head. “I hate this. I hate everything about this.” She stormed out the front door, slamming it behind her.
JOELY
Walking into the Artist’s Café had never made Joely nervous before. Alternating the hand holding the handle of her portfolio case, she wiped her sweaty palms across her skirt. Before she opened the glass door, she checked her reflection, practicing her interview smile.
Greeted inside by the invigorating scent of fresh-ground coffee and the cheerful, mismatched walls, she told herself to be optimistic. This was the Artist’s Café after all. And she was an artist.
At the counter, Joely skipped ordering her usual cappuccino for fear it might spill on her designs. “I’m here to speak with the manager. I have an appointment.”
The woman with spiky short hair went out of view to the back of the restaurant. She returned and told Joely it would be just a minute. Stepping aside so the man in line behind her could place his order, Joely looked around at the familiar artwork on the walls: black and white portraits, oil paintings of children playing at the lakeshore, and modern copper sculptures.
Would the owner like her work? Joely shifted the portfolio from one hand to the next, waiting. A customer said, “Excuse me” and pushed past her. She was in the way.
Her eyes scanned the room and found an empty table toward the back. She carried her black case, propped it against the wall and took a seat.
The wait lasted more than a minute, as had been promised. It lasted long enough for Joely to get over her nerves and convince herself she was just as talented as these other artists. Then her insecurities rolled back in. Except for at the clinic, she hadn’t painted in five years. Her portfolio was old. Would he be able to tell?
A man with a thick mustache waddled purposefully toward her. He wore plain black pants and a green shirt. She sprung to her feet as they introduced themselves and shook hands.
Once they sat, she rushed through a synopsis of her art training and work with Kelly Designs. She unzipped her portfolio case and opened it to a photo of the California vineyard she’d painted once in an executive’s dining room. “I have some samples of my work here.” She turned the page and watched for his reaction. His forehead crinkled while he nodded.
She flipped through the rest of her samples. Why didn’t he say something? She felt beads of sweat on her face.
He looked past her to the long line forming at the register. “It looks like you’ve mostly done murals on walls.”
“Yes. But that easily translates to the canvas. Just tell me what you’re interested in and I’ll do it.”
He tugged at the end of his moustache. “I like your work.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I’m glad.”
He gestured around the room. “But as you can see, our walls are full of talented artists’ work. We already have a commitment to these folks. We aren’t looking for anyone else.”
Joely’s chest tightened. This wasn’t the way she thought this would go. “What about in the hallway? In the bathroom?” She hated the pleading tone in her voice.
He placed his hand on top of her portfolio, pushing himself up. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. If you’d like to leave me your card—”
“Yes.” She dug in her macramé bag for her stash of cards. She pulled one from the pink elastic band that held them together. It was one of Anna’s ponytail holders. “Please let me know if anything opens up.”
He took her card, his attention already back to the long line of customers.
KATE
Kate rested her forehead against the steering wheel, sobbing. Out of the corner of her eye, she’d seen Heather’s white sedan pull away.
A minute later Mitch opened up the passenger door of their minivan. “Kate, come back inside so we can talk.”
She refused to look at him. All she wanted to do was cry, wallow in her misery.
“Kate.” He stayed there, half in and half out of the vehicle. He looked around, probably to see if any of the neighbors were watching. Finally, he sat in the tan passenger seat and closed the door. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”
It wasn’t enough that she was
sobbing, she now could even taste the saltiness of the tears running down her cheeks, into the corners of her mouth.
He reached for the box of tissues on the floorboard and offered her one. She ignored it.
Sadness overwhelmed her. They would never fill this van with their children. The words tumbled through her mind, but she did not speak. She could not.
When she wouldn’t accept the tissue, Mitch placed it on the seat and stroked her hair. “I know this must be hard for you.”
She lifted her head and shot him a look. “You don’t understand.”
“Hey, I want a baby as badly as you do. That’s why I’m doing this.”
“What about Dayna? When Lily goes to college, she’ll see that she needs help with the baby. Maybe she’ll be ready to let us adopt her.”
He rested his palm between her shoulder blades. “You don’t want that. I wouldn’t mind adopting, but I’m afraid Dayna’s never going to be ours.”
Finally she took a tissue and dried her cheeks. She knew he was right. She had already called to see if Lily could stay in married student housing and if she could use their daycare center. The first answer had been no, but Kate had been relieved to hear that the second had been yes.
Swallowing, she tried to compose herself. She knew she probably looked puffy-eyed and red-faced.
He lightly scratched her back. “What’s so terrible about using a donor egg?”
“I don’t know.” She knew she’d sound petty if she revealed the truth.
“I thought you might like Heather because she has your hair and skin color.”
“And she has brown eyes, like you.” Maybe that was why his secretary had thought Heather was his sister.
“If you want, we can search for someone with blue eyes, but it will be hard to find one with the right shade. Your eyes vary between twilight and dusk, depending on what color you’re wearing.”
Adoration carried through his voice. She’d thought she’d lost her husband, but no. Maybe not yet. “Is she who you’ve been seeing at night?” She didn’t even want to say her name.
What Happiness Looks Like (Promises) Page 20
