by Maggi Myers
Gentle pressure on my cast breaks me free of my self-deprecation. Tate carefully lifts my arm to his chest and cradles it there.
In this moment, any hope I could keep Tate at a comfortable distance is vanquished. Emotion pulls deep from my belly, swelling my throat and choking me with tears. I tilt my head up, fighting to keep them contained, absolutely refusing to allow them to spill.
“Caroline.” My whispered name across his lips is my undoing. The current of my emotion streams down my face, and I want to hide my weakness from the tenderness he’s showing me. “Don’t cry. You’re so brave, so fearless. Lily is so lucky to have you.”
Tate’s words only make me cry harder. I was so convinced he would bail, and I couldn’t have been more wrong. In my current state of blubbering, I’m confused but thrilled that I was.
“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” I sniffle. “ ‘Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.’ ”
“Steel Magnolias,” he responds without hesitation.
“Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly like you more,” I joke. I’m rewarded with a flash of dimple that spreads a smile across my face.
“I like you, too, Caroline.” A blush spreads beneath his stubble.
“We’re a mess, you know.” My warning is a tease, but there is a seriousness that belies my meaning.
“A beautiful mess, though,” he returns. “And all because you let me sit down and not talk to you for a while.”
I turn my head to keep him from catching me smile. I’m teetering on a very perilous ledge here. There’s nothing casual or friendly about the way I’m feeling right now, but I have far more at stake than just a broken heart. I have a daughter whose needs come first, and I need to protect her more than I need to indulge in my chemistry with Tate.
Still, the last time I was so singularly focused on Lily, I lost Peter. If I learned anything from that, I learned the necessity of balance, but I don’t know how to get that.
a beautiful mess
Tate and I sit holding hands for a long time. In the quiet, I begin to sort through the finer details of what “just coffee” has meant this morning. Tate’s mother is dying, and I’m at a complete loss for words. My brain just can’t fathom what it must feel like to get news like that. For reasons I may never know, he’s holding my hand. If he feels just a fraction of the peace I feel when I’m with him, then he can hold on as long as he wants. One part of me wills him to tell me everything; another just craves the quiet.
“She raised Tarryn and me on her own,” Tate finally says. “Twins with no help from our father. She never complained, and she never made it seem like too much.” He stares absently across the cafeteria as he talks. While the current of his memory carries him along, he stays tethered to the present by holding on to me. “I was a rotten teenager. Somewhere around fifteen, I decided she was the reason my father was gone. It hurt her; I know it did. I wish I could go back and slap that ornery kid.”
“It’s ’cause you got all ’em teeth and no toothbrush.” I smirk. I’m not going to let him beat himself up, not when there are Waterboy movie references to distract him with. There is enough pain without all of the self-hate. We can’t go back and change what’s done. We can only move ahead with the lessons we learn from our mistakes.
“Medulla oblongata,” Tate deadpans. “You’re good.” He nods his head.
“I don’t know your mom, but I’m just starting to know you, and what I’ve seen would make any mom proud.” I nudge Tate with my shoulder until he looks at me. “You’re good people. I have a sense about these things.”
“Got me figured out, huh?”
“I just recognize a lot of myself in you. When Lily got her first diagnosis, I wasted precious time beating myself up over things I couldn’t change. It was pointless and did nothing but rob me of the energy I needed to face what was happening. I don’t want to see you do that to yourself.”
Before he can respond, Tate’s phone rings from his pocket. When he answers, a flood of relief washes over his features. Someone must have a bed available for his mom. I fish around in my purse for a pen and something to write on. I come up with one of Lily’s crayons and an old receipt. I place them in front of Tate, and he mouths his gratitude in earnest. I wait while he jots down his notes in Purple Mountains’ Majesty crayon. If the subject matter weren’t so dire, it would be absolutely adorable. Perhaps this is a prelude to what’s ahead—finding the sweetness in our collective dysfunction.
He hangs up the phone and runs his hand through his hair. “St. Joseph’s Hospice Center can take her tomorrow morning.” He sighs in relief. “I need to go let her doctor know what’s going on.”
“I need to go meet Lily at her occupational therapy appointment. My friend Max is bringing her for me.” I’m sad that we can’t avoid reality for a little longer. Secretly, I’m afraid that leaving the sanctity of our little bubble will render it obsolete, like a wonderful dream you can’t quite remember but know is there. I don’t want this to be a onetime thing that gets relegated to the periphery of my mind. I don’t want to let go.
“You know, Peter has Lily tonight,” I start hesitantly. “Why don’t I bring you some dinner later?” I hold my breath, waiting for Tate to decline my offer.
“I have a better idea. Why don’t you let me buy you a burger at Giff’s?” he suggests, taking me by surprise. “Tarryn is coming in for a while tonight, and I could use the break.” A break being relative. Giff’s is the greasy spoon across the street from the hospital. It’s far enough to get a change of scenery, but not so far that you couldn’t get back in a hurry.
“Mmm … Giff’s burgers,” I practically moan. “You’ve got a deal. Does six o’clock work for you?” I stand and fix my sling while I wait for an answer. I feel guilty for not feeling guilty about having dinner with a handsome man whose life has just been knocked off its axis.
Oh, get over it, Caroline. You can be a supportive friend without being a fucking succubus.
A set of warm hands rests on my shoulders, interrupting me from arguing with myself. I turn to find Tate standing behind me, regarding me with an affectionate smile.
“Quit overthinking.” He arches a knowing eyebrow at me. He’s good; I’ll give him that.
“You’ve got me figured out, huh?” I grin.
He flashes his dimpled smile as he uses my words to make his point: “I just see a lot of myself in you. I’m going to focus on the good fortune I have for getting to share a meal with a beautiful girl, and forget about the rest of life for an hour or so.” He tentatively places his hand on my back and leads us both to the exit.
“Touché,” I say. I can’t overthink anything with him touching me. I can’t think at all, and it’s wonderful and scary and oddly natural, considering. I want to lean into his chest, but I don’t. Call me nuts, but I think it’s a good idea to slow down this crazy train.
“Quit it,” he whispers.
“What?” I feign ignorance. A quick peek through my peripheral vision tells me he’s not biting. His brow is arched to his hairline. Damn. “I can’t help it! This warrants just a bit of thought.”
“True. It’s a big decision.” He considers for a moment. “How can anyone choose, really?”
I stare at him blankly. “Huh?”
“Fries or rings … the question to end all questions.” He chuckles.
“Nice dodge,” I mumble through my own laughter. All too soon, we’re at the elevator bay that will take Tate back to the seventh floor and to his new reality.
“I will see you at six, right?” He dips his head down to meet my gaze. I know he’s wondering whether I’ll talk myself out of showing up.
“Absolutely,” I promise. “I’ll look forward to it all day.” The smile that spreads across his face almost hides the dark circles under his eyes, or maybe I’m just too dazzled by the dimples to notice. Whatever the case, I can’t deny the satisfaction I take in knowing I put that smile there.
He wraps me in the war
mth of his embrace, careful not to squish my sling. I step close to his body and tuck the top of my head beneath his chin. This is quickly becoming my new favorite place, and it scares the crap out of me. I give him a good squeeze before letting him go, hoping he doesn’t notice how I bury my nose in his shirt. I take a deep breath, taking in the scent of him. It’s a mixture of coffee and crisp linen. I step back, but his scent clings to my senses.
“I’ll look forward to it, too.” He tips his head to the side, trying to hide the blush creeping into his cheeks. The elevator dings all too soon to take him away. “See you later?”
I nod my head as the doors close, because I can’t say yes. The truth is, I don’t know what I’m going to do.
always remember me
My feet scurry down the hallway as I rush to the pediatric therapy clinic. There are twenty minutes left in Lily’s OT session, and if I make a run for it, I’ll have about eighteen of those minutes to fill Max in. I round the last corner of my sprint and nearly run head-on into a doctor.
“Excuse me, sorry,” I say, and attempt to sidestep him. He steps in the same direction and then again when we try a second time. It’s an awkward waltz until I stand still and let him move around me. It figures; even in the most urgent situations, for me, calamity rules. I’m muttering a quiet curse under my breath when I enter the waiting room.
Max sits with his ankle propped on his knee and his nose in the latest edition of Fit Pregnancy magazine. The other moms in the room are all pretending to be indifferent to his presence; it’s comical. His head pops up, and he smiles broadly when he sees me approaching. This makes the other mamas seethe … indifferent, my ass.
“Sweet Caroline,” he greets me and pats the seat next to him. “How’d it go with your stranger?” He closes the magazine and turns sideways to face me.
“You,” I murmur low enough that the ears around us can’t hear. “You and your ‘it’s coffee, not commitment,’ but you know what? It’s still a big ‘I-like-you-let’s-do-burgers-and-oh-by-the-way-my-mom’s-dying’ mess!”
“Whoa,” he replies, “back up.” He furrows his brow as he tries to find the sense in what I’ve said. I regale him with the story of Tate’s mother’s cancer, and how he broke down in the cafeteria. Max listens intently as I tell him about how I held Tate’s hand and let him cry on my shoulder, how we talked about Lily and what happened to my hand, and finally how we were meeting for dinner at six.
“Can’t you see?” I plead with him. “We’re flirting with this affection we have for each other around these huge events in our lives. Am I nuts? I feel a little crazy.” With a heavy sigh I slouch back in my seat, mentally exhausted. I don’t know if I’m making sense to anyone else, but it makes sense to me. Later on, I don’t want Tate to be reminded of the worst time in his life when he thinks about me. It makes me cringe to think about what he’d say when someone asked him how he met me. “Great story! I met her when I found out my mother was dying.” Fail.
“I hear you,” Max reassures me, “and I feel you. However, you can’t predict what may or may not happen. You can only control how you react moving forward. If you feel like you need to draw a line, then draw it. If Tate’s the man he sounds like, then he’ll respect that. You have to decide what you’re comfortable with, and go from there. Talk to him tonight. Tell him how you feel.”
“What if I’m overreacting?” I lament. “What if I read him wrong and he doesn’t feel the same way? I’ll make an ass of myself.” I mean, it is pretty presumptuous to waltz into Giff’s and suggest that we tone down the attraction we have to each other, when neither of us has copped to it.
Max sighs in frustration. “You aren’t getting it, girl. I spent five seconds with the dude and could see how much he’s into you. You aren’t assuming anything; you’re setting the pace, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” He gives me a mischievous smile and starts to hum the song “Falling Slowly.”
“You’re such a girl,” I tease. He responds by adding words and volume to his serenade. “Shh,” I snicker, as the moms around us perk up and start staring. He leans his head back and belts out the chorus with gusto. I bury my face in my hands and start laughing. That’s how Lily and her OT find us, laughing like a couple of lunatics with the rest of the waiting room watching curiously.
“Mama, Maxy, Mama, Maxy,” Lily croons. The change in her chant surprises me. Her speech therapist smiles in surprise as well. I know she chants for the people who mean the most to her, and it makes my heart swell to hear Max included. Her therapist marvels at the consonant combination of short A and long E. It’s not lost on Max either; I notice the way his face softens when she says his name. She’s got him wound tight around her pinky finger.
“Lily Love,” Max answers. Lily launches herself into his arms and peppers his cheek with kisses.
“My Maxy,” she declares, and rests her head on his shoulder. I swear there is a collective sigh among the moms. Max is oblivious; he’s all wrapped up in my girl.
“Your Maxy has to go to work, Lily Pad,” I explain. “You and I are going to meet up with Daddy.”
“You gonna be okay?” Max asks as he places Lily back on her feet.
“Oh yeah, I’m good,” I say. “It’s his night with her. She’s getting used to his new place. No worries.” When Peter first left, our Lily exchanges gutted me. It would take me the entire course of Lily’s absence to recover. Now they’re so routine, there is barely any discomfort. I suppose that has a lot to do with the fact that I’m beginning to fill my free time with things other than mourning the loss of what I thought would be my life. New friends, a renewed interest in writing; I’m learning to bend with the changes, not break, and it feels hopeful.
“Call me after dinner,” Max calls out as we walk away. I look over my shoulder and stick my tongue out at him in defiance.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t want that thing in my mouth either,” he teases. In choreographed unison, every mouth in the waiting room drops. My face blushes scarlet.
“Wha … I … pshh …” I stammer through meaningless gibberish as Max walks past us, laughing hysterically.
“I crack myself up.” He snickers on his way out. “Call me.” He’s gone before I can collect myself enough for a comeback.
“Who was that?” Lily’s OT asks. I forgot she was standing there. I’m so scattered, I’ve been completely ignoring her.
“That’s my friend Max,” I reply. She lets out a slow whistle.
“Some friend you got there, Ms. Hunter.” She stares at the door wistfully, perhaps willing him to return.
“Indeed.” I smirk at her reaction to him; it’s commonplace with the ladies. “The best kind of friend there is.”
That is the God’s honest truth. He is the best friend I’ve ever had.
Peter’s car is parked in the driveway when we arrive at the house. I wait for the sting of nostalgia to rear its head, but time has proven effective in wearing down its sharp edges. To say I’m relieved sounds cold, but I am relieved for the progress marked by the absence of longing. It was not my intention for the future not to include Peter. But whether or not it’s intended, all that is left of our connection is our daughter.
When I pull into the garage, Peter appears in the doorway. All the talk of where to draw lines has me inspired to go over some things with Peter. First order of business: this is not his home anymore. I think it would be best to assert some boundaries that include taking back the key to the house. I don’t want it to be an argument, but it seems like there’s been some wavering on where each of us stands lately. I don’t want to invite any more confusion into my life. At the end of the day, we’re still a family. It’s best to be one on good speaking terms and not one fraught with angst and bitterness.
“Hey,” he greets me as I step out of the car. “How’d it go?” He opens the back door to release Lily from her booster seat. She clings to him like a little monkey, covering his face with kisses. Seeing her with him is a good reminder why we will do w
ell to be careful with each other: Lily.
“It went well; we’re getting by. Learning to let our friends help out,” I say. I leave Max out of the equation to prevent another argument about it. Peter knows that he stayed over to help with Lily. He wasn’t thrilled about it, and he happily let me know exactly what he thought, but he understood why it couldn’t be him.
Lily hops out of the car and looks back and forth between Peter and me. I wonder what’s going on in that beautiful head of hers. Is she confused to see us together in some moments and apart in others? Does she understand?
“Maxy make pan-a-cakes,” Lily proclaims proudly. Peter scowls. Ass.
“Yes, he did, Lily Pad,” I affirm for her.
It would be nice if Peter could think of her and not his pettiness right now. It irritates me when Lily tries to engage him in her way and he’s too self-involved to notice. It’s funny how details like that don’t make themselves known until you see things from another perspective. Max had no problem meeting Lily on her level and enjoying her. I didn’t notice Peter’s unwillingness to do that until now. It’s always about her coming to him, and that’s just not fair.
“You could at least acknowledge her, Peter. How is she going to understand reciprocal conversation if we don’t teach her how to use it?”
Peter ignores my comment and escorts Lily into the house. It’s not my job to smooth things over between him and Lily anymore. I give myself a mental reminder and resist the urge to intervene further. He’s going to have to learn how to talk to his daughter without me there to facilitate. It’s my fault as much as it is his. I was overbearing and controlling where Lily was concerned. He didn’t do much because I didn’t let him. He didn’t argue, but clearly that didn’t make either of us happy. Why is it that these things only become apparent in hindsight? So we aren’t destined to repeat our mistakes. I know this, but it irritates me how masochistic the whole thing is: you’ve got to screw up royally in order to learn how not to. I follow them into the house and freeze when I see Peter rummaging through the fridge.
