Not Quite A mom

by Kirsten Sawyer

  26

  I sit perched on the edge of the black Aeron chair behind my desk. My cell phone headset is on and connected to Tiffany, but my eyes intensely watch the clock in the upper righthand corner of the computer screen. Today is day one of the plan to get back together with Dan. Plan A: the accidental bump-into. Dan is an absolute creature of habit—one of the many traits I cherish about him, and extremely helpful in planning a “surprise” meeting. I know that every Monday night Dan leaves work at exactly six o’clock and goes directly to the Gelson’s in the Century City mall.

  I’ll have to sneak out of work a little early to pull it off—not the best career move, given my mostly unexplained absence the week before, but I will make sure that I am grocery shopping at the same Gelson’s at 6:20 p.m. when Dan arrives. Tiffany and Courtney have instructed me to arrive early and fill a cart with a list of items they have prepared. Then I just plant myself in the produce department and wait for the bump.

  Wanting to have plenty of time, and knowing that in L.A. you can never count on traffic or parking to go your way, at 5:55, still on the phone with Tiffany going over final details, I shut down the computer and gather my belongings.

  “Okay,” I say, standing up from the hammock-looking chair, “I’m ready to go.”

  On the other end, Tiffany encourages me. “It’s going to work…I can feel it. Don’t forget to put the lip gloss on before you see him.”

  “I won’t forget. I’ll call you on my way home—or if you don’t hear from me, assume it went well,” I say with a surge of excitement. “Bye.”

  I press the button on the headset’s base that ends the call before carefully removing it from my head and placing the headband on a black metal holder. I glance down quickly at the desk. It’s as immaculate as you would expect—almost empty except for a black leather desk set and a pewter three-face clock from Pottery Barn displaying times for Los Angeles, New York, and London. In all honesty, I really only need to know what time it is in Los Angeles, but it feels like the kind of item a news reporter would have, so I bought it on clearance after Christmas last year. With a rush of guilt, I straighten the growing pile of papers in the inbox; it is highly unusual for me to leave the office when there is still work to be done, but I have to prioritize, and right now, getting back together with Dan is number one—I’m sure Diane Sawyer would do the same thing if she and Mike Nichols were on the outs. There is also a nagging fear that Renee, who hadn’t exactly been understanding about the week of “illness,” will find out I’m sneaking out.

  “Hope, I’m still not feeling a hundred percent, so I’m going to head home a bit early today. You can reach me there if you need anything,” I say, putting one hand on my stomach. I have already coordinated with Tiffany that if work calls the house, which I know is unlikely, she will explain that my fever has spiked again and I’ve gone to bed for the night.

  “Poor Elizabeth,” Hope says sweetly, “don’t worry about work. Go home and feel better.”

  I smile weakly and feel another surge of guilt flip my stomach over, giving me a real reason to have my hand on my abdomen. I quickly exit the building, taking the back staircase instead of the elevator to reduce the chances of running into anyone. Once outside, I dart to my car and jump in. My heart races as I start the BMW’s engine, saying a silent prayer that the car won’t pick today to get fussy on me, and put it in reverse. I don’t realize until I gulp for air as the car glides down the driveway that I have been holding my breath. I’m filled with relief that I’m officially off the property and that I noticed that the spot right by the door marked “R. Foster” was already empty.

  I fly down Olympic and reach Century City in record time. I quickly park the car and walk briskly into the supermarket. Once inside, I retrieve Tiffany and Courtney’s list from my purse and glance at my watch. It’s ten after six…I have ten minutes to find—I hold the list up and count—eight items. I can do this. I feel like a preteen girl on a scavenger hunt. First on the list: “white wine—not too cheap,” in Courtney’s loopy writing. I have shopped at the market enough times with Dan to know where things are, and I quickly head toward the aisle filled with bottles of wine.

  Three minutes later, the first three items (wine, Brie, and a long loaf of French bread) are in my cart. I lift the list out of my purse again and scan down to the fourth item—once again, it is written in Courtney’s hand: “condoms.” What?

  I grab my cell phone and dial Courtney’s cell phone. She answers almost immediately. “Condoms?!?” I ask.

  “We want it to look like you’re going to be entertaining,” she explains shamelessly.

  “Courtney! Do you really think he’ll take me back if he thinks I’m already sleeping with someone else?” I ask, half disgusted at the thought and half thinking of my Buck Platner/kitchen floor fantasy.

  “Jealousy is a very powerful tool,” she informs me.

  “He’d never believe it anyway…he knows me,” I remind her.

  Sex is not exactly something that I take lightly. I have only been with three people in my life, including Dan, and each of the three I believed was “the one,” when I went to bed with him. The first had been my college boyfriend, Gary Kramer. We met in the fall of my sophomore year. Gary fit my profile: he was a handsome, well-bred midwesterner (or at least what a girl from Victory considered well bred—his parents were still married to each other), plus he was prelaw and a member of one of the campus’s top fraternities. We met at one of my sorority “date dash” parties, where every girl brings a single male that she herself isn’t interested in. One of my pledge sisters had dated Gary briefly before deciding that they were better as friends. One woman’s trash is another woman’s treasure. Almost immediately, I could picture myself getting pinned, engaged, and married to Gary. Still, I waited until our one-year anniversary to have sex. We stayed together until Gary, who was one year older than I am, suddenly dumped me before going off to law school.

  The second had been Jeff Jones. Jeff and I met at the end of our senior year at UCLA in a journalism ethics class. Jeff wasn’t an exact match for the part of my plan, which stipulated marrying a doctor or a lawyer, but since things had gone so wrong with Gary when he left to pursue his higher education, the thought of someone not in need of further schooling was appealing. I had just started to get over Gary when Jeff ended a study group by kissing me goodnight, so I decided to accept his invitation for dinner the following night. Dinner turned into a two-year relationship, which ended four months before I met Dan when Jeff moved to Washington to be a White House correspondent for CNN. Not only was I once again being left behind for bigger and better things, it was a job that I had also applied for. Soon afterward, Courtney introduced me to Daniel McCafferty, and you know the rest.

  “Fine,” Courtney concedes, “you don’t have to buy the condoms.”

  “Thank you,” I say, hanging up the phone and looking to the next item. “Cocktail napkins,” I say under my breath and make a U-turn with my cart.

  It is 6:19 when I arrive in the produce section to procure the final item on my list, apples, and where I will pretend to be shocked to see Dan. Since he always begins his shopping in this department, my timing is perfect. I hang around the somewhat meager selection of apples and wonder why Courtney and Tiffany hadn’t put a more seasonally appropriate fruit on my list. It’s summertime…shouldn’t I be buying peaches or watermelon? I look down at the items in my cart and remember that it is supposed to look like I’m shopping to entertain; the apples would go well with the bread and cheese. I put a few gala apples in a plastic bag and then, since there is no sign of Dan yet, I make an executive decision to also get strawberries. Not only would they go well with the pint of vanilla Häagen-Dazs that is melting in my basket, they are Dan’s favorite.

  I arrive in front of the strawberries and pretend to examine each little green plastic basket. In reality, I am relentlessly watching the door for Dan’s arrival. I am so focused on the door that I don’t notice a fr
iendly-faced grocer approach, and I jump a mile when he says,

  “Can I help you pick out a basket of berries?”

  “Oh, uh, no…I’m just browsing,” I say lamely, trying to recover from such a surprise.

  “Okee-doke. Lemme know if you change your mind,” he says with a smile and then steps away to hose off the romaine lettuce.

  I smile and catch my breath while continuing to loiter in front of the strawberries. It’s 6:25—where is Dan? My insides start to tense that he’s not coming, that for some reason there has been a change to his schedule. “What if he has a date?” I ask myself in horror. Just as I start to build his fictional date up in my mind as a stunning blonde lawyer, I see him enter the market pushing a metal cart. I tense even more—this is it.

  I focus on my breathing and remaining calm. I turn away from the door and wait until I think we will be almost face-to-face before turning around. Instead, I find myself face-to-face with the same grocer, giving me such a fright that I cry out.

  “You sure you don’t need a hand with those straws?” he asks.

  “I said I’m fine!” I snap, pissed off that this man has frightened me twice and has now thrown me off my game.

  Before the grocer can say another word, I see Dan approaching from my left side.

  “Elizabeth, is that you?” he asks coolly from halfway down the aisle.

  “Oh my God, Dan! What a surprise,” I say, and I realize too late that I sound like a moronic sorority girl, not the sophisticated woman I was hoping to come across as. “Thanks again for your help,” I say sweetly to the grocer, who gives me a look like I am crazy (which I probably am). “Dan, how are you?” I say turning back in his direction, but he’s gone.

  I quickly scan the entire produce department and he’s nowhere to be seen. Panic creeps into my chest and I cut across the market looking down each aisle for Dan. How can someone have disappeared into thin air? I pick up my cell phone and dial his number. The phone goes directly to voice mail and I leave a message,

  “Hey, it’s Elizabeth. I thought I just saw you at Gelson’s, but now you’re nowhere to be found. Anyway, your phone probably doesn’t get reception in here, but I’m going to be in the coffee bar area for a while, so when you finish your shopping if you want to grab a latte and catch up, I’d love to…it’s been too long.” I hit the red “end” button and feel that my mouth has somehow turned into a runaway train. “It’s been too long?” I replay in my mind…it’s been like a week and a half.

  Feeling slightly humiliated, but holding out hope, I pay for my groceries and sit down in the little area of the bakery where they make coffee drinks. I sit there for an hour before coming to terms with the fact that Dan won’t be joining me. I pick up the brown paper bag with my groceries, and my now liquid ice cream runs through the bottom corner. I sigh and tell myself to prepare for Plan B.

  27

  When it got close to eight o’clock and Tiffany hadn’t heard from Elizabeth, she started to assume things had gone well. She was wrong. Just as she’d started to relax and feel confidant that Elizabeth was with Dan, she heard the key turn in the door and her stomach turned into a knot. If things had gone well, would she be home? Wouldn’t she be spending the night with him? Maybe not, Tiffany told herself…maybe there was a chance that they were happily reconciled, but because both had work early the next morning Elizabeth was returning home alone? Or maybe, her mind continued to race, Dan was with Elizabeth? Maybe, Tiffany thought excitedly, Lizzie had told him all about her and he was eager to meet her.

  All the questions were answered without one word. As soon as the butterfly lock flipped to the side and the door opened, Tiffany knew from Elizabeth’s face that the evening had not been a success. She came through the door silently, carrying a soggy-bottomed grocery bag in one arm and her workbag in the other. The lip gloss Tiffany had reminded Elizabeth to apply had worn off and was left in little globs along the inner edge of her lips. Tiffany sat on the couch in silence, not sure what to say, as Elizabeth set the bags down on the table.

  “Did work call?” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

  “Nope, you’re in the clear,” Tiffany said, trying to sound upbeat.

  “Good. I’m going to bed,” Elizabeth said, sounding truly exhausted.

  “G’night,” Tiffany replied sweetly. She was desperate to hear the details but didn’t dare push Elizabeth to share them. A few minutes later, the phone rang and Tiffany jumped to grab it after the first ring. Courtney was on the other end.

  “Oh my God, she’s not home?!?” Courtney shrieked.

  “No, she’s home,” Tiffany told her quietly.

  “She is? How’d it go?”

  “Not well,” Tiffany answered almost in a whisper.

  “What happened?” Courtney asked, confused, since she thought the plan was pretty foolproof. She herself had used the supermarket bump-in on several occasions and it had always been a success.

  “I don’t know. She went straight to bed,” Tiffany informed her.

  “Damn it,” Courtney cursed. “She should have bought the condoms.”

  Tiffany had no idea what she was talking about. The two girls agreed that Plan B would be more successful and said good night. It was still very early, and Tiffany tended to be a night owl anyway. She curled up on the couch that she knew hadn’t often been curled up on and turned to a movie she had seen TBS advertising during the day.

  Early the next morning, a much brighter-eyed Elizabeth stood at the door of the the guest room that had become Tiffany’s. Tiffany was still asleep—she had probably gone to bed only a few hours earlier.

  “Tiffany,” Elizabeth whispered louder and louder until the volume was her normal speaking voice and loud enough to wake the teenager.

  “Lizzie?” Tiffany groaned, forgetting Elizabeth’s preference for her full name.

  “I’m ready for Plan B,” she said determinedly.

  Tiffany opened her eyes and saw Elizabeth dressed in a black tank top and khaki capri pants. She rolled on her side and saw it was not quite eight.

  “Okay, Plan B,” Tiffany agreed.

  “I’ve got to get to work and get caught up. When I get home tonight, we’ll work out the details. Make sure Courtney is here,” she said. “I’m getting my life back on track,” she added, and Tiffany felt as if Elizabeth were commanding herself as much as she was informing Tiffany.

  As instructed, Tiffany made sure that she and Courtney were there waiting for Elizabeth when she returned from work that night. Courtney arrived an hour before Elizabeth was due home so that she and Tiffany could go over the instructions for Plan B, but instead Courtney spent the entire hour asking Tiffany questions about Buck Platner. It almost seemed as if she were researching him in preparation for his visit in a few days. Courtney seemed nice enough to Tiffany, and she thought that if Buck had a girlfriend in Los Angeles his visits would be more frequent, so she was happy to share everything she knew about Buck with Courtney. Secretly, she wished that Buck and Lizzie would end up together, but she considered Courtney to be the next best thing.

  When Elizabeth got home, the three girls sat down to go over Plan B. Courtney and Tiffany knew she wasn’t going to like it and had played several rounds of rock-paper-scissors to decide who would explain the plan. Tiffany was quite relieved that Courtney had lost in the final sudden death round by throwing scissors to Tiffany’s rock.

  “Okay, you’re not going to like it…but it’s going to work and it’s less extreme than Plan C or D,” Courtney began, and Tiffany noted it was the first time she’d seen Lizzie’s friend proceed with caution. “It’s called a reverse rear-end—”

  “A reverse rear-end?” Lizzie repeated, already sounding skeptical.

  “Here’s what happens,” Courtney began to explain. “You’ll need to position yourself in front of Dan at a red light. When the light turns green, you quickly throw your car into reverse and back into him. As soon as there is impact, put your car back in drive. He’ll assu
me he hit you and not the other way around.”

  Lizzie looked sickened by the plan but didn’t say a word. In the short time Tiffany had known Lizzie, it was clear not only that she loved (cherished) her little old BMW but that she liked to keep everything around her as perfect and pristine as possible. Plan B was damaging to both of these desires.

  “I saw it once on Beverly Hills, 90210 and it works,” Courtney said matter-of-factly, as if Beverly Hills, 90210 was a source more impressive than an out-of-date primetime soap opera.

  “Someone got back together with a man by doing this?” Lizzie asked, still looking extremely unconvinced.

  “Well, no,” Courtney admitted, “it wasn’t exactly like this. A woman did the reverse rear-end to Brenda and then tried to sue for a lot of money, but Brenda felt so badly about hurting the woman she went to her house and found her working out. But it’s the Brenda feeling so badly part that really applies here. Dan will feel horrible at the thought of hurting you, and in doing so, he’ll realize how much he still cares about you.”

  Elizabeth’s expression started to change from doubtful to hopeful. Tiffany thought she was going to agree to it, but instead she shook her head from side to side, “I dunno. What’s Plan C?”

  “It’s way more extreme,” Tiffany piped up, breaking her silence.

  “Oh, and by the way,” Courtney cut back in. “You should do a ‘did you call me?’ in a couple of days.”

  “A ‘did you call me?’” Elizabeth looked confused.

  “Yeah, you call Dan, and when he answers you say, ‘Did you just call me, because I saw your number on my caller ID?’” Courtney explained.

  “So he hears your voice and thinks about you, but without being stockerish and calling him for no reason,” Tiffany adds, reciting verbatim the explanation Courtney had given her.