Not Quite A mom

by Kirsten Sawyer

  By the time I got myself back to the condo via the town shuttle it was almost dark. I sat on the bench for hours trying to figure things out…unfortunately, I wasn’t able to. My life plan has been such an integral part of my existence for so long that I cannot just shake everything I have been hoping and working for. I just wish for some sort of sign to confirm I am making all the right choices.

  The short walk from the tram stop to our unit leaves me exhausted. I open the door and call to Dan that I am back.

  “Sweetheart!” he says rushing up to me and grabbing me in his arms. The gesture rejuvenates me.

  “Hi,” I say enthusiastically.

  “I’ve been worried about you,” he says. “You left your cell phone here and I called the spa and they didn’t have an appointment for you.”

  As he says it I realize that I left my phone charging on the kitchen counter.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I just went to get coffee—there isn’t any here—and then I ran into Kevin and he told me—” I start to get excited about relaying the information I have learned.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Dan says. “Let’s not talk about work. Let’s have our romantic evening.”

  I’m a little let down that Dan doesn’t want to hear about my career. God knows I’ve spent enough hours listening to all his stupid legal stuff, but I’m able to put it aside, since he is finally interested in spending time with me.

  We go to a nice dinner at a gourmet restaurant where we linger over candlelight and enjoy a bottle of wine. The alcohol certainly doesn’t hurt, but I think it’s the romance of the whole night that has me beaming and glowing. Dan talks about his golf game for most of the meal, but I decide to take this as a good thing—he’s opening up about something that matters to him instead of saying, “Golf was golf.” After dinner we take a stroll under the star-filled sky.

  As we stroll hand in hand I say, “I think you should move into my place since yours doesn’t have a room for Tiffany.”

  It’s as if the whole evening was perched on top of a house of cards that suddenly comes crashing down. Dan pulls his hand out of mine and stops dead in his tracks.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Moving in together…that’s still the plan, right?” I ask sweetly. Although in my fantasy our reunion would come with a more normal engagement (aka getting married), I am willing to settle for simply picking up where we left off.

  “Okay, first of all, I think it’s completely premature to even talk about living together,” he spits, “and second of all, we’re not even going to think about living together until you have the Tiffany situation resolved. Figure it out, Elizabeth. Maybe she can live in Hicksville with Buck or whatever his name is.”

  His words sting me. “Victory,” I mumble quietly.

  “What?” he asks.

  “It’s called Victory, not Hicksville,” I answer.

  “Whatever,” he responds. “Do you want ice cream?” he asks, stopping in front of a local parlor.

  “No, I’m okay,” I answer. My stomach has turned completely sour.

  I stand outside, alone, while Dan goes in to get some ice cream. I can’t help wondering why Dan even wanted to get back together…and why he agreed that I should put the engagement ring back on, since it seems that being engaged to me really isn’t something he wants. Plus, the way he referred to “The Tiffany Situation,” sticks with me…that’s how I used to refer to becoming Tiffany’s guardian; but now, just a few months later, I can imagine how empty my life would be without her. She’s an amazing combination of a link to my past and a huge part of my future. Knowing Buck, he would let her come and live with him permanently—he’s that generous and kind—but I wouldn’t want her to live with Buck. I love having her with me.

  Dan walks out of the ice cream shop with a cone stacked high with Rocky Road—his favorite and I’ve been eating it as long as I’ve been with him, but the truth is that I hate it.

  “You sure you don’t want some, hon?” he asks, as if nothing is wrong.

  “Dan,” I ask, “why did you agree that I should put my engagement ring back on?”

  “I spent a boatload of money on it for starters, and I thought it was easier than having to explain why you weren’t wearing it,” he answers as he licks his cone.

  “Oh,” I nod. “That makes sense.”

  I look down at the ring…I find it hard to believe he spent a “boatload.” I stare at the diamond for a second. The ring is beautiful and I love it—well, I really like it. It’s not at all what I would have picked. I always wanted an emerald-cut diamond and this one is a princess-cut—a rectangle and a square are very similar. Plus, I’d only mentioned what kind of ring I wanted a few times, and really those were just in passing. Maybe this is the sign I was looking for?

  51

  Buck leaned back against the sofa in his living room and took a sip of beer. The sip was too big and the fizzy carbonation burned as it went down his throat, causing him to choke a little and spill the amber liquid down the front of his U of A T-shirt—not that it mattered. It was Saturday night, but Buck wasn’t leaving the house. Par for the course, he thought. It felt like the story of his life—he tried for something and he failed. Of course, this was an extremely dramatic assessment. He was actually extraordinarily successful but never felt that way.

  True, he graduated at the top of his class at Victory High and was hailed as a football hero. Yes, he did well at the University of Arizona and was again hailed as a football hero. Okay, he was also at the top of his law school class at Tulane and passed the bar immediately. Buck never focused on these things, though. What he focused on was his inability to get his point across when he needed to. He needed Lizzie to know how he felt about her, yet somehow he wasn’t able to impart this information. Now it was too late.

  There had never been a shortage of women in Buck’s life, but few ever took him seriously. Elizabeth became his ideal woman because the night of his senior prom—the only date they ever went on—she didn’t say one word about football. Buck was thrilled to finally find someone who wanted to talk about other things. She had goals and dreams of her own, which he found fascinating, and was much more interested in Buck’s nonsports plans. It was like a gift not to be asked if he was “going pro” after graduation.

  His senior year at U of A he thought he had found someone and they dated throughout law school. Buck and Heather met at a football team party, which probably should have tipped him off, but she seemed different from most of the girls there. The majority of girls at these parties were looking to sleep with a team member…and Buck would admit that these types of parties and these types of girls made his college experience a lot more fun. Heather was an education major and seemed passionate about teaching elementary school. She and Buck lived together in New Orleans while he went to law school, and she taught second grade. Upon his graduation, though, a misunderstanding came up between them. Heather had quietly been under the assumption that after law school Buck would be playing for the NFL. Apparently she thought the Saints were somehow connected to his legal education, like some sort of ROTC-type program to educate players. With the force of a speeding train, Buck was hit with the fact that, like all the others, Heather was looking for an athlete (and that she herself wasn’t very bright). They broke up, Buck returned home to Victory, and he’d pined for Lizzie Castle ever since.

  Now he felt he had gotten so close to making it happen with her, but at the last minute things hadn’t gone his way. He closed his eyes and rolled the cold glass bottle across his forehead. What could he have done differently? He thought he’d pulled out all the stops—every one except coming right out and telling her how he felt. He couldn’t help wondering if that would have made a difference.

  As he sat there feeling sorry for himself, the phone rang, and somewhere in the back of his head Buck hoped it was Lizzie calling. Instead, it was Courtney. Courtney had called Buck every single day since his first trip to Los Angeles but
had thankfully skipped the last two days. Buck had foolishly thought that perhaps the calls had ended permanently. The truth was that he actually liked Courtney. He just wasn’t interested in dating her, which was a problem because she was very interested in dating him. Maybe in another time and place he would have been, but with Lizzie an arm’s reach away, and Courtney being her best friend, it just wasn’t meant to be.

  “Hey, Courtney,” he said somewhat reluctantly.

  “Buck,” she said dramatically. “First, I have to tell you that I’ve met someone else, sweetheart.”

  Buck’s eyes brightened and his mouth formed itself into an uncontrollable grin. “I’m happy for you,” he said, trying to feign humility.

  “I’m actually calling you for professional reasons…and I apologize for doing this on a Saturday night. I just got a call from the head of the legal department at SparkleCourt. She had a baby three months ago and was supposed to be back at work next week, but apparently she’s so damn attached to the little one that she can’t bear to leave his side and she’s resigned. I want you to come work for me.”

  Buck couldn’t believe his ears. Was Courtney offering him a job? Normally, he would expect a job offer to come in the form of a question, but coming from Courtney it was more of a statement.

  “You want me to come to Los Angeles and head your company’s legal department?” Buck asked, needing clarification.

  “Exactly,” Courtney confirmed.

  “But you don’t even know my qualifications,” Buck said, still slightly in shock.

  “Here’s the thing, and don’t take this the wrong way because I’m sure you’re a great lawyer…but all I really want is someone who is a lawyer that I get along with. It’s all about personality clicks at my company,” she said.

  Buck took a deep breath and looked around his living room. Maybe it was time for a change.

  “Can I think about it and let you know?” he asked.

  “Call me tomorrow,” she instructed. “And whatever your salary requirements are, I’ll meet them, so don’t make the decision about money.”

  “Courtney, thank you,” Buck said, really meaning it. She really was a special person. “And congratulations on your new ‘someone,’” he added.

  “He’s a sex god,” Courtney gushed, and then stopped. “Is that hard or weird for you to hear?”

  Buck smiled again. “No, I’m okay with it. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  They said goodnight and hung up. The call had come so out of nowhere for Buck that he wasn’t even sure what to think about to make the decision. Victory was his home, and working for his father had always been what was expected of him. On the other hand, it was never what he wanted to do and he didn’t have much (anything) tying him to the sleepy town. Los Angeles would be much more fun, plus he would be close to Tiffany…and to Lizzie. If only things had worked out differently with him and Elizabeth, this decision would be a no-brainer.

  52

  I spend most of the rest of the weekend inside my own head. It all kind of goes by in a blur. Dan is attentive for the remaining twenty-four hours—no more golf—but I suddenly feel a distance between us. I wonder if it’s always been there and I’m just now noticing it. For so long Dan was my ideal, but maybe not because of who he is as a person. I feel I might just have been looking for what he represented and the life he would provide—or that I thought he would provide.

  It also feels as if Dan and I have run out of things to talk about. Well, actually that we’ve run out of things that Dan wants to talk about. I have tons going on in my life since Tiffany showed up and my career has finally started to take off, but Dan doesn’t seem interested in any of those things. So we chat about stupid things like the weather and the air quality, and when we’re finished talking about those we are silent.

  We are silent most of the ride back to Victory to pick Tiffany up. We arrive at Buck’s house late in the afternoon on Sunday to find Tiffany sitting on the porch with him; they’re both holding huge Popsicles. Their mouths are stained bright red and they are laughing. As soon as I see them, I feel an overwhelming urge to join them on the porch. I get out of the car and glance over at Dan. He doesn’t make a move to turn the engine off. Instead, he leans forward to turn the radio on.

  “Don’t be too long,” he says. “I don’t want to get caught in too much traffic.”

  I walk up to the porch and Tiffany, between spurts of giggles, tells me that the ice cream truck came down the street and they just couldn’t resist getting Cherry Bomb Pops. I smile and my mouth waters for one. I remember getting them as a little girl and I can still taste the sweet, tart cherry on my tongue. A bomb pop is almost as big as a child’s arm and invariably extremely messy. My mother would only let me get one if I agreed to eat it outside, undressed. I would joyfully dance around our backyard in my panties while sticky red juice stained my mouth and dripped down my arm.

  “So, how was the weekend?” I ask.

  “Good,” Buck says politely and then stands up and heads toward the house.

  I am disappointed to see him go in.

  “It was good,” Tiffany confirms. “Thank God I’m single!” she sings.

  “That went well?” I ask, referring to the planned breakup.

  “As well as can be expected,” she says, and nods with the Popsicle still in her mouth. I’m impressed by her maturity. “Should we go?” she asks.

  “Probably,” I answer, glancing back at the Audi purring in the driveway.

  She turns and heads inside without a word. I’m unsure if I should follow her or not. I want to. I want to talk to Buck—to tell him what’s going on at work and what I learned from Kevin over the weekend—but I don’t know if I should. Before I can make a decision (or muster up the courage) Tiffany’s back out on the porch holding her duffel bag.

  “Bye, Buck!” she calls over her shoulder.

  “Later, kiddo,” he replies, and that’s it.

  Tiffany skips down the steps and opens the rear passenger door of Dan’s car. She gets in without a word and is silent (as am I) the rest of the ride back to Los Angeles. We arrive in front of my apartment shortly before nine and, as I expected, Dan has an early morning and can’t come up. He waits in the driver’s seat with the engine running while Tiffany and I unload our bags, and we carry them up the building’s short staircase. At the top of the stairs, I turn around to wave one last good-bye, but Dan has already driven down the street and all I see are his red brake lights as he pauses at the stop sign at the end of the block.

  53

  A week later it’s more of the same and I’m getting more miserable about it every day. I’m realizing that Dan hasn’t changed. He’s not a bad guy, but he might not be the guy for me. Somehow in the months we spent apart—really, the time since Charla died—I seem to have changed. On Monday morning, Dan sent me a dozen red roses at the office with a card that said, “For the great weekend.” The flowers were a nice gesture—a signature Dan move—but I had to snort at the card. I certainly wouldn’t call the weekend at Eagle Lake “great.”

  Even though my day is swamped with preparing for a musical guest show that includes Kanye West and Gwen Stefani (who arrives with the insanely adorable Kingston in tow), I find a minute to sit down at my desk and call Dan to thank him for the flowers.

  “I love them,” I gush, feeling completely fake.

  “I knew you would,” he replies, confidently. “I know they’re your favorite.”

  I think for a second…I actually don’t think red roses are my favorites. I think I like the yellow ones with the red rims the best.

  “So,” he continues, “I’m free Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday this week. Are we set for those nights?”

  He’s scheduling me in every other day like I’m a workout routine or a plant that needs watering.

  “Sure,” I reply, then my other line beeps and I end the call with Dan.

  I plan a girls’ night with Courtney and Tiffany for Friday and find myself looking
forward to that much more than any of the nights with Dan. Tuesday’s and Thursday’s “dates” run together. Everything is so expected and mundane. He picks me up, he takes me to dinner, he takes me back to his place…boring. We’re back to have missionary sex in the bedroom and I wonder what he was hiding our first time back together when we did it on the couch. While Dan pumps back and forth on top of me moaning, “Oh God,” I lie there wondering: had there been another girl? Had he not changed the sheets yet? Did she leave something behind? Or was he so happy to be back together that he couldn’t wait the extra seconds it would take to get to the bed? (Yeah, right.)

  Friday night is way more exciting. Courtney arrives with bags full of our favorite Chinese take-out and I agree to let everyone eat in the living room (as long as we sit on the floor). I really can’t believe how much more relaxed I’ve become!

  “So,” Courtney says. “Midweek, Alexander totally cooled off.”

  Here we go again. Poor Courtney has an incredible knack for giving her whole heart to any guy she goes out with once, and it’s constantly getting stomped on.

  “But then I gave him one of my famous blow jobs, and last night he said he loves me,” she continues, happily shoveling chow mein into her mouth.

  Courtney’s blow jobs probably are famous because she has given them to so many men.

  “But then, this morning, I realized that I’m not into him. So I broke it off.”

  Courtney could probably be as famous for doing this as she is for the blow jobs. It’s her patented move. A guy dumps her, she gets him back, and then she dumps him. It all feels like a lot of work, but I guess it’s important to her not to be the dumpee…or maybe she just doesn’t realize something isn’t what she wants until the second time around.

  I think about this for a second as I chomp on an egg roll. In the background I hear Courtney telling all the annoying things Alexander was doing.

  Suddenly I blurt out, “I want to break up with Dan.”