Once Upon a Real Good Time

by Lauren Blakely

  Chapter 23

  Campbell

  * * *

  “Hey?”

  She says it like a question, her expression one of complete surprise. Her gaze connects with mine then with Sam’s next to me.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” I say, but I’m surprised too. Sam was the one who spotted the two of them when we strolled into the diner a minute ago.

  “You mentioned this place once,” Mackenzie says quickly. A faint blush spreads over her cheeks, reminding me she knows exactly when that once was—the first time she took me home. She waves her hand as if she has to dismiss that thought, lest it turn her cheeks to two bright spots of apple red. “I’ve wanted to try it ever since.”

  I smile, hoping it conveys my meaning—I remember that night. I remember the time I mentioned this place to you in bed. “It’s the best. Sam loves it as well. It was her idea to come here tonight.”

  Mackenzie creases her brow. “Oh. It was?”

  She looks to Kyle, whose face is buried in the menu, studying it like his life depends on memorizing the plastic-covered pages.

  I catch the faint hint of a smirk on his lips though, and when I glance at Sam, she’s wearing a matching smirk.

  I have a hunch who might’ve come up with the idea to go to this place tonight—these two kids. I’m not sure how the plan originated, or if the two of them simply played messenger, but I’m willing to bet this serendipitous meeting is less happenstance than I’d thought it was. They might have been puppeteers.

  “Want to join us?” Mackenzie asks.

  “We’d love to,” Sam answers quickly, her speed further confirming my suspicions.

  We order, and as we wait for our food, the kids dive into a discussion of Fortnite, funny memes, and music they like.

  Mackenzie and I do the same, only we launch into a postmortem on the latest episode of The Discovery Prism Show.

  “Did you see that one about some of the quirky places in the mid-Atlantic?” she asks.

  “Like the cavern with the great stalactite organ?”

  Her face lights up. “Yes. Isn’t that the coolest thing in the world? I really want to go see that at some point.”

  Deep underground in the caves of Virginia is a church organ that looks normal at first. Turns out that the pipes are made of the stalactites, and when the keys are struck the entire cave becomes a musical instrument. The organ in the cave plays classics like “America the Beautiful,” “Moonlight Sonata,” and “Silent Night.”

  “I’d love to visit that too. And the Victrola Museum. It’s not that far away since it’s in Delaware. Did you see the episode with the Victrola Museum?”

  She shakes her head. “Missed that one.”

  If she hasn’t seen it, I take a gamble she might not know one of the quirkiest trivia bits about that museum. “That’s where the phrase ‘put a sock in it’ comes from.”

  A flash of curiosity crosses her eyes. “It does?”

  “That’s what people used to suggest to neighbors with Victrola horns, so they’d lower the volume when they played them too loudly. Or did you know that already? It’s probably one of your trivia answers that’s super easy.”

  She laughs, shaking her head. “You can ask me the Victrola dog’s name—Nipper, his breed—mixed terrier, and whether Victor was the largest maker of musical instruments for many years—yes. But if you’d asked where the famous phrase ‘put a sock in it’ originated from, I just learned that about two seconds ago.”

  I pump a fist. “Damn. I’ve accomplished the impossible.”

  “Well done.”

  “Have you seen the episode on Sydney?”

  “No, but I keep meaning to check it out.”

  “Me too . . .”

  I smile, and she smiles back like we have a little secret, and like she wants me to ask her on another clandestine date. The funny thing is our Netflix phone dates have been some of the best I’ve ever had, and I know if we do it again, it will be another great date.

  The trouble is I want more than a phone date.

  More than a secret meetup.

  I want it all.

  And I don’t want to wait much longer.

  The waitress arrives with the fries and shakes. We thank her, and Sam says, “Let’s toast.” She raises her silver tumbler.

  “What are we toasting to?” I ask.

  “To slammin’ plans.”

  I give her a look. “Slammin’ plans? What exactly are these slammin’ plans?”

  She pats my hand. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, Daddy-o.” She casts her gaze to Kyle.

  He’s holding in a laugh as he sucks the shake through a straw. “We can’t tell you just yet.”

  Mackenzie’s lips part in question. “We? The two of you have these slammin’ plans?”

  “We have secrets,” Samantha confirms confidently.

  I raise my glass. “Then we shall toast to secrets we will absolutely get to the bottom of.”

  I mean it to be funny, but instantly a pang of guilt traverses my chest. Because we’re the ones keeping secrets from our kids.

  Neither Mackenzie nor I have voiced it, but I’m pretty damn sure our hearts are on the same page. I know from how she smiles at me. From the glorious hug she wrapped me in earlier. I know from the way she wants to watch a show together again on the phone, and I know from how she’s kissed me, how she’s talked to me, and how she’s come as close as she’ll let herself to sharing her heart.

  She’s told me she thinks I am incredible.

  And I think the same damn thing about her.

  When her eyes lock with mine as she brings her cup to her lips, I’m certain this is something real. She knows how I feel.

  The same.

  She feels the same way I do.

  That’s why this guilt cuts deeper. Stabs harder.

  My guilt isn’t about sex.

  Sex is private. Sex is personal, and my guilt doesn’t stem from the fact that my daughter doesn’t know who I’m sleeping with. She doesn’t need to know that.

  But she sure as hell should know who I care for. Who I want to date. Who I want to make a part of her life.

  After we work our way through fries and milkshakes, Samantha gestures to Kyle. “You know they have a jukebox here?”

  “Let’s go check it out,” Kyle says.

  They scoot out of the booth, and as soon as they’re down the row, I slide a hand under the table. I grab Mackenzie’s, and she threads her fingers through mine. “Hey, Sunshine,” I say in a low voice.

  Her eyelids flutter. “Hey, sexy,” she says.

  “You look beautiful.”

  She glances down at her outfit. “In my jeans and sweater?”

  “Yes, in your jeans and sweater, you look absolutely stunning.”

  “I have a hat too. Want to see it?” She grabs a hat from the seat next to her and models it, looking like a snow bunny, like Claudia Schiffer at the end of Love Actually.

  My heart does somersaults, and my voice is rough as I say, “You look stunning in a hat. You look stunning in everything. I want it to snow so you can go outside and I can kiss you in the snow.”

  She links her hand tighter with mine. “I want that.”

  Emboldened by her response, I blurt out the wish in my heart. “Go out with me.”

  She blinks. “What?”

  “On a date.”

  “Like we were going to have?”

  I glance at the corner of the diner. Sam and Kyle are chatting animatedly at the jukebox. “Yes. I want you to go out with me. For real. In the open.”

  “Like, we’d tell the kids?”

  I nod, feeling a surge of excitement. Feeling right. “Yes.”

  Worry flashes across her features as she tips her chin toward the children. “Do you think they know?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we’re terrible at hiding our feelings.”

  Her eyes meet mine. They’re wide and full of emotion. “We might be, because I feel li
ke they’re trying to Parent Trap us.”

  I raise a brow. “Parent trap?”

  “It’s a film. Lindsay Lohan played identical twins in her film debut, an update of a 1961 Disney movie,” she says, then waves her hand. “The details don’t matter. The point is the kids tried to get their parents back together.”

  “So you think they know?”

  “What is it they know, Campbell?” she asks softly, her tone inviting me to tell her more.

  I squeeze her hand under the table. “I think they know I’m crazy for you.” My skin warms, and my heart thumps harder, waiting for a response from her.

  It comes quickly as a smile stretches across her face. “I bet they know I’m crazy for you too.”

  Now I’m grinning like a happy fool. “Smart kids.”

  “So smart,” she says, and somehow her smile is impossibly bigger and even more beautiful.

  “I think they engineered this whole ‘milkshake and fries’ thing tonight.”

  “That would be okay with me. That they’re okay with us,” she says with relief in her voice, like their approval is all she’d ever want.

  Shoes squeak on linoleum, and we drop hands like they’re on fire.

  A split second later, Samantha and Kyle appear at the booth, wide grins on their faces.

  “We have something super exciting we want to tell you,” Samantha says, bouncing in her Adidas.

  “It’s dope,” Kyle seconds.

  Mackenzie’s grin is bigger than both of theirs. “Tell us. We’re ready.”

  “We are so ready,” I add, excitement bubbling over in me. The possibility that they might want us to be together is thrilling.

  Samantha spreads her hands. “Picture this: a rock music string quartet with a certain lead singer.”

  Kyle points wildly at me. “And we want you to be our teacher. Would you be willing to do that? Not just do lessons for me, but be like a coach for the whole string quartet? Samantha is going to be our singer, and we could play at more places in Manhattan and be like a cool, new modern rock band.”

  My jaw nearly comes unhinged.

  This isn’t a parent trap whatsoever.

  This isn’t kids trying to engineer two adults into dating.

  This was two adults foolishly thinking their desire to date matched the interests of their teenagers.

  What fools we were.

  What these kids want isn’t for us to be a happy, blended Brady family. They want their lives to roll on normally. That’s all they’re thinking. That’s all they should be thinking.

  I look at Mackenzie, and when our eyes meet, all her emotions are clear—sadness and resignation. We feel the same for each other, so we feel the same heavy disappointment now too. She swallows and nods, as if it’s painful. I understand those twin gestures completely—we need to do what’s best for them.

  Be friends. Be parents. Be supportive of their dreams.

  Not be lovers who might not work out. Who might split up. Who might put their needs ahead of the kids’.

  “I’d be happy to teach your new quartet. Or is it really a quintet?” I ask, wryly.

  “Yes!” Sam thrusts an arm in the air in victory. “We’re a quintet.”

  They take off and return to the jukebox.

  I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair as I gaze at Mackenzie. “I guess we wanted to believe they wanted the same thing we do.”

  Her voice is heavy. “Foolish hope?”

  I nod, with a small self-deprecating smile—a fool’s smile. “It was. Wasn’t it?”

  She sighs. “They’re not hoping we’ll be together, Campbell.”

  “Yeah, I know. They’re kids. They just want to be kids. They want to learn and have fun and explore the world.”

  “I want that for them.”

  And that’s part of why I’ve fallen for her—because she wants that as badly as I do. “Me too.”

  She takes a beat. “I’m still crazy for you, but maybe that means we should table this—us.”

  I swallow harshly. “I’m still crazy for you too. But maybe we should keep things the way they are.”

  Her shoulders drop. “If they’re going to be playing together, it’ll be for the best for them, don’t you think?”

  I do. That’s the kicker. I do think it’s best if we keep putting them first. That’s what I vowed to do more than a decade ago. That’s what I’ve always done. Mackenzie isn’t some random woman who’s unconnected to my family. If that were the case, I could date her no problem. But she’s wrapped up in my life now, and I’m tangled up in hers.

  That’s a recipe for messy complications down the line.

  I nod. “Keep everything stable and safe—that’s what we want.”

  “Yes.”

  Those words echo—stable and safe. That’s what matters most to both of us. That’s why, for the rest of the evening, we don’t hold hands anymore.

  I get into bed after midnight, running my thumb over the phone. I want to text her. To say something. To say anything. But if we keep texting, we’ll keep calling, we’ll keep watching, and we’ll keep screwing.

  We can’t do those things anymore.

  * * *

  Campbell: I guess we should stop texting, since we’re going to be good once and for all now.

  * * *

  Mackenzie: You’re probably right. We’ll go back to being . . . mom and teacher?

  * * *

  It pains me to say yes, but that’s what I need to say. I rip off the Band-Aid.

  * * *

  Campbell: Yes.

  * * *

  Mackenzie: Okay.

  * * *

  Campbell: Bye.

  * * *

  Mackenzie: Bye.

  * * *

  I fear we could do this all night long, and somebody has to put a stop to it, so I don’t reply.

  Chapter 24

  Mackenzie

  * * *

  Everything hurts.

  My heart hurts.

  My head hurts.

  Right now though? My legs are crying out for mercy.

  My thighs are burning up something fierce, courtesy of the spin fundraiser Jamison and I are cycling in to raise money for leukemia on a Saturday morning.

  As always, he’s festive and cheery as he power-rides in place. “The string quartet is so cute. Aren’t they adorable?”

  “Yeah.”

  He cycles, his chest high, his chin up, like he has all the energy in the world. “They sound so good. I went to their practice the other night. They were brilliant in concert, and they’re already ten thousand times better with Sam singing vocals.”

  That’s an exaggeration. They’re maybe 3 percent better, though that’s still impressive. They do have a terrific coach-slash-instructor who gives his all to the kids.

  “Campbell is kicking butt at teaching them,” Jamison adds.

  “Yeah.” My voice is as flat as my heart.

  “And Sam! What a set of pipes she has. No surprise there though. I guess it’s in her genes.”

  “Yup.”

  Jamison snaps his gaze to me. “Did someone poison your pie?”

  I wince, thinking of the arsenic joke Campbell made the night we met at The Grouchy Owl. I shake my head. “No. This is just hard.”

  He stares sharply at me, seeing through my bald-faced lie as he pedals like the wind is beneath his sails. “You’ve been training for months. You can do this in your sleep.”

  I laugh harshly. “I can’t cycle in my sleep. It’s kind of hard.”

  But the fact is I can do better, so I focus, cycling harder, though I wish this were easier. Not the riding, but the ending things.

  The cold-turkey Campbell sandwich I’ve been eating tastes terrible.

  It’s like a dish of misery, chased by a glass of bitter sadness.

  We haven’t had any contact except at lessons, and I’ve stayed out of the way during those.

  We haven’t texted. We haven’t called each other. We haven’t watc
hed shows together, and we haven’t accidentally or purposefully landed naked in each other’s beds. I also haven’t gone to his home to make videos or share recipes with his daughter.

  That makes my heart hurt even more. I like Samantha, and I miss her too.

  I’ve done my best to throw myself into work, tossing all my energy and focus into a new design project. But when I work on a sunburst effect, I think of his damn tattoo.

  And that makes it harder to concentrate.

  He’s everywhere. Everything reminds me of him.

  Life is so unfair. Who decided breakups had to hurt worse than stepping on Legos?

  When the cycling event ends, Jamison thrusts both arms in the air, hops off his bike, and congratulates me on crushing it.

  I leave the room on jelly legs and want to smack myself for even thinking of that adjective. That’s what Campbell did to me the first night we were together—he gave me four orgasms and reduced me to jelly.

  But it’s not the Os I miss madly. It’s the man.

  In the lobby of the gym, Jamison and I grab some water.

  “You know why I think your pie is poisoned?”

  I take the bait. “Why?”

  “The guy. It’s about a guy.”

  “Oh, is it?”

  He smirks. “It’s the music teacher. You’ve had a crush on him forever. And for what it’s worth, I think you should just tell him.”

  I scoff, like he didn’t just nail it, and I toss my hair. “Please.”

  Jamison rolls his eyes. “Don’t deny it, Mackenzie. It’s so obvious you might as well have it tattooed on your forehead.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Give me some credit. I could tell at the concert. The way you looked at him. The way he looked at you. That’s how you look at Idris Elba. That’s the way we all look at Thor.”

  I laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”