Midlife Crisis_another romance for the over 40

by L. B. Dunbar

“All right, you two hooligans. Swing time.” He stands as Ava latches onto his back, and Emaline curls around his neck. Carrying both seems like an unlikely feat, but he nods to me. “Follow me.”

  I peek at Midge, who’s chewing her lip, thinking I shouldn’t leave her when Tommy interjects.

  “I need help, man. Come with me.” The hint is there. Give her space. Squeezing her fingers, I feel a small relief when she returns my squeeze before I stand and follow my old friend.

  We each push a girl on the swings, silent a moment while they squeal with delight and cries of higher. Standing here pushing them and watching Liam, I realize all the things I’ve missed out on with children although these things were never meant to be for me.

  “We might as well get it over with. Just ask me so I can tell you for the thousandth time, no.” I’m not surprised at Tommy’s sharpness. I can be persistent.

  “I never believed her. I still don’t.”

  “Maybe you don’t but isn’t it hard enough. She’s gone. You can’t help him.”

  “I still want to see him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s my son.” The words linger between us.

  “He’s not,” Tommy adds, gritting his teeth, but we both know I don’t believe him. Tommy’s been conditioned to say it so often he can’t shift his mindset to the truth.

  “How do you know?”

  “Kit told me.”

  “Oh, and Kit was always truthful.” We both know this is true. Kit’s honesty fit her needs. She wanted me. She needed me. She didn’t love me. None of that was a lie, and I gave in each time despite the last line.

  “Look, what difference does it make? He doesn’t know you’re his father. He’ll never understand the concept. Just let it die.” Tommy pauses, lowering his voice. “No pun intended.”

  Kit’s secrets went to the grave with her, but I still believe someone knows the truth.

  “It matters to me. Let me have a paternity test.”

  “Are you fu…serious?” He pauses, hesitating to swear in front of his great-nieces.

  “Yes. If he isn’t my kid, I’ll let it rest.”

  Tommy stares off into the distance a moment before speaking again. “See that woman over there?” I look, assuming he’s implying Midge. “She wants to love you. Let her.”

  “I want to open up to her, and that means sharing everything with her.”

  “Like you did about being a rock star?” The hit hurts, but he’s right. I didn’t tell her outright because it isn’t who I am anymore. That life is in the past as Kit should be.

  “I had my reasons,” I stammer.

  “Let me guess. You wanted her to know you, not the fame, not the fortune.” He stops, and I snort. We both know I have no fortune left. I blew it all. Washed-up musician turns mechanic, that’s how the headlines read. The truth stings.

  “Look, man. I loved you then. You were one of my best friends despite the drama with my sister. I tried to protect you both, but you were a train wreck together. In the end, I had to choose family first. My biological family. Kit was dying.” His voice pleads with me to understand, and I do. Brut holds the same loyalty to me as his younger sibling. It’s something I admired about Tommy and Kit but turning his back on me still stings. “I want to be friends again, if it’s possible. I want our girls to be friends because Midge makes Edie happy. I want her happy. I love her. Dude, can you imagine it? Love. Real love where she loves you back unconditionally? It’s why you didn’t tell her, right? I get it.” Tommy swipes a hand through his longer locks. “But this. This Lawson business isn’t going to prove anything. It’s going to be one more reminder of betrayal you feel from Kit.”

  I wouldn’t feel betrayed if I knew the truth. I’d be able to let it rest.

  “I don’t want any secrets from Midge. Help me out and I’ll let it go.”

  Tommy looks off in the distance a second. “And what if he is yours? What then? You gonna provide for him? Take him from his home?”

  “No.” My adamant tone makes Ava flinch in the swing, and I push her gentler. “Sorry, honey,” I mutter. Turning to Tommy, I continue. “I have no intention of taking away anything. I’ll give what I can, if it’s what he needs. If it’s what you want. I just want to meet him.”

  Tommy sighs. “It’s Sunday.”

  Sunday. Kit’s day to be home, sight unseen. My day to visit her grave. My routine to pass her house and watch the light where my son lives.

  “You can get old Doc to do it, and you know it.”

  “Fuck,” Tommy murmurs, his eyes closing. “Let me think about this.”

  + + +

  I return to our sideline set-up where Ivy jostles a crying Granger, and Edie looks up at me.

  “Tommy asked if you could help him with the girls for a few minutes.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” She stands, sensing more than what I’ve asked. Thank goodness. I need a few minutes alone with Midge.

  “I think I’ll go feed Granger in the car, turn on some air conditioning.” Ivy follows Edie’s hasty, awkward exit, and I sit behind Midge, spreading my legs around her while she sits outstretched on Edie’s blanket. I want to drag her someplace private, but I don’t want her to miss her son’s game even though I sense she isn’t following it.

  “I’m gonna talk, baby,” I say in her ear, not touching her though my fingers itch to rub her arms. “And I hope you’ll just listen.”

  She nods slightly, keeping her eyes focused forward on the ball field. Our position reminds me of our first meeting, and I wish I had a mirror to see her reflection, but I won’t pull her away from her child.

  “I’m Hank Paige, drummer from Chrome Teardrops. We were the band who played with Kit Carrigan, Tommy’s sister, and the woman I thought might be the love of my life.”

  Midge shivers, and I want to touch her, reassure her, but I can’t make this a public display.

  “But what do I know of love, Midge? I was constantly drunk, sometimes strung out. Kit was my drug. She called, and I went. We fucked. We fought. It was a recipe for disaster. She shared herself with others, and I did the same. We were reckless. A train wreck as Tommy calls us.” I exhale. “I can’t change my past. I can’t erase it. I can’t erase her. She and the band were my life for almost two decades, and I loved her in my self-destructive way. And then, she got diagnosed with breast cancer. She dried up minus the pot for chemo. I spiraled down. I couldn’t imagine life without her or the band, and I lost them both. I already told you, I asked her to marry me too many times to count, and she always said no.” Midge’s head hangs lower, a hand rising to swipe at her cheek. Is she crying for me? I don’t want her pity. I want her understanding.

  “Midge, I understand now why she always said no. I wasn’t responsible. I wasn’t solid. Did you know her first husband overdosed and died? Ivy’s father did that.” Midge twists her head to look at me, and I wipe the tear at the corner of her eye. “It scared Kit. Any other man who got too close might do the same thing, and I was so much like him. Drinking. Drugs. And then…”

  I don’t know if I can finish, but I fear I’ll lose her if I don’t.

  “And then she did something unthinkable. She lied. A major lie. A life-changing lie, and I just want the truth.” I kiss her shoulder because I need to connect with her somehow. “And a lie is unforgiveable sometimes. But please, forgive me for not telling you everything.

  “I can admit I’m an alcoholic. I can say it easy enough, recognizing the truth about myself, but it’s an old stab wound to bare my history. Most of it I’m not proud of, and I don’t want you to see me in that light.”

  “I don’t,” she says quickly. My head rests on her shoulder, relief creeping through me. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

  “I know.”

  Midge continues. “She was a superstar, Hank. If you loved her, no matter what way, how could I possibly be enough for you? You’re sitting here at my son’s baseball game on a Sunday. You don’t get any more mundane than
that. And I wouldn’t trade it for me.” She pauses, swallowing. “But I’m not flashy, or fashionable, or famous. I can’t…” She hesitates but doesn’t add what she wishes to say.

  “I don’t want you to be famous. You’re plenty flashy, lady, and I know nothing about fashion, so what do I care? Go naked.” I stop. “Wait, not in front of others because I want you all for me. I want you, Midge.”

  She nods slowly, but her eyes remain sad.

  “Middy?” I question, but Edie’s voice interrupts us.

  “That’s it, girls’ night out.”

  “Darlin’,” Tommy asks, holding Emaline on his hip and Ava’s hand beside him.

  “We need some girl time—Ivy, Midge, and me. Call Gage and tell him tough shit, he’s getting his kids. You can help him. Maybe Hank wants to hang as well.”

  “Darlin’, it’s pasta night.” I’m sensing a ritual, and Tommy doesn’t look too pleased.

  “Not tonight, baby. Us girls need each other.” Edie smiles weakly at Midge, and Midge nods in return.

  “Want to come over for a bit?” Tommy addresses me as way of giving in. Maybe he does want to be friends again.

  I cup Midge’s face, turning her to look at me. She’s trembling, and I reach for my shirt draped over the arm rest of a chair. Slipping it over her, I say, “Damn, I knew I’d like you in my clothing, but not when you look so sad.”

  She lifts the cuff and inhales while I watch her wrap her arms around herself.

  “I think I need to go with them,” she says, and my heart plops to my gut. She’s going to walk away from me. And somehow, losing Midge seems worse than ever being rejected by Kit.

  21

  Girls Night Out and Hangover Sex

  [Midge]

  A break follows Liam’s first game, and after the men leave, I help another mom distribute watermelon and juice boxes for a snack. Returning to the blankets, I find Edie and Ivy in a serious conversation.

  “I think Gage is having an affair.” I gasp at Ivy’s revelation.

  “How can you say such a thing?” Edie asks. I agree. I’ve seen Gage Everly kiss his wife. It’s a porn scene. He couldn’t possibly want someone else.

  “It’s bound to happen, right? I mean, he’s a rock star,” Ivy says sadly, shrugging in dismissal.

  “That’s not an excuse,” Edie snips. Our eyes meet, and I see the sisterhood. We’ve both been cheated on. What is it with men? Can they not keep it contained? Committed?

  “I don’t believe it.” I try to reassure her with a smile and a rub of her arm. She shrugs under my touch, not pulling away but resolved to a sad reality.

  “He’s been acting so strange. Late-night phone calls. The other night, he completely forgot he had to watch the kids, or so he says. He had Petty set to watch them after I left, only I was running late and Petty arrived early.”

  “Not Petty,” Edie shrieks with a sharp laugh. She covers her mouth in horror.

  “Why? What’s wrong with him?” I question.

  “He redefines man whore. He can’t take care of himself, let alone three children,” Edie clarifies.

  “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to think. Gage pursued me so hard when we were younger, and he promised me so many things. Maybe he’s had a change of heart.”

  “No,” I say, holding her upper arm, hoping to comfort her. “I’ve seen him with you. The way he looks at you. The way he kisses you.” I blush, but Ivy doesn’t bat a lash. “He loves you.”

  “It has to be something else, honey,” Edie adds. “Maybe he’s planning a surprise for you.”

  Ivy adamantly shakes her head. “He isn’t. He isn’t good at those things. He’d tell me long before he could surprise me.” She smiles weakly at the thought.

  “This happens when men turn thirty, right? Some kind of midlife crisis or something.” Her innocent eyes beg us to support her.

  “Thirty-five,” Edie and I say in unison and then laugh. She high-fives me. Growing serious, Edie reaches for Ivy’s hand. “Honey, you’re both just busy. Three kids. The therapy school. Another album for the band. You have a lot going on.”

  Ivy swipes at the corner of her eye. “I guess so.” Edie wraps her arm around Ivy, holding her husband’s niece close to her chest.

  This reminds me. I’m dating her mother’s ex-lover, a man who professed his love repeatedly to Kit, and she rejected him. Why?

  “I’m sorry I didn’t know about Hank,” I interject, not certain what exactly I’m apologizing for. “I didn’t know he loved your mom.”

  Ivy’s eyes widen, dismissing me with a wave. “They had a strange relationship. Love-hate. She hated how she loved him so much and couldn’t admit it. He hated how he loved her so much because she never accepted him. She was scared after my dad, always telling me and my brother we didn’t need men when we had her as our mama.”

  “You have a brother?” I blurt, not recalling having heard of him. Edie and Ivy exchange a look before Ivy says under her breath, “I’m tired of hiding him.”

  Sitting up straighter, she looks at me. “Yes, I have a brother. His picture hangs in the entry to the therapy school.” I recall the black and white of Kit Carrigan laughing with her arm around a young man in a wheelchair.

  “Is that why you started the school?”

  Ivy shakes her head. “I did it for me. I needed something, to be more than Gage Everly’s wife, more than a mother. Lawson was the inspiration for my degree in music therapy. He’s very important to me.”

  “Lawson? That’s your brother’s name?”

  Ivy nods. “He’s three years younger than me.”

  I have so many questions, but Ivy turns away from me to watch the game. Edie catches my eye, willing me to understand. Now isn’t the time for answers. Instead, I shift gears. “So girls’ night out. I vote margaritas.”

  + + +

  I’m pushing my luck with margarita number four but being out with other women has been a treat. I didn’t socialize with the girls at work often, always feeling a little bit too old for them. Besides, I had a husband and kids at home when some of them didn’t. When it was only me and the boys, the pressure to get home as quickly as I could each night didn’t afford me the opportunity to mingle with colleagues. Having new friends is refreshing, as are limes and tequila.

  An hour later, the result equals slow recognition of being propped over my toilet with a thick hand on my back as my body convulses, expelling four said margaritas. My hair is pulled back to the nape of my neck as my stomach roils, and I throw up again.

  “It’s okay, baby.” A smoky voice does nothing to calm me, and I realize I’m crying as well as vomiting. “Get it out.”

  Hank’s soothing tone makes me whimper. I don’t remember him arriving at the bar, and more importantly, what is he doing here?

  “Sweet cheese, leave me to die.”

  “You’re not dying, lady.” He chuckles, smoothing his hand down my back. I have a strange sense of still wearing his too large shirt and my underwear. Nothing else. Lord, what have I done? Another bout of nausea rocks me, and I gag over the bowl, spitting in hopes something will happen. Hank’s lying; I’m dying.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter, embarrassed I can’t party like a rock star or like I’m still twenty-three. “Oh God, Hank, I’m so sorry,” I say, remembering he’s a recovering alcoholic, and I’m drunk. Tears still wash down my face, and I lower my head to the seat.

  Hank folds his body to the floor, propping his back against the cabinet. He gently tugs me so I curl between his legs and lay against his chest. A heavy hand plays with my hair, combing it back from my face and brushing it down my back.

  “I’m sorry,” I weakly repeat. “This is so embarrassing.”

  “Lady, this ain’t nothing compared to what I’ve seen or done. Just relax. We’ll stay right here as long as you need.” My eyes close at his gentle touch, but that makes the world spin.

  “What time is it?” I note the darkness, but my eyes drag closed again.
<
br />   “After midnight.”

  “Cripes, the boys—”

  “Know their mom isn’t feeling well, and I’m staying to take care of her.” I sniffle, a choking sob exhaling with a heavy breath.

  “You’re kind of good to me.” Tears begin to flow again with the thought.

  “Want to be better than good,” he mutters, his chest vibrating as he speaks. His heart beats a steady rhythm under my ear, and my lids grow heavy.

  “You could be somebody’s someone,” I whisper, growing comfortable on his chest. He says something, but I don’t hear him.

  When I wake next, I’m in bed with my robe wrapped around me, wearing a tank top and my underwear. I’m on top of my duvet with three pillows under my head. I feel a kink in my neck and a headache like Ronin’s marching band strutting over my brain.

  “Holy God,” I moan, holding my forehead and squeezing my eyes shut against the brightness of morning. My head rolls to face the clock, and I curse again. Mother of all things holy, my head. Noticing the time, I swing my legs off the bed and shakily press myself upward. Voices from downstairs alert me the boys are awake, and I need to explain myself. My legs tremble when I stand. Reaching for the wall, I think I can fake it, but I race to the bathroom. Expelling the last of anything left in my stomach, I stand to see a pallid face cleaned of makeup and my hair piled on my head. I don’t recall washing my face or twisting up my hair. I look like death.

  Making my way down the stairs, I stop when I hear one voice in particular.

  “Don’t you worry about your mom. She’ll be fine. Just a little under the weather.” His smoky, early morning voice warms my heart, and my knees collapse. I crumple to the stairs and sit.

  “Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” Elston teases, and I hear Hank chuckle.

  “Who gets ham? Want mustard?” Is he making them lunch? “Chips?” he questions.

  “Only one crunchy, Mom says. We have to have a fruit.”

  “Good plan,” Hank adds after Liam sets him straight on my lunch rules.

  “Ronin, what do you want?” My head tips to the wall as I listen to Hank handle my boys and their morning routine. In fact, he might be handling it better than I do. I’m usually racing around, picking up clothing and barking out schedules. When I worked at Bigle, the morning chaos was even worse. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been toying with going out on my own and working for myself. I could set my schedule to fit my needs, not the other way around.