He makes a good point. And for a tiny moment, I am tempted to write back.
But I don’t.
Then, after hitting the gas station, Target, and my credit union…
You also know from our history that I’m just going to keep pestering you until I know you’ve forgiven me.
Then during a trip to Michael’s art supply…
Pester, pester, pester.
And as I drive into a Taco Bell parking lot, my phone beeps a million times with a slew of texts…
Go-Go’s or Joan Jett?
Welcome Back Kotter or Laverne and Shirley?
Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew?
Friends or Will and Grace?
Frasier or Cheers?
Favorite spinoff (don’t say AfterM*A*S*H)
Breakfast Club or Sixteen Candles?
Favorite romcom?
Favorite horror movie?
Donna Summer favorite: Bad Girls, I Feel Love or Sunset People?
Enough is Enough.
Really?
No, but it seemed like a good segue.
Yay! She’s talking to me again! ☺ How are
you?
I’m fine. And you’re a stalker.
What are you up to?
About 5’6”. Yourself?
Bah-dum-bum. Be sure to tip your waitresses. Getting ready to leave Thursday. I’m off to a comedy festival in Seattle. I want to see you before I go. Do you have time for lunch today?
Nope. In the middle of Mommy errand day. Sorry.
What does Mommy errand day consist of?
Right now – Taco Bell. Give me a few minutes. I’ll text you back while I eat.
Five minutes later, I have my Cheesy Gordita Crunch, my Burrito Supreme and my trough of Diet Pepsi on a black plastic tray, and I find my way to a corner table.
I take my time opening my food and eating. I scroll through my emails. Text the fam to see what they need from Trader Joe’s.
And stall.
I’ll admit, I do miss him. It’s fun to get the attention. It’s new, but it’s comfortable. And when was the last time anyone asked me my favorite anything?
I’m back.
Hey there. So what about tomorrow?
I sigh heavily. Take another bite of Gordita.
Are we sure this is a good idea?
My phone rings. I pick up. “Hey.”
“Of course it’s a good idea," Tom says cheerfully.
Hearing his voice instantly makes the world a better place. But I still hesitate. “I don’t know. Where do you want to meet?”
“LACMA," he says, referring to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. And also the park where we… well, let’s just say we were naughty one night a million years ago.
But I do want to see him, so I answer, “Okay.”
“Really?” he says, sounding genuinely surprised.
“I’ll meet you at the Japanese Pavilion at eleven," I tell him. “You can buy me lunch afterwards.”
“Great. You know what else I’m going to do afterwards?’
“What?”
“I’m going to kiss you.”
Thirty-one
Alexis
Monday afternoon, I get an email from Kris that includes her school transcript.
From: Kris McGuinness
Hi there from me and Tunny!
So what do you think? 4 Bs – Spring semester of Geometry, Fall semester of Spanish and both semesters of Physics. I know that throws me out of the race for the UCs and the Ivy Leagues, but other than that I have all As, and I spent all of yesterday looking at the schools Claudia suggested, and I think I have a shot at a few of them if I can keep my grades up this year, and into Senior year. Some of them are super expensive though. What is the maximum scholarship your production company gives? And how early can I start applying?
I tell her that I think all of the schools sound good, and that she has plenty of time to figure out the scholarships. I think about asking how her dad is, but don't want to get her stuck in the middle of this.
But I wish I could get some recon from her. I know he's mad at me, but I have no clue what I did wrong.
I know what that guy who wrote the Mars/Venus book says about letting men retire into their caves, and not pressuring them. But by four o’clock, I can’t focus on my work, and decide to text John.
'Sup?
I don’t get a response. An hour later I try again with a joke.
DTF?
On that I do get a response.
It’s John. I think you accidentally sent a
text to me.
Crap. Well, so much for that joke. Or that flirt. Either way, I suck.
After all of my years dating, I know what I should do: Let him be in his cave, let him be in his cave…
What did you mean by “If I’m not there?"
What?
When I asked if you would walk Tunny and you said you would be happy to if I wasn’t there.
Why would you need me to walk the dog if you were there?
Why are you mad at me?
I never said I was mad at you.
I pick up on subtext.
Do you pick up on actual text? Like when I texted you that I don’t want to talk right now?
Fine.
I manage to go a whole five minutes before…
Did Kris tell you she sent me her transcript and she’s looking at colleges?
I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a dick, but how is this not talking?
Right.
Thirty-two
Michelle
If it had been anyone other than Nick, I would have been texting like crazy with productive questions such as, “What the fuck was that?” Or helpful statements such as, “This can never happen again.” And I’d be making myself crazy trying to read his mind about what Sunday night meant.
Instead, I was just paralyzed. I didn’t know how I felt about the makeout session, so what it meant to him was beside the point.
About half an hour after I left, Nick texted to make sure I had gotten home okay. I kept my response brief and noncommittal…
Yup. Thanks for checking in. I’ll have some places for you to look at later this week.
Fortunately, he knew me well enough to let me have a little space to freak the fuck out.
Which is what I have been doing since last night. Last night, when I “thought” about him, then got mad at myself for being so weak.
This morning, I email him a couple of listings, all of which he wants to see, and we make a plan to do a marathon of showings on Thursday and Friday.
I am alternately dreading seeing him, yet counting down the hours in anticipation. The thought of our next meeting makes me want to throw up. But I can’t decide if that is from nerves dreading a confrontation (I can already imagine him tell me, “We need to talk.”) or butterflies in my stomach because I want to kiss him again.
I soooo want to kiss him again. I can’t stop thinking about him. Filthy, yummy thoughts.
But, no. Bad idea. Nick is a guy I could call at four a.m., and he would be there in a heartbeat. When you’re in your twenties, you risk losing someone like that just for a few amorous soaked nights. At my age, you know how rare it is to find someone who always-always-always has your back, and you do whatever you can to keep him.
Bad idea, I repeat to myself as I fall into my bed a little after 11:00 Monday night.
Nights around here are hard. Roraigh is in a perpetual state of general pissedoffedness, while Megan is super quiet compared to her usual self. Steve walks on eggshells every time he comes through the door. And how I feel changes every hour. Sometimes, every minute. My marriage seems to be ending, for real, and in some moments I am terrified and in some I am wildly relieved.
And the logical part of my brain knows that adding an extra spoke (Nicolau) to this wheel of fractious family dynamics right now is a death wish.
So why can’t I stop thinking about him?
Roraigh pops into my doorway. “You h
ad dinner with Kent’s Dad?” he asks.
I try to decipher his tone: casual, doesn’t seem to be looking for a fight.
“Yup. Last night," I answer, trying to keep my tone equally casual. “He’s buying a condo. I signed him as a client.”
“Cool," Roraigh says, walking in and sitting on my bed.
He says nothing more, just sits there. I give him a hug. “How are you holding up?”
He shrugs. “Okay, I guess.” Then he genuinely asks, “How are you holding up?”
That’s the first time either kid has asked me that. “Okay, I guess. It’s hard sometimes. Mostly I worry about you guys.”
I know my son well enough to know the way he is fidgeting, he has something he needs to tell me. I also know to stay quiet until he’s ready.
My strategy pays off. “Kent thinks her Dad likes you.”
His tone gives me nothing. He’s merely collecting data.
“Maybe," I answer.
I get a tsk sound. “Mom, you never know when a guy likes you.”
“Well, how would you know when a guy likes me?” I counter.
“Come on. It’s so obvious when you go to the parent things that dads are hitting on you, and you act like it’s nothing. Used to drive Dad nuts.”
Before I can answer he adds, “You know, you’re cuter than you think you are.”
“Uh… thank you?”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re still old as shit, but you’re cute old.”
Gonna take the compliment. We’re both quiet again. Mostly because he has more to say.
“Dad was cheating on you with Ripley’s mom for awhile. I saw them once.”
I rub his shoulder sympathetically. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
He instinctively pulls his shoulder away. “Dad was an asshole. He broke up our family.”
I take a moment to absorb what my son is saying, then respond carefully. “Okay, I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but we are still a family. All four of us. No matter what. Your father will always be here and so will I. Don’t ever doubt that. There just may be new people wanting to join our family at some point, that’s all. And if you decide you don’t want them to be a part of your family, that is totally fine. You have that right. But try to keep an open mind. If I have taught you nothing else, it’s that family is who you love, and who loves you, however they come into your life.”
Roraigh considers my statement for a moment. Then asks, “Did my therapist give you that spiel?”
“No. Your Nana and Papa did.”
We smile at each other.
“Okay, I’m off to bed," Roraigh says, giving me a hug.
“Oh hugs! Yay!” I exclaim, hugging him hard.
Roraigh pulls away and heads out of my room. He stops at my doorway, and turns around. “Mom…” he begins awkwardly.
“Yeah, baby.”
“Nick’s a good guy.”
I smile. “Nothing is going to happen with Kent’s Dad," I promise him.
“Okay. But as a wise, old woman once told me: Try to keep an open mind.”
I make a show of narrowing my eyes. “Again with the ‘old’.”
He smiles and leaves, projecting his voice back toward my bedroom. “Love you to the moon.”
“And I love you to the moon and back!”
I cross my legs and sit up straight, (doing pretty much the only yoga position I know how to do), and try to force myself to focus on my breathing and mentally zone out.
At which time, my brain goes into overdrive, zinging with thoughts. This is not how I saw my … But what if this is Holland?... Just because Roraigh is okay with it that doesn’t mean Megan will be… oh my God, Steve would freak out… but that would be kind of glorious to watch… how would Laura, wait no, we hate Laura now… would we be broken up by Thanksgiving… If all I want is sex, I could always call Dan, or pick up someone new… apparently I’m cute for an old lady…
Then I think back to being straddled on top of Nick in my car, and how handsome as fuck he looked.
Handsome as fuck… you are too old to say that… I’m not saying it, I’m thinking it… and when did I get too old to do anything?… well, okay trapezing was a bad idea… probably too old to be a firefighter… ballet dancer, gymnast, hot girl in music video… not that they make music videos anymore… does Nick think I’m too old?… No, he kissed you... I don’t want to lose Thanksgiving… Why would he even want me anyway?… I’m safe?… Is he safe? No, this is definitely not safe… Need to break up now, before it means anything…
Ding!
My phone’s beep jolts me out of my head. I grab the phone from my nightstand.
Found another condo to look at – sent you
an email.
And my breath catches a little. I read about the condo. It would only be about eight minutes from here. (Not that that matters.) I type back…
Looks good. I’ll try to get us in Thursday.
Actually, my Wednesday just opened up.
Can we go then?
I’ll see what I can do.
Then I write…
Hey, we’re cool right?
We are absolutely cool. Why?
Just wanted to make sure what happened won’t make things weird.
Is your brain snowballing?
Maybe.
Well, tell it to stop. And let’s go househunting Wednesday.
No more ‘I love you’s okay? It freaked me out. I think when I say it, it means something different than when you say it.
Stop snowballing. I’ll see you Wednesday.
Okay.
Okay, good night.
A half an hour later I text…
You there?
I am.
I love you.
☺
But I’m not in an emotional place to date right now.
Stop snowballing. Go to bed.
I spend the next half hour snowballing. Text…
Finally ready to go to bed, but just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you.
Two minutes later I get…
☺
And then a minute after that...
I’m even better IRL. ;-)
I will never know.
Say goodnight Gracie.
Good night Gracie.
Thirty-three
Zoe
The “I’m going to kiss you” threat/promise is still on my mind as I stare at my cell phone to read the time: 10:58.
I’m at LACMA, standing in the middle of the street lamp display, and wondering why my legs won’t move. The Japanese Pavilion is at least a two minute walk from here. I am going to be late.
What am I doing? I desperately want to see him. I am terrified to see him. Carlos was willing to do the open marriage thing up until a few days ago. We’ll be fine, right?
Am I really this person? Am I really the type of woman to have an affair? Am I that evil? Is it evil? Do I mean morally bankrupt? Am I even really going to kiss him? Can’t the gaping hole in my life be fixed with just a lunch? He still loves me, or he wouldn’t be here. Isn’t that enough?
“Hey there," I hear behind me.
And my stomach goes in knots just from the voice. I turn around, and there he is.
And I’m a lovesick girl all over again. “Hey there," I return, hearing my voice croak.
“You look amazing, as always," Tom says, kissing me on the cheek, then pulling me into a hug.
My cheek is tingling. I can barely breathe. And I feel more alive now than I have in years.
We begin walking towards the Pavilion. “You haven’t aged a day," I tell him. “I almost told you that the day Dave and I ran into you.”
“Nah," he says. “I’ve got a receding hairline, a gut and hair growing out of my ears.”
“Way to take a compliment.”
“But you,” he says, stopping and turning to me. “You are still gorgeous.”
“Really?” I ask. “Even two kids later?”
“Es
pecially two kids later. You look happy. Nothing more beautiful than that.” He begins walking again. “Hey, do you want to go to lunch first? There’s this sushi place a couple of blocks from here that’s really good.”
“Okay," I answer.
And the conversation stops. We both walk silently, heading towards… What?
Is he going to kiss me? Was that something he just said, then quickly decided against? If he does kiss me, how long will I have to wait for the kiss? And we’re in public: is this even a good idea? People I know may see me.
I abruptly turn to Tom and exclaim, “I can’t stand this.” And turn and kiss him. At first, his lips stay closed, as do mine. But then our lips open and my tongue is in his mouth, and I feel a head rush I haven’t felt in decades. My hands meet around Tom’s neck, and I’m tingly everywhere. Actually tingly! I forget that’s not just something you read about in romance books. My knees are so weak, I’m about to…
Crap! I’m about to fall!
“I’m falling!” I say, pulling away from him.
“Me, too,” he whispers, starting to lean into me for another kiss.
“No. I’m actually falling," I blurt out. “My knees are giving out!” and I can feel myself crumpling towards the pavement.
Hangovers & Hot Flashes Page 23
