by B. E. Baker
When I reach the family room, Trudy's standing on the back of the sofa in four inch brown high heels, clutching my flimsy blinds for dear life. Andromeda's standing in front of the sofa, tongue lolling, tail wagging.
“Whoops, I forgot to tell you.” I scrunch my nose up and hunch my shoulders. “I got a dog this morning, the one I told you guys about. She's a rescue. Her name is Andromeda, and she's the sweetest thing you've ever seen.”
“That thing is a dog?” Trudy asks. “Are you sure?”
“She's a Great Pyrenees, and they're famously good with children, so don't worry about Troy.”
Trudy's chest rises and falls rapidly, but after she's thought about what I've said, her erratic breathing slows, and she climbs down from the sofa. “Now I feel foolish, but it never occurred to me it might be a pet. I thought a wolf had gotten into your house somehow.” She puts her hands on her hips. “You hate animals.”
“We never had any, and they seem like they'd be a lot of work, but when I went into that Pet Smart on a whim, she had been surrendered by a family who didn't want her anymore, even though she's a wonderful dog.”
I sit on the floor in my fancy dress and Andromeda lies down next to me, her head in my lap. I rub her gorgeous head and scratch her ears. “I never thought I'd get a pet either, but I swear, meeting her felt like fate. I miss Luke a lot more than I thought I would. In fact, I miss his kids too. Having a dog helps my heart not feel so empty.”
Trudy drops onto the sofa with a whump. “When you dumped Foster, you know what you never, ever said? Not even once?”
I shake my head. “No. What?”
“You never told me you missed him.”
I recoil. “That can't be right. I was devastated when we broke up.”
Trudy smiles. “You were. But you said things like, 'I'll never find someone who's fine with just me. Someone who doesn't care whether we have kids. Someone who thinks I'm enough.’”
“I did say that,” I admit. “But I missed him too.”
Trudy shakes her head. “You were uncomfortable at the United Way office. You lamented how miserable it was being alone all the time. But you never, ever said you missed him. You never said your heart hurt when you thought about him. Nothing like that.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you saying I never loved Foster?”
She shrugs. “I don't know how you felt. I'm only telling you what I saw. I guess you'll probably know when you see him today. If you're depressed and weepy watching him walk down the aisle, you'll know you did love him and you need to move on. If you're fine, well.”
Armed with the hope that perhaps Foster never meant as much to me as I hoped he would, I lock sweet Andromeda in the laundry room with her food and water, and head for the wedding.
Trudy and I watch the ceremony from the very back row. Foster's Catholic and either his soon-to-be wife is too, or else she didn't mind a traditional Catholic wedding. Altar boys walk up the aisle with incense, waving it to and fro. The priest rambles on and on about the power of God and how we should emulate God's example. Except, as far as I know, God's not married.
And I don't care at all that he's marrying a very young, very immature, and in spite of her fake pregnancy, a very attractive girl. In fact, I hope they're happy. I won't be in the United Way offices anymore where he'll rub my face in it, but even if I weren't being cut, I don't think I'd care. When I look at Foster now, my boyfriend of a year and a half, I don't feel anything at all.
The most exciting thing that happens during the ceremony is that the octogenarian in front of me dozes off and begins to snore. It takes three different people jabbing her to wake her up. Not a bad way to get married, I guess.
The reception afterward is a different story.
We're seated at a table for eight, next to all of Foster's couple friends. I introduce my sister to all of them in turn. I've missed hanging out with a few of them, like Brittany and David. They're all perfectly polite to me, in spite of my date being my sister, and the food is bland, but I don't mind.
After the cutting of the cake, Foster circles around to our table to chat. The first words out of his mouth are, “Where's your boyfriend, Mary? I thought he was coming, but I see your sister here with you instead.”
I open my mouth to answer, but before I can, Trudy interjects. “Luke's building opens tomorrow. He got stuck reviewing his team's work on a bunch of punch list items and called and asked me to fill in for him.”
Foster frowns. “He has your phone number? I don't think I have it at all and me and Mary were together for way longer.”
“What can I say?” Trudy asks. “I like him a lot more than I ever liked you.”
Foster snorts. “You're telling me he hasn't finished everything on a hundred million dollar building the day before the ribbon's being cut, and he's down there doing what? Reinstalling electrical outlets?”
Trudy licks her lips. “I'm not telling you anything Foster, and I don't have to. See, you've never had a real job, not one you earned yourself. All your jobs were dropped in your lap by your daddy. But for those of us without a cushy trust fund, sometimes work comes first, before things we'd rather be doing, even if it's the day before our job is done.”
“He's the perfect fit for Mary then,” Foster says. “The girl who picks work over her boyfriend, and won't even have kids because she loves her job too much.”
“You didn't hear?” I ask. “Luke has two children. Adorable, precious children.”
Foster's jaw drops. “What?”
“Maybe the problem wasn't my job after all. Maybe I had other hang-ups that kept me from agreeing to marry you and that was just an excuse. Maybe it was the unsteadiness of our relationship that got in my way, not that it matters anymore. I'm so glad you found someone who's a perfect fit, and I wish you all the best.”
Foster splutters. “She is a perfect fit.”
Trudy coughs into her napkin. “Hey Romeo, I hate to interrupt our witty banter here, but perhaps you ought to check on your perfect wife. She's pounded at least three chardonnays while you've been over here chatting with us.” Trudy's voice drops to a whisper. “I hear that's bad for the baby.”
Eyes widen all around the table, and Foster practically jogs across the room to where Jessica's standing, goblet in hand.
Those two deserve each other.
After a moment, the conversation at our table recovers, and it's like Foster never came over to hurl insults at me. Trudy handled him so well that Foster's words rolled over me like water down a glass pane, and I realize something. I wasn't just being contrary with him. Our relationship was unsteady. Did I use my fear of children as an excuse?
Once the wedding starts to wind down, Trudy and I make a mad dash through the sleet out to my car. It’s been such disgusting weather lately. Once we reach the car, I turn on the wipers and they fling the ice chunks away. Before I pull out of the parking lot, Trudy pulls out her phone. When her face falls, I know she's heard from the loser himself.
“What did he say now?” I ask.
“Chris used to tell me his biggest fear was that I'd turn out like our mom. He said he was always waiting for me to bail and leave him with Troy. But he's the one who left.”
I pull out onto the main road. “I think we've established Chris is a moron, with poor judgment and even poorer insight.” I want to take Trudy's hand in mine, but the roads are intermittently icy, so I keep my hands at ten and two.
Her voice is small enough I can barely make out her next words. “I've never thought I was much like mom, but maybe I'm like Dad.”
I shake my head. “You're nothing like either of them. You picked a lousy husband, but other than that one error in judgement, you're nothing like Dad. You care for your son, you sacrifice for everyone around you, always putting them first. You're an artist who takes a run down space and turns it into something beautiful. And most of all, you'd never quit on your loved ones, and you'd never leave.”
“Everything you said about me
is true for you too, Mary.”
I think about that for most of the way home, which is easy because Trudy stares quietly out the window. I've been terrified that if I had a child, I'd fail them. I believed I couldn't pursue my career and raise children at the same time, because my mom didn't do both. She bailed.
“You don't think I'm like Mom at all?” I hate how uncertain I sound. I always told myself the reason I couldn't have kids was that I didn't want to sacrifice my career. I thought that if I had kids and gave it up, I’d resent them for it, like my mother did.
Maybe my real fear is that I wouldn't sacrifice my career, and I'd be as bad a mom as my own mom was.
Trudy shakes her head. “If Foster's loony wife ever actually gets pregnant, they won't be excellent parents. I try my hardest most days, but I'd still say I'm mediocre at best.”
“Don't say that,” I say. “You're amazing with Troy and you've given up everything for him.”
Trudy says, “No, no, no, I'm not fishing for compliments. I'm telling you, you'll be better than me, and I'm okay. Head and shoulders above where Mom and Dad were with us.”
“You're already head, shoulders, torso, thighs, calves and ankles above Mom and Dad.”
Trudy laughs. “Sadly that's true, but earlier when I told you I thought of you as my real mom, I wasn't kidding. For more than twenty years you've done everything for me. You taught me to read and helped me with my homework. You made my lunches, my snacks, and signed all my school forms. You walked with me door-to-door selling stuff for every fundraiser. You combed my hair, bathed me, and helped me write papers, albeit kind of awful ones. A writer you are not.”
“Hey, that story about the little spot of air was brilliant.”
“Whatever you say,” Trudy says. “But you woke me up and brushed my teeth and you told me bedtime stories, and you did all of that while working part time, and working on your own school work. You stayed close for college instead of taking that fancy scholarship to Brown. You helped me manage college while you were in grad school, and—” Trudy chokes up and wipes at her eyes.
“Hey,” I say. “It's okay, I get it.”
Trudy shakes her head and can't meet my eye. “You told me Chris was an idiot and you said I shouldn't date him, but when I ignored you, you helped me plan a wedding which you paid for, never once complaining. You even sobered Dad up and brought him to walk me down the aisle. When I had Troy, and I was drowning, and I had no job, and I felt like a loser, you were there to help with him, and assure me I could do what needed to be done. And now that you're proven right about Chris, and Troy's sick, you're here still.”
I put my arm around Trudy. “I'll always be here for you.”
She nods. “I know that, in my whole soul. I watch you help those other kids, children you don't know, trying to bring some hope to other kids like us, and I'm so proud of you. Mary, you can do anything, which I know because I've seen you do everything. I didn't want to move in with you, because I'm embarrassed to be a burden. Again. But when I needed somewhere to go, you opened your home to me and Troy without reservation.”
“You're always welcome with me, you know that.”
“And you paid for Troy's hospital stay, and this new medical treatment, which I'll never have the words to thank you for. In fact, the one thing I don't think you'll ever do is become like either of our parents in any way.”
I hug Trudy tight, thinking about her words, her certainty. If she's right to have this much faith in me, I might have made a catastrophic mistake with Luke. I can't stop thinking about him, or his children, but I already shoved them away pretty hard.
Not that it matters, I remind myself, since they're leaving in two weeks.
I almost wish I was a little more like my mom. If I was more like her, this might hurt a lot less.
Chapter 21
With a wrapped, stuffed horse in hand, I pick my way through the crowded streets of Atlanta toward the red ribbon ceremony for the new Citibank building. After yesterday's miserable flurries, it's a surprisingly gorgeous day, almost fifty degrees outside and sunny.
I 'excuse me' and 'pardon me' and 'can I squeeze past you?' my way to somewhere near the front of the crowd. I know it's a long shot, but I'm hoping to see Luke, and with the gift I inadvertently kept in my hand, I have an excuse to talk to him.
I look for Luke during Mayor Overton's speech without luck. After the Mayor, the President of Citibank starts talking too. Commerce for Atlanta, a new age of banking, blah, blah, blah. What about the lights guy? He's gotta be there, right? My eyes scan the people sitting on risers behind the makeshift podium. Maybe I need glasses, because I cannot make him out anywhere.
After the ribbon's cut, a band starts playing. I tap my foot to the music, wondering if there's somewhere else I should check before I throw in the towel and leave. I'm turning to go when I finally see him. Luke's standing on the dance floor, twirling a stunningly beautiful blonde woman, her hair curled perfectly under an adorable knit cap. She's sporting gorgeous, knee-high boots over tight black pants, and a sparkly grey sweater tunic that hugs her curves perfectly.
I stand there watching them, transfixed, and inexplicably unable to look away. I may have to tear my eyeballs out so I can leave. I imagine how I'll sprint back to my car so I don't embarrass myself, sobbing and messy, to every passerby. I'm starting to spin on my heel when Luke locks eyes with me. Too many emotions cross his face for me to read any of them. His eyes widen and he stumbles a little, his partner frowning at him. She's gesturing and saying something I can't hear. He turns toward her, and I take the chance to dash away.
I sit in my car, breathing in and out, in and out. Who was she? I realize that I don't know Luke well enough to have any idea. It takes me a good fifteen minutes to get my car out of the parking lot I found, but that's probably good. I didn't care that my boyfriend of more than a year married someone else last night. In fact, I wish them the best.
Conversely, I wish nothing good for that blonde woman. In fact, I'm gripped with a strange and savage urge to march right back to the City Center and claw her eyes out. Which is ridiculous for many reasons, but first and foremost because I don't even know what she means to Luke.
Once I've calmed down, I drive home, numb and full of sorrow I can't even share. My family and friends don't approve, which makes me feel worse. I pull into my garage at home and lean my head against the steering wheel. Once I walk inside, I'll need to talk to Trudy, and play with Troy. I'm so happy she's living with me, but I miss the quiet time and space I used to have.
If Luke did change his mind, and if he did want to stay here and find a more steady job, and if I did decide to try managing his kids and my job. . . It hits me that I'd never have peace, quiet, or a neat house ever again. Boom, insta-family.
I can barely handle the sister and nephew I've got.
But the thought of never seeing Luke again, or even worse, bumping into him somehow and seeing that he's married and someone else is holding Amy's hand. . . I hate that idea even more.
I sit up and reach for the handle on my door, pausing when I hear my text message notification. My hands shake when I pull my phone from my purse. Which is stupid. It's probably Paisley confirming our drop off time tomorrow. Or maybe Trudy asking where I went. Or Addy confirming that Trudy and me will be coming to her house on Christmas Eve.
Except it's none of them. The message is from Luke. I close my eyes, unaccountably nervous about what he has to say. When I finally force myself to look, I'm not sure how to respond.
WHERE DID YOU GO?
My fingers freeze. What do I say? I finally settle on the truth. Sort of. HOME. I ONLY CAME TO BRING THE STUFFED HORSE AMY PICKED FOR YOUR FAMILY. Which sounds really stupid. He knows where I live, which means he knows I could more easily have driven that by his trailer. Of course, I don't think about that until after I've hit send.
WHY DIDN'T YOU GIVE IT TO ME?
Time for the real truth. If I can't be at least a little honest, he'll never
realize I've changed my mind. YEAH, SORRY. I SAW YOU WITH ANOTHER WOMAN AND FREAKED OUT A LITTLE.
He responds with a 'laughing so hard he's crying' emoji.
THAT'S TOO BAD. MY COUSIN REALLY WANTED TO MEET YOU. AMY TALKS ABOUT YOU NON-STOP.
My heart executes a perfect cartwheel. His cousin. Amy misses me.
ONLY AMY? I type the words, but I can't quite get myself to hit send. I look at them for a count of ten, and then start to delete them.
Before I can, a new text pops up from Luke. YOU STILL THERE?
When two big, furry, paws slam against the glass of my car window, I jump in my seat, and my thumb hits send. ONLY AMY? My needy plea zooms through the ether and to his phone, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
I swear.
Trudy's eyes widen from where she's standing behind Andromeda. “Sorry I scared you.” Her voice is muffled but I can make it out. “Troy, Andromeda and I heard the garage door, but you never came inside. We wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Family is nosey. Family is annoying. Family gets all up in your face.
And at least I know someone cares. I pretend I'm not freaking out over having sent a text basically asking Luke if he misses me.
I open the door and follow Trudy up to the steps into my own home, listening all the while for a ping from my phone. Troy's waiting at the top, his chubby arms outstretched, bouncing on his toes. “Aunt May May. Pick me up!” He's so adorable that part of me hopes he never masters the baffling secrets of the letter 'r'.
I toss my bag into the utility room and swing Troy up into my arms. “I'm going to have to stop calling you Troy and start calling you Tank if you gain any more weight.”
“Why Tank?” he asks.
“Tanks are like really big, really heavy trucks. It still starts with the letter 'T' like your name, but it means you're a big boy.”
