If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home Now (27 page)

“But people notice the big invitations more,” Carol Lynn said. Today she was wearing a tank top and yoga pants. The woman
was always either just coming from or just going to a workout. Possibly both. “They’re less likely to just toss them aside.”

“I liked the way it was black with silver writing,” Melanie added.

Carol Lynn raised her eyebrows. “That was my least favorite part about it. Looked like an invitation to a funeral.” Her tone
was so pointedly negative that Melanie flinched, hurt, and I frowned at Carol Lynn, trying to figure out what was going on.
She had been ignoring or sniping at both of us all morning in a deliberately obvious way.

The reason why became clear later, when the meeting had ended and people were saying their good-byes. Tanya and Linda had
already taken off when Carol Lynn suddenly turned to Mel and hissed, “Just out of curiosity, I was wondering what you found
so objectionable about my cousin. He said he thought you’d both had a nice time together but then you wouldn’t return his
calls. He’s very hurt. Maybe you could explain it to me so I could explain it to him?”

“Oh, no.” Melanie’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry! He’s so nice. I thought he was great. Really. I just—it’s—”

“You’re just not that into him?” Carol Lynn suggested icily.

Melanie’s eyes widened with horror. “No, not at all. It’s just…” Her voice faltered. “I think I may be getting back with my
husband.”

Maria had been picking up her bag, getting ready to leave, but her head whipped around at that. “Really?” she said, advancing.
“I mean…
really?
”

“I don’t know for sure.” Mel’s face had turned bright red. “At this point we’re just talking. That’s all. But I don’t feel
like it’s fair to start dating anyone else right now.”

Carol Lynn waved her hand at that, the smaller transgression completely overshadowed by the potentially far greater one. “Right,
I’ll tell my cousin. But… from everything you’ve said… Are you sure this really makes sense?”

Maria touched Melanie’s arm before she could answer, which was good since I don’t think Mel had an answer to that. “Just remember
how hard this stuff can be on the kids,” Maria said. “The back-and-forth stuff. I didn’t go through it but I know people who
did and in the end the kids were far more devastated by having their hopes raised—and then dashed again—than by the original
separation.”

“I—” Poor Melanie was trapped between the two bitter divorcées. “I know. I understand. I’ll be careful, I promise. And I don’t
know—It’s just—”

“It
seems
so easy,” Carol Lynn said, shaking her head. “Like you can just turn back the clock. But you can’t. Not ever. And most of
the time you shouldn’t.”

“We’re not trying to be negative,” Maria added. “Just realistic. We want you to be careful.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Melanie said faintly.

I rescued her by stepping forward. “It was great seeing you guys! I think Casino Night’s going to be fun, don’t you?”

They took the hint, said good-byes, and left. But later, when I looked out the window, I saw the two of them still out in
front, whispering on the lawn, and, from the way they glanced up at the house periodically, I suspected that it was all they
could do to keep from marching back in and making poor Mel even more anxious, all in the name of female solidarity.

“Did you mean that?” I asked her as we carried five almost-full platters of pastries into the kitchen. “Are you really thinking
about getting back together with Gabriel? Or were you just saying that so Carol Lynn wouldn’t be mad at you about her cousin?”

“Maybe we can freeze some of this,” Melanie said, putting her tray down on the counter and heading back toward the living
room for more.

Guess she didn’t feel like answering my questions.

I wasn’t the only one with unanswerable questions.

“What if I don’t know anyone on the team?” Noah said. “What if someone I don’t like is on the team? What if
Caleb’s
on the team? What if a ball hits me in the eye? What if I stink up the place the second I go to bat and everyone laughs at
me? What if…”

Anxiety had set in on the way to the first Saturday morning T-ball practice.

I glanced at my son in the rearview mirror. He was dressed in new clothes—sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt—that were
way too big for him. I just couldn’t go on buying size-fours for my six-year-old son any longer. But he was swallowed up by
the sixes, and he looked especially small at the moment, as his terror was making him curl up in a fetal position around his
seat belt. He was wearing a baseball hat that came down over his ears and was clutching the bat and mitt to his chest. “It’ll
be okay, Noey, I promise. Coach Andrew will look out for you.”

“What if I hate every minute of it? Can I stop?”

I was tempted to tell him how much happier I’d be if he
quit. I wouldn’t have to get up early on Saturday mornings. I wouldn’t have to sit in some park for an hour every week, watching
my son get made fun of for being the worst player on the team. I wouldn’t have to hang out with a ton of sports-obsessed parents
who would make it clear they thought that Noah was dragging the team down.

I had my own anxieties about T-ball practice.

Still, I had to push Noah to keep going, for his sake. I had to stop teaching him that quitting was a viable option. So I
said, “Let’s just think positively about this, okay, Noah?”

“You have to promise me if I don’t like it I can leave. Or I’m not going!” His voice was getting shrill.

How could this be the same kid who, before he’d gone to sleep last night, had carefully laid his mitt on the night table beside
him “so I can find it first thing in the morning before we go”? How was he able to do a 180-degree turn like this? Why couldn’t
he just stay enthusiastic about anything? What had I done wrong as a mother that had made him such an anxious little boy?
Was it because he didn’t have a father? Because I was only nineteen when I had him? Would a forty-year-old mother know the
perfect thing to say at a moment like this?

I felt very tired. “Just… let’s just get there. Okay? And we’ll go from there.”

“But what if—”

“Just stop!” I snapped.

He kept quiet then, but he managed to make his breathing sound unhappy.

The good news: Joshua Golden, the nice kid from Austin’s birthday party, was there and Noah brightened up considerably when
he spotted him.

The bad news: all the other kids were strangers. And most
of them were bigger than Noah and Joshua. I swear a couple of them were bigger than both boys put together.

Andrew was busy making sure all the parents had the right paperwork and the kids had the necessary equipment, so when I walked
Noah over he just nodded at me and said a cheerful “Noah! I’m glad you came” and then went back to work.

I left Noah with Joshua, both of them staying close to the coach, and headed toward the bleachers. Joshua’s mom came rushing
toward me. “Hey!” she said. “Thank god you’re here too!” She was wearing sweats and a cardigan sweater that was old and stretched
out. Her hair was messy and she had no makeup on. She looked unbelievably normal. “I’m Debbie. Rickie, right?”

“Right. So did Coach Andrew recruit Joshua too?”

“Yep.” She laughed. “I think he’s going to single-handedly make our little guys into athletes. Even if it kills him.”

“It might come to that with Noah.”

“Same with Joshua. But if anyone can succeed, it’s Andrew. Joshua adores him—I wouldn’t have been able to get him here for
anyone else. Want to sit down?” I nodded and we stepped up onto the empty bleachers together. “Let’s go up high,” she said,
carefully picking her way up the steps. “He’ll come running over to me about every little thing if he thinks he can.”

“Noah’s the same way.”

“They’re made to be friends. We have to get them together more often. Where do you live?” I told her. “That’s not too far,”
she said. “We’re south of you, closer to Pico.” She grinned. “You know, the poor side of town.”

“Only by Fenwick standards.”

She nodded. “Exactly. My daughter’s always coming home and talking about these huge mansions some of the girls in her class
live in. Do you know she actually said to me, ‘Why don’t
we belong to a beach club like everyone else?’ ” Debbie Golden shook her head. “I was this close to calling her a spoiled
brat, but I’m happy to say I managed to restrain myself.”

“I’ve called Noah a spoiled brat,” I admitted. “I usually apologize afterwards, but I’ve done it.”

“Oh, I’ve done it too,” she said cheerfully. “Just
that
time, I stopped myself.”

Andrew was leading the kids onto the baseball diamond. Noah and Joshua walked side by side at the end of the line, lagging
way behind the others. Andrew called over his shoulder to them to speed up.

“I don’t know…” Debbie said slowly, watching them. “I was so happy the day Josie got accepted to kindergarten there, but sometimes
I wonder if Fenwick is the right place for my kids. Between the wealth thing and the way the other boys are all so huge and
athletic, sometimes I think Joshua at least would be happier at some loser school where all the kids are small and wimpy like
him.”

“Plus there’s Caleb.” It was a weird thing to bond over, but I remembered how she had said Joshua was bullied by Caleb and
his friends, just like Noah.

“God, I hate that kid,” Debbie said. “I know an adult shouldn’t hate a small child, but I can’t stand him. On the other hand,
there’s
always
a Caleb, isn’t there? Wherever you send your kid?”

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know.”

“Noah’s an only child, right?” I nodded and waited for the other questions—the you-must-have-had-him-young, huh? kind of questions—but
she just said, “I have two, but my other’s a girl and it’s different with girls. There are plenty of girls in her class who
I’d like to throttle, but which
one
changes on a weekly basis. Her best friend one week turns into a viper
the next. And vice versa. I can’t keep track, so I just stay out of it.”

“I remember those days.”

“Me too. But the Caleb thing is different: in ten years, Caleb will still be the class bully.”

“Unless he’s doing time in San Quentin.”

“Oh, I like that idea! Think there’s a chance?”

Some of the kids were putting on red jerseys. “I hope he keeps them together,” I said and just then Andrew handed both Noah
and Joshua red jerseys. “Look how he listens to me,” I said with a laugh because we were well out of earshot.

“He knows what he’s doing,” Debbie said. “There’s something so trustworthy about that guy.” I didn’t answer. She shifted her
butt on the bleacher bench. “God, these are uncomfortable. We should bring pillows next time. And coffee.”

“And food,” I said because I was starving. I hadn’t had any breakfast.

“We could take turns picking up from Starbucks.”

“I think I love you,” I said.

“I’m coming tomorrow, right?” Andrew asked when I came over to nab Noah at the end of practice.

“You don’t have to,” I said. “I mean, Noah’s getting coached by you here now.”

“I’d still like to work with him privately on his batting.”

Noah hadn’t exactly managed to get a lot of height on the ball when he was hitting. He had kind of nudged it off the tee with
his bat so it dribbled onto the field. I heard one dad in the bleachers say to another, “Hope they keep that kid on the bench
during the games” and felt a stab of anger so intense I couldn’t move. Then Debbie said loudly, “I hate stupidly competitive
parents, don’t you?” and I felt better.

“So can I come?” Andrew asked.

“Of course,” I said and thanked him. “So,” I said to Noah as we headed toward the car. “How was it?”

“Okay, I guess. I kind of sucked but it’s okay because Joshua did too.”

“He’s nice, right?”

“He’s okay.”

“His mom is really nice. I like her a lot. I said maybe you guys could have a playdate sometime. Would you like that?”

“Maybe.” I expected a bit more enthusiasm but realized how tired, and probably hungry, he was when I offered to take him to
Cafe 50’s, his current favorite restaurant, and he said wearily, “I guess that would be okay.”

He just didn’t have the energy to be enthusiastic about anything right at that moment.

I
was the only adult at home the next morning: Mom and Dad had gone out for brunch with friends, and Melanie was with her kids
at her place.

I had learned to set the alarm on Saturday night so I wouldn’t be caught half-asleep like that first time. Unfortunately,
I hadn’t learned how not to
ignore
the alarm, so by the time I finally hauled myself out of bed I only had enough time to brush my teeth and make some coffee
before Andrew rang the doorbell, looking all bright and well rested and, yes, kind of cute because at some point I had decided
he was cute and
didn’t seem to be able to change my mind about that as much as I would have liked to.

I worked hard to act like his arrival was no big deal to me: I made Noah answer the door and I just kind of waved nonchalantly
at the coach from the kitchen table as Noah dragged him toward the backyard. I overheard Andrew ask Noah if he had had fun
at T-ball the day before and then Noah’s agonizingly misleading response: “It was okay. Mom promised I could quit if it doesn’t
get better.” Fortunately the door slammed shut so I was spared Andrew’s reaction to that.

I baked a pan of GF brownies then leafed through the Sunday
New York Times
, glancing up every now and then to watch the two of them through the window.

I found myself wondering what kind of guy gave up his Sunday mornings to help a kid who never seemed especially grateful or
enthusiastic.

He was either very kind or very crazy.

I watched as Andrew played some kind of running game with Noah that involved both of them running sprints from one end of
the yard to the other until they collapsed on the ground and rolled back and forth on the grass.