Monarch Beach (26 page)

After I sent the e-mail, I felt a surge of confidence. I was really going to do this. The next step would be to tell Max. I thought about going to Kids’ Club and blurting it out, but I needed it to settle first. I had to come from a position of “This is what we’re going to do, and it’s going to be great,” rather than “What do you think, Max? Is this okay with you?”

I walked through the lobby, past families checking in, getting their complimentary sand buckets and kiddy backpacks. Kids ran down the hall ahead of their parents, excited to start their vacation. I felt a little wobbly. I had planned on working out at the spa, but I made a detour to the Balcony Bar. I needed a drink and a catch-up phone call with Stephanie.

I ordered a banana daiquiri, and looked out at the Grand Lawn. It was a perfect day, there was a croquet game set up on the lawn, and two French bulldogs drank water from silver bowls.

“I can’t talk long. I’m about to get kicked out of the playground. Graham put gummi worms in another kid’s sand sculpture,” Stephanie said when she answered her cell phone.

“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.

“They weren’t his gummi worms. They belong to the other kid. Personally, I think it shows his artistic bent. Pop playground art.”

“How are you?” I sipped my drink, which tasted like a banana smoothie.

“Counting the days till school starts. We have a big calendar on our bulletin board. Every time I cross off a day, I feel like I’m one day closer to regaining my sanity.”

“It sounds pretty good to me.” I remembered the long afternoons at the park when Max was a toddler. He worked all day making me sand pancakes.

“Let me guess, you’re at the beach sipping a mimosa?” Stephanie asked.

“The Balcony Bar, actually, with a banana daiquiri.” I smiled.

“Don’t rub it in. I actually thought about bringing a flask of rum and Coke to the park this morning. Okay, let’s get to the good stuff. What’s happening with Edward?”

I put my drink on the table and told Stephanie the whole story, right up to the part where my mother booked a suite at the St. Regis for Max and me. By the time I’d finished, the Grand Lawn, the ocean, and Catalina Island were all a blur because I couldn’t stop crying.

“Rotten son of a bitch,” Stephanie said when I’d finished.

“Edward or Andre?” I laughed, wiping my eyes with a St. Regis napkin.

“Both of them. All men who can’t keep their dicks in their pants. I should tape Graham’s dick to his underwear right now so he won’t grow up to be a bastard.”

“It’s my fault. I should have listened to you.” I shook my head.

“The only thing I was afraid of was Edward was going to bore you to death if all you two talked about was divorce and cheating spouses. I didn’t think he’d cheat on you. Are the earrings nice?”

“The earrings are lovely,” I laughed. “I’m wearing them.”

“Good for you. Forget him but keep the earrings.”

“What do you think about me going to Parsons?” I hesitated. I didn’t know what I would do if she thought it was a terrible idea.

“Well, let’s put it this way. You leave boring old Ross where the most exciting event is repainting the post office, first for a five-star resort on the California Riviera. Then, when you have a totally hard body and suntan, you move to Manhattan, where you’ll probably hang out with Uma Thurman or James Franco. Everybody who’s anybody lives in Manhattan and you’re living at the St. Regis—”

“It’s not sunny California,” I interrupted.

“Wait, let me finish. And you’re going to design school where you’ll probably become the next Tory Burch and have your label in every Neiman’s from here to Texas. Have I left anything out?” Stephanie said.

“Max. Is it okay to do this to Max?” I sighed. It was nice to have Stephanie’s approval.

“As long as he doesn’t become one of those teenage wankers on
Gossip Girl
. Who’s that guy, Chase, with the evil smile but great hair? I’m kidding. It’s going to be great for Max to leave the Ross bubble. Think how international his school will be. He’ll probably have an Indian prince or Chinese genius in his grade.”

“How do I tell Max?” I sounded wimpy even to myself.

“The same way you tell him to brush his teeth. I’m the mom and this is what we’re doing.”

“Poor kid.” I thought about Max and his new attachment to his surfboard.

“If I can separate Graham from his Snuggly Blankie at night, you can do this. Piece of cake.”

*   *   *

We hung up and I headed to the spa. I scheduled thirty minutes on the stair machine to work off the banana daiquiri, twenty minutes in the Jacuzzi to sooth my sore muscles, and fifteen minutes in the Tranquillity Room to rid myself of any lingering bad karma. Then I would pick Max up from Kids’ Club, butter him up with a chocolate shake, and tell him our plans.

*   *   *

Max and I perched on stools at the Pool Grille, sipping our shakes. I watched women crisscross the Grand Lawn in outfits ranging from skimpy bathing suits that barely covered their butts to designer dresses, oversized purses, and four-inch heels. I found myself critiquing the dresses: One was too busy, another had competing patterns, a third was glorious—a floor-length safari-print caftan with a matching turban.

“It’s been a great summer,” I began, feeling as if I was on a job interview with the CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

“Awesome. Wait till I tell everyone about my new surfboard. Do you think we can go to Stinson after school and surf?”

“Stinson Beach has a lot of sharks,” I faltered. I had to follow Stephanie’s advice and just tell him. “Actually, Max, we’re not going back to Ross,” I said.

His expression wavered like he’d been hit in the stomach with a line drive. “Are we staying here?” he asked cautiously. “I guess it would be cool to surf every day.”

“We’re moving to New York, just you and me, for a year,” I said firmly.

“What’s New York?”

“You know what New York is. It’s the busiest, most exciting city in the world. With a giant park that goes all through the city where you can see jugglers and magicians. And it’s really close to mountains so we can ski on the weekends, and we can go out to Long Island and go sailing…” I knew I was babbling.

“I don’t know anyone in New York. And what about Dad, and my school, and Grandma?” He was gasping for air like a fish that had been tossed out of its fishbowl.

“We’re moving because I was accepted at a fashion design school and it’s an incredible opportunity for me. Dad will come visit every couple of months, and Grandma is going to spend Thanksgiving with us. I haven’t even told you the best parts.” I hugged him tightly.

“Okay.” His voice was wobbly.

“Grandma got you into a really cool school in the Village. It’s very small so you’ll get to know everyone, and they have a robotics class and their own organic garden.” I had done a quick search on the Internet. Max had a passion for robots and he’d always wanted his own garden.

“Like building robots?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said.

“Cool.” He sounded interested.

“And the very best part is we’re going to live at the St. Regis in New York. You’re going to be King of the Hotel.”

“I get to live in a hotel?” I could see endless bell cart rides dancing in front of his eyes.

“And drink St. Regis hot chocolate and roast s’mores in the fireplace.” I was beginning to smile.

“Do they have a butterfly release?” he asked.

“No, but they have their own traditions. At Christmas they build a replica of the hotel in chocolate and display it in the lobby.” I had researched the St. Regis as well.

“Do you get to eat the chocolate?” he asked.

“You’ll have to ask the chef.” I laughed.

“Wait till I tell Erin. She’s never been out of California.” He grinned.

“We’re going to have a ball.” I hugged him tighter. My mother was right. With the right encouragement, Max would see it as a big adventure. I just had to make sure I saw it the same way.

Chapter Eleven

Our final week at the St. Regis passed in a blur of nervous anticipation. I spent half my time lingering on the Parsons Web site, learning everything about the school, and the other half trying not to think about our house in Ross, and Stephanie, and the rituals all the other mothers were doing to get ready for the school year. We wouldn’t be lining up at the Panda Room to get Max’s hair cut, or standing at the post office to see whose class Max was in, or bumping into everyone we knew at Staples when we were buying our school supplies.

I kept my anxiety to myself and every day regaled Max with a longer list of the fun things we would do in New York: watch a ball game at Yankee Stadium, eat a hot dog at Coney Island, rent a rowboat in Central Park. With all the information I ingested, I could get a job as a New York City tour guide. We even Skyped Penelope’s son, whose name was Gunnar. Max and Gunnar discovered they had a mutual love for Wii Super Mario IV and Percy Jackson books. Gunnar showed Max the school uniform over Skype, and Max thought it looked like something you’d wear to Hogwarts. In other words, pretty cool.

*   *   *

Andre reacted as I expected, by calling and screaming there was no way I was taking Max to New York. I calmly told him it was only for a year and he was welcome to visit. I’d even buy him the plane tickets. He hung up in a fury and I spent an anxious night wondering if he could stop us, but the next day he called and said it might be good for Max to experience a big city. He suggested when Max was a teenager he might take him to France for a few months. I hung up, puzzled at his change of heart, but my mother let slip that she had asked Dean Birney to talk to him. I didn’t ask my mother what Dean said, but I resolved to make sure we write in the divorce documents that Andre was not allowed to take Max out of the country.

The one person I avoided was Edward. I saw his name come up on my phone every few hours and I deleted his messages and texts without looking at them. Every now and then, when I walked the treadmill, I would see his crinkly smile, or remember what his chest felt like on top of mine, but I quickly erased the images and pushed the machine up a notch.

My mother and I took turns crying at the thought of leaving each other. We’d sit on the balcony sipping our cocktails, and I’d see her looking at me, and I’d start bawling. She would tell me to stop, she’d see us at Thanksgiving, and then she’d start crying. Eventually, we would stop, pour ourselves another drink, and watch the sunset.

*   *   *

We scheduled our departure for six p.m. on Saturday night, because Max wanted to go to the last monarch butterfly release. Our bags were packed, waiting with the valet. We left my mother in the suite, surrounded by boxes of Kleenex. I could hear the opening lines of
American Idol
when we walked down the hall, and I thought I heard my mother singing along.

Erin was waiting for Max in the lobby lounge to help Max catch his last butterfly. I took a seat at the bar and ordered a Lemon Drop.

“You know you really should eat something when you drink at midday,” a voice behind me said.

I swiveled around. It was Edward, wearing Bermuda shorts and a Tommy Bahama flowered shirt.

“Hi,” I said nervously.

“I hear they make a great steak tartar here. Can I order you some?” he asked.

“I don’t think so.” I swiveled back to the bar.

“Please, Amanda.” He put his hand on my mine. “Let me sit down for a minute.”

I took a deep breath. Max and I would be leaving in an hour.

“Okay, I guess,” I said.

Edward sat on the stool next to me and ordered two glasses of champagne.

“I already ordered a drink,” I said.

“Champagne is the only thing you should drink before six p.m. Anyway, we’re celebrating.” He smiled.

“What are we celebrating?” I kept my eyes on the bar.

“That I found you before you left.”

“How did you know we were leaving?” I turned and looked at him.

“Bribed the bellboy. Don’t be harsh on him, he’s trying to put himself through college.” He touched my hand.

“Oh.” I sipped the champagne. It was cold and fizzy.

“Going back to Ross?” he asked.

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Not to live with the dickhead, I hope. He doesn’t deserve you.” Edward nibbled a handful of cashews.

“Actually we’re only going to Ross for a few days, to get our things. We’re moving.”

“Moving here?” Edward’s face lit up.

I put down the glass of champagne. “No, to New York. I’m going to Parsons.”

“Good girl!” Edward said. “How did you manage that?”

I told him how my mother got me into Parsons, found a private school for Max, and booked us a suite at the St. Regis all in one morning.

“Wow, she’s impressive. I wouldn’t want her working against me.” He laughed.

“You should have seen her in her heyday. Once she organized a fund-raiser to save a neighborhood park in twenty-four hours. She got Wolfgang Puck to cater, Pavarotti to sing, and Mayor Feinstein to meet and greet. The developer who wanted to turn it into a skyscraper retired to Kansas. He was blacklisted in San Francisco.”

“Amanda, I am so sorry for what I did. I can’t think of anything else. I want to take a stun gun and shoot myself.” His voice turned low.

“What’s done is done,” I said quietly.

“Give me another chance.” He swiveled my stool so I was facing him. He touched my cheek and pushed my hair behind my ears. I remembered how firm and confident his fingers were. “Hey, you’re wearing the earrings.” He grinned.

“I like them,” I said simply.

“Please, Amanda. You’re new at this divorce thing, but I’ve been single for five years. I know how I feel about you, and I’m not going to feel that way about anyone again.”

“Edward, I can’t,” I said.

“We can take it really slow. I have a good friend from law school who lives on the Upper East Side. ”

“You hurt me so badly,” I said, and shook my head.

He put his finger on my lips and kept it there. “It won’t happen again. I’m not that kind of guy.”

“I have to think about myself for a while. Just me and Max.”

“Promise me one date. How about Thanksgiving? We could watch the Macy’s parade together.”