She, Myself & I (26 page)

“I understand. And I don’t want to sound as if I’m rooting for the collapse of your marriage, but if things don’t work out, why don’t you give me a call,” he said.

I felt a burst of affection for him, and immediately began to think of someone I could set him up with. There was Vicky, one of my few remaining single friends, but then again, she was a depressive. And then there was Allison, my sister-in-law, but no, no way was I going to hook her up with anyone, not after her tummy-tuck comment. Mickey, maybe? She’d be home for the summer soon, and since she was headed to medical school, they’d have that in common.

“My little sister is graduating from college in two months and then will be home for the summer. If you want, I could introduce you to her. She’s absolutely amazing—she’s funny, smart, beautiful. And she broke up with her boyfriend a few weeks ago, so I know she’s available,” I said.

“It’s got to be the ultimate rejection when your date tries to fix you up with someone else—her sister no less—at the end of the night,” Vinay said wryly, and I must have looked stricken, because he laughed, and tapped me on the arm. “I’m just kidding. Is your sister as pretty as you are?”

“Prettier. And she’s much nicer than I am,” I promised.

“All right then. You’re on,” he said.

Chapter Twenty-eight

I’ve never felt more lonely than I did as I drove back to my mother’s house. Lonely and tired. My fantasy about Vinay had been just that—a fanciful break from the cold reality that the rest of my life was in tatters. I didn’t have a home or a job, my marriage was likely shattered beyond repair, and I was just sitting around waiting for everything to sort itself out on its own, which apparently wasn’t going to happen.

First, I had to talk to Aidan. I was angry at him, but we had a child together, and if there was any way we could salvage our marriage, we had to try. For Ben’s sake. The kiss with Vinay had made me realize something—as angry as I was at him, I was still in love with my husband.

And no matter what happened with my marriage, it was time to get serious about my career, time to do something about starting up my photography studio. I needed to network with other moms, and maybe offer to do some free sittings so I could build up a portfolio. And I’d look into going to the baby expo that Cora had told me about. Where I was going to run my business, I had no idea—if Aidan and I were going to permanently separate, we’d have to do something about the house—but that was more decision making than I was up to facing tonight.

I turned onto my mom’s street, and started to pull into the driveway, before I realized that it was already full. My dad’s car was there—they must have returned from the ballet already—and Paige’s car . . . and Aidan’s car. My stomach jolted with nerves, but then I remembered that he was here to see Ben, not me. In the excitement over my date, I’d completely forgotten. I put the car in reverse and parked on the street.

I walked up the driveway, wondering what was going on inside the house. Mom and Paige knew about the porn incident, which meant Dad probably did, too, even though I’d been too embarrassed to tell him. I wondered how they’d reacted when Aidan showed up. Were they being hostile to him? Or chillingly polite? I hoped that they weren’t being too hard on him—it was important that he feel comfortable when seeing his son.

But wait, I thought. Why did he come over this late? Ben must be asleep by now, Aidan knows that.

“Sophie,” Aidan said, and I started. I hadn’t noticed that he was sitting on the darkened front steps, lit only by the small lamp beside the front door. He was slumped forward, his long legs sprawled out in front of him.

“Hi,” I said, but he didn’t respond. It wasn’t until I took another step forward that I saw he’d been crying.

I had never seen my husband cry before. Not once.

Did he know where I’d been? Had my mother or sister somehow figured out and told him, or had he maybe followed me? Although I would have thought he’d react to the news that I was dating—or had gone on a date—with anger, not tears.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked, and I sat down next to him on the step.

“I screwed everything up. For you, for Ben, for me. I was such an idiot. I don’t blame you for hating me,” Aidan said.

“I don’t hate you,” I said softly.

“You don’t?”

“No. I’m pretty ticked off at you, though.”

Aidan nodded, and he clasped his hands in front of him. “I know,” he said.

“Are you having an affair?” I asked. My throat felt raw and itchy as the words squeezed out. It was a question I had to ask, I knew, even if I wasn’t at all sure that I wanted to hear the answer.

“No. I never touched another woman. Not even a kiss,” Aidan said, and I felt a rush of guilt.

“What was going on with that Cherry woman?” I asked.

Aidan sighed and rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Nothing. Well, not nothing nothing, just . . . sending each other private messages that were . . . sexual in nature. It’s really embarrassing, but . . . I don’t know. I don’t want to justify it, because I can’t, but you and I had become so distant, and every time I tried to touch you, you’d move away, and I was just trying to fill the space. But it was a stupid, juvenile thing to do, and I’d do anything to take it back,” he said. “Anything.”

“You were still cheating on me,” I said.

I couldn’t help picturing Aidan sitting in his darkened study yet again, looking at pictures of naked women or exchanging lascivious notes with Cherry the Whore and getting off on it. The thought sickened me. I’d never understood what was remotely sexy about a close-up of a cheesy, mustachioed man penetrating a silicone-injected, hard-faced woman. It always seemed so impersonal and sordid, and the idea that Aidan would find it so arousing disturbed me.

“I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Are you going to stop doing it?”

“Yes, absolutely. I’ve already canceled my memberships to those sites and cleared it all off of the computer. It’s gone,” he said. “Does that mean that you’d consider giving this . . . us . . . another try?”

I looked down, and remembered how it had felt to drive home alone, leaving behind the man who had been my fantasy. Were my daydreams of Vinay really all that different from Aidan’s porn surfing? Wasn’t I just as guilty of looking outside of our marriage for fulfillment? And then I thought of Ben and Aidan, and how even if things didn’t always function perfectly, on the nights that they did—when we were all sitting together on the couch, and Aidan and I were smiling down at our son, charmed by whatever his most recent accomplishment was—that it really couldn’t get any better than that. And I wanted us to be together, to be a family again.

“Yes. But I think that we need some help. Maybe we should start seeing a marriage counselor,” I said slowly.

“Anything. Whatever you want,” Aidan said, and he took my hands in his and then brought them to his lips. “I love you. I won’t let you down again. Oh shit!”

“What?”

“I totally forgot. Wait here,” he said, and then he jumped off the step and bounded down to his car, opened the door, and got in.

“Aidan? Where are you going?” I called after him.

“Just wait one second,” he said, and then he started his car. I could see him leaning forward, fiddling with something on his dashboard. And then there was a burst of music, a pause while Aidan fiddled some more, and then suddenly a familiar song was started up.
“Love I get so lost, sometimes . . .”

Aidan turned the music up and then walked back up the path toward me, looking shy and pleased with himself.

“ ‘In Your Eyes,’ ” I said. “How did you know?”

“Paige told me. She said you’d always wanted someone to play it for you,” Aidan said.

“Not someone. You. But you’re supposed to be standing under my window, in the rain, holding a radio up over your head,” I said.

“I knew I’d get it wrong,” he said, and looked so let down that I stood up and wrapped my arms around him.

“No, you didn’t. You got it just right.”

Mickey

Chapter Twenty-nine

I honestly meant to tell my parents the truth when they picked me up at the airport. I figured, I’d just get it out of the way early, so I wouldn’t have to spend the entire summer pretending that I was about to launch on this great future. The lie was getting out of hand.

I’m not even sure exactly how it happened. At some point I mentioned that I might possibly be sort of interested in maybe considering attending medical school, and I even went so far as to take some preliminary steps, such as sending out some applications and taking the MCATs. But then I got my acceptance letter to Brown, and everyone started congratulating me, and the whole thing got away from me. Suddenly, my entire life had been decided for me—the years of studying, a sleep-free residency, hours of mind-numbing scut work. And my parents were telling everyone they knew that my getting into medical school was a dream come true for all of us, an announcement that I couldn’t seem to argue with. Instead I just smiled and said thank you when people gushed on about how wonderful it was, and tried to ignore the sluggish sickliness that washed over me whenever I let myself think about it.

I don’t think you can even be a doctor when the sight of blood makes you woozy. A sloppy, drunk girl in my dorm sophomore year stepped in her shower basket and cut off the top of her big toe on her razor. She was screaming, there was blood everywhere . . . and when I saw the sticky red trail she left behind as she limped to the health center, I felt so nauseated I thought I was going to hurl. I spent the rest of the night curled up on my military-style cot bed in the fetal position. Which is just not doctor material. Obviously.

And seriously, there are a lot of careers out there that don’t require you to take a class where you cut into dead people, which I can almost guarantee I would not survive. In every television show I’ve ever seen about medical school, there’s always that one loser who faints during a surgical instruction, and if I did end up in medical school, that loser would undoubtedly be me.

And that’s what I fully intended to tell my mother and father when they met me in the baggage claim area at the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport. I was not, nor would I ever be, matriculating at Brown Medical School.

But my parents weren’t there.

Instead, bizarrely, my ex-brother-in-law Scott showed up, dressed in a tight black T-shirt and black leather pants.

“Let me guess. You’re running away to join a motorcycle gang,” I said.

“Ha-ha. You just wish you were as hip as me,” Scott said. He folded me into his arms. “Hey, kid. It’s been a long time.”

“No kidding. Paige told me you two are talking again. I was really glad to hear that. I’ve missed you,” I said, punching him lightly on the arm. “So, are you coming or going?”

“What do you mean?”

“You do know you’re in an airport, don’t you?”

“I’m here to pick you up. But keep up with the wisecracks and it’ll be a long walk back to the city,” Scott said.

I looked around for a sign of the Cassel family. But among the harried parents herding their little ones, seniors in jogging suits, and clusters of college students milling around, all waiting for baggage, I didn’t see any familiar faces.

“You came by yourself?” I asked. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Your parents are tied up with something, Paige wasn’t feeling well, and Sophie had to deal with the baby. So Paige called and asked if I’d swing by and scoop you up. Are all of these your bags? God, what do you have in here?” Scott asked, straining to lift my luggage into a cart.

“Books,” I said faintly. This was weird. I’d just talked to my mom last night, and she hadn’t said anything about Scott coming instead.

What was it with my family? In other families, when people get divorced, they go off in different directions. Now my parents were dating, and Scott was my airport shuttle. I suppose it was better than all of the acrimony, but still—weird.

“Right. I should have known. No, don’t worry, I’ve got these. Just follow me,” Scott said.

We walked out to the garage and after a few minutes of searching, found Scott’s pickup truck. My bags were heaved up into the bed, alongside bags of soil and assorted gardening tools, and then we climbed into the cab. The truck and dirt seemed incongruous with Scott’s outfit.

“Is the black leather meant to be a marketing gimmick, like Chippendale Landscapers?”

“No, but that’s not a bad idea, kid,” Scott said, grinning at me.

“How is business going?” I asked him as he pulled out of the garage and headed out toward the freeway.

“Crazy busy. I have more work than I can handle this summer, even without your brilliant marketing hook. Do you have a summer job lined up yet? Because I could use an extra set of hands. And I figured you’d probably want the extra cash to take to med school with you. Congratulations on Brown, by the way,” Scott said.

“Er. Thanks. And thanks for the job offer. But I was thinking . . . I think I want to get a job in a restaurant,” I said.

“You mean waitressing? Like at Chuy’s or something?”

“No, somewhere nice. But I was hoping that maybe I could be an assistant or gopher to the chef,” I said. “Or, if not, I’d wait tables.”

“I don’t know about the kitchen work—I think most of the chefs in the high-end places are professionally trained—but I could see if my boyfriend’s restaurant is hiring, if you’re interested,” Scott said.

“Really? That would be great! Do you think they are?”

“Yeah, actually I think they might be. Kevin said a waiter was fired the other night for smoking a joint in the bathroom in the middle of a shift. But why so excited about waiting tables? Is it really that much better than planting flowers for me?”

“You have no idea,” I said, grinning happily.

I should have figured out that something was up when Scott insisted on walking me into my mom’s house rather than just dropping me off. He did it under the pretense of helping me carry my luggage in, and I slowly trailed up the paved walk behind him, dreading how the big reveal would go when I told my parents my decision. Would Mom cry? Would Dad turn red and get that awful crease in his forehead?

If I don’t step on any cracks, they’ll just be happy for me and not at all angry,
I thought, and then almost immediately stepped on one. And then another.

I decided the game of not stepping on cracks in the pavement was juvenile and beneath me.

Scott was waiting by the front door, looking expectant.

“Just go in,” I said. “Here, take my key.”

“I think we should ring the bell,” Scott said, pressing the doorbell with his thumb.

“What? Why? I never ring, and it doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

The house was dark and still, and the driveway was free of cars.

“Okay then, go ahead in,” Scott said, stepping out of my way.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing. What do you mean?”

“I know you. I can see it in your face. Something’s up.” I crossed my arms and stared at Scott defiantly. “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Christ, you sound just like your sister,” Scott said wearily.

“Which one?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re all equally stubborn. Okay, fine, I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell that I told.” Scott bent down, and with his lips so close to my ear, I could feel the warmth of his breath, he whispered, “Surprise party. So try to look surprised.”

“Oh no. No, no, no,” I said, shaking my head. I took a step back from the door and looked around, trying to find an escape route. Up the street, I could see a couple dozen cars lined up by the side of the road.

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked.

“I’m so not up for this right now.”

“Go on, it’ll be fine,” Scott said, pulling my arm gently.

“No, you don’t understand . . . ,” I began, about to tell him about how I wasn’t going to medical school, and that I had to tell my parents before anyone else, and that I couldn’t bear spending one more night lying to everyone.

But before I could blurt any of it out, Scott opened the door and gently herded me inside the dark house. And then suddenly the lights were turned on, and the fifty assorted guests were yelling surprise, and everyone was laughing and hugging me and asking me if I was truly surprised.

I pasted a smile on my face, while the crowd—family, friends of my parents, a few kids I’d gone to high school with—pushed forward, swarming me with congratulations and the inevitable questions.

Yes, I’m excited about Brown. No, I don’t know what specialty I’m going into. Yes, I’ve heard that dermatology pays well. No, I have no idea where I want to spend my residency.

Somehow I managed to work my way through the crowd of well-wishers, accepting hugs and kisses on the cheek. I stole a few minutes to say hello to my sisters, cuddle Ben, and pat Paige’s budding pregnant belly, before my mother dragged me off to talk to another one of the ladies from her garden club and yet again go through my repertoire of canned responses to the set of inevitable questions.

I felt like I was suffocating.

And then it got really bad.

My mother started tapping her fork against her wineglass, until everyone quieted down.

“Thank you all so much for coming tonight. We’re just thrilled that you’re here to celebrate Mickey’s college graduation and acceptance into Brown Medical School with us,” Mom said in a news-anchor voice that made me cringe.

Mom held her glass up toward me, and stood there poised until everyone else followed suit. My cheeks flamed as I felt the weight of attention focused on me. Unlike Sophie, who would happily have a party thrown in her honor every week, I loathe being the center of attention. It made my nose feel even longer, my hair that much stringier. And everyone else was dressed up—strappy sundresses, crisply ironed shirts, mingling perfumes. I was wearing baggy Levi’s and a white T-shirt that I’d spilled Coke on when my plane was somersaulting through some turbulence, and my hair was scraped back in a messy, uncombed ponytail.

“To our Mickey, the future doctor. Wishing you joy and success in all that is before you,” Mom said.

“To Mickey,” everyone chimed in, before lifting their glasses to drink.

I worked the corners of my mouth up into a smile and tried to avoid eye contact.

“Thanks, everyone,” I mumbled.

“And while we have everyone here, Stephen and I have another announcement to make,” Mom continued. Dad moved to her side and, looking proud and sheepish, clasped her hand in his.

I froze, my glass to my lips, and looked around for Sophie and Paige. Sophie was standing next to Aidan, holding Ben in her arms. Paige, wearing an elegant black slip dress, was ladling some punch into her glass. Their eyes were riveted on Mom. We could all feel the disturbance in the Force, and we all knew to brace for whatever it was that was about to come spilling out of Mom’s red-lipstick-ringed mouth. The hair on the back of my neck actually stood up.

“After spending many years together raising our family, and then working through some time apart, Stephen and I have managed to find one another again. Last week, Stephen asked me to marry him, for a second time, and I’ve accepted. We’re having a small ceremony and party here at the house at the end of the summer, and we’d be overjoyed if all of you would join us,” she finished, smiling radiantly.

My father kissed Mom’s hand, and they beamed at one another like a pair of love-struck adolescents while people applauded and called out their congratulations. My mouth sagged open, and I was overwhelmed with the vertigo feeling that stress sometimes brings—the room was loopy and off balance, my stomach was queasy, my chest felt tight.

“Mickey, are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick,” Paige whispered in my ear, appearing behind me. She grabbed my left elbow and guided me out of the room, down the slate-tiled hallway and out onto the front porch. I sat down heavily on the same wooden front steps that I’d spent hours of my childhood playing on. This was the very spot where Barbie had dumped Ken so that she could pursue her dream of riding on the Olympic cross-country equestrian team without the distraction of his plastic sculpted hair and paper white teeth.