The Breakup Mix (10 page)

Chapter Twelve

Somebody That I Used to Know

Michelle

I stared at the frying hamburger meat and cursed the electric burner for not heating evenly. Half of the meat was trying to burn while the rest of it was barely cooking. Just like life—we’re all on the same burner, but some of us get done a lot faster than the rest.

I caught the tear that bounced off my sweaty cheek with my shoulder and wondered how many of the same days I’d have to live over and over again while waiting to have a life. Six days in a row I’ve tried to get to the gym to start my workout routine, and six times something has come up and prevented me from going.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, my best friends were planning a winter in Florida to hide the illegitimate child of one of the wealthiest woman in Columbia. Nice.

I scraped the nearly burnt burger off the bottom of the skillet and replaced it with half-cooked, mediocre, probably flavorless meat that never had a chance to be a decent addition to the meal, because it was probably married at nineteen with no hopes of a bright future. It was probably a delusional little cow led to slaughter by a sweet-talking, beer-drinking musician that promised a life of band sets on green pastures with thousands of other little cows crooning and worshipping them like gods. But one wrong turn, and you’re ground up burger that can’t even fry properly and bound to be mixed with lasagna-flavored dry seasoning and pasta in a one-skillet meal——the daily feast of a family of five.

I checked the bread in the oven and slammed the door when no heat blasted from it.

“Brandon! I think the oven just broke!” I yelled. “And this freaking burner won’t cook for crap anymore.”

He rounded the corner. “You sure you turned it on?”

I wheeled around. “I’m sure I’m incompetent in a lot of ways, but I know the damn thing was on.”

Brandon held up his hands. “It’s a legitimate question, here. Is it on?”

“Of course it’s on!” We both looked at the knob set to four-hundred degrees, and then he reached across me and flipped the other switch to “bake”. The oven indicator light turned on and the oven clicked to life.

I hung my head and went back to browning the hamburger meat as he left the kitchen.

Chance had called earlier to apologize for biting my head off at Alissa’s and then she told me about their big, fancy plan. As long as Alissa’s not showing by Christmas, they’re leaving the week after for Florida. Alissa, Chance, and Dani . . . just uprooting and checking out of life for a while to sun and shop while waiting for Alissa’s——no, scratch that,
Dani’s
baby to be born.

I know Alissa is the queen of dissociation, but she really has no fucking clue what she’s just done. Just wait ‘til that baby moves for the first time——that’s when she’ll look at Dani and wonder what the hell she’s done. I know she had a rough upbringing and she’s terrified of turning out like every other woman in her family, but dammit, this is nuts.

However, I admire her all the same for being so selfless and giving Dani the only thing she wants out of life. That’s Alissa, though—the big fixer. This one is going to bite her in the ass, though,—mark my words.

I yelled, “Guys, dinner’s ready,” as I turned off the burner and poured the one-pot meal into a serving bowl. That’s me——the one-pot-wonder. I grabbed the corn out of the microwave and hissed as I sucked on my burning fingers.

Del Ray strolled into the kitchen. “You okay?”

I nodded and waved my hand in the air. “Crap, that hurts. Will you set the table, please?”

“Way ahead of you, there, Mom,” she said as she walked to the table, her arms loaded with dishes from the cupboard.

“Martin, will you get the drinks going?” I yelled.

“Mom, I’m right here,” he said as he poured milk in two glasses and iced tea in the other three.

I sighed and muttered, “Why am I even here?”

Del Ray came over and kissed me on the cheek as she grabbed paper towels off the roll. “Because you love us and make good food.”

I frowned. “I sure wish I knew what you want.” I looked at her fading purple hair. “It’s about time to do something with that, don’t ya think?”

She ran her fingers through her hair. “Nah, I’m going to let it fade so I can go red next. Like bright red—fire-engine red. It’s going to be awesome.”

“Awesome,” I repeated.

“Yes, with black tips.” She grinned. “I still think you should let me do your hair.”

I chuckled. “No way.”

“You couldn’t get enough red to cover all that gray,” Brandon said through a chuckle.

I flipped him the bird when the kids weren’t looking and took my place at the table.

“Where’s the bread?” he asked.

I jumped up and yelled, “Shit!” The French bread wasn’t quite burnt, but it was close. I cut it up anyway and ran my fingers under cold water to calm the angry burns on my fingertips.

I put the bread on the table, and Brandon mumbled, “I’d say the oven is definitely working,” as he stabbed a piece of bread with his fork.

“Looks good, Mom,” Martin said.

Gibson asked, “How was work?”

I flipped my pasta around on my plate. “It was fine. Work, you know. Same ol’ same old. Thanks for asking, Gibson,” I said as I stared at Brandon.

Del Ray caught me and shook her head as she looked at Martin. I sighed and asked, “What’s the scoop with you guys?”

Everyone mumbled but no one followed up.

Once I finished the same routine I’d had for years, I crawled into bed and stared at the same page of a book I’d been trying to read for two months. My eyes traced the lines while my teeth gritted and temples bulged.

Branden sighed as he walked in the bedroom and closed the door. “Man, I’m beat.” He pulled off his shirt and threw it in the floor by the hamper. I closed my eyes and bit my lip.

“Tough day?” I snapped.

He scratched his head and flexed. “Look at that, babe. Thirty-four years and still hot as hell.” He grinned and climbed into bed. “Whatcha reading?”

I showed him the cover of the book and he rolled his eyes. “Looks like chick lit.”

I sighed and flipped it back open. “I can’t read anymore.”

“I could probably entertain you a bit,” he winked.

I did the math in my head and figured it was close to time to give it up. If I prolonged it much longer, I’d have to deal with a fourth child in the house in the form of a pissed-off, horny thirty-five-year-old. I sighed inside and put my book on the nightstand before I curled up next to him and smiled.

Right on cue, we entered the same routine we’d had for at least three years. I spent the next twelve minutes thinking back to our first time together and how turned on I was while thanking God it was me and not Lottie-the-body satisfying him. Of course, now we know that truth. I should have known it then, but I was too naïve and in love to get it through my thick head that there was no snowball’s chance in Hell that she would ever give Brandon Morehead the time of day.

I noticed the ceiling fan needed cleaning again and that the dust on my nightstand was thick enough to write one helluva grocery list. Somehow I never noticed it when I looked at my alarm clock, and now really wasn’t the time to be bothered with it. I played my part——gave an Oscar-worthy performance, might I add——and waited for Brandon to fall asleep.

I lay next to my husband and tried to figure out exactly when I’d started hating my life. I bit my lip to stop the sob clenching my throat and the guilt from overtaking me. Who does this? What mother lies in bed after having sex with her husband thinking about how she hates her life? What is
wrong
with me? I signed up for this gig. It’s all I ever wanted, and I’m reaping what I’ve sown.

I’ve never given two shits that my friends were successful, wealthy, or married well or had more opportunities to begin again than I had. I was too busy changing diapers, running to doctor appointments, and having babies to realize how quickly time was passing until I’d spent eleven years mothering and being a homemaker. I loved my life, then, so what’s different? After Gibson started school, Brandon kept nudging me to get a job, but I had no skills outside of parenting, so working in a daycare was really my only option.

And I see the career moms pick up their kids in their cute dresses and three-inch heels and wonder how in the hell they ever made it through pregnancy. My most difficult choice when picking out work clothes involves fewest wrinkles and shirts that won’t hold stains. Piss stains, puke stains, and Kool-Aid stains . . . not fancy five-dollar coffees or au jus from a mistrusted French dip business lunch.

I sighed and rolled over while nudging Brandon to roll onto his side to kill his snoring. My first thought was to smother him with a pillow.

Maybe I need to up my medication.

Chapter Thirteen

Against All Odds

Chance

I had to use extra concealer to hide the dark circles my sleepless night left under my eyes. It’s just like Alissa to make a life-altering decision and drag me along for the ride. I finished getting ready for work and left the house at five-thirty to get to the station. I couldn’t wait to hear Jack Woodrow’s nagging about having to do the six-o’clock show on his own last night, so to ease the blow, I stopped and got us both coffee. God knows I needed the extra shot of espresso, and his personality needed a helluva lot more than that.

I walked into the newsroom and waited for the news producer to give me my marching orders. Jack and his hideous yellow tie were glaring at me from the news desk, so I waved his coffee at him until he broke down and smiled. I joined him at the desk and handed him the cup. “Sorry I had to bail on you last night.”

He sipped the coffee and sighed. “You’re forgiven. I just hope it was worth it. Did you watch?”

I shook my head. “No, I missed it. Family emergency.”

“You don’t have any family, Chance.”

“I got adopted yesterday. Lucky me!”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I hope it was worth it. Stuart is pissed.”

I scanned the room for our boss Stuart then looked at Jack. “Maybe I’ll luck out.”

Behind me Stuart said, “Luck’s never been on your side, Chance.”

I spun in my chair. “With a name like Chance, a girl’s gotta have luck, sir.” I offered my best apologetic smile. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t be here yesterday. I had an illness I’d rather not discuss.”

Jack mumbled, “I thought you had a family emergency.”

“One of my personalities was sick. Happy now? How’s your coffee, Jack? You feeling okay?” I grinned maniacally at him and made him contemplate finishing the coffee.

“Cut the shit. Chance, after the show, come in my office. I need to talk to you.” He straightened his suit jacket and left the set.

I looked at Jack who grinned and sipped his coffee. “Way to go, Slick Willie, you got me in trouble.” I smoothed my shirt and slipped my earpiece into place.

He took another sip of his coffee. “This tastes much better. Must be the victory in the air.”

I smirked. “Could be the laxative, too.”

He stared at me and shook his head. “You really need to get laid.”

“You really need a face lift.” I smiled as I turned my attention to the producer awaiting my cue to open the show.

After the broadcast was over, I went to the ladies room to kill time before facing Stuart and his rambling, round-the-bush reprimand for missing a live broadcast. I slipped off my jacket and pulled my hair up in a loose bun in preparation for the long day. Once these folks smell blood in the water, the piranhas start circling. If someone makes a mistake, all their current work comes under scrutiny with triple checking and rewrites. I needed to prepare for battle.

I went to my desk, grabbed my coffee and headed to Stuart’s office. It reminded me more of a modern jail cell with the floor-to-ceiling glass walls and door and grey walls. Black and white framed prints were Stuart’s cellmates along with his degrees and achievement awards. The only color in the whole office came from a framed picture of Stuart with his family in matching red sweaters from three Christmases ago. I had a feeling Stuart’s life ran a close parallel to his office colors.

I cleared my throat and took a seat in the black leather chair in front of Stuart’s desk. He continued typing as he held up one finger. “Two seconds.”

I threw up my hand and took another sip of my now-cold coffee. I choked it down and stared out the window at leaves of gold and red glowing in the morning sunshine. The tree yawned and stretched in the easy breeze, and the leaves peeking through the window offered yet another example as to how something simple and average like a windowpane can separate a dull, boring life from something extraordinary. Only the curious of souls open the window and stick their head out.

I bet Stuart didn’t even know there was a tree outside his window.

Stuart wheeled around and placed his hands on the desk. “What’s on your mind, Chance?”

“Just imagining how I’m going to decorate this office when it’s mine,” I said as I winked. “You told me to come see you after the show, so here I am.”

“That’s right. First of all, Chance, we’re a team here, and while I know you have a life outside of the office and I don’t need to know all the details, each of us has an important role here and you can’t just run out on the team, dammit.”

I did my best deadpan face to prevent bursting into giggles. Sometimes it’s so hard to take Stuart seriously when he is really a dumbass. He’s great at what he does, but his interpersonal skills are lacking to say the least. “I’m sorry, Stuart. It won’t happen again,” was the best I could do.

He sat back in his chair. “Good. Now that that’s over, let’s get down to business. I need you to go to St. Louis and cover the president’s visit and press conference. Get your road crew together and be ready to go live at five.”

My heart stood still. “Jack’s senior anchor. Don’t you think he should go?”

“Look, to be blunt, Jack has a family and can’t be gone for days on end with his wife’s health the way it is. You’re it.”

I sighed and looked at the leaves peeking in the window. The sun still shone, but the leaves sagged without the wind that was taken out of all of our sails.

Tony.

I smoothed my hair. “Sure, no problem, Stuart. I’ll get it done.” I stood and started to leave as I asked, “How long will I be gone?”

“Plan for three days. He flies in tonight; the tour is tomorrow, dinner tomorrow night, and the press conference is the next morning. Have Celia book your room.”

“I’ll book my own room, but thanks,” I mumbled.

“Suit yourself. And Chance? Don’t have an emergency. Your life can wait this week. I need this story. I’m counting on you.”

I saluted and walked past Jack to get to my desk. “Looks like you’re on your own for the week.”

Jack sat up and asked, “Why?”

I packed my traveling journalist bag and snapped, “Because I’m going to be in St. Louis covering the president’s spur-of-the-moment visit.” I shook my head and chewed on my lip to prevent an argument.

Jack slumped in his chair. “Well ain’t that the shits.”

“Tell me about it.”

I made hotel reservations and boarding arrangements for Chubs before I left the office, but all I could think about was the insane fear mixed with excitement of seeing Tony again. With a story like this being in his back yard, there was no way he would miss an opportunity to be in the front lines.

Normal journalists would be envisioning the president pointing at them and getting a chance to ask a mind-blowing, politically slanted question to make the asked squirm. All I could picture was Tony’s sexy body in a suit leaning against the wall with one hand in his pocket giving me that “come hither” look that drove me wild.

I rounded up the road crew and gave them instructions to meet me at my hotel in St. Louis no later than four o’clock. I’d learned the hard way never to carpool to such events with the road crew. I need the capability to drive around and research without the big KJAT television van advertising a brewing story or attracting the bystanders seeking five minutes of fame to make Mom and Dad back home proud.

I shot a text to my girls:
Just got word I’m in . . . wait for it . . . St Louis for the next three days for work. Unbelievable
.

Alissa responded:
Could be worse. You could be meeting with your ex-boyfriend to tell him about a baby.

You win
, I replied. One-upped again by good ol’ Alissa.

I flew home and changed into my favorite jeans, a white blouse, and my black jacket. I packed half of my wardrobe to accommodate whatever the next three days would have in store——another lesson I’d learned the hard way. Racing through a dress boutique trying to find the perfect cocktail dress for an event that begins in less than an hour will make the pits sweat like crazy.

I wished Alissa and I had gone on that shopping trip we’d discussed a few weeks ago. Having a new dress to wear when I saw Tony would offer a certain satisfaction and hopefully hide the ten pounds I’d gained when I drowned my sorrows in mint chocolate chip ice cream and an uncountable amount of wine bottles.

Red. He always loved me in red. I looked at my watch and did the math in my head. “I can make it work,” I said to myself as I gathered up my luggage and led Chubs to the car. After I dropped him at the doggie hotel, I hit the road and headed to the nicest dress shop in town.

I was just about to give up and go with what I had when I saw it shimmer in the corner. I excused myself from the hovering attendant trying to encourage me to go with a nice cream color to compliment my age (um, go to hell) and hair color. It was the only dress like it and exactly the size I needed. I held it up to me and saw the flames of regret licking the air around me.

Perfect.

I tried it on and admired myself in the mirror. The sleeves hit just below my shoulders while the neckline plunged in a sweetheart point just between my breasts. The dress hugged my body as if we were separated at birth and reunited on Oprah. It hit just above my knees, which showed off my fabulous legs. I chose a pair of red three-inch heels and diamond jewelry, and the best part of the whole shopping spree was it was on Stuart’s dime. Many, many of them. Oh, I was definitely making him pay for this trip in multiple ways.

I took the final dress test and sat in a chair. Nothing snapped, sagged, or climbed up to my hips. Sold. I took my treasures to the car and headed toward St. Louis with a new grin and a sassy attitude. Maybe I was the one who said no, but he was the one that stayed away, and he was about to be very, very sorry.