What Came First (40 page)
“Who is?”
“Harrison’s best friend, Gus.”
Darren laughs—not loudly, but I’ll take it.
“Anyone look at the house?” I ask.
“Some people came back for the second time today. Think they’re going to lowball, though, if they offer at all.”
“And . . . any job leads?” I try to keep my tone casual.
“No.”
“But . . . you’re looking. Right?”
“Yeah.”
It never hurts to look.
I say, “Will you . . . I hope . . . please give me another chance, Darren.”
After a beat, he says, “I am.”
From two thousand miles away.
I exhale. I hadn’t even known I’d been holding my breath.
I say, “Harrison’s learning a new song on the piano. Did I tell you?”
5
Laura
My brother Mike calls one evening, and it’s not even my birthday. Immediately, I think:
He’s getting another divorce.
Or maybe something happened to one of our parents.
He’s getting another divorce.
Or maybe something happened to one of our parents.
“Is everything okay?” I ask after his hello.
He laughs. “I believe the proper response is, ‘So good to hear from you.’”
“So good to hear from you. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s great. Shereen and I were just talking about Christmas.”
It takes me a moment to remember that Shereen is Mike’s latest wife. She’s Indian. She has two little girls. She works at the university with Mike as . . . something.
“Do you have any plans?” Mike asks.
“For Christmas? Uh, yeah. I was thinking about putting up a tree. Buying some presents, baking cookies, that kind of thing. Pretty radical.”
“Ha! You’re going to bake cookies or Carmen is?”
“Shut up!” I laugh. “I can make cookies! Well, I can slice and bake them, anyway.”
Ian gets up from the kitchen table and holds up his completed homework. I give him the thumbs up.
Mike says, “In that case, if you’re going to be around . . . tell me if this doesn’t work for you because I completely understand . . . but Shereen said she really wants to meet you. And I want you to meet her and the girls. Your weather is nicer than ours in December, so we were thinking . . .”
Suddenly, I get it. “You told her I live eight miles from Disneyland, didn’t you?”
He sighs. “Shereen knew already, but Lily and Amelia just found out. They are relentless. There will be no peace until they visit Cinderella’s castle and the Tiki Room and whatever else they’ve got going on there.”
“In that case, yes. Of course. Come. Ian and I will go with you. The park is really pretty at the holidays and we can battle the crowds together.”
Ian is slipping—well, shoving—his papers into his backpack. At the sound of his name, he looks up.
“Uncle Mike,” I mouth.
“He’s coming?” Ian asks.
When I nod, he says, “Yes!” and punches the air for emphasis before heading to my office to practice his guitar.
“Shereen really does want to meet you,” Mike says.
“I really want to meet her too.”
“And the girls. Oh my God, Laura, you’re going to love them. They are so smart. And funny. And exhausting too, but . . . I can’t believe what they’ve brought to my life.”
For a moment, I am speechless.
“You always said you didn’t want children,” I say at last.
“I didn’t! That’s what’s so crazy. Maybe I just wasn’t ready. Or maybe I hadn’t found the right woman and the right children. It doesn’t even matter that the girls aren’t mine because . . . they are mine, you know?”
I smile. “I know.”
We are quiet for a moment.
“So . . . see you at Christmas?” he says.
“I can’t wait.”
6
Vanessa
Eric is taking me out to dinner. Not to his mother’s house or a picnic on the beach, but to a restaurant. A real restaurant, with cloth napkins and heavy menus and waiters. This can only mean one thing.
Eric is going to dump me.
He’s been so quiet, lately. Even more than usual, I mean. And every time I catch him looking at me, he’s got this sad expression on his face. Even when he smiles, he looks sad.
I will not cry.
I will not make him feel bad.
This is for the best. I know it is. For both of us. If I were a stronger, better person, I’d do it myself. I’d set him free. But I just can’t. I love him too much.
He looks so handsome tonight, in a white button-up shirt, blue jeans, and black shoes. He looks like, I don’t know. An indie filmmaker or something. I think of the women who will fall in love with him when he’s free. And then I stop because it makes me want to cry.
I will not cry.
He holds the driver’s-side door open for me. We’re taking my car because his tires are bald and it would be so uncool to have him dump me and then get a flat. He doesn’t say much except to give me directions to a restaurant we’ve passed a hundred times. A hundred times I’ve said, “I’d like to go there sometime.”
So I guess dinner is his final gift to me. If I’m lucky, he’ll wait till dessert to dump me, because I’ll probably never get to go here again.
They’ve got valet parking. I say, “We can park on the street,” but Eric says, “No, I’ve got this,” so I let the valet open my door and hand him my keys.
I know I look good, and not just because of the way the valet checks me out. I bought a dress special for tonight. Simple, black, low-cut, but not too short. I want Eric to realize just what he’s losing. But I think he already knows. He already feels bad.
I will not cry.
We get a table with a water view. I start to cry.
“What?” Eric takes my hand over the table.
“It’s just—I love you.” The sobs come full force now.
“I love you too.” He smiles with no sadness at all.
I take my hand away and dig through my purse, but there’s no tissue. Damn. If only this place had paper napkins, I could blow my nose. I sniffle hard, gagging a little on my snot.
Eric reaches for my hand.
A busboy pours waters. A waitress asks us if we want something to drink. I say I’ll have a Diet Coke because if I drink alcohol in this state, I’ll really lose it. Eric says give him a minute, he’s not sure yet.
I ask him why he didn’t order anything to drink, and he says he wants to know whether or not to order champagne, and then he pulls out a ring. Gold. With a diamond.
He goes, “I didn’t do this right last time. I’m sorry. You deserve better. You probably deserve better than me too, but Vanessa . . . will you be my wife?”
I go, “What?”
The ring looks kind of familiar.
He says, “Will you have me?”
I go, “You mean, marry you?”
“Yes.”
“But—you already proposed. And then, like—unproposed.”
“Yeah, I know. And that was really uncool, so . . .” He looks around. “Do you want me to get down on my knee?”
He totally wants me to say no.
I say, “Yes.” Then, “No, of course not. Eric, it’s just—I’m confused. Where did you get that ring?”
“It’s my mother’s. Because Angie got one of my grandmother’s rings and Kara got the other, so my mom thought it was only fair.”
“I can’t take your mother’s ring, Eric. That’s creepy.”
“She wanted you to have it. Seriously. But if it makes you feel better, I can just buy you your own ring.”
“It would.”
“It won’t be as big. The diamond, I mean.”
“I don’t care.” The waitress is by the next table. I hold up my hand and she comes over.
“Cosmopolitan,” I say. “Please.”
Eric says, “I thought this was what you wanted.”
“It was. It is. But only if you want it too.”
“I do.”
“I mean getting married. Not just getting engaged. I mean a wedding. And being husband and wife. And . . . having babies together.”
He says nothing.
“Eric?”
He nods. And says, “Yes.”
His mother’s ring sits on the table between us for a little while, then Eric slips it back into his pocket.
“I’ll get you a different ring,” he says.
“Okay.”
7
Wendy
The phone rings at eight o’clock: right on time. My parents have retreated to the den. They have taken to watching a news program after dinner. I’m starting to think they’re less intrigued by current events than desperate to find an oasis of calm.
“Daddy!” Sydney runs into the kitchen.
“Get your jammies on so you’re ready for him.” I reach for the kitchen phone. “Hello?”
“Hey.” He sounds tired.
“You eat dinner?” Yesterday he skipped it.
“Cereal.”
“That’s not dinner.”
“I know. But I didn’t get to go to the store, so . . .” He sighs.
“My mother made kielbasa for dinner. And, get this. Harrison ate it.”
“No way.”
“Way. I think it’s because of Jade. He saw the way she wouldn’t eat anything but pasta and decided that was a baby way to act.”
“What about Sydney?”
“She took a bite. And then spit it out and said she felt like she was going to puke, so could she please have something else?”
“At least she said please.”
“I considered it a victory.”
“Your sister get off okay?”
“Yeah, my dad drove them to the airport this morning. He made them leave like three hours before the flight. My mom cried, but I think they were tears of joy. It’s kind of quiet around here now.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
I considered. “Jade’s a good kid. And she really is kind of brilliant. She’s just . . . high-strung. And so spoiled. Tracey and I actually had a really good talk last night. She asked me for parenting advice.”
Darren made a little noise.
“Did you just laugh?” I ask.
“No.” He’s a terrible liar.
“I told her what I’ve done and said she should do the opposite.”
“We have good kids,” he says.
We
.
We
.
“Yes. We do.”
There is so much to say in that instant that neither of us says a thing. But I am not ready to hand him over to the kids yet.
“Any news from your boss?” I ask. Darren has proposed the idea of telecommuting, at least on a trial basis.
“He said he’s going to talk it over with human resources. I thought that was promising.”
“It is. And if he says no . . . if you can’t get anything out here . . . we’ll come back. If you want us.”
I hold my breath until he speaks.
“We’ll figure something out,” he says.
I exhale. I’m not really sure what he means by that, but if it isn’t good, at least it isn’t bad.
The house shakes: Harrison is coming down the stairs. He comes into the kitchen holding the copy of
Chronicles of Narnia
that Darren had delivered from Amazon. His pajama bottoms show his skinny ankles; I realize with a start that we’ve been here long enough for him to have gotten taller.
Chronicles of Narnia
that Darren had delivered from Amazon. His pajama bottoms show his skinny ankles; I realize with a start that we’ve been here long enough for him to have gotten taller.
“Where’s Sydney?” I ask Harrison. “She was supposed to be getting her pajamas on.”
“SYDNEY!”
“I could have done that. Don’t yell. Gammie hates it when you yell.”
Yelling works, though; in a moment Sydney comes running down the stairs in a pink
Beauty and the Beast
nightgown.
Beauty and the Beast
nightgown.
“DON’T START WITHOUT ME!”
“DON’T YELL,” I yell.
The phone is cordless. The children follow me into the living room and settle on opposite sides of my mother’s gold brocade couch. Unfortunately, a streak of chocolate runs along one arm. Fortunately, Jade did it.
Sydney hugs her favorite pink kitty, Harrison the book. I push the speaker button and place the phone on the couch between them.
“They’re ready for you,” I say.
“Chapter four,” Darren says. He begins to read.
Sydney closes her eyes, the better to picture Narnia. Harrison clutches his book and stares longingly at the phone.
I stand there for the longest time, just looking. Just listening.
Darren and I will work something out. We have to.
8
Vanessa
“Furlough day,” Kyla Sanchez tells me. It’s a Monday morning, and she’s hanging in the waiting room, reading a celebrity magazine.
“Huh?”
“The teachers don’t make as much money as they used to, so they get extra days off.” She shrugs. “Works for me.”
“Where are your brother and sister?”
She turns the page. “Home with Michelle.”
“Who’s Michelle?”
“Not Michelle. ME-shell. ME.” Kyla rolls her eyes. “She has a total thing about how you say her name. She’s our new nanny, housekeeper, whatever.”
“So how come you’re here?” I ask.
“Because it’s Take-Your-Daughter-to-Work day.”
“Really?”
She grins.
I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. When I can talk normal, I go, “What happened to your old nanny?”
“Got another job. With a baby. More hours.” She holds up the magazine. Inside, two beautiful women, one skinny, one curvy, wear two identical leopard-print dresses. “Who do you think wore it better?” Her palm hides the vote tally.
I point to the curvy woman.
“I thought so too.” Kyla moves her hand. Our pick lost the vote by five percentage points. “It’s ’cause the other one’s thinner.”
I go, “Boys like curves.”
“Not the boys I know.”
“That’s because they’re still babies. Wait till they get older. And
you
get older. You’re gonna be a knockout.”
you
get older. You’re gonna be a knockout.”
She flushes and looks down, but I know I’ve said the right thing.
And then she says the wrong thing—or maybe the right thing at the wrong time. Right when Dr. Sanchez comes out of his offices, she goes, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
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