The Juggling Act

by Carol Maloney Scott

  Am I married to a man? Or a teenager who doesn’t want to get in trouble with his mommy so he hides his bad report card?

  My e-mail dings and I see a note from Justin.

  “Hey, come by my office when you get a chance. Our off time in Key West is going to be incredible! What do you think about scuba diving?”

  I laugh as tears form in my eyes. The last time Justin took me on an adventure I was on a ferris wheel, grabbing onto him for dear life. However, I can’t swim, so scuba diving is definitely out, but maybe I could sunbathe on the boat while he does it. Why not? If I have to deal with a young, immature man at home, I can also enjoy the innocent company of one away from home. At least this one isn’t hiding things from me.

  This will be a strictly platonic trip, but I am not going to let Brandon’s bad decisions ruin my fun. He will expect me to come home tonight, screaming and having a meltdown, but I will be the pillar of calm.

  Nothing will scare him more than that.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Claire

  “No, we’re not on a break.” I turn my head to make sure Justin is still looking for an overhead compartment to fit all of our luggage. I am not losing my underwear on this trip. In any possible way.

  My pregnant and confused sister, Jackie has just watched all ten seasons of the TV series, Friends, while she was out of work for a week. She thinks Brandon and I are ‘on a break’ like the characters, Ross and Rachel, and I am going to jump into bed with Justin on this trip. The baby’s okay but her blood pressure is a little high, and her brain function is a bit low. The last diagnosis is mine, not the doctor’s.

  “I just thought maybe since you had all of those fights…”

  “We have had numerous heated discussions lately, but that’s not what I meant. I said I think this trip is a good break from arguing.”

  “But you said you weren’t—”

  “Never mind. I just need a mental break.”

  We chat for a few more minutes as the bodies surround me, milling around, getting situated, and robbing me of my oxygen. I tell Jackie to rest and she tells me to behave, and we hang up just as I hear Justin laughing with the flight attendant. I whip my head around instinctively to check her out. Just as quickly, I pretend to be fascinated by the men outside on the runway with the ear muffs and the big sticks. It doesn’t matter if Justin is flirting with women. He’s a single guy. That’s what he should be doing.

  It doesn’t help that we were up at the crack of torture to make this ridiculous departure time. I wish this was a direct flight so I could sleep for hours…

  “Claire…are you drooling on the window?”

  I jump. “No, of course not. I was just looking out the…holy shit, we’re in the air?” I stare into Justin’s emerald eyes, with the whites as clear as Aidan’s at this ungodly hour. “I didn’t sleep through takeoff!”

  “Well, actually you did. I fastened your seatbelt and put your phone away, and stowed your tray to the upright and locked position. At one point your head smacked against the window a bit and I reached over with this pillow—”

  “Would you like a beverage?” I now notice that the flight attendant has been waiting for me to give my drink order during this exchange.

  “I’m sorry, yes, can I have some orange juice, please?” I hate orange juice, but I hate coffee more.

  “Hmm…are you sure you don’t need a jolt?” Justin tries to pinch my arm and I flinch, almost knocking over the juice I’ve just been handed. The unamused server suppresses a sigh as she rolls her cart on to the next valued guest. I guess Justin’s hotness only goes so far with a woman who’s expected to be perky at work in the wee hours. I get it…I hide in my office until ten, if I can.

  I glare at my traveling partner and he begins rifling through the magazines in front of him. “Did the baby keep you up last night? Wait, I know. You had to give your husband a proper goodbye and that took most of the night.” He smiles and chuckles to himself as he browses through overpriced gadgets that don’t look real.

  “Yep, that’s it. So if you will excuse me, I am going to take a small nap. Please wake me if I sleep through landing as well.”

  I recline my seat the extra centimeter and close my eyes.

  I wish Brandon and I were having wild sex all night to say goodbye. Instead we have been arguing for the past two weeks about babies, adoption, birth mothers, trash cans, nannies, neighbors, music, business trips and a book designed to make me look like an uncaring shrew.

  I don’t even know where to begin to solve all of these problems. He said he was sorry for not discussing the e-mail from Chastity, but she did copy both of us. I suppose technically it was my own fault for not opening it, but it was clearly his sole decision to set up a meeting with her before consulting me. He said he would cancel if I was opposed, but he knows damn well that I can’t legally oppose it.

  And he’s right that I don’t want to be there, but I also don’t want my son getting to know his birth mother behind my back. Brandon knows how I fear losing Aidan to her, even though that is unrealistic, given her circumstances as a young, single woman struggling to make it. Unless she has found a man and he is encouraging her to…I cut off that train of thought before I need the vomit bag.

  I do have a tendency to get worked up over nothing, but on top of Brandon hiding Chastity’s visit, he has been writing a book fictionalizing our lives for the past few months and hasn’t told me. My company is going to publish it, and I didn’t even know about the topic. I recognize that I can be difficult to approach with sensitive matters, but he can’t hide his head in the fucking sand and avoid every issue.

  He is younger than me, but eight years is not such a great difference. He is thirty years old, not eighteen. He knows better.

  And as if all of that wasn’t enough to fight about, we have a nanny who behaves very inappropriately around my husband when I’m there. Obviously it is worse when I’m at work, and now I will be away all week.

  We also have a neighbor with a painfully apparent desire to jump his bones, and he just acts like it’s all fine and I’m overreacting.

  Last night was the worst clash of wills when he started in on my trip with Justin. This is a business trip. The person who provides our health insurance and stable income was told that this is a required activity. Does he really think I like leaving Aidan for a whole work week, particularly with our marriage in shambles? I didn’t choose Justin to accompany me on the venture, either.

  Sleep is eluding me, so I decide to open my eyes and see what Justin’s doing. He has headphones in and his eyes are shut. He has those impossibly long eyelashes that so many men are blessed with and don’t deserve.

  I almost tap him on the shoulder, but decide to leave him alone. We have all week to talk, and I need to pace myself for a bumpy ride.

  And I am not referring to airplane turbulence.

  Brandon

  “Mom, I just feel like everything I do is wrong. She’s constantly mad at me.”

  “Oh, Sweetie, women are always mad at men. But you’re so adorable, I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

  My mother is in her early seventies, adopting me and Colleen later in life, after she and my dad were sure they couldn’t have children of their own. Our parents almost appeared to be grandparents compared to our friends’ mothers and fathers, but their sweetness and pure joy in parenting made up for that.

  “No, Mom, really I can f…screw up like any other guy. I just want her to be happy, and there’s a perfect opportunity to adopt another baby being offered to us, and she doesn’t even want to talk about it. And now she’s on a business trip with this ass…jerk she works with.”

  “Sweetie, he can’t possibly be more handsome than you, and Claire loves you. She is just a little caught up in her career right now, and while that’s hard for me to relate to, a lot of the modern girls are like that. It’s okay. It allows you to focus on YOUR dreams. I keep telling your father that we have to come to see one of your shows.”


  The last time they came down, I thought my dad was going to have a stroke right there in The Shark Tank. One of the problems of being an older parent is a HUGE generation gap. My mother smiled the whole time and said she does like ‘the rock and roll.’ Claire doesn’t get why I don’t want her to be an old mother. Of course if I say it to her that way, I will end up with a large dent in my head shaped very much like a frying pan.

  “That would be nice, Mom. Aidan would love to see you.” More guilt over not visiting them often enough.

  “How is that sweet boy? I went on the Facebook the other day and liked all of your new pictures.”

  She did, and I got two-hundred-fifty-seven individual notifications about it. Got to love my mom on social media.

  We continue to chat about Aidan and all of the cute things he’s been up to, and I decide not to tell my mom the more serious stuff going on. She’ll just smile and tell me everything will be fine, but she will secretly worry. Too bad I can’t talk to Claire’s mother, but that woman will bust your balls.

  After we hang up with promises on both sides to visit, I go downstairs to work on my manuscript. I’ve already had three cups of coffee, but nothing to eat. I scrounge around my work space for something to shove in my face, and find a bag of Doritos. Brain food.

  I dig in and munch on the salty snacks. A few chips in and I’ve gotten past the whole ‘righteous indignation of unhealthy eating’ thing, and open up my file.

  Tatiana took Aidan to the indoor pool. I wonder what the neighbor ladies think of her. And Claire used to call herself the neighborhood floozy. I can’t believe the community association hasn’t sent us a warning letter about Tatiana’s bathing suits.

  “Dear Mr. & Mrs. Harmon - Your nanny’s tits are entrancing the lifeguards and residents are drowning. Please tell her to cover those bitches up.”

  Forcing a smile, I wish I was writing something funny instead of putting my guts on display. Will Claire leave me when she reads the character that’s based on her? And how did I think I could submit a novel to my wife’s publishing company without her ever finding out what it was about?

  I crumble up the now empty bag of heartburn chips, and toss it in the trash. I walk back up to the kitchen to find something to counteract the impending indigestion.

  What’s that sparkly thing on the counter? I pick it up and hold it in my hand, squeezing tightly. Justin gave Claire this bracelet with the dangling wiener dogs. It was before we started dating, but I know he was trying to get her in bed during the same time I was falling for her.

  Well, maybe that’s not fair. We both had the same aim, and he probably really did like her, but this gift was one of those bribes. I choose to ignore the fact that I gave her a wiener dog Easter bunny figurine around the same time. It sits on a shelf in the kitchen, mocking my hypocrisy. “Shut the fuck up, wiener bunny.” Now I’m yelling at the household decorations. I glance around to make sure no one heard that, but I’m still alone.

  I feel little paws on my leg and look down. Dixie and Duncan are jumping and whining. I know they just want treats, but my anxiety ridden brain interprets their yelps as “Hey, Mommy likes the hot guy better than you! Now give us cheese!”

  I bend down to pet them and become instantly slimed by wet noses and excited tongues. “I hope you’re wrong, little wieners. Because I have a feeling a big wiener is on offer in Key West.”

  Claire

  “Welcome to the Conch Republic.” I slowly read the sign adorning the Key West airport’s only terminal. “Do you know what that means? I know there is some story behind it.” If I didn’t know I was arriving at a popular water paradise resort, I would think we were hijacked to a third world country. So far the airport exterior is a bit...

  “What? Oh yeah, there was some guy who wanted to be President, or King, of Key West and make it its own country. Something like that. We’ll have to ask one of the locals.” He points his camera at me. “Now smile.”

  I purse my lips and say, “Stop taking my picture. We haven’t even gotten off the plane. I just keep giving you obnoxious looks. All you have is a bunch of pissed-off Claire pictures.” I smile and silently vow to attempt a happier face next time.

  Justin begins to pack up his camera and replies, “You still look beautiful. But if you take some cheerful ones we can send them to your husband to show baby Aidan. Are you going to FaceTime or Skype with them? I can help you, if you don’t know how those work.” He dodges my expected, but non-existent, punch. We are on a crowded airplane, after all.

  I stand up and try to stretch in the tiny area without getting bonked on the head by someone retrieving bags from the overhead compartment. I never put anything up there because when the plane lands, I want out. There were no direct flights from Richmond to Key West, so we had a layover in Atlanta. Two takeoffs and landings in one day has me edgy.

  “I think that may just confuse Aidan and make him cry. He’s so little. Brandon will send me pictures and little videos from his phone, so I can see my baby.”

  Justin tries to stand, but can only hunch over until the aisle clears. As we make our way off the plane we realize that we have not pulled up to a gate, and we are disembarking onto the runway. This is no problem. Unlike at home where more snow was predicted this week, it’s a balmy seventy-seven degrees here and it feels warmer with the humidity.

  “Whew, it’s muggy here.” I fan myself with my boarding pass. “I feel like I was hit in the face with a boiling wet noodle.”

  Justin laughs and steers me towards the automatic double doors and the small baggage claim carousel. “Yeah, it’s a bit moist. Maybe we’ll have time for a dip in the pool before dinner. I’m so glad we’re here the day before the conference.”

  As we wait for our luggage, Justin begins tapping on his phone, probably letting someone know he got here safely. As I ponder who that could be I am flooded with wife and mother guilt. I immediately reach into my purse and send Brandon a text.

  “Hi, Honey. On the ground. Waiting for luggage. Miss you guys already. Kiss the baby for me – love you both! XOXOXO.”

  I look up and catch Justin smiling at me. “What? Did I miss my bag?” I glance at the luggage beginning to creep around the carousel.

  “No, I would have grabbed it. I just think it’s cute that even texting Brandon and thinking about your little family makes you smile.” He sighs and takes a step towards the oncoming bags. “You’re lucky, Claire.”

  Before I can say thank you or remind him that he’s in his late twenties and a Nordic god who can get married and reproduce practically by snapping his fingers, he retrieves my bag, and then his own a few suitcases later.

  I reach for my bag and he allows me to take it when I point out the roller feature. We look up and follow the signs to the sidewalk, where passengers are waiting for cabs. I pull out the itinerary with the address of the hotel.

  A friendly, young cabdriver, wearing shorts and a baseball cap, greets us enthusiastically and ushers us into the car, grabbing our luggage and chatting away the whole time.

  “So where are you guys headed?”

  I give him the name of the hotel, The Sunshine Inn, and he proceeds to bombard us with questions. He is super nice, but I am tired from the trip and don’t feel like explaining our life stories on the two mile trip to the hotel.

  “Are you guys here for a special occasion? I know, you’re honeymooners.”

  We both reply, “No,” in unison. I avoid Justin’s eyes and look out the window. I can’t believe this guy thinks Justin is married to a woman my age, but he’s just being polite. That’s probably his standard line unless the hunky young guy is clearly escorting his grandma to a new nursing home in the tropics.

  I let Justin field further questions, and smile and nod as our host provides restaurant and snorkeling suggestions. I’m so glad I am not on my honeymoon. I won’t have to feel bad that I can’t swim and Justin doesn’t have a mate to enjoy fun water activities with him. The few times Brandon and I h
ave attempted nautical adventures, let’s just say there has been some dissension. I know I should have learned to swim as a child, but in my late thirties it isn’t likely I will get over that fear.

  My daydream comes to an abrupt halt as we pull up to the curb in front of the The Sunshine Inn. It’s a pretty, but unassuming building, attached to a wine bar on one side and a gift shop on the other. It’s on the busiest street in town.

  I hope we can sleep. While I’m not an early riser, and would love to party all night and sleep in, we are here for business. However, I do know that our conference schedule is pretty flexible. There are a few core times we must be at events, but it isn’t a grueling work week for us. Pam does want Justin to find a new software solution, but I think she wants me to dip my toes in the professional waters outside of Richmond, and give Bella Donna a bit more national exposure with both writers and competing publishing houses. I could also snare an undiscovered hot indie writer or two. Kind of like the one I have at home.

  Speaking of my husband, as Justin tips the cabdriver and gathers our luggage on the curb, I glance at my phone. My ‘silent and devoid of messages’ phone.

  It’s only three o’clock. Brandon is probably working in the studio or deep in thought with his manuscript. These creative types lose track of time so easily. I bite my lip as I contemplate all the other things, and women he could be…

  “Claire?” Justin is waving his hand in front of my face. “Hello. Man, you are tired. Was the baby up last night?” When I shake my head and don’t respond right away, he says, “Hey, before we go in, stand in front of the hotel. Like how about on the front porch? By the railing.”

  I follow his direction, leaning a certain way, in front of the sign, etc. For once, I reward Justin with a smile, even though I don’t feel smiley on the inside.

  After a brief photo shoot, Justin joins me on the porch and we go inside to check in. The office is immediately to the left, and a friendly grey haired lady warmly greets us. “Hello! Are you Ms. Harmon and Mr. Scott from Bella Donna Press? I’m Linda, your Innkeeper.”