The Juggling Act

by Carol Maloney Scott

  My father sighs and quickly returns to his post to save my son from battery acid poisoning. My mother is melodramatic, but I peek over at them, and Aidan is just sitting there waiting for his juice.

  “Hey, not to interrupt again, ladies, but it’s starting to snow. It wasn’t supposed to begin until later this afternoon. It looks like a big one. Claire, you might be snowed in for a few days.”

  I yell back, “Fine, because I have no intention of going home.” I turn back to my mother. “And frankly, I have no further interest in discussing my husband. Let’s do something fun.”

  “You wanna play cards like we did when you were little? Or we could listen to my old records. Also, it’s almost late enough in the morning to drink, especially because this is an emergency.”

  “That would be great, Mom.”

  She gets up and heads to her closet in the laundry room, where she keeps all of her amusements, and I call out, “Hey, see if you can find your ‘Bella Donna’ album.”

  My mind wanders back to Key West and I smile. Stop Draggin’ My…I wonder what Justin’s doing today.

  Justin

  That’s a lot of snow already. Good thing I own a truck in addition to my sports car, or I’d be snowed in for days. I won’t even be able to drive my car to the office on Monday with the way they clean the roads here.

  Living in the city has its perks, though. I can meander over to the deli to people watch, and walk home from bars instead of getting on the road with drunk drivers.

  I decide to bundle up and head over to my favorite coffee shop to grab a cup, and read a good book for a little while. Maybe take my laptop and do a little work. Pam wants a synopsis of our impressions of the conference. I wonder if Claire is working on hers.

  Claire. That was quite a trip. She would have had a better time if she wasn’t so conflicted about home. All mothers miss their babies, and wives miss their husbands, but I don’t know, I’ve never been too keen on Brandon for her. Not once I saw them together.

  The ironic part is that I was the one who suggested she go to him the night after his book launch party. She got totally wasted because she was upset about that complete douchebag she was dating, Dr. Nathan, and I was the one who ended up rescuing her and bringing her home to my apartment. Brandon, who lived across the street from her, refused to help. I thought it was because he was with another girl, but that turned out to be his sister.

  Apparently, he shunned Claire that night because she refused his previous advances. So watching her climb in the fountain behind the Madison Hotel was something he could just ignore.

  Does he think I should have left her to die of a drug overdose in Key West, because she has certainly refused my advances on numerous occasions?

  And after all of that, I could see he was really in love with her, and since Nathan was evidently a lying, conniving sociopath, I thought Brandon would be a better choice. She kept telling me I was too young for her and I will want babies some day. I acquiesced to her point, but Brandon is only three years older than me. He hooked her with the adoption thing. He’s adopted and told her that was his family plan for himself and his future wife. I couldn’t compete with that.

  But at first, I didn’t even want to. I acknowledged that he won, and I went back to my own life. I don’t have a problem finding women to date.

  But then time went on and I could see Claire wasn’t as happy as she should be. Once they started dating, the spark seemed to fizzle. She was locked in her office a lot with Rebecca and Gina, her best work friends. She was jumpy when I asked about Brandon. So I figured, what the hell…if she’s not happy and they’re only dating, why should I back down? I didn’t say or do anything inappropriate. I was just there for her. Like in Key West.

  The bell dings on the coffee shop door. Capital Coffee & Tea is a popular hangout, and it’s fairly close to the University. There are closer shops to my place in The Museum District, but this one has good energy and the best blueberry scones.

  I unzip my jacket and loosen my scarf, as it’s warm in here compared to the frosty chill outside. The snow is sticking fast, but pretty much everyone here has walked.

  I glance at the snow boots on the college girls. The fuzzy ones they’re all wearing these days.

  Listen to me. At twenty-eight I sound like an old man. The girls look at me because I’m a good looking guy, but I’m already too old for them. Hmm…I sound like Claire now. But the difference is that both Claire and I are working, professional adults, despite the eleven year age difference. These girls are not ready for the real world yet.

  “Sir, may I take your order?” A friendly, fresh-faced girl with a long blond ponytail offers to help me, pulling me out of my daze. She has brown eyes just like Claire’s. It’s an unusual combination and I stare a moment too long.

  “Yes, just a black coffee and a blueberry scone.”

  She smiles as she goes to retrieve my order. Maybe she’s a little older than the college age crowd. I wonder if this is her real job, or if she’s a student. Maybe a grad student? If she’s a grad student then she’s not too young. Her nametag says ‘Marissa.’

  I’m staring at her chest (which is quite impressive) too long and she clears her throat as she holds my steaming hot beverage and delectable treat. “See anything else you like?” We both burst out laughing as soon as I see she’s just messing with me.

  “I’m sorry, they put the nametags in the worst place. Of course, I don’t need to know your name, but I wanted…never mind. You just remind me of someone. I’m Justin.”

  She hands me my order as I fish my credit card out of my wallet and hand it to her. I scoot down the line to get out of the way of the next group of loud kids, probably all hung over after a night of partying. I spent my Saturday night catching up on some work and grabbing a beer with a couple of my karaoke buddies, but it was an early night. Some woman sang Rhiannon and I was done. She had nothing on Claire’s Stevie Nicks.

  She hands me my card and receipt and I say, “Are you new here? I haven’t seen you, and I would remember.” I flash her the smile that Claire tells me makes women melt into a pile of goo.

  “Yeah, I’ve been here a few weeks. I would remember you, too.” She blushes slightly and glances at her manager, who surely wants her to take more customers and stop flirting. “I’m a grad student in Clinical Psychology. Ultimately planning on a Ph.D.”

  She’s definitely no more than five years younger than me, and I would enjoy a woman with a brain again. Not that Claire doesn’t have a brain, but Claire is my married co-worker, and not a woman in my dating pool.

  Who was I was referring to? My ex? Career minded women are not so bad. I pushed Jenna, just like Brandon rushed things with Claire. I have so many years to have a family, it’s ridiculous to be so worried about settling down. Claire’s right, I need to focus more on people my own age and stop clamoring to have my life all figured out. So what if my brothers were all married and having kids by my age. That’s them.

  “So more like lab rat experiments than counseling sorority girls about breaking up with their boyfriends?”

  She surveys the room. “I would have a lot of study subjects here if that were the case.” She gasps and continues. “I mean the girls, not the rats. We don’t have any rats here.” The old lady collecting her cinnamon bun from the other counter employee looks alarmed, and Marissa blushes again.

  I smile and lean in, “Hey, do you want to meet after you get off work? This place closes pretty early, right? I could come back and meet you, walk you to a little café I know a few blocks away, in Washington Hill.”

  “Ooh, very trendy.” When she smiles, her eyes sparkle. Claire’s have lost that shine. I momentarily feel a pang of sadness for Claire, but return to the present moment. Marissa’s smile was beginning to fade, probably a result of mine waning because I’m thinking about something that has no bearing on my life.

  “So, what do you think? You better answer quickly or these kids are going to start throwing snow
balls in here to get served.” My charm returns and I stay focused on Marissa. This moment.

  “Sure. And you’re right. I really do need to get back to work, Jason.”

  “Justin.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Was that a Freudian slip?”

  “No. A Freudian slip would be if I called you ‘hot guy.’ It means something that you say that betrays your private thoughts.”

  “Wow. You can call me anything you want then. Unless there is a Jason?” I raise my eyebrows. The last thing I need is another woman who’s already taken.

  “There is, but he’s long gone. I promise.”

  She rattles off her phone number, I create a contact for her in my phone, and call her so she also has my number.

  I finally take my coffee and scone and look for a seat. Sitting in here no longer holds any appeal, as it is starting to resemble a high school cafeteria. I ask the manager for a bag for my scone, and walk out sipping my coffee. For once it doesn’t scald my tongue because I was distracted from drinking it immediately, which I always do.

  Hmm, maybe that was divine intervention. I was a good guy in Key West and now I am being rewarded by karma with a non-burned tongue for my date with a pretty new woman.

  Seems fair to me.

  Claire

  “Claire, come sit with me while your mother bathes the baby. I bought some of this fresh salsa and we have those chips you like.”

  My mother has decided that my son is filthy because he hasn’t had a bath since I left my husband, yesterday. Aidan loves my mother’s huge bathtub. For him, it’s like a pool. Come to think of it, it’s not that much smaller than the baby pool in our neighborhood, only deeper.

  I finish putting away the photo albums my mother and I were reminiscing over. After listening to some old music and playing cards, my mother decided we should do facials. While they were drying on our faces, she pulled out old photo albums. Some of them were from when she was a little girl, when my parents were dating in the seventies, and about a million pictures of me and Jackie.

  I did notice it’s true what people say—there are less pictures of the second child. My heart hurts for a moment, as I think of the second child we could be expecting, if our marriage wasn’t a mess.

  I silently vow that there will always be equal pictures of all of my children. That’s if I stay married long enough to adopt another baby.

  I sit down with my father, my face still tingling after washing off the cucumber deep pore cleansing mask my mother probably paid a hundred bucks for at her favorite spa.

  I grab a chip and perch on one of the cozy side chairs, while my father drinks red wine and sits on the couch. My sister is the one who likes salsa. I hate Mexican food, but this is fresh and not too hot.

  “Honey, you know your mother and I want you to be happy. No matter what you decide, we support you. You and Aidan are welcome to stay here as long as you want.” He pauses and furrows his brow. “But of course you do have to go to work.”

  “The commute from here is only a little longer than it is from my house, but I don’t plan on staying here for an extended period of time. I know I have to go back and deal with Brandon. I just need a break to clear my head.”

  My father retired a few years ago, right when he was fifty-nine and a half, the age you have to be in order to draw from 401K without tax penalties. Recently he’s been talking about going into business with an old work colleague—some kind of financial management company. They want to work with small businesses to help them succeed. For two former banking executives, this should be a great second career.

  “Claire, marriage is rough. You know that. This is your second one.” He spots my dejected expression and continues. “I’m not judging, I know I say a lot of crap about people being divorced multiple times, and I called your mother’s cousin a three time loser, but she’s so obnoxious…anyway, it’s different when it’s my daughter.”

  “I know, Dad.” I stare out the sliding glass doors at the expansive deck and try to calculate the snow depth. Aidan would love to play outside.

  “Hey, I know this is a bad question, but in all these years haven’t you ever felt like leaving Mom? I mean, I assume you never found another man’s underwear in your bed…and God, if you did, I don’t want to hear about it. But seriously, did it ever cross your mind?”

  He sighs and gingerly rests his glass on a wine themed coaster. He leans back against the couch cushion and steeples his fingers. “I don’t think I ever planned to leave her, but have there been moments when I questioned my sanity for marrying her? Absolutely. I love your mother, but she does drive me nuts at times. But I think all couples are like that. People are very complex. No matter how alike you are, you will always have some conflict in an intimate relationship that spans decades.”

  “Wow, have you been watching some of the women’s talk shows since you’ve been home during the day?” I laugh at my Dad’s enlightenment.

  “No, actually I’m just very smart. None of you women give me any credit. All I’m saying is that it’s a wonder anyone gets along with anyone. Especially when you add kids to the mix. We adore you and Jackie, but you understand now. Having a child adds a whole new dimension of strain on a marriage…and you and Brandon became instant parents.”

  “Well, speaking of that…” I go on to explain the whole adoption situation, and how we turned down the opportunity to adopt a baby that’s due in a month. My mother knows about this, but I don’t think anyone has bothered to tell my father. This is partially my fault, but we were raised in a ‘don’t tell Dad unless we have to’ environment. My mother handled the home and family, and my father made the money. It probably wasn’t the healthiest set up, but forty years later they’re still together.

  “You and Brandon have a lot on your plates, but there is no perfect time to have a child. There are pros and cons to closer spacing and further spacing. One thing is for sure, though. Another baby won’t save your marriage if it’s doomed. I’m not saying it is, but you two have some work to do. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but have you considered a counselor?”

  My mother appears holding a freshly washed, fluffed and dressed Aidan. I reach for my snuggly boy and my mother hands him to me.

  “John, she doesn’t need a counselor. She just needs that husband of hers to be honest with her and keep his pants zipped. I mean, maybe he has, but it doesn’t look good.” She sees my stricken expression, and yet again a parent is backtracking on their blunt assessment of my situation. “But there could be a good story. But then of course, he’s a writer…”

  She bites her lip and my father says, “Okay, enough advice giving.” He leans forward and rests his hand on my knee. “Honey, you just give yourself the time you need, and when you’re ready, you go home to your husband. Right?” He looks at my mother as if to say, ‘work with me here.’

  “Yes, of course.” She pats my shoulder and glances into the kitchen. “What time is it, John? Oh look, it’s almost time to Skype with Jackie.”

  My younger sister is five months pregnant, and ever since she started showing, my mother has insisted upon Skyping every Sunday so she can see her baby bump. I have joined these sessions a few times, but listening to my mother and Jackie’s husband, Chet trade barbs gets old. Most of the time they are good natured, but there are certain hot buttons for both of them that ignite the spark of family craziness, and then I’m done. It’s hard enough for me to witness my sister’s pregnancy. I adore her and we’re very close, and I couldn’t be happier for her that she’s found love and has the chance to be a mother.

  I kiss the top of Aidan’s head as he snuggles into my lap. I am grateful beyond words for this precious boy, but I will always hold onto a little sadness at not experiencing pregnancy and childbirth. But then of course I wouldn’t have Aidan, so it’s all working out for the best. And I don’t have stretch marks.

  I smirk at the memory of Justin telling that lady on the boat dock that I just had twins. I re
ally should let him know I have no intention of coming to work tomorrow so he knows we won’t be giving our joint presentation to Pam, Gina and Didier about the conference.

  That reminds me—I forgot to ask if Brandon has turned in his manuscript. Like everything else, I am guessing my husband has dropped the ball on this one, too. My anger builds as I recall the story is based on his shrew wife and her inability to handle open adoption. Hmm, maybe I will let him stew a bit longer. He better have a damn good story to tell me when I get home, and it better belong in the NON-fiction section.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Brandon

  I watch the snow pile up on the driveway and the front porch, and wish that Tatiana was here to shovel it. I’m not exactly proud of letting the nanny do my manly chores, but she is a big woman, and she didn’t do much else around here. Claire, of course, was none too happy to arrive home from work on one occasion to find me in the house talking to Diamond, while the babies sat in their snowsuits on the front lawn watching the Russian lady heave snow like a plow.

  I contemplate working on one of my many neglected pursuits when I see Diamond’s front door swing open. I jump back, in case she’s on the move again. Hmm…and there’s Rob’s truck in the driveway…and now here comes Rob.

  Obviously they carried last night’s shenanigans all the way home. We were all pretty wasted, except for Jon and Zoe. Somehow we all got driven home with no drunk driving.

  The neighbors will love Rob’s walk of shame. At least it isn’t summer time and his fully tattooed body isn’t on display, along with his shaved head and bodybuilder form. Yeah, Diamond is the new gossip attraction on Locust Lane.

  They used to say shit about Claire when she was single. She dubbed herself the ‘neighborhood floozy,’ even though that was far from the truth. Although, I did see some interesting things coming from that house, such as Claire standing in the doorway threatening some guy in a thong. He was holding wine and what looked like his clothes and she was calling him a ‘bug killing freak.’ She never did adequately explain that one to me.