Vanity Fare

by Megan Caldwell

  “Oh, honey, I can’t,” she said, drawing her arm through her sleeve. “I promised Mrs. Simpkins I’d go over for the day to visit with Dante. He’s been moping a bit, it seems.”

  I stood up and held her arm. “No, Mom, Dante has to wait. You’ve got your own circle of hell to go through”—and so do I—“and you’re staying here, at least until Nick leaves.”

  “Nick? You haven’t mentioned him before.” She took her coat off and draped it on the couch. Of course, a potential Molly-Man was able to get her coat off faster than reminding her of her commitments.

  “He’s one of the guys I’m working with on that copywriting job, you know, the bakery one you helped me with?”

  She gave me a puzzled look. “I thought his name was Simon. I know it’s not John, I know John.”

  “This is another one.”

  Now her face was positively ecstatic. “Three men? You’re working with three men? Molly, even you should be able to find someone with that many to choose from.”

  Thanks for the vote of confidence. “Mom, I don’t want another man in my life right now.” I shot her a quick look to see if she bought it. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m working to pay the rent, remember?”

  She waved a hand in dismissal. “Of course, dear, but a boyfriend couldn’t hurt, could it?”

  “Paying the rent couldn’t hurt, either. It’s not a date, he’s coming over to talk to you about your financial planning, and he’s going to be Aidan’s ‘agile grown-up’ at this birthday party we’re going to later.” I checked around to make sure Aidan wasn’t just having Dipsy Doodles for breakfast. Oh, good, a stale Pop-Tart. The nominating committee for Mother of the Year probably wasn’t going to be calling me anytime soon.

  She plopped down in the chair, picking up The Ambassadors, which she had left splayed open on the table. “Well, I’ll stick around, then,” she said, as if she were the queen granting an audience or something. Not an impoverished snob.

  “Good, Mom. Thank you,” I said through gritted teeth as I went to my bedroom to get dressed.

  What did you wear when you wanted to look casual but nice? Not jeans and a sweatshirt, which was my usual Saturday garb. I grabbed a black turtleneck sweater and black wool pants. I slipped on some silver hoop earrings and slid a chunky silver ring on my right hand. My left hand remained unadorned.

  Aidan was on his third episode of the Power Rangers’ Marathon when the buzzer rang. I leapt up to get it, my heart in my throat. What if Nick changed his mind and realized the prospect of spending his Saturday with me, my son, and my mother was going to be miserable? What if it was miserable?

  As I waited at the top of the stairs for him to ascend, I felt a mixture of dread and anticipation settle in the pit of my stomach. The anticipation won out as I saw the top of his head. Even his mass of black hair looked solid. Reassuring. I knew he wouldn’t let Aidan down.

  Whether he would let me down depended on my ability to get over myself and do something I would never do in a million years.

  “In a minute, sport.” Nick ruffled Aidan’s hair, realigned a Lincoln Log, then sat down at the dining room table. Mom held a small plate with baby carrots, some stale Wheat Thins, and plain yogurt toward him like it was caviar. My mother may have lacked funds, but she certainly had finesse.

  Nick shook his head no, and she lowered the plate slowly onto the table. One of the carrots had that old mushy carrot look to it, so I grabbed it and held it in my closed fist.

  “Mrs. Hagan, I understand you don’t want to lose your house. Of course not. The goal here is for you to do what you need to do to save your financial situation.”

  Nick looked at me over my mother’s head and winked. I was really getting to like that wink.

  “But, Mr. Harrison—what you say here is unless I give up all my habits, all the necessities of life, I will lose my house. That I cannot tolerate.”

  I stood up and walked over to observe Aidan’s progress so I wouldn’t bite my mother’s head off. I couldn’t take her supercilious attitude—never had been able to, actually—and it took all of my strength not to yell at her.

  Something I definitely wouldn’t do in a million years. And never would, my temper and her finances willing.

  Nick leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “Well, then, Mrs. Hagan, you will lose your house. And your necessities of life. It’s that simple. Sometimes you have to make short-term sacrifices for long-term gains.”

  Welcome to the club, Mom. “Spoken like a true money man,” my mother said, wrinkling her nose. Apparently successful men who tried to tell her how to live her life were not nearly as attractive as successful men she wanted to date her daughter.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Nick said politely. It sounded like he’d had experience dealing with people like my mom. “I can run the numbers for you, if you like, and show you what I’m talking about.”

  Mom shoved the papers away from in front of her and rested her elbows on the table, ignoring his comment entirely. “Now where did you grow up? And where did you get your degree from?”

  He unfolded his hands and crossed his arms across his chest. “I grew up in Manhattan, and went to school in Boston.”

  “Harvard?” my mother asked in an arch tone of voice.

  “B.U.,” he said. Before my mother could lower her eyebrows, he continued. “And an MBA from NYU.” She brightened considerably. “But discussing my past does not solve the problem of your future, Mrs. Hagan. And,” he said, looking at Aidan, “Aidan and I have a party to go to in about fifteen minutes. Right, sport?”

  Aidan grinned. “Right.”

  “Well.” My mother sniffed. “It’s clear nobody is going to give a woman a break for making an honest mistake.”

  I couldn’t hold back any longer.

  “Mother, investing what you could not afford is not an honest mistake. Mixing darks with colors is an honest mistake. Asking for white rice instead of brown when ordering Chinese takeout is an honest mistake. I would say this, this was a dishonest mistake. A terrible, awful, misguided mistake. And the fact that Mr. Harrison—”

  “Nick,” he inserted. So it’s Nick now. Oh. Well, then.

  “—Nick is kind enough to give you the benefit of his advice does not mean it is his fault you have behaved recklessly, irresponsibly, and foolishly.” I stopped speaking, feeling my heart racing and my armpits begin to well with perspiration. Was it because he’d been friendly, or because I’d told my mother what I really thought?

  “Well, Molly Moira Hagan, I guess you have done well enough yourself that you can cast a few stones at your mother.”

  I gave a weary sigh. “That’s not the point, Mom. I’m not saying I’ve done a fantastic job of this, either—” I looked to see if Aidan was listening, but he wasn’t. “I married a man who dumped me, and is now not able to support us; I stopped working so I could be a mom; I hope to start a new career, but I won’t know about that for a while; and I’ve generally made a mess of my life, but that doesn’t mean I’m not right.”

  She looked at me—hurt, anger, and remorse flashing in her eyes. She held my gaze for a few seconds more, then dropped her eyes to the table.

  She looked as old as she ever had, and my heart ached with seeing her that way. My mom. My judgmental, intellectually snobbish, condescending, Swarovski crystal–collecting mom laid low by her obsessive need to beat the market.

  “Mrs. Hagan,” Nick said, pulling the papers she’d pushed away back to him. “I promise, it’s not as bad as all that.” He looked up at her. “What is as bad as all that is refusing to deal with the effects of poor fiscal management. You’re an intelligent woman,” he said, and I saw her preen, “and you know as well as I do that you have to do something. Or you’ll lose everything.”

  She bit her lip, then nodded slowly.

  “And,” he continued, bending toward the table and picking up a pen, “I have a fantastic financial guy who, as it happens, owes me a favor. He and I were at NYU togeth
er. Here’s his number,” he said, scribbling on the margins of the paper, “and you will call him on Monday. Or I won’t be able to come hang out with Aidan and Molly anymore.” There was that wink again.

  “Blackmail?” She sounded almost . . . flirtatious. Who knew my mother had it in her, even in the pit of her financial despair?

  Oh, I guess I did. Especially when there was a man and Molly in the same sentence.

  “I’m serious, Mrs. Hagan.” He tapped the papers with his index finger. “This is serious. This isn’t something to be glossed over. I can tell that, just by reviewing your numbers for a few minutes. So—you’ll do it?”

  She nodded again. And looked at me, asking for something she had never asked for, not in all my years of knowing her: comfort. I went over to her and wrapped her in my arms. She laid her head on my shoulder, gave a little sob, and pulled away. “Don’t you have a party to go to?” she asked, peering at Aidan over my shoulder.

  “Sure do,” Nick replied, patting her on the arm. “Listen, call me whenever you want if you have any questions about this stuff.”

  “What was your undergrad degree in, anyway?” Mom asked, apparently bouncing back enough to quiz him further about his college career.

  He rolled his eyes at me before he replied. “Philosophy.”

  “Interesting,” she said, quirking her lip. “I didn’t know philosophers were financial planners.”

  “Didn’t you ever hear of John Stuart Mill, Mrs. Hagan? David Hume, Karl Marx?”

  “Hm.”

  Ha. Hoisted on her own snotty petard.

  “Sorry my mother is so difficult.” Nick, Aidan, and I had left the apartment and were heading the few blocks over to the local chichi children’s gym for the birthday party.

  “She’s not, really. It’s hard to have to adjust to a new lifestyle—”

  “Even if the adjustment is caused by your own idiocy,” I said, more bitterly than I meant.

  “She seems like she’s trying, though,” he replied in a soft voice. Every hard-ass had his soft spots—Nick seemed to go for the standard children-and-old-ladies option.

  “I was actually thinking more of myself.” I gave a humorless laugh.

  He clutched my arm as we strode down the street, Aidan holding his hand on the other side. “You can’t beat yourself up for your mistakes, Molly. People do things for reasons, and sometimes the original reasons change. It’s okay.”

  Right. He’d heard what I told my mom about Hugh and my life. I relaxed into his grip, feeling his warm strength. “Thanks.”

  As we walked I couldn’t help but think about the last time Aidan and I had walked this sidewalk with an adult male. It’d been early last summer, right before Aidan and I had gone to visit my mother. The day had just been fading into night, and we were headed for the pizza/gourmet place that catered to families just like ours.

  Aidan was running ahead, and Hugh and I were watching him do his little skip-jump down the sidewalk. “He’s such a sweetheart.” I sighed.

  “Yes, he is,” Hugh had replied, sounding unusually serious. I remember glancing over at him, and he caught my eye, then shook his head, as if to say it was nothing.

  But it was something. It was blond, beautiful, and named Sylvia.

  I must’ve done something, maybe tensed up when I thought of Hugh, because Nick nudged me with his arm. “What?” he asked, keeping an eye on Aidan, who was bounding ahead of us.

  I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said. But it was something. What it was, I wasn’t sure yet.

  We arrived at the play place a few minutes later, Aidan practically speechless in his excitement. Whenever we’d been to parties there before, the kids had gone into an enormous padded play area, emerging sweaty, tired, and happy forty-five minutes later. I usually hovered in the corner, idly conversing with whichever parents deigned to stay, drinking flat soda and wishing I had brought a book.

  This time, though, the parents shepherded the child and adult of choice into the room, providing both with weird sock/slipper hybrids to put on their feet. Nick slipped his sneakers off without question, then helped Aidan with his. They walked into the gym area, both of them stopping to wave before joining the group already assembled in the middle of the floor. I didn’t see a Power Ranger anywhere. Hmph.

  How could Mr. Intimidating suddenly turn into Mr. Nice? He and Aidan shared a smile, and I saw something in his eyes that told me. Oh. He really does like kids that much. Wow.

  “Is that your husband?” one of the other moms asked. I’d seen her around the playground; she was one of those who hadn’t completely given up on being attractive. Her long, blond hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, tiny studs—diamond, I guessed—in her ears, and she had on an argyle sweater I’d seen in the J.Crew catalog, but had passed over in favor of being able to afford dinner that week.

  “Uh, no, just a”—what was he, exactly?—“a family friend.”

  “Oh, that is so nice of him to do, then. I had to promise my husband he could watch football all day tomorrow.”

  “Football’s over, I think; wasn’t it the Super Bowl a few weeks ago?”

  She rolled her mascaraed eyes. “Football, hockey, I don’t know. Anyway, I had to promise I’d take the kids—I have a younger one, too, she’s at a friend’s house—to the movies while he sat on his duff and watched sports. All because I am forcing him to play with his son.” Her tone was almost as bitter as mine had been a little while earlier. At least I didn’t have that kind of bargain to make anymore.

  She gestured to one of the plastic folding chairs in front of the big plate-glass window that opened into the gym. “Would you like to sit? It’s not like there’s anything we can go do in the half hour or so, might as well rest a little. My name is Caroline,” she added, holding out her hand.

  “Molly.” I clasped her hand and perched myself on the chair, nervously smoothing my sweater. Caroline crossed her legs and swung to face me. “So where is your husband? Off watching sports or something?”

  “Um, we’re in the middle of getting a divorce, actually,” I said, surprised I could admit as much to a stranger without crying.

  She gave me a sympathetic smile. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Actually,” I said, realizing it was true, “it’s much better for us this way. He’s happier, I’m happier . . . Aidan’s working on it.”

  “That’s good, then. It must be hard, though.”

  “Mm,” I replied. Changing the subject seemed like a darn good idea. “What do you do?”

  She shrugged. “My husband is a lawyer, he works crazy hours, so it made more sense for me to stay at home and take care of the kids. I was the IT director of a financial services company.”

  She probably had a better résumé than I did. She definitely had better mom-style.

  “So is that your boyfriend?” she asked. She raised her eyebrow at me, as if to imply I had gone out of my league. Or maybe I was just projecting.

  “No, just a family friend,” I repeated. Maybe if I said it enough times it’d be true. “Actually, someone I’m working for right now.”

  “Oh, what do you do?” She sounded surprised, as if she couldn’t believe I actually did anything. Besides trot my son around to birthday parties, of course.

  “Copywriting. Freelance.” I stopped myself before I started talking about the Teaching Fellows’ program. She was just a little too inquisitive, and I felt like I should be more reserved. I glanced over into the gym, where Nick was heaving Aidan onto his shoulders. His shirt raised up, revealing a taut abdomen with a trail of dark hair leading down . . .

  “What kind of copywriting?” Ms. Nosy asked. I had to force myself to look away and into her sparkling eyes.

  “For a bakery. Not a regular one, it’s being opened by one of those celebrity chefs.” I knew that because of course I had Googled Simon a few dozen times.

  But now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to return to watching Mr. Not-As-Intimidating’s Tummy.

 
; “That sounds fattening,” she said in a coy tone. “It’s hard to stay away from forbidden treats, isn’t it?”

  Was she reading my mind? There was nothing I wanted more than to get closer to one of those forbidden treats. The one wearing the jeans and the sexy smile. But I wouldn’t do that in a million years . . . would I?

  “Mommy, Nick says we can do that again sometime, just us. Can we? Mommy, can we?”

  We were walking home, Aidan clutching tightly onto Nick’s hand, me holding the party paraphernalia—a goodie bag; a doubtlessly smooshed piece of birthday cake Aidan had insisted on taking home for Grandma; and a Power Rangers party hat with a ripped antenna.

  It had gotten colder, and I shivered a little in my coat. Nick tucked my hand into his arm and pulled me toward his body.

  Oh, I liked the way that felt. Aidan stopped to gaze in a toy window, and Nick and I stood back a little on the side-walk, watching him literally press his nose against the glass.

  “Aidan, honey, back up a little, please. The store doesn’t want your breath on its glass.” He moved about half an inch, then stared at a Batmobile with purple and green tires. I turned to look at Nick.

  “Thanks again. Aidan loved it, and he definitely had a much better time than if I had done it. I would’ve spent the whole time complaining about my sore back and having to crawl around on the floor.”

  He laughed. “I doubt you would’ve spoiled Aidan’s time like that. The way he talks about you, you’re not the type to put yourself ahead of your kid. Although he did say not to get between you and your coffee, but I think I guessed that already.”

  “What did he say?” Usually Aidan’s comments about me were reserved for times when I didn’t let him have what he wanted.

  “That you always let him have dessert, no matter how late it is. That your favorite Justice League character is Martian Manhunter—good choice, by the way; that you like to read, and you can be very silly. He likes that a lot.”