“You are undeniably a good mother. One of the best, judging by those letters.”
I lifted my head. “Really? You’re not just trying to reel me in?”
“Erica, I just wanted you to know that I’m very sorry for upsetting you the last time we met. But you see, we were very—”
“Yeah, yeah. Worried about the kids. I get it. Okay, headmaster, what do you want to know—if my marriage is a happy one? No, it’s not. But then again I…” I stopped, biting my lip. This was none of his business anyway—nosy, gorgeous bastard.
“What? What were you going to say?”
“That if you want you can come by any time after school to check on us. Then you’ll see that they live in a comfortable, warm and loving home. Feel free to bring your social services, your guidance teacher or anyone you like.” There. I’d said it. And then he was blinking at me. Finally he sighed and took a sip of his orange juice as a kid approached with some change to buy a slice of cake.
“Did you bake that?” he asked me, reaching into his pocket to buy a slice for himself. I nodded and as he offered me a slice, I shook my head. Experience told me that men didn’t like women that ate. Besides, I was as disciplined as could be. The two most delicious things in the whole wide world were at that table and I was struggling to keep my hands off both of them.
Again he sighed. I knew I was being difficult but this guy was really getting on my nerves, what with the prying and the unsaid sentences left hanging in the air. I preferred him when he stuck to killing spiders.
“Mmm… delicious. From scratch?”
Again, I nodded.
Julian pointed towards the baseball diamond. “Look at Warren—he’s just stepping up to bat, see? He’s a real champion.”
Sure enough, Warren was readying himself, his legs finding their right stance, his hands testing his grip around the bat, his little face pale and his lips tight. This was going to be one of those historical moments in his life where his reputation would be made or broken.
I truly felt for my little guy, and, I know it’s corny, but in that instant, as he stepped up to base, I saw the first steps he ever took, and the look of sheer stupor on his toddler’s face, followed by pure joy. The same look he had now as he hit the ball and sent it right out into space.
I squealed and cheered for my boy with the rest of his team and everyone else, so happy I managed to punch my son’s principal in the chest with all my strength, but he didn’t flinch. Instead he grinned and pulled the trophy off its stand to present Warren and his team with it.
“Great game, lad,” Julian said, slapping Warren lightly on the back. I watched the exchange from afar, so proud of my boy I thought I’d burst into tears right there and then. The principal wasn’t such a bad guy after all. And he liked his students. He knew everything about them—and the parents. It occurred to me I knew absolutely zilch about him.
“If you don’t mind my asking…” I said to Julian later as we were all saying our goodbyes and slowly making for our cars.
“Anything,” he said with a good-natured grin.
“You don’t sound like normal English—what kind of accent is that?”
He grinned. Can teeth be sexy? “I’m Liverpudlian.”
“Like the Beatles?” Duh—could I have asked a dumber question?
“Like the Beatles. But my family moved around a lot while I was a kid in England.”
“Have you ever met your real parents?” Brownie points for me for remembering.
“No.”
“Don’t you want to?”
He thought about it. “I don’t want to break my mother’s heart.”
“You could always do it secretly. Who’d know?”
Julian shook his head. “If my real mother wanted to find me, she’d be able to trace me. Besides, I’m a bit of a mess with lies, I’m afraid. I tend to forget what I’ve said so just don’t bother.”
“The ideal husband, then,” I said on instinct, and he flinched. “Sorry.”
“No worries. I told you Warren’s a trooper,” Julian exclaimed, changing the subject masterfully.
“Sorry about the punch, by the way,” I said.
He grinned and I grinned back, and together we charged for my son, along with his teammates who threw themselves all over him again. Warren caught my eye and winked, like I had taught him when he was little. My little guy. It was all I could do from bursting into tears all over again.
“You’re a fine mother,” Julian beamed at me and I said, “You know, what, Headmaster Foxham? At times like this, I think so, too!”
“And Erica? Do call me Julian. We are, after all, getting acquainted outside the school.”
What he was really thinking was, “After all, I’ve seen you in your underwear—and they weren’t the prettiest I’ve ever seen either.”
I shrugged. If he could call seeing my worst underwear acquainted, I couldn’t wait to get to know him very well.
Chapter 14:
The Superman Syndrome
In the month leading up to Christmas, I was so miserable I barely ate, losing, as a result, quite a few pounds and two dress sizes. I had gone from a size twenty to almost a sixteen without even noticing. Now that was a diet I wouldn’t recommend any woman—The Husband Diet. It was so sad, I burst into a hysterical fit of laughter. Would it ever stop hurting? Would I ever be able to forgive myself for not being able to lose weight and losing my husband, my children’s—albeit absent—father?
But on the other end of my roller-coaster feelings, being lighter made me feel lighter inside, like those infomercials where you see a woman stepping out of a rubber flab costume to reveal her new splendid self. I was still far off from splendid, but even I could see how much better I looked. It was a great feeling.
Losing my weight as a teenager had implications nowhere near the ones I was experiencing now. Now I was a woman with so much more at stake. It wasn’t about chasing my crush down the street anymore. This was about the direction my life would be heading. I was now the one in the driver’s seat. And although I hadn’t had much control over my life in years, I was beginning to recognize the familiar flavor of freedom. Only back then I’d called a lack of a man loneliness. What a difference an unloving, cheating husband made.
If I couldn’t shift the pounds, it meant that my strong personality, for which everyone respected me, was just a scam. If I couldn’t lose weight, I was just a fake. And I was going nowhere near defeat.
Paul’s part was to continue dragging me to tango classes, my only source of exercise if you didn’t count lugging laundry baskets up and down the stairs, vacuuming, making beds and everything else. I was slowly but surely losing weight. It was finally happening for me.
* * *
On parents’ night, I masterfully avoided speaking to Julian, although I saw him excusing himself from a couple when he spotted me. I really didn’t need any more encouraging or sympathy, so I whirled around and pulled out my cell phone to dial Ira who was supposed to save face and be there for the kids.
“Can’t you handle it?” he said tiredly.
I closed my eyes and swallowed. “Of course.” And then I hung up. We’d only communicated for the benefit of Maddy and Warren. Now there was nothing else to say.
When I managed to get home without meeting the object of my erotic dreams face to face, I sent the babysitter home and looked in on the kids, who were sound asleep.
Contrary to what Ira had always thought, my bed was the best place on earth and I fell into it without even getting undressed. If I had figured it out right, the minute I closed my eyes my projection of Julian would come into my room as usual, slip under the covers and hold me, caress my hair and whisper sweet words of encouragement. That would gradually become more heated until I clung to him and he’d initiate crazy-amazing sex, and so
on we’d be swinging from the chandeliers and bouncing off the walls. And that was when I’d knock my head against the headboard and wake up alone.
* * *
On our way to Italian lessons (yes, we were finally getting a hold of our own life now that we were free), I caught a glimpse of my sister in a plaza, coming out of a supermarket. Before I could call her, she jumped into a shiny new jeep and the man inside grabbed her and shoved his tongue down her throat. It was not her husband Steve. I was so shocked, I rammed my Kia van straight into a parked car. What the hell was wrong with everybody?
“Mo-om!” Warren wailed.
Shit.
“We can’t be late! We can’t be late! Please, Mom!” Madeleine begged. “We’re doing colors today!”
I dared a glance in Judy’s direction. My little crash had brought her back to earth, and she turned to look at me in surprise. For a moment our eyes met. She had a look I’d never seen before. She spoke to him quickly, and they drove off. Meanwhile my crash victim had materialized, yelling and cursing at me.
“What the hell, lady—you blind or what?”
I guessed I was. More than I had thought. Judy had a lover. After three kids, and an eleven-year marriage. And a fantastic husband like Steve.
I sat there, stupefied, and when things couldn’t get worse, who (you guessed it) happened to come out of the sports store but Julian Foxham? He spotted me and the yelling man and instantly (wouldn’t you know it) came over to see what the kerfuffle was all about.
“What’s the problem here?” he asked. “Erica, are you okay?”
“Hi, Mr. Foxham!” Warren and Madeleine chimed in unison. Actually, Maddy said Mr. Foxham and Warren said Mr. Fox. Fox? It figured. And then he added, “We’re going to be late for our Italian lessons!”
I sighed as my hand drove through my hair. “We’ve just had a little fender-bender, that’s all.”
“This chick ran into my car!” the man spat.
Julian turned to him. “Easy, mate. Let’s see your insurance.”
Oh, just great. The last thing I needed was Julian coming to my rescue. “I can handle it, Julian, thanks.”
The man stared at him. “You’re Julian Foxham! The former Red Sox baseball champion! Man! I can’t believe it! Can I have your autograph, sir?”
Huh?
Julian grinned. “Absolutely—just as long as you don’t give my friend here any grief.”
“Nah,” the guy said as he disappeared to rummage through his glove compartment for pen and paper. I stared at him in disbelief, then at Julian who shrugged his shoulders with the cutest, most annoying grin.
“Glad to help,” he said.
“Gee, thanks,” I said more sarcastically than I meant, and Julian studied me with a strange light in his eyes. It was my turn to gape. I was standing elbow to elbow with a sports star and I’d had no idea.
“All this time and I’ve been acquainted (my underwear flashed through my mind) with a baseball star?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
“And now you are a principal? Why?”
Julian shrugged again, turning red as if I’d caught him stealing. “I broke my arm a few years back, lost my swing. So I decided to use my degree in education after all. My dad is a die-hard scholar. Teaches English literature over in Oxford. Plus I like kids.”
“I just called a tow truck—for both of us,” the man volunteered as he returned, and Julian paused before signing his autograph.
“What’s your name?”
“Larry. Larry Dignam. Thank you, sir. Wow. You just made my day. Is there any chance you might be considering a comeback?”
Julian stilled. “I don’t think so, mate.”
The man looked into his eyes and it was as if there had been an understanding that would’ve gone way over my head if I hadn’t understood the pain he’d been through. Losing your status as a champion must have been really hard on such a young man.
I stood there with my arms folded and watched the exchange. Julian had managed to turn my nightmare into his own. Now that was what I called sharing. But it wasn’t fair, although he rebounded quickly.
“Erica, why don’t I take the kids to their Italian lessons? It’s the one on Sudbury Street, isn’t it? I’ll be back in five minutes. Okay?”
I couldn’t argue with him. But when Julian drove off with my waving kids in his jeep, I resented it. This was my family, my problem, and it was up to me to solve it on my own.
I sighed at the thought of my sister and her face-eater. The cat was out of the bag, and I didn’t know what to do with it.
Julian came back in time to take me down to the mechanic’s. I had totaled the front and the radiator as well. Taking the bus home or calling a cab was not an option for Julian.
“I live right near here,” he said. “I can drive the kids to school in the morning, and then take you to work until your car’s ready,” he said as he was driving me home. Didn’t he have a life?
“Uh, no, that’s okay, thanks.” That was all I needed—Headmaster Foxham on a twenty-four-hour guard duty.
“It’s no trouble at all.”
“I have a husband, you know,” I lied, then turned to check his face. Did I mean I had a husband that could drive me or a husband that wouldn’t appreciate me driving around with a really good-looking guy?
He nodded dutifully and said, “If you don’t mind my asking…”
I sighed. “Let’s have it.”
“When the mechanic asked for your registration document, I couldn’t help noticing you had a lot of parking tickets in your glove compartment.”
And his point was? Why did everybody think I didn’t know how to park? This guy was worse than a damn bloodhound. Why was he constantly on my case?
“Speeding—not parking—tickets,” I corrected tersely, then shrugged, because I knew he was going to ask me anyway. “I’m always in a hurry—and always late.”
“Not picking up the kids you aren’t,” he said kindly.
I smiled. At least he noticed the good things, too. “No, and work. Except for those two I’m late everywhere else. You name it—the beautician’s, my dentist appointments. So eventually I stopped going. To the beautician’s.” Not that that was info he needed. Besides, it showed big time. I sighed. I was still—always—a mess. Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut?
He turned to grin at me—I know it was intended to be a friendly one to put me at ease, but the fact was that I found it—him—sexy as hell. Now that was pure un-motherly behavior, forget skipping a school meeting or whatever.
“Where am I going?” he asked, tearing me out of my reverie.
“Oh—uh, Quincy Shore Drive. Make a left at the lights. It’s all the way down, number thirty-five-sixty-six.”
I was sure he’d already driven past the house to make sure it wasn’t a dump or a fake address. Some principals could be real paranoid. Some mothers, too.
“Can I ask you a stupid question, Julian?”
He threw me a wry grin as we crossed a busy intersection. “Of course.”
I hesitated. It wasn’t any of my business. “Are you sure you can’t go back to playing baseball? Or at least coach outside the school? Or give the kids counseling or anything baseball related? Warren tells me you’re the best coach a boy could have.” There. I’d been as nosy as him. But it felt right to reciprocate, to show some level of caring.
He chewed on his lower lip for a while before answering and I could tell it was costing him a big effort. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut?
“That part of my life is over, Erica. For good.”
Wow. That sounded pretty final. “Don’t you miss it?” I insisted, getting braver by the minute.
He hesitated and then shrugged. He was worse than me, this o
ne, and I could tell by the angle of his shoulders it wasn’t his favorite topic of conversation.
“Every day,” he whispered. “But life goes on.”
I gaped in surprise. I hadn’t expected such a candid admission from a guy who seemingly had it all together. I opened my mouth to say something equally intelligent and honest, but he looked out my window and I turned too. We’d arrived.
“Nice,” he whistled.
“Thanks,” I said as I catapulted myself out of his car as if the seat had suddenly caught fire. At least mine had. The physical attraction for this guy was becoming more and more unbearable by the day. Funny, when you think he thought I was a real mess. And then I put my foot in it.
“You really should come by—for coffee. And to see that I’m not such a bad mother after all.”
He searched my face to see if I was serious, and finally grinned. “I’d love to, thank you.”
I slapped my forehead. “Aw, crap.”
He sat forward. “What’s wrong?”
The kids. I’d almost forgotten them. Where had the time gone? Great. Now I’d never get him off my case. There was no way I was going to confess to him that much. “Er, what time is it, please?”
“Six. What time are the kids done at Sudbury Street?”
“In five minutes,” I said meekly, knowing I was never getting rid of him now.
He grinned that oh-so-sexy grin at me again, motioning to me with a flick of his head as if beckoning me back into his bed after a hot session of no-limits sex. “Hop in. I know a shortcut.”
I eyed him, embarrassed, then obeyed. “You’re right—I am the worst mother in the world. But I swear I’ve never ever—”
“Erica,” he said softly, “I’ve never indicated anything like that. Why are you so paranoid?”
“Hello? All those questions about my family life?” I said defensively, ride or no ride.
The Husband Diet (A Romantic Comedy) Page 12