So I say the last thing that I can. “And I spit in the cider.” I finish, throwing my hands in the air, completely spent. Truth telling is completely draining, especially when it’s incomplete.
“I’m sorry, you spit in the cider? On purpose?” Marie asks.
“THIS is the thing you’re worried about?” Hedy shakes her head.
“Well, it is a valid question,” Caroline offers. “Why exactly did you spit in the cider, darling?”
“Stupidhead Liam snuck up behind me and scared me and I accidentally sprayed the cider in my mouth out like a Three Stooges episode, and mostly it ended up back in the pot.”
“Good lord, none of us care about drinking your spit,” Hedy says. “What are we going to do about the rest of it?”
“Bird by bird,” Marie says quietly.
“We don’t really know what that means, dearheart.” Caroline pats Marie’s arm.
“It’s a book I read. Anne Lamott. It’s like, her brother had to do a report on birds and had all the encyclopedias around him and he was totally paralyzed by how to do it and where to start, and their dad was like ‘just take it bird by bird, buddy,’ you know, don’t look at the whole picture, just take it piece by piece. Like that old joke, how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.”
“That actually makes a weird bit of sense.” Hedy bites her thumbnail. “You have to sort of think about the problems in order of magnitude, you know? Like, the Mom visit thing is the most imminent, right, because she’s coming in a few weeks, and that is connected to the Emily thing. And then the house, because once you sell it you are unemployed, and have to see what that is going to mean.”
“That’s smart.” It’s all I can think about managing.
“We’ll have dinner next week. Put our heads together on the Mom thing, see what you need from us,” Hedy says.
“Okay.”
“It’ll all be okay, sweetie,” Marie says.
“I need some spit cider,” Hedy says, hauling herself off the floor.
“Me too,” Caroline says, offering me a hand to help me up.
“And lots of chocolate,” Marie says.
“Thanks, you guys. You’re the best.”
We do one more group hug and head downstairs to soothe our souls with fun-sized chocolate bars and cider. Because sometimes all a girl needs is the kind of friends who will drink your spit. And for now, I’m ignoring that Liam is, like it or not, in that category.
When we come downstairs, Liam and Jacob are drinking beer on the porch, and entertaining the huge groups of kids that come in an endless flood, while Beanie and Schatzi romp in the front yard. They’re bro-bonding hot and heavy when we arrive, but once introductions are made and Caroline and Jacob play Real Estate Six Degrees of Separation, she deftly leads him to the seat next to Hedy, and the two of them stop talking to anyone else. Caroline grins like a fool every time she looks over at the two of them, since you can practically see cartoon electric bolts flying between them. Liam is amazing with the kids, can recognize most of the costumes, especially the superheroes and cartoon characters. He jokes with the older ones, gets down on one knee for the shy ones, tells the princesses that they are the most beautiful in all the land. Emily watches him with a sappy look on her face, and for the first time, I really just completely get it, her longing for him, the way she looks at him, and I hope like hell that I don’t look at him that way. A family arrives with a very shy little boy in a Walter Payton jersey, hiding behind his mom’s legs, and Liam drops into a squat, and starts telling him with total sincerity that he is his favorite Chicago Bear of all time and asking for an autograph, until the kid is giggling and trying in vain to convince him that he isn’t actually the REAL Walter Payton. I can totally see him as a dad, and for the first time in my entire life, my womb aches.
I always thought that I would never be a mom. I know a lot of people who have a shitty childhood choose to have kids to right those wrongs, but for me, I just figured that I wouldn’t bother. Wouldn’t risk becoming my own mother. Considering Grand-mère, and Anneliese, it isn’t unlikely that the damage is on a cellular level. Plus I never really connected with kids, not even when I was a kid. Anytime my friends with children assured me that even if you don’t like kids as a group, you always love YOUR kids, that it happens instantaneously, I can’t trust that. After all, it’s clear my mother never fell in love with me. But I look at Liam and the way he is so easy with these tiny people, and out of nowhere, I suddenly wonder.
I’ve had a tremendous amount of boozy cider, and the turkey sandwiches Caroline brought and the eleven zillion chocolate bars I’ve eaten are not exactly soaking it up entirely. I’m shy of drunk, but happily tipsy, just pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, and despite my earlier meltdown, I’m having a good time. Also, I have to pee like a moose. I head inside, and avail myself of the bathroom. When I come out, I decide I can risk one more little nip of cider and go to the kitchen.
“Hey,” I say to Liam, who is putting the remaining sandwiches in the fridge.
“AHHHHHH!” he yells, dropping the platter on the floor. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you’ve stopped my heart, girl.”
“Serves you right.”
“I promise to try to be louder in future.”
And before I even know what I’m doing, I cross the room and stand in front of him. “I promise to try to keep your heart from stopping.”
“You’ll have to stop dressing so provocatively for a start.” He gestures up and down over my fabulously dowdy outfit.
“Well, we can’t all be Emily.”
“Nor should you be.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“What on earth?”
I know it’s not my place to even ask, but the cider in my veins has taken over my mouth. “The night of my birthday party, did you sleep with her? She was supposed to stay over at Caroline’s, but she didn’t and she didn’t come home and she’s so into you, and you were her date for the evening. Did you sleep with her?”
He shakes his head. “Of course not.” His voice gets husky. “She’s not what I’m interested in.” His eyes tell me the rest.
And then the cider takes over my arms as well, and I reach up and pull him down to me, kissing him with everything I have. His hands grip my hips, and pull me into him, the kiss matching and then exceeding the one from my birthday. My hands slide into his hair, as my tongue explores his mouth, sweet with recent chocolate. Every cell in my body is sparking with electricity, I’ve never wanted anything this badly. The first one wasn’t a fluke, Liam is the best kisser on the planet, and all I want is more. And then his hands come up and pull mine away forcefully, and he stands up straight, breaking the exquisite connection.
“I should go,” he says, his voice low and ashamed.
“Liam, I . . .”
“No. We can’t. And we won’t. Last time was on me, and I’m sorry for that. But this was you, and I need your word you won’t. Not again. Full stop.”
My heart cracks in two, and my eyes fill, but I nod.
“I’m going to go. I’ll see you Saturday. And for what it’s worth, everything else aside, I would never do anything with Emily. She’s like a little sister to me.”
And then his hands drop mine, and he is gone. I’m left in the kitchen, sandwiches exploded all over the floor, fridge gaping open. I hear a noise behind me, and turn to see Emily, standing in the shadows looking utterly brokenhearted, and everything is completely ruined.
Can I come in?” I knock on Emily’s door after everyone goes home. She gets major points for keeping it together and rejoining the gang on the porch after leaving me to clean up the kitchen, but as soon as they all left, she stomped downstairs and slammed the door.
“It’s your house,” comes the muffled reply. I turn the knob and enter. Emily looks like she’s packing up. Her clothes are exploded all over the roo
m, and she’s still in her cowgirl getup.
“Can we talk, please?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Jag. But you should. It’s just so unfair and horrible to him.”
I sigh. Now I know how much she actually saw. “I’m not worried about Jag, I’m worried about you.”
“Nice. What is it, like the seven-MINUTE itch? YOU JUST GOT MARRIED!”
“Emily, please, sit down, you need to let me explain.”
She plops on the edge of the bed, and I feel her pain, and it cuts me to the core. The good thing about having no family is that you don’t have to worry about being a disappointment to them, but I’m slowly beginning to understand what Caroline struggles with, why she says that there is no worse feeling in the whole world than disappointing or hurting your family.
I take a deep breath. “Emily, first off, I’m so sorry that I hurt your feelings. I know that you care for Liam, and you must think I’m the worst person on the planet right now.”
She shrugs. I look at her, and around the room, and I think for a second. This could be the answer to everything. She’ll be hurt, but she’ll get over it. And she’ll move out, so Jag and I can get the house back, and not have to worry about my mom coming and what to do about that whole mess. It would solve a million little problems, and help things get back to some semblance of normal. She is sitting next to me, hands fidgeting in her lap, her hair still in pigtails and fake freckles painted across the bridge of her nose. I know what I have to do. I know I need to rip the Band-Aid off fast so that we can all move forward.
“I need to tell you some things, and I want you to know that I’m taking a huge risk, I’m putting many people in jeopardy by sharing this with you, but I’m doing it because I trust you, and because I care about you, and because I don’t want you to leave.”
This makes her look at me with a little less animosity, and I keep going. I tell her about Jag’s visa problems and my decision that we should get married because I didn’t really believe I was someone who needed a romantic partner. I tell her about him falling in love with Nageena. I tell her about my history with Liam, and the switch that happened that day at Home Depot, and the kiss and everything it meant to me, and how worried I was for not only her feelings, but for my own. I tell her how completely fucked up I am about everything, and that for the first time in my life I feel like I have to admit that I don’t know my own heart, but that I want so badly to figure my shit out, and I feel like now I’ve dragged everyone I really care about into my mess. I tell her how scared I am about the whole Grant business, and she’s still the only one who knows. I tell her that I haven’t been able to tell the girls, and I feel like the only friendships I really can count on in my life are now going to be irrevocably damaged by the lying, and I’ve never felt more alone or more lonely.
She listens like a champ and I watch her angry glare slowly dissipate and become a soft look of sympathy. She tells me that Liam just reminds her of her ex-boyfriend who broke her heart and that she just wanted to be with someone who was a grown-up, even though she knows it probably means she has some unresolved daddy issues since he never dated after my mom left him, and she sort of became as much a wife as a daughter, not in an icky romantic way but just in a keeping house and cooking and taking care of him and being his primary companion and playing hostess at his parties kind of way. She says she understands about the Jag thing and promises cross her heart not to tell a soul, and that I’m a really, really good person to make that sort of sacrifice for a friend, and that she is sure the girls will understand. She says that she is still hurt about the Liam thing, but more because she’s embarrassed by her own obvious behavior, and that she totally forgives me, and pretty soon we are both crying and holding each other.
I call Jag and tell him that it is okay for him to sleep over at Nageena’s and I’ll explain in the morning. Emily and I wash our faces, and get into our pajamas, and I make popcorn, and we crawl into her pullout bed and watch Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. When it’s over, she asks me to stay and have a slumber party, and we lie in the dark and talk about Liam, and her ex, and Grant, and boys in general, and she snuggles into my shoulder like an overgrown kitten and the last thing I think before I fall asleep is that whatever else happens, I have a sister.
30
I tell Jag everything as soon as he gets home the next morning.
Well, almost everything. I still can’t tell him about the Liam kissing stuff, not until I figure out if I have feelings FOR Liam, or just ABOUT Liam. Not until I figure out if the physical connection is because it is Liam, or if it is just because I’ve had the very bad luck to go thirty-five years without ever being with someone who was a good kisser, or maybe the right kisser. He was mad for a moment, saying he didn’t understand why I would just jump in and do it without finishing our discussion first, without making the decision together, but I tell him that Emily overheard me asking Liam if they had been together, and his response, and how hurt and embarrassed she was, and that she was packing up and going to leave us. That’s when he finally smiled and hugged me and said that he understood why I told her.
He’s proud of me for wanting to keep her, for acknowledging that despite being unexpected, she’s been good for us, for the project, for me. And while he’s still nervous, he’s on board. He made a huge stack of pancakes, and when Emily came upstairs he gave her a big hug and the three of us had an easy breakfast, figuring out our strategies. Emily offered to move to one of the rooms upstairs so that he could have the pullout couch again, but he said he thought downstairs should officially be girl quarters. Now that we don’t have to hide the truth from Emily, he’ll spend most nights sleeping at Nageena’s, and will rock the blow-up mattress upstairs on the nights he stays here. So far it has worked pretty well, and contrary to Jag’s concerns that Emily might tell Liam, she has decided that if he wants to think of her as a little sister, she is going to act like one, making fun of everything from his hair to his accent, and being generally bratty. It’s been delightful to watch.
Today Jag took Emily to Salvage One to look for some lighting fixtures. We’re in need of wall sconces for the long hallways, a couple of chandeliers, some flush-mount ceiling lights for bedrooms. I’m working on the front room on the second floor, refinishing the French doors that lead out to the balcony. I’m just finishing what I pray is the final coat of stripper when my phone rings.
Oy. “Hi, Grant, how’s it going?” I try to force joviality.
“Okay, busy, stressful.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Yeah. How is everything with you?”
“Great, really, things are coming along over here.”
“I’m glad, Anneke, that sounds good, you sound good. I, um, hate to do this but I sort of need to know where we are with the money. The guy called again and now they’re offering 235, all cash.”
My stomach turns over, pancakes becoming a lead brick. “I can get you the fifty in two weeks.” I sucked it up and asked my financial guy about cashing in some of my retirement savings, and he said he could make it liquid in three business days, but that he strongly advises that this is a one-time deal, and I not think of my accounts with him as a savings account. Every time I dip in there are additional fees and penalties, and ultimately I’d almost be better off putting things on high-interest credit cards. I hired him because he is so conservative. When we first started working together I was a single girl with no plans to either wed or have children. I needed to make sure that my retirement savings would be there for me. I carry the highest amount of both long- and short-term disability coverage; I’ve always planned for future that only relied on me.
“That’s good, really, great, and I appreciate it, but it doesn’t solve the bigger issue. I would still need the rest pretty soon, and if you’re still talking about a sale after the New Year, I won’t be able to float it that long.”
“I’ll figure it out, Gr
ant, please, I just need a little more time. And if you can figure out how to wait till the sale, I’ll beat their offer, you can have 250 total.”
It kills me to be having this conversation. My feelings about Grant are so up and down. I’m still so hurt by his betrayal, and confused by his recent behavior. Cheating on me with a man, shitty, but almost somewhat understandable, questioning his identity, his sexuality, presented with temptation he hadn’t expected, okay. Showing up to stop my wedding? Stupid, but I guess maybe romantic, in a rom-com kind of way. But between catching him sucking face with a random woman in the hallway of a restaurant he wouldn’t usually have been caught dead in, and now suddenly pressing me about money? Deep down I could strangle him.
“You know it isn’t the profit issue, it’s just the circumstances.” I hate him for using that “woe is me” tone. As if it’s just killing him to even ask me for the money. The fact that he is daring to come to me with all of this just underscores that whatever else came of his infidelity, I clearly dodged a bullet relationshipwise.
“Please, just let me figure this out for a few more weeks.”
“Okay.”
I hang up, and head to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. I suddenly have a horrific case of heartburn, probably my conscience heating up. I like being the strong self-sufficient broad. I hate women like my mother, who survive entirely at the mercy of generous men. When Joe died, I discovered that he had paid her alimony for two years, until she remarried. The very thought turned my stomach. After abandoning him, to take money from him? Unconscionable. And yet, standing here right now, there is a part of me that wonders what would happen if I sued Grant for breach of promise and palimony. I know deep down I could never go through with it, but a tiny delicious shiver runs through my body at the image of some oily little process server showing up at one of his fancy investor meetings and handing him papers. Or maybe selling the story of finding him in the shower with Gregg to one of the sleazy tabloids. “Fan Favorite Chef Heats Things Up in the Kitchen . . . AND the Shower!” This makes me giggle.
Recipe for Disaster Page 38