Missed Connection

by K Larsen

  “Morning, John! I’m so glad you’re still here. I wanted to speak to you before you left. How are you feeling?”

  John clears his throat and looks up from his paper. Displeasure washes over his face and as it does, I have the realization that during every single interaction we have, John looks upset with me.

  “I’ve got a seven a.m. with the comptroller, can’t we save it for later?”

  “We can speak later, certainly. But I’d like to tell you now, before someone says something to you. I don’t want you to think I’m sneaking around.”

  John folds his paper, seemingly annoyed at me. He takes his reading glasses off and folds them beside the paper.

  “Sneaking around, Jess? What in God’s name are you talking about?”

  “Do you remember the last time you kissed me?”

  “I, I—we’ve been married for more than twenty years. Why would you ask me such a thing?”

  I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit down at the breakfast table next to my husband.

  “We don’t sleep in the same room. You never hug me. Most of our interactions feel hostile and you treat me like I’m a burden or a problem.”

  “You’re going to lay all of this on me right now, right before I have to go to work?”

  Taking a huge drink of my coffee, I dig deep for resolve and courage.

  “There’s no right time to do this, John, today, tomorrow, three months from now—it doesn’t make a difference. I loved you once, I did. I love the amazing child we created. But John, I’m not sure what we’re doing anymore.”

  “Are you saying you want a divorce?”

  He looks almost annoyed again, like I’m ruining his breakfast, not trying to speak my own truth.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper. I recently reconnected with someone from my past. I don’t know if it’s romantic, or even what it will be. But the one thing I know for certain, is that it’s incredibly meaningful to me.”

  “Romantic?”

  “I haven’t cheated on you, John, if that’s what you’re asking. I haven’t even seen him yet, we’ve just emailed and texted. But to be perfectly honest, it’s made me reevaluate everything in my life. Even if absolutely nothing comes of it—I think I owe myself better than this relationship. And I’m not blaming you, it’s my fault as much as it is yours. But we aren’t a real couple anymore, we haven’t been for a long time.”

  I reach over to his croissant and pull off a corner, I dunk it in my coffee, put it in my mouth and study his face. No emotional reaction. He just looks annoyed. I will chuck my hot coffee at him if he asks me if I’m having an episode.

  “If you’d like my opinion, I’d rather wait until I finish my term. I’d hope, out of respect for our daughter, you could put your midlife escapades on the back burner until we walk her down the aisle.”

  “I understand your requests and I’ll consider them, they’re not unreasonable. But John, you said ten years in the senate. This term makes ten and I don’t see any evidence of you stopping. As for Angie, I’ve been open with her from the start. She, of course, wants us both at her wedding, but it does not matter to her if we are there together.”

  He raises an eyebrow at me. So little emotion comes out of him, that I want to cry at the lack of humanity. A crumbling marriage of twenty plus years, a child, a family breaking apart—shouldn’t we be devastated? Shouldn’t we be lamenting the huge loss? It’s a business transaction to John, a political maneuver.

  “Do you have a lawyer?”

  “No, John. I’m telling you two emails into this. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, if not for the additional contemplation. It made me take a serious look at us and where we’re going. I started thinking about what I want out of life for the first time since we had Angie.”

  “My advice is to wait and see if this blows over. If not, you know how to get ahold of my lawyer.”

  He pushes his chair back and closes up his briefcase. Not a touch on my shoulder, no hug for old time’s sake. I almost long for more tragedy, or even some rage. John walks out of the house without saying another word to me.

  I haven’t received a response text from Jess. Maybe I was too forward. Is it possible that I’ve screwed this up already? My thoughts make me feel crazy. I haven’t doubted my actions like this in a long, long time. I chug the last drops of my coffee and chuck the cup in the contractors’ garbage bag sitting on the floor to my left. We have another week before we wrap things up for the Vanderbilts. This house is one of my best. From top to bottom, this house is stunning. It’s one hell of a legacy to leave my name on, that’s for sure. The view of the lake makes this place one hell of a getaway. I’m sure once they get their interior decorator in here, it will be featured in magazines, which is exactly what the Vanderbilts want. I walk through each room of the house, eyeballing all the small details, to make sure everything is as I want it.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. I whip it out of my pocket with the enthusiasm of a teenager.

  Article is live in this month’s edition. Congrats, Ty, this should really put your name on the map. Care to celebrate?

  Emily. My stomach drops. It’s not the text I wanted to see and not from the person I wanted it to be from.

  Great news. Thanks for letting me know.

  My response seems cold even for me but I don’t want to lead her on in any way. Across the distance and space between Jess and me, I still feel that inexplicable pull to her. To whatever connection was born that night twenty years ago. Emily has no place in that world or in mine. If someone told me ten years ago that Jess and I would re-connect, I would have laughed at them. It’s not that she wasn’t there in a corner of my heart, but I was in love with my wife, my family. There wouldn’t have been room for Jess in my life, but now, now there is—except for her, there’s a husband. She was always an echo inside me because that’s all she could be. Now I want a front row seat in her life. The timing isn’t exactly perfect. I sigh and rub my temples vigorously. This day has already been a tsunami of emotions. I need to relax. I need a quiet, peaceful boat ride. I need to leave my phone in the truck or something so that I can’t compulsively stare at it, willing it to reach through the universe and force Jess to respond to me.

  At lunch, Rusty and Dan pop over to the job site to check out the house and catch up with me. They’re stunned that my post reached the actual person it was intended for and that we’ve been talking.

  “Dude, I Googled her. Damn. She’s hot, Ty!” Rusty slaps me on the shoulder, grinning.

  “I swear, she’s barely aged at all since we met,” I say. And it’s true. Besides looking more mature, she’s still as stunning as she was the day I saw her huddled under an awning.

  “So, are you going to meet up?” Dan asks.

  “We’ve only emailed a couple times and swapped a few texts at this point. I don’t think we’ll be getting together any time soon. She’s married, guys.”

  Dan makes a face at me like he’s just bitten into a sour lemon. “Seriously?”

  “Uh, yeah, seriously,” I say.

  “But . . .” Rusty leaves the word hanging between us. I shrug because it is what it is. They can’t change that and neither can I. We grab sandwiches from a local deli and eat in a combination of silence and grunting. When we’ve all finished, I go back to the job site to meet with the Vanderbilts.

  “Titan, we just want to say,” Mr. Vanderbilt motions to his wife, who is staring at me with a strange look—“that we couldn’t be more pleased with the work.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Are you the Craigslist guy—you know from TV?” Mrs. Vanderbilt blurts.

  “Tandy. I thought we discussed this,” her husband scolds and gives her a stern look.

  I stare at the ground between us.

  “I’m sorry for that, Titan,” Mr. Vanderbilt says. It always rubs me the wrong way when a man so clearly controls a woman.

  “It’s okay. And yes, I am.” Mrs. Vanderbilt’s eyes look like sauc
ers.

  “I knew it. Adelaide was talking about that post that was on that morning show! She said Angie told her something about it because the woman is Jesenia!”

  Now my eyes are bugging out. “I’m sorry?” I don’t know if I’m asking a question or apologizing.

  “Our daughter, Adelaide, is friends with Angie Van Buren.”

  “Okay,” I say. I feel out of place. I’m not sure how to react.

  “Tandy, that’s none of our business,” Mr. Vanderbilt snaps. His voice is commanding and he straightens his back. His wife cowers and tucks into his side like a dog being called to heel. I blink. What the hell just happened?

  “Titan, let’s connect the end of next week when things are finished to settle up.”

  “Sounds great, Mr. Vanderbilt.” He shakes my hand firmly before taking his wife’s elbow and leading her away briskly. I feel guilt. Have I done something terribly wrong? Have I upset her world? The heart is funny like that. It can make you feel like you’re bullet proof or cut you down with the smallest truth. How foolish have I been to pursue her after learning she’s a married woman. What kind of man am I?

  Angie and I are knee deep in silk fabrics and lace at a showroom in the Garment District. Her wedding dress is being handmade and we’re taking advantage of the fabric showrooms to do an episode on scraps and all of the amazing things you can do with them. Angie has contracted a fledgling designer from FIT instead of hiring someone well-known. We’re both passionate about supporting struggling artists and Angie saw her dresses at a fashion show and knew right away that she wanted to work with her. We’ve got a list going of possible projects for the next podcast. Table runners, adding lace to pillows, cloth napkins, patches, doilies, framed fabric and anything else we can come up with.

  “I can’t believe Dad didn’t react more. It’s just like him to pull away whenever anything gets emotional.”

  “I did come at him out of the blue, he was not at all prepared for it,” I say. I use fabric scissors to cut through a metallic silk that looks both silver and gold, almost a platinum color.

  “I guess the little girl inside of me wanted him to fight for you. I think I was hoping that maybe this would shake him up enough to wake him up—so maybe he’d finally let you know that he really does love you.”

  I fold the yards of platinum fabric into a square and note the item number on our invoice. Angie and I have been coming to this wholesale shop for so long, that they’ve given us a house account here. Nothing else in this world smells quite like a New York warehouse style building, jam-packed full of imported textiles from every corner of the globe, silks from India and China, raw wool from Italy, bolts of cotton and jersey print from Germany, Duchesse satin from the Arabian Peninsula. I run my fingers up and down an ivory silk on my lap.

  “Your father was never very emotive, Angie. Even during the good years, he was more interested in relationships with campaign contributors than he was with his wife.”

  “He’s really good at taking care of other people’s needs, just not his own family’s. What’s the deal with Titan, what are you feeling from those emails?”

  “Overwhelmed, if I’m honest. I don’t want Ty to feel like he’s a rebound, or like he’s the reason for a break-up. I don’t want him to feel pressure from my actions to do or be something he doesn’t want or isn’t ready for. Now is not the time, but of course, I have yet to tell him about my disease.”

  “You don’t need to tell him about that yet, Mom. Don’t cry over some rejection that hasn’t even happened yet! It’s not a deal breaker—like Dad always made it out to be. You get depressed, you get a little crazy. Well, so do all the rest of us!”

  I reach up to the cutting table and pull myself to standing. Looking down at my daughter, I decide she’s an idealist.

  “It’s unfair not to tell him, but it’s a strange thing to mention in a conversation with someone you just met. Who knows if he’s interested in dating or even spending any time with me?”

  “How could you say that? You’re talking about a man who wrote to the heavens, searching the universe for you. He’s serious about you and he’ll accept all of your flaws. That’s what lovers do for one another, Mom—they love the hell out each other, including the tough parts.”

  I shove a bolt back onto a shelf that runs from floor to ceiling, so many bold colors and textures, my head is spinning with ideas for creating.

  “Let’s go get some lunch, Honey. I think we’ve got enough for ten shows.”

  “Don’t pull a Dad on me! We were talking about Ty!”

  “Ty and I are hardly lovers, Angie. Although I’ll admit that reconnecting with him has made me evaluate my situation, I don’t think jumping into a relationship is very healthy. Nor do I want to burden a man I barely know with the reality of my disease. He’d probably hightail it in the other direction if he could hear us having this conversation.”

  “What a bunch of crap! I wish you could hear yourself speaking. You’re not a disease, Mom, you’re an incredible person! You’re beautiful and smart, caring and thoughtful. In fact, I can’t think of a single reason why that gorgeous man wouldn’t want to be with you!”

  “I’m going to go settle up with Dominique,” I say, tossing the last folded square onto the table.

  “Damn, you’re frustrating. I should probably talk to Ty myself.”

  “You will do no such thing, Angelina. Leave the poor man alone!”

  “Yeah, well, I read the letter, too, Mom, as did the rest of the world. I don’t think anyone who saw it got the impression that Titan is looking to be left alone. I’d say it’s more like he’s screaming the opposite!” Angie grabs her Starbucks mug and practically flings coffee on our collection. She’s blushing hard in her cheeks, just like she has since childhood, whenever she’s upset or frustrated.

  “I’m scared, Angelina. Just really scared, that’s all.”

  It’s been two days and no response from Jess. I’ve typed out tens of different text messages but deleted them all. I’ve typed out a few emails, even just to see if perhaps that route would be more comfortable for her. But I haven’t sent any of those either. I’m just going to man up and wait her out. This is all new. She’s in a very different place than I am. And the ball is in her court. Time is ticking away and all I can do is wait.

  The air is chilled and the lights at the football stadium illuminate everything. He made varsity this year. I couldn’t be more proud of the kid. He’s managed to boost his grades, albeit my driving ultimatum probably had a hand in that, made varsity football this year and he’s writing for the school newspaper as well. He is a well-rounded kid and I love watching him excel. They just stopped the clock for a timeout. I rub my hands together and blow into them. A young lady three rows down from me shouts, “Good job, Luke!” before waving toward the field.

  Who is this creature? I pick up my coffee cup to head down closer to this chick.

  “Where the hell are you going?” Rusty asks. I shush him and point out the brunette. He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Little young, even for a ‘Most Eligible Bachelor’ like you, Ty.”

  I stifle a laugh and move in behind the girl cheering for my Luke. The advanced copy of the magazine arrived at the house today—complete with my picture on the cover. It was a little embarrassing, to be honest. Emily got me good. The caption under me read; General Contracting’s Most Eligible Bachelor Tells All. I stopped there. I didn’t have the heart to read the article just yet. Rusty, however, read the entire damn thing before he agreed to get in the truck and go to the football game. It hits newsstands in a week.

  The announcer comes over the crackly speaker system as the boys break and the game starts back up. “Here’s Pollock back to throw! This offense hasn’t had too much success converting on 4th down today, giving our home team a slight advantage.” I look up to Rusty, his son, Dillon Pollock, has an arm that any college would be happy to have on their team. Rusty beams.

  “Jennings takes the ball. He’s running
it back!” the announcer shouts. The brunette is wiggling in her set. “GO, LUKE!” she shouts.

  The announcer starts speaking but I already know what’s about to happen. “Oh! Luke Jennings with the score, folks!” The girl cheering for Luke goes nuts. As does most of the small town crowd. I stand and cheer my son. He spins in a circle and does a curtsy before kissing his fingertips and pointing to his Mom, watching over him with the stars.

  Every.

  Single.

  Touchdown.

  My face feels like it always does, as if my smile might break my cheeks. The only thing missing is someone to share these moments with.

  Luke runs up to the fence and Brunette Girl scurries down the bleachers to meet him. She blows him a kiss that he catches. I’ve never seen anything so corny before. And Luke has not mentioned a damn thing about any girl, so we’re going to have plenty to talk about later tonight. I know he learned what he needed from sex education in school and I know Rory gave him the basic ‘birds and bees’ talk when he was younger, but I need to make sure he knows that if he doesn’t wrap it up, I will take it off.

  “Wow, Luke’s got a lady,” Rusty chuckles and shoulder bumps me. “Pretty one, too.”

  “Shut it, Rusty. I still don’t know how I feel about this yet. I was just trying to get a better look at her was all.”

  “Alright, alright. I’d be proud as hell if Dillon brought a girl around,” Rusty laughs out.

  “I like that there’s no girlfriends around yet. More men time. More focusing on the important stuff, less chance of grandbabies,” I say sternly.

  “Hi, Titan, nice to meet you. I’m Rusty, not your child.” Rusty holds out his hand for me to shake and I can’t help but let out a laugh. I might be a tad overprotective of Luke but . . . he’s all I have.