by Jane Green
There he was, dripping with sweat as he pounded on the treadmill at the Reebok Club, when he felt someone looking at him.
Glancing up in the mirror in front of him, he caught the eye of a curvaceous, pretty brunette on the elliptical machine just a few machines away. She held his glance for a few seconds, until Eddie looked away. But Eddie remembered that look. Remembered exactly what that glance, held for just that tiny bit longer than was absolutely necessary, meant. That was the glance he used to give, back in the days when he was young and single. And free.
He looked again to check, because nobody has given Eddie a look like that in a very long time, and, yes, she was still looking. And this time she smiled. Eddie smiled back.
Not that she was his type. And even if she were, Eddie’s not looking. Eddie’s priority these days is work, and filling up the hours he should be with his family by working out and thinking about how he can best get back to being with his family.
Nevertheless, Eddie is not a man immune to the charms of a woman who finds him attractive, and he found himself pulling in the little that’s left of his protruding stomach, and running just that little bit harder, little bit faster until he’d finished his five miles.
“Hi. That looked like a big run.” The brunette was now climbing off the elliptical as he passed.
“Yup.” He smiled, having forgotten quite what to do in the face of flirtatious friendliness, but she extended a hand.
“I’m Jeanette.”
“Oh, hi, Jeanette. I’m Eddie.” And as he shook her hand he saw her look quickly down to the third finger on his left hand, where he still wears his wedding band. He is, after all, still married.
Jeanette saw that he saw her looking, and she gave him an apologetic shrug. “You have to try,” she said, as she walked off with a smile.
Eddie walked home on a cloud. No one had flirted with him in years. No one had wanted to try anything for as far back as he could remember. He’s flattered and excited by the attention, but despite his colleagues’ invitations to singles nights and singles bars, Eddie isn’t the least bit excited at the prospect of being single.
He doesn’t want to go on dates. Doesn’t want to start asking women to tell him how someone as beautiful/cute/special as they are could still be single. Doesn’t want to share his history, his stories, what school he went to with anyone other than Sarah.
He doesn’t want to struggle through a relationship with all the ups and downs until he gets comfortable enough to belch in front of a woman, or she gets comfortable enough to use the bathroom while he’s shaving. He only wants that intimacy with Sarah, and with his kids.
And, God, how he misses his kids. He calls them every day, which he suspects is more painful for all of them, but now that they’re gone he misses them far more than he would have thought possible. His office is scattered with photos of them, he happily tells his secretary all the cute and funny things they do and say, and most of all he wants to make up for all the lost opportunities.
For the first time, Eddie sees he could have done things differently. He lies in bed at night and thinks of all the times the kids pulled on his sleeves, danced in front of him begging him to play basketball, or have tea parties, or just hang out with them upstairs.
And all those times he’d say, “In a minute,” or “Not now, Daddy has to work,” or “Daddy’s had a long day at work; Daddy needs to rest.” He wishes he could turn the clock back and redo everything, be there when they needed him, spend all that quality time with them that he missed, but given that’s not possible he’s praying for a second chance.
It’s almost as if he’s come out of the trance he’s been in for years. Cutting out the alcohol, the coffee, and the sugar, taking care of his body and himself for the first time since he’s been married, Eddie feels as if he can see clearly again.
Not that he’s happy, but he knows he could be happy if he were home. He knows, has never doubted, that Sarah is the one for him. All he’s done is blame her for nagging and whining, for being a miserable wife, and yet now he sees his part in the equation. He sees how difficult it must have been with him gone at work for the best part of the day, sees how much it must have hurt for him never to want to spend time with any of them, his relaxation being the television and beer.
Eddie is determined that he will get that second chance. All he’s doing now is biding his time, working out his strategy. Christmas is coming and Eddie’s getting ready. As far as he’s concerned, this, this separation, isn’t permanent. It’s a vacation is how Eddie is choosing to think about it. A chance for all of them to recharge their batteries, ready to start their lives, their real lives, fully refreshed again, and Eddie has decided that Christmas is when the vacation will end.
“Where’s this place again?” Lisa’s on the phone as Sarah’s getting ready for book club.
“It’s that new Mexican place on Water Street. Right behind Main Street. Where Pier One used to be.”
“Okay, great. And you’re dressing up?”
Sarah laughs. “You’d better believe it!”
For book club tonight they have read, or attempted to read, or are halfway through Daughter of Fortune by Isabel Allende. It’s Caroline’s turn to host, but she’s having her house repainted so Sarah offered to switch, and because she now has more energy than she knows what to do with, because she has started wearing makeup every day, coloring her hair, actually living again, Sarah has decided to do something different for this book club.
Instead of being in someone’s family room with dessert and coffee, they are going to a Mexican restaurant, and each has been instructed to come in bright, festive colors with flowers in her hair.
Sarah walks into Villa del Sol, squinting through the darkened restaurant to try to find her friends. She sees Caroline waving at her from a table downstairs in the corner of the room and makes her way down as a couple of waiters bow and grin at her with approval.
“Wow! This place is great!” Sarah gives Caroline a quick hug.
“I know!” Caroline squeezes her friend. “I asked them to move us over here because it’s away from the speakers. The music’s so loud in the front.”
Sarah laughs. “I love salsa music, but it makes me feel so old to admit that I can’t stand loud music in restaurants. But I can’t!”
“We’re not old; we’re just interesting, and interested in actually hearing what one another has to say.”
“Speaking of one another, where are the others?” As Sarah speaks, Lisa and Cindy appear, both with the requisite flowers, closely followed by Nicole.
“I love this!” Cindy says. “Why didn’t we decide to go to restaurants before? This is a great idea, Sarah!”
“Thank you. And may I say you girls all look gorgeous.”
“As do you.” Lisa smiles. “I love your gardenia.”
Sarah shrugs. “Fake. But the best I could do in early December.”
Cocktails are brought; menus are studied; food is ordered. There is the usual, cursory pretense of them having come together for some intelligent, intellectual discourse about the book, and then Cindy and Caroline break off to talk about the First Selectman’s latest comments about the educational system at the town meeting two days prior, and soon they have all abandoned the book.
“Poor Isabel Allende,” Sarah says. “I hope she forgives us.”
“Okay, I’m going to be honest,” Cindy says. “I did read the book this time”—the others applaud as Cindy does a mock bow—“and I loved it, but there’s nothing I need to say about it. Was it beautifully written? Yes. Did I sympathize with Eliza? Yes. Was it engrossing? Of course. But the bottom line for me is I come to book club every month to see you guys, not to talk about the book. I come because I get more friendship and support from all of you than anywhere else, and because you keep me sane, and reading a book is just an excuse to come together and talk about real life.”
Caroline makes a face. “Does that mean book club is coming to an end?”
“Cindy is right, though,” Nicole says. “I never have time to read the book and I come because of you. Maybe we should rename it dinner club.”
“Or we could have a poker night instead,” Lisa offers. “Actually, no. Gambling probably isn’t a good idea.”
“Given that we usually end up grumbling about our husbands we could be Wives Anonymous,” Caroline jokes.
“Except of course for me,” Sarah adds wryly. “Given that I no longer have one.”
A silence falls upon the table.
“What do you mean, you no longer have one? Are you getting”—Lisa’s voice drops to a hushed whisper—“divorced?”
The shock shows on Sarah’s face as she adamantly shakes her head, and soon she is pouring out her confusion to the women.
“So give it another go,” they all say. “If you feel that confused and you’re that lonely, try again.”
“But I can’t,” Sarah moans. “I can’t put the kids through this again, let alone myself. I can’t let him come back if it’s going to continue the same way, only to have to split up again, next time permanently. I’m only going to damage them and myself even more.”
“You could always put yourself out there and try dating. Just dip a toe in the water to see if you could face it.”
“Are you nuts?” Nicole looks at Cindy as if Cindy is completely mad. “How is that relevant? And, anyway, Sarah’s loneliness isn’t going to be solved by dating.”
Sarah shrugs sadly. “First of all I absolutely, positively do not want to date anyone at all, not to mention that I am a middle-aged mother of two living in the suburban heartland where ninety-nine percent of the people are married and there really aren’t any decent men to date over the age of twenty-four.”
“So?” Cindy shrugs. “Demi Moore isn’t complaining.”
Sarah lets out a bark of laughter. “I’m hardly Demi Moore.”
“I don’t know.” Caroline looks at her appraisingly. “With your new dark locks and plum lipstick…”
“Oh, be quiet!” Sarah says.
“Meanwhile,” Caroline says, “what about Joe, the sexy contractor?”
“Who?” “Who?” “Who?” There’s an echo of excited voices around the table, and Sarah actually blushes.
“Oh, God.” She gives Caroline a stern look. “Why did you have to bring him up?”
“Who is Joe the sexy contractor?” Lisa’s eyes are wide with excitement. “And why haven’t you mentioned this before?”
“There’s nothing to mention.” Sarah shrugs. “He’s just the contractor who’s taking down the wall and he’s cute—”
“And single, and interested in Sarah!” Caroline finishes off the sentence triumphantly.
“I’m sure he’s not,” Sarah says.
“Oh, come on.” Caroline turns to the rest of the table and tells of how she went to Sarah’s house a couple of days previously to find Joe the sexy contractor sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a soda, and talking animatedly to Sarah.
“We were talking about the wall,” Sarah says helplessly.
“I’m telling you, he was staring at you. That man is attracted to you. You’ve just forgotten what signs to look for.”
Sarah shrugs. “It doesn’t matter even if he is. I’m not interested.” But despite herself she turns to Caroline again. “But seriously. Do you really think he’s attracted to me?”
“I don’t think so—I know so.” Caroline grins. “And you, Miss flick your hair girlishly and smile up at him through your long, dark eyelashes, were attracted to him too. Don’t try to deny it.”
Sarah laughs as she shakes her head. “Girls, I’m a married woman,” she says. “Leave me alone.” But Caroline’s right. The second time Joe came over the attraction was even stronger than the first. Not that she’s planning on doing anything about it….
Several margaritas later, a live salsa band comes on and soon half the restaurant is up and dancing.
Sarah leads her table to the floor, whooping and laughing as they go, none of them caring when, an hour later, they are dripping wet, more than a little drunk, and rather flustered by the sudden appearance of dozens of men, far better versed in salsa dancing than they, who twirl the women around like dervishes.
None of them had had this much fun in years.
Chapter Ten
Sarah gets home from work to find her machine blinking furiously. Caroline, Lisa, Nicole, and Cindy have all left messages, sheepishly admitting to hangovers but all saying they had the best time, and thanking Sarah for breaking the routine of the usual staid book club meetings.
And despite her own slight hangover, Sarah feels energized in a way she hasn’t in years. She feels younger, sexier, more sparkling. She looks in the mirror now and actually likes what she sees. She loves that both Maggie and Walker now tell her she looks pretty. She loves that she’s taking the time to put makeup on, that she read an article in a fashion magazine that was lying around at work that advised women to buy only what they completely love and what makes them feel beautiful, and to discard everything else.
Sarah came straight home after work, resolving to throw out anything she hadn’t worn in a year, anything that didn’t flatter, that didn’t suit. Walker was sent to Caroline’s for a play date and Maggie laughed delightedly as she played dress up in Sarah’s discarded pile.
The Prada jacket she used to wear all those years ago when she worked at the magazine but had never been able to get rid of because it was so expensive, now helplessly out of date, heads the pile. The fleeces and velour sweat suits, the stretch Gap pants that never flattered but were always comfortable, the chunky cotton cable sweaters that had long ago lost their shape but were easy to pull on first thing in the morning—all of them make their way into the discarded pile.
When Sarah finishes there isn’t an awful lot hanging in the wardrobe. The cargo pants she keeps, and a selection of T-shirts. A few sweaters, two classic white shirts, and three skirts.
The shoes are a disaster. The boiled wool clogs go, as do the Merrills, and even the Birkenstocks. What was I thinking? she mutters to herself as she buries them under the pile.
And her precious designer clothes that she had saved all these years from when she worked at the magazine are now so clearly outdated. She loved those Miu Miu shoes way back when, but sadly she realizes she can’t wear them now.
She checks her watch. An hour and a half to go before picking Walker up from Caroline’s. “Come on, Maggie,” she says, scooping her up and sweeping downstairs with her to wrap them both up in scarves and hats—the December weather has just started to bite. “We’re going shopping.”
No Talbots for Sarah today. No Gap. No Ann Taylor. She heads straight for the one designer store in town, a store she would once have felt so comfortable in, but hadn’t been inside for years, too intimidated by the perfect sales assistants, the overpriced clothes, the air of expensive glamour.
Sarah doesn’t remember the last time she went shopping for the sheer fun of it. She’s been used to buying clothes when she needs them, not because she wants them. And most of what used to hang in her wardrobe was from catalogs. Too busy to send anything back, if it didn’t quite fit right, or didn’t quite suit, she wore it anyway.
Now she’s buying because she wants to be beautiful. She’s buying because finally she’s able to pay for it with her own money. She’s buying to empower herself a little, to bring her exterior, her appearance, more in line with her changing interior.
An hour later she walks out of the store smiling to herself, her arms laden with bags, feeling much like the Julia Roberts character in Pretty Woman.
She bought sweaters in soft angora wool that make her feel like she’s wrapped in a blanket; slim-fitting bootleg pants that make her legs look endless; a chocolate brown quilted jacket with a fur collar that is both glamorous and practical; a black chiffon dress for the holidays; flat suede ballet slippers for every day; high-heeled pointed boots for going out.
Sarah
hasn’t just spent this week’s salary; she’s spent the future month’s salary as well, but it’s been worth it. She feels beautiful in every item of clothing, and as she drives to Caroline’s house she finds herself wishing that Eddie could see her now.
Eddie walks home from the gym and smiles at the department store windows. He loves Christmas. Has always loved Christmas. When he was a little boy he used to wake up on Christmas morning at 4:00, and wake up his sister, who was always allowed to have a sleepover in his room on Christmas Eve, and they would both hurry downstairs to where the Christmas tree was blazing to rip open their presents.
The magic and possibility of Christmas have never left him. He loves putting the lights on the big white pine in their front yard, loves having the kids help him put the tinsel on the tree, loves going up to the attic to get the Christmas ornaments that belonged to his parents when he was small.
Now is about the time when he’d be taking the children out to the Christmas tree farm to pick the biggest tree that could fit in their hallway. Now is about the time Sarah would start shopping for their stockings, showing him the cute little presents she had bought, the Christmas-themed candies.
A heaviness weighs upon his heart as he looks through the window. He’s not sure he can face Christmas here in Chicago on his own. He can’t think of anything worse than a little tree in the tiny, cold apartment he could never think of as home.
I should be with my family, Eddie thinks, as he looks through the window. I need to be with my family. And as he stands there missing Sarah, Walker, and Maggie, he realizes how insane it is that he has let so much slip away. Not just by being in Chicago, but by refusing to pin Sarah down to talk about their future, and by all the missed opportunities: by not being the husband and father he could have been.
Now it’s time, he realizes. Time to win them back. Time to show his family how much they mean to him. The vacation is finally coming to an end, and he pulls out his cell phone and dials a number.