by Laurèn Lee
"Fine."
"Just fine?"
"Yeah, Mom. It was just like a regular day."
"Did you make any friends?"
"A few," he said.
"Good!”
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Did you forget about me again?”
My heart thudded with sadness. “I’m sorry, buddy. I lost track of time.”
“You work too much,” Charlie said.
I sighed. “Hey, why don't you go wash your hands?"
Charlie growled.
"Go!" I pointed toward the bathroom door down the hall.
"I just washed my hands before dinner!"
"Well, wash 'em again or no ice cream." Those three words were more powerful than any others I could muster with my kid. He had a sweet tooth, and sometimes, I used that to my advantage. Someone once told me the key to having your kids listen was to find out what they loved the most then threaten to take it away. I chuckled every time his eyes grew when I threatened to cancel dessert.
While Charlie busied himself in the bathroom, I retrieved the mail and sorted through the piles of junk and bills. One letter caught my eye with its Victorian script, and my heart plunged at rapid speed. I knew it was coming, but that didn't mean I was any more prepared. I ripped open the envelope, and consequently, a papercut seared across my finger. A few tears dripped down my cheeks while blood simultaneously dropped down my finger. I called out an expletive, which sent Charlie running from the bathroom back into the kitchen.
"Mama! Are you okay?"
Cursing under my breath this time, I answered, "Yes. Sorry, sweetie. Papercut."
Charlie shrugged and walked away. Apparently, a papercut meant nothing to him. I sucked the blood from the wound and put a bandage on it right away. Once it was all cleaned up, I dreaded going back to the piece of mail which prompted the papercut in the first place.
It was an invitation—and not just any invitation; it was an invite to my ex-husband's wedding. I cringed and swallowed the bile which had risen in my throat. In a million years, I never thought I'd have to choose chicken or steak at Cal's wedding. I had to go, though, right? I couldn't let him think I wasn't strong enough to watch him exchange vows with his new bride. Oh, Angela. The tall, brunette with an ostentatious rack and a voluptuous body. She graduated from college a few years ago. Her youth was the cherry on top.
They met at a bar where she worked through her senior year at the state college outside of town. At first, I thought she was just a fling, but once I found out Cal had introduced her to Charlie without my consent, well, let's just say things got a little heated. I told Cal he had no right to make parenting decisions without me. He told me I had no say in who he dated or introduced to Charlie. We screamed at each other for almost an hour at his house, my old address, before Angela intervened and apologized. She admitted she was wrong to come into Charlie's life before having spoken to me first. I admired her courage to stand up to a fiery mama bear ready to draw blood, but I still wasn't happy with the situation. Now, I wasn't exactly elated to see her marry the man I thought I'd be buried next to one day.
Cal, or Calvin, and I met our junior year of college. He stood only a few inches taller than me and wore his dark brown hair very short. Cliché, I know. He majored in business; I majored in criminal justice. We were the power couple, the dangerous duo, the dream team. All our friends envied our relationship. I thought I met the man I'd spend the rest of my life with. We married soon after I turned 23, and a couple years later, I was pregnant. But just when our lives were supposed to be bursting with joy, everything came crashing down.
As an associate at a large firm, I often worked eighty hours a week. If I wanted to advance my career, that meant doing everything in my power to impress the partners. Often, that meant forgoing sleep, and if they asked me to jump, I replied, “How high?”
At first, Cal didn’t mind, but as time wore on, he grew frustrated with my schedule. I only slowed down when I gave birth to Charlie, but even then, I worked from home. If I wanted to make it as a lawyer, I had to put in the time. Cal didn’t understand, because at his job, he worked forty hours a week, max.
Then, once I made partner, my responsibilities only expanded. Cal turned impatient and annoyed with me, which resulted in petty fights when I was home. He told me he felt like a single father. I told him he was being ridiculous. Guilt slammed into me every time I checked the clock during a late night at the office and knew my boys were at home without. I wanted to be home with them, cuddled on the couch with a bowl of ice cream in my lap. But I knew in my heart, becoming a successful attorney would help my family in the long run. I wanted to provide for them. I wanted to save money for us all to go on lavish vacations to Disney and to the beach. I wanted to shower my son with love and presents. I wanted all the finer things in life and I wanted my family to have them, too.
It hurt me on the deepest of levels when Cal questioned my love for him and our son. There’s no one in the entire world I loved more. I just also happened to love my job. Why couldn’t I love both? It felt as though I was being pulled in two separate directions, tearing me apart in the process.
Giving birth to Charlie was the happiest day of my life. It’d been a tough delivery and I spent many hours in the hospital, but when I held him in my arms for the very first time, my entire world changed. I never knew I could love something so small with such an undeniable intensity. This little boy moved mountains inside my heart. I wanted to give him everything I never had, but that required dedication on my part. I also wanted to set an example that hard work pays off.
Cal was fortunate enough to grow up in a wealthy household. He skated through school and his father helped him find a job after graduation. I wasn’t afford such luxuries. I wanted to balance out Cal’s luck with my passion for being the best.
I didn't want to believe my perfect marriage was destructible, but the chinks in our armor weakened with every passing day. We weren't supposed to be like other couples. We were supposed to be better than them.
On the night of our eighth wedding anniversary, I ended up working late and crashing on the couch in my office. I had completely forgotten our dinner plans and worked well into the night on a case coming up for trial in the next few weeks. Even though I’d been the one to ask my mother- and father-in-law to watch Charlie for the night, our plans completely slipped my mind. Cal never forgave me for that night.
“You love your job more than you love me,” he said the next day when I came home.
“That’s not true, Cal.”
“Do you even care about your family? You’re never home!”
“Of course I care!”
“Prove it, Amelia.” He challenged.
Cal’s demeanor devolved into a distant, icy wall toward me after I missed our anniversary dinner. We only spoke to discuss Charlie, and even then, his voice was clipped and short. I tried to cut my hours short at work from time to time, but even then, Cal wanted me home even more.
Every weekend for the next few months, I made an effort to plan a family outing. One Saturday, we went to the zoo, another I bought tickets for the local science museum. However, if I checked my phone or responded to an email while we were out, Cal shot me contemptuous looks. It felt like it was never enough for him.
I wished more than anything he understood the demands of working in a law firm. I wished he knew every night I spent at the office, I wished I could be with them, too. I begged him to realize that every day I came home early, I lost the opportunity to succeed.
I couldn't keep up the facade any longer, though and neither could he. Cal began sleeping in our guest bedroom, if he came home at all. Our nanny sensed the disarray in our home, despite my attempts to conceal our imminent demise.
One evening, Cal came home and rushed into the shower after throwing his clothes in the washer. Suspicion rippled through me as I tiptoed to the laundry room, opened the washer and pulled out Cal’s sopping button-up shirt
. On the collar, bright red lipstick was smeared across the material.
Most wives would have been overcome with devastation. Me, however, I was relieved. This was my “out.” Sure, it hurt to know he was sleeping with another woman, but now I wouldn’t have to endure his endless rants about my work hours and lack of dedication to our marriage.
I cornered him before bed and asked if he was having an affair. His reaction? He sighed, and a look of apathy enveloped his face. At one time, we were hopelessly in love. But our love spoiled over time, and the end seemed inevitable.
He admitted to having an affair with Angela, the bartender. We divorced several months later and BAM, I became a single mother in the blink of an eye. I never thought it would happen to me. I never imagined I'd struggle to find babysitters or have to bring my child to work with me on days a sitter wasn't available. I shouldered the brunt of parenthood while Cal took Charlie on the weekends and went public with his new relationship. My world collapsed around me, but I couldn't wallow in self-pity. I had a child to raise and a career to grow. Who knew it would take a divorce for me to cut down my hours at work? I still put in almost 60 hours a week, but I worked far less than what I used to.
Last year, the scars of divorce still fresh, I heard it through the grapevine that Cal proposed to Angela. I knew he'd shacked up with her, but marriage? We’d only been divorced around two years. It was when I ran into them one night at a cozy Italian restaurant, I realized the rumors were true. I saw the way he watched Angela, and my heart shattered. He looked at her the way he once looked at me: deeply and utterly in love. Not to mention, the ring on her finger glittered in the dim light of the restaurant. I couldn't prevent the pang of jealousy from crashing into me when I realized the diamond was far larger than the one Cal bought me so many years ago.
Even though it was for the best, and our marriage wouldn’t have lasted, a piece of my heart died the night I realized Cal moved on. Would I ever be granted my own chance to move on? Would I ever find someone who accepted both my love and dedication to my job?
Now, with the invitation in hand, I had to decide whether or not to attend my ex-husband's wedding.
Fuck me.
Chapter Seven
Amelia
My first week of work flew by. Friday morning arrived, and I struggled to motivate Charlie to dress as usual. I swear moms who don't lose their shit by the end of the day deserve an award. Especially single moms. Hell, forget the prize; I'd settle for a sweet cookie instead.
"Charlie, move your tush, or else I'm taking the iPad away for a week!"
A massive crash erupted from his bedroom, and I knew my threat put a fire under him, as I hoped it would. I stood in the kitchen with Charlie's lunch bag in tow, along with my purse draped over my shoulder and my new cozy cashmere scarf wrapped around my neck.
I swore at the television as the weatherman promised temperatures in the teens for today.
Damn, I hated winter.
Why couldn't my firm be in Florida or California? I sighed as I dreamt about warmer days and prayed winter would pass swiftly this year.
"I'm ready, Mom!" Charlie scrambled from his Star Wars bedroom and skidded to a halt before me.
"Did you brush your hair?"
He nodded.
"And, your teeth?"
"Yes! Now let's get on the road before you make us late." Charlie chuckled, and I rolled my eyes. He was growing up way too fast. What would I do when he grew up, though? If the sass began at nine, what would the kid be like at nineteen? I shuddered at the thought.
I shook away my thoughts about my only child becoming a man and glanced around as I tried to think if I was forgetting anything. The apartment was in better shape every day, but we still had a lot of work to do. I knew if I worked less, I’d have more time to clean the place up, but I couldn’t see that happening any time soon.
The ivory walls were recently painted, and the chestnut hardwood floors sparkled in the daylight. The living room windows spanned the length of one wall, which revealed a stunning view of the city. The apartment was spacious without being obnoxious. Charlie and I were comfortable and at ease in our new digs.
Once I assured myself I wasn't forgetting anything I needed for the day, Charlie and I headed down to the complex's private parking ramp. Charlie hopped into the backseat of the car and held out his hand expectantly.
"How may I help you?" I taunted as I started the car.
"C'mon, Mom! I was ready when you asked me to be!"
"But, how many times did I have to ask?"
Charlie lowered his head, and I couldn't help but snicker. It was far too easy to trick that kid. I handed him his iPad and drove toward his school.
"Are you ready for your spelling test today?" I inquired as we turned the corner, his school now in view.
"Oh yeah. I'm going to make you proud, Mama," Charlie promised while he played his game. I smiled when his tongue fell slightly out of his mouth. It was his "concentration" face.
"Well, I can't wait to hear all about it," I said. "Okay, bud. We're here."
Charlie moaned but did a few last second things with his game. I assumed he was saving his progress and turning it off. He handed it to me as he stretched from the backseat closer to me.
"Love you," he said and kissed my cheek.
My heart fluttered, and I wished him a good day at school. No matter how old Charlie grew, there was nothing better than a kiss and hug from my baby. He'd always be my baby, even when he stood taller than me someday.
I watched and made sure he made it into the building all right and pulled out of the commuter circle. A few other moms waved awkwardly toward me, and I returned the favor with a half-smile. I'd been asked to join the PTA once Charlie transferred, as if I had free time to spare. Most nights, after Charlie went to bed, I pored over open cases with a glass of wine. It was always hard to disconnect from work even when I was home. I guess it was better to focus on my clients' problems than worry about my own.
I glanced at the temperature on my dashboard and winced. I'm pretty sure humans weren't meant to live in a place where the air hurt their faces. Sighing heavily, another thought popped into my mind: what would the homeless man be doing on a day like this? Would the shelter open for emergencies? Surely he could find a place to rest until the air warmed up a bit?
My chest seized as I wondered about the man. I thought about what I could do to help. Could I give him money? But, then again, what if he used it for drugs or booze or something? I mean, he seemed innocent enough, but you never really knew these days.
A familiar green sign came into view while I drove through the snow and the slush. I quickly flicked my signal and turned into the Starbucks parking lot. Maybe an appetizing hot chocolate would be the appropriate gesture for him. It couldn't hurt to try, right?
I ordered a grande espresso with a vanilla flavor shot and a venti hot chocolate for the man without a home. If I could bring him a few moments of warmth for the day, well, that would be something—and better than nothing.
Once I pulled out of the Starbucks lot, my office was only a short drive away. I reached my designated parking lot and braced myself for the swoosh of frigid air about to bitch-slap me in the face. I closed my eyes and stepped out of the car with both drinks in a recyclable paper carrier. I tiptoed through the snow and cursed the owners of the lot for not plowing yet.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Then, I cursed myself for not buying the tall Uggs on Black Friday because the shorties weren't cutting it at all; my ankles were soaked and frozen. I couldn't catch a damn break!
As I approached the bench, I wasn't sure if I wanted him to be there or not. If he wasn't there, then I'd spend the rest of the day worrying about where he could be and if he was safe. If he was there, well, then I'd still spend the rest of the day worrying about him too. I didn't quite understand my fascination with the man. I mean, that sleeping bag isn’t some kind of antique. I’m sure tons of other people have the same one. All I kne
w was that it didn't appear like anyone else gave a shit about him. Maybe I could be the one person who did?
My hands quivered either with nerves or because of the cold. The bench stood a hundred yards away, and the sleeping man snoozed away at his post. His beard appeared long and flowing. I wondered when the last time he shaved was? His tattered, burgundy sleeping bag was zipped all the way to his neck as he lay inside of it on the bench, under a tree with breathtaking snowflakes hugging its branches.
My pace slowed, and my heart thudded through my shirt. What would I say? Should I say anything at all? What if he didn't want to be disturbed? What if he didn't like hot chocolate?
Those thoughts and more raced through my head as doubt and second thoughts crept into my mind. Without me realizing it, my feet carried me close enough to touch the man. His eyes remained shut, and I peeked over my shoulder to see if anyone had caught me standing over him. Fortunately, everyone seemed too self-absorbed and busy on their phones to notice.
I looked down at the man, and my breath caught in my throat. He was young, probably around my age if not a few years shy. I don't know what I expected, but I didn't think the man would be my peer instead of my elder. How did this happen to him?
Without warning, the man opened his eyes and gasped as he saw me standing less than a foot away, hovering over him. His swift movement caught me off guard as I cried out and accidentally tossed the Starbucks drinks into the air in fright.
I knew what was coming, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. The steaming hot coffee and hot chocolate rained down upon my head. I screeched again as the liquid seared my skin and drenched me from head to foot.
Freaking gravity!
I yelped in pain, and the homeless man sat up straight, still cocooned in his sleeping bag. He cleared his throat and spoke. "Are you, uh, okay?"
My cheeks reddened as I cleared my throat. "I'm fine. Just embarrassed."
The man eyed me carefully, his gaze wild and alarmed.