by Mia Soto
“This is two nights in a row.” His breath tickles my neck.
“Unheard of,” I say through my sleep haze.
“I like it.” I hear him say quietly before I fall asleep.
***
He’s here when I wake up in the morning. He looks really, really good in the morning. I could just devour him, and then we do for awhile. It’s a very nice way to start the day. Because he usually works weekends and often weekend nights, none of our midnight trysts have had the luxury of a Sam free morning.
We finally get up and shuffle around the apartment. He’s getting dressed, and I’m trying to get coffee made. I’m the worst coffee maker ever. I bought a machine, but every time I made coffee it came out like lighter fluid. So I bought another one that makes only one cup at a time. There’s no measuring, just grab a packet and pop it in. I know I’m a cook and this should be at the bottom of my skill set, but there are just some things I can’t do. I can’t balance a chemical equation, and I can’t make coffee.
Mark’s in the kitchen with me peering into my refrigerator. “Are you sure you’re a cook?”
I reach past him to grab the milk, and he pulls me in for a kiss. He never misses a chance for that. “Yes, I’m a cook.”
He closes it. I don’t know what he thought he’d find in there, but he’s looked before, and he knows I never have anything. “When are you going to cook for me?”
I snort. He also knows I cook for my clients and my kid and that’s it. I didn’t eat dinner last night, and I’m getting ready to have a handful of Ghirardelli chocolate chips for breakfast. They go great with coffee.
After my breakfast, which he watches me eat in disbelief, I shower. It feels really good letting the hot water wash away last night. When I come out he’s lying on the bed watching me. I’m in my ancient robe, which I love, with my hair in a towel. I can’t help but smile back at the lecherous smile he’s giving me.
“I think I’ll get dressed in the bathroom,” I tease. He’s already pulling me back to him by the robe’s belt.
“Come here,” he turns me into him, and I walk between his open legs to get my all-star kiss. It turns hot immediately. That’s the deal with Mark and me, instant combustion, but for the first time ever he stops it from spiraling out of control. “Get dressed,” he says but doesn’t really let me go.
I must look devastated. I am all ready to continue the game. He’s smiling devilishly, and my jaw sets in complete exasperation. “That’s not fair. You got me all worked up.” His hands are still roaming my body from where they have slipped into my robe. “You’re still doing it.” I grab his hands and try futilely to push away in a huff.
“I have to get to work, baby.” His mouth is working on my body in totally unfair places right now.
“Then go,” I gasp at his efforts.
“You’re coming with me.” His hand is now playing in foul territory.
“Stop, Mark. I’m serious.” I’m breathing hard here. He either finishes this deal or stops play, now. He does stop and captures me in one of those long, serious gazes he gives me from time to time.
“I could do this all day.” He kisses me sweetly and then pushes me away gently. “But we have to go.”
Now that the assault on my libido is over, and I can think at least a little clearer, I ask genuinely perplexed, “Where am I going?”
“We have to get your car.” He’s serious about this too. I can tell. I shake my head as I finish dressing. That was fun enough in the face of exhausted fear. In the bright sunshine of reason, I’m not getting on that thing again. My wet hair is tumbling around my shoulders because I’m not bothering with a blow dry today. My hair hits about mid shoulder blade and is pretty straight with only a small touch of wave so a dab of frizz ease to help battle the out of control humidity is really all I need.
“Come on.” He’s not taking no for an answer. He leads me by the hand down the stairs to the bike that is parked in my spot. He’s on waiting for me. My crazy neighbor is walking back and forth. I think she’s in her pajamas. I’m pretty sure you can see right through them. Mark hasn’t even blinked in her direction.
“Margo.” I can hear he’s getting annoyed. “Get on.”
I shake my head before offering, “why don’t, why don’t you go get my car then I’ll bring you back?”
“No, I have to get to work. Let’s go.”
“I’ll get Mom!” I brighten. “She’ll be happy to help.”
He’s getting off the bike coming toward me. My crazy neighbor chimes in, “I’ll go! I love bikes.”
He finally notices her. We both look over, and it is see-through. She’s thrilled. He doesn’t even give her the courtesy of a once over before he dismisses her and is after me again. I see her rejection flash. Score one for the bitter, old bitch. While I’m reveling in my smugness, he swoops me up and puts me on the bike. He waits until I strap on the helmet.
“Hold on baby. I like it when you hold me tight.” He drives away leaving my dejected neighbor to watch us.
***
The house seems so peaceful as we pull up. It was a zoo of flashing lights and gathering neighbors when we left last night. My car is parked right where I left it. It’s almost like nothing happened. I’m sitting on his bike, and I know my face must be stricken with despair. I couldn’t stand this guy, but I’d never wish him dead. Mark gets off and helps me off. He gathers me in and kisses me gently.
“Just weird accidents Margo. That’s all.” He walks me to the car and waits while I get in. The smile I give him is just pitiful, and he laughs with a shake of his head.
“Are you ok?” I nod, pursing my lips. “Are you going to cry?” I nod again, no point in lying. He laughs, “let me drive you home.”
“How will you get to work?”
“Let me worry about that.”
“No, I’ll drive myself. I’m not going to cry, really.” He looks doubtful. “Really, I’m ok.” And I am. He’s right. It’s just been a few days of utter weirdness.
“Tonight?” He asks hopefully. He’s leaning against my door frame capturing me in the most magnificent blue eyes I’ve ever known.
As he gently strokes the line of my jaw, I realize I’m probably the only woman on earth who’s ever turned down this total babe, but I shake my head, “no Sam’s back.”
“Then later.”
“No.” And yes, I am totally crazy. It’s all part of the overall problem. But I’m not ready for three days in a row. I’m not ready for boyfriends, or serious lovers, or crazy ideas of ever after.
He brings me close for a kiss. “Whenever you’re ready. You owe me a talk.” I smile and start my car. In another lifetime, he’d be right up my alley.
***
I drive home and suffocate in the silence of my place. It’s almost twelve so I go the store to pick up some Sam basics milk, bananas, apples for making applesauce. Then I have some time so I decide to go to the mall. The mall is Florida’s dirty, secret lover. We live for it. Our days are spent planning our trips to it.
I wander around for awhile. I need some underwear and pajamas. I don’t know what happened to Victoria’s Secret, but a whole bunch of cheese (more so than ever before) has regurgitated in there. I can’t shop there anymore, and I’m Hispanic. I live for cheese. People are milling by me ecstatic for their mall experience. I want to be above it, but I’m not. I don’t love it, but I need it. As I’m wandering, I hear the familiar call of “Mama ma ma ma.”
On instinct, my eyes start searching the crowd. He’s running toward me with arms stretched wide. I don’t know which of us is smiling wider. I see his father coming up behind him, and then I see her. I’d like to say she’s the reason I’m divorced, but that’s a lie. She is not the reason. But she is a pretty big, damn symptom. She’s unremarkable at best. She left her husband for mine. Now they work together, travel together and sleep together. I can’t believe I’m seeing this domestic scene unfolding. I’d like to punch Sam – my ex that is. I have men snea
king in and out of my bed at all hours of the night so that Sam doesn’t have to process anything like this. I can’t describe my anger right now.
“Hi, Margo.” Big Sam has his puppy dog eyes on. When I met him, I loved that look, so vulnerable. Now it just grates me like everything else.
“What is she doing here?”
“We came to the mall, after we got up.” After they got up! My face flushes. “What?” He asks as his hands go up in defense. He’s totally clueless. I just shake my head. Sam is trying to turn my face to him so he can kiss me. He gives up and plants it on my temple. It is wet and sloppy.
“So today is the last day of the Open.” He has a hopeful look on his face. My ex went into parenthood straight out of a Norman Rockwell picture. He really thought that was what we were getting into. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good dad. He just never imagined his entire life would have to be retooled for the sake of children. He didn’t realize that everyday is Monday when a one year old is involved. He didn’t realize that one year olds have the attention span of gnats and need new and different things to do all day. He didn’t realize diapers and tantrums and never ending responsibility. He just didn’t realize.
“Yes, I’ll take my Sam I Am,” I say. Sam is hugging me and trying to tell me something with his babbling. What’s that you say? She’s a total witch and you hate her. That’s my boy.
“Thanks, you’re the best.”
Yeah, I know. I walk away with my guy who’s pointing at a baby saying, “babiii? Babiii?”
“Yes, sweetie, that’s a baby.” He’s shouting and everyone is staring. I’m used to it at this point. My loud child feels like home now.
***
We drop by Mimi’s for a bit. She’s in the yard doing whatever she putters around doing. Sam starts shouting from the car.
“Mimimimi!”
“Yes, sweetie, it’s Mimi.”
Mom is calling to him with a smile. “Tookie’s here!”
I walk up a little slower. “Hey Mom. Whatcha up to?”
“Oh, I’ve been saying I need to replant dat tree. I ran over to Home Depot and picked up some soil. But den dey gave me de wrong one so I had to go back. And did you know dat Lowes is having a sale? I was just in dere last week you’d tink dey’d mention dat. Anyway, I decided to return de soil to Home Depot and go to Lowes to get it cheaper.”
I’ve stopped listening about one sentence in. Mom’s ramblings are getting worse as she gets older. I can’t stop thinking about the past few days. I need Mark here to remind me that it’s just all one insane accident.
“Are you listening?”
“Uh, yeah. What did you say?”
She gives me an annoyed look. “What time you need me tomorrow?”
“Oh, I think I’m going to take the week off.” She looks surprised. I start to explain before I get her speech on responsibility and how I have none. “Donald Davey passed away last night while I was there.”
Now she really does look shocked. “What happened?” I tell her and she seems disturbed. “Marga, are you doin’ anytin’ to make dese things happen?” Ah, my mom, when there is blame to be cast, take the stranger’s side first and Margo’s last.
“What would I do mom? They were freak accidents.”
“But you’re takin’ de week off. And I know how you do tings.”
“I’m a little bit rattled. I just want to regroup.” I’m annoyed now. “Look I’m going. I have to get home and do some things. I’ll talk to you later.”
I grab up Sam and strap him in. That’s my mother. Well, the one thing she did do is take my mind completely off of everything else. Now I’m seething about childhood injustices and thirty four years verbal innuendo.
Sam and I make it through the night totally in love. By mid week, we’ll still be in love, but the love will be much grittier then. Right now, I’m enjoying the honeymoon from the day and a half we just spent apart. He goes down easy, and I go to bed early with a Tylenol PM. Sleep hasn’t come easily to me lately. When my cell phone rings at eleven, I’m groggy.
“Hello?”
“Has anyone ever told you, you have the sexiest voice ever?” He’s on that bike again. He does have a car. He never seems to use it.
I smile through my sleep. “I’m half asleep. It’s my half asleep voice.”
“No, even when you’re awake.” I’m falling asleep again but I smile. “I miss you.” His voice is floating in my sleep. I hear him say, “I’ll see you later.”
Chapter 4
Recipe for Gak
1 Car
$5.00 in US money
Get in your car. Turn ignition and back out. Drive to the nearest Target/Walmart/Dollar Store. Buy Playdough or store brand equivalent. Enjoy!
Sam and I get through a couple of days together on my vacation, but by Wednesday we’re stir crazy. I decide we’re going to Gymboree. Gymboree is a form of new mother torture where lots of moms get together to subtly challenge parenting styles. In true form, I’ve somehow hooked up with every foreign mom in my kid’s age group. In a red-blooded town like Tampa, that’s saying something. There are times in this town when the women here are so vanilla they make wonder bread with butter look like coq au vin and pomme frites.
I’m standing in the corner with Gosia. She’s from Czech. She is six one, in rock hard shape with legs up to her eyeballs and doesn’t look like she ever suffered the truth of pregnancy. She’s part of my derelict mom gang. We’re all good moms. We’re just the group that didn’t drink the kool aide. We’re not freaking out if our kids are still sucking on bottles at nineteen months, as mine is. We’re not trying to teach them Chinese, because mine seems to be having enough problems mastering English. Let’s work one problem at a time. We all have a verbal agreement to convince each others kids that, not only do we not live in Florida, we also do not live only an hours ride away from Disney. It’s working out great for us.
“This really happen?” Gosia is shocked.
I nod, “I’m not cooking this week because of it. I’m a little freaked.”
“But they say is accident?” I nod and she continues, “Well, don’t worry. Could be worse.”
I look at her disbelieving, “you sure?”
She starts to laugh, “I don’t know. You floor me here.”
A lady that I’ve seen but don’t know walks over and starts talking to us. She finally asks me, “I hear you’re a personal chef.”
“I am,” I say. Everyone knows Sam and me. We’ve been coming since he was four months. We’re gluttons for punishment.
“My anniversary is on Thursday. We’re too busy to celebrate, but I was wondering if you might be able to cook for us on Friday night.”
I contemplate this for a minute. Gosia is trying to encourage me to take the business. I’m still a little unsure, but I finally agree to it.
“How much is it?” She asks.
“It’s about two hundred and fifty for a three course meal. And it’s really a five course because I do an amuse bouche and a palate cleanser.” This is beyond cheap in New York, and it is considered robbery in Tampa.
“Wow that’s expensive,” she says. I nod. It is for here, but it’s also why I tend to cook for the wealthier families in town. “Ok, I still want to do it. I work on Fridays. Can you do it for seven pm?”
“I need to get there a few hours ahead to prep.”
She nods, “I’ll leave the key under the mat. I want to surprise him. I’ll try to make sure he’s home later than I am.”
I smile. I remember doing things like that once. “Sounds good.”
“You see! No big deal,” Gosia says as the lady walks away. We’ll see.
***
Sam and I spend the rest of the day filling it with chores and playtime. Around four I realize I haven’t eaten all day. I tell him we’re going out. This is something I would have never done before divorce and motherhood. What friends weren’t alienated by marriage, were alienated by parenthood, and they never came back after divo
rce. Sam loves to go out to eat. He doesn’t really eat much, but he loves looking around. I’m in the mood for breakfast so we head to our favorite diner, the Daily Diner. It should be pretty empty. This is a prerequisite for a loud one year old.
We are sitting at our table, and he’s coloring happily. That should last about another minute. I have a bag of tricks waiting though. My mind starts to wander and as I look up who’s smiling down at me but Officer Johnson. It’s his day off. It’s the only day he takes off. The man works all of the time. Even still, I’m surprised to see him here at this time of day. The only other people in the restaurant, except Sam and I, are senior citizens.
“I was leaving when I saw you.” He’s smiling at me, and Sam is looking up at him. I see Alan Lewis his partner heading out of the door. What are the odds? They’re pretty good in this one horse town.
“Hiiii,” Sam has his big, used car salesman smile on. “Ouuusiiiii?” He loves to say certain words and right now, outside is one of them. He says it in a long, drawn out, dramatic way. Mark laughs.
“Hi Buddy,” he sits down, totally ignoring me. I’m not so sure about this. “What are you coloring?” Sam answers with a string of babble that means nothing to me. Mark looks at me for translation, and I can only shrug. Sometimes I feel like the worse mom on earth.
“You’re coloring a lion?” There is a lion on the page they have given us. Sam does his lion roar. “That’s a big lion.”
I start to relax because they’re ok together. In fact, they get along famously through the whole meal. Sam even takes Mark’s hand as we’re walking to the car. He is saying “ouuuusiii” over and over, at different and ever high pitches. Mark is getting a kick out of it. I’m still not so sure about this.
While I strap Sam in, Mark rubs my back and laughs as Sam blows him kisses. I start to walk around to my side leaving them to their fun, but Mark stops me by the hand intertwining his fingers with mine. It’s not something I’m willing to admit out loud, but I love holding his hand. And I love that he takes care of me, even though I keep trying to scare him off with my tough girl act. I must not be that intimidating.