by Mia Soto
“I’m surprised you have country on here.” He’s looking through my ipod selections.
“A few. I’m full of surprises,” I laugh. His expression is priceless as I sing along about Sunday fathers and melted ice cream. I’m beaming as Sting and I belt out how kids should be with their mothers and fathers have to make do with babysitting sometimes.
“Kinda depressing,” he says, but he’s smiling.
I’m smiling too and Sting and I are singing about laughing through our tears. And while I’m singing, suddenly, I’m not singing with the same sense of vitriol that I’ve belted it out over the past year. And I get what Sting is talking about, and the hopeful note that the song ends on doesn’t bother me this time.
Then we’re at Mark’s house. I’ve never been here before. We’ve always just somehow ended up at my place. It’s a small, Key West style bungalow, and I’m smiling when I say, “this is you.” He nods thinking I mean this is it; we’re here. But I say, “no, this is you.” And it is calm and unpretentious.
He smiles, getting what I mean. “I bought it for Krista. She wanted something bigger. I couldn’t afford more.” I know that girl. I was her: the more, more, more girl, the nothing’s good enough girl. Now, I’m looking at this sweet bungalow, and I could spend a lifetime in its manicured yard with my Sam I Am and Mark.
So I ask, “May I see it?”
He nods with a smile, and I meet him around the other side. He takes my hand. It’s warm and comfortable to have his hand leading mine again. His house is neat and masculine inside. I stop by a table of memories while he goes to the kitchen to get us some waters. I’m looking at his past. Cascading frames show images of his parents, his siblings, and his life. I pick up a picture of him and his brother with their bicycles. They couldn’t be more than seven or eight. Mark is smiling ear to ear and missing a few teeth. Mark has a great smile, and I’m realizing he always has. I take the water he’s offering and hold up the picture.
“David?”
He nods, “yeah, David loves to ride his bike. We still do it when I visit.” He’s stroking my hair as I turn to pick up another picture.
“Mom and Dad,” I say looking over my shoulder. He smiles, and he runs his hand down the length of my body, snaking it around my waist to clasp me to him. His palm is flat and warm on my abdomen, and I can feel his breath on my shoulder and the heat from his body radiating to mine. I close my eyes and rest my head against him. Even in three inch heels I’m not tall enough to meet his height. His other arm comes up to hold me across my shoulders, and I feel him press his sweet lips to my temple. I refuse to open my eyes for fear this might be a dream. My hands are on his arms making sure they don’t let go.
“Mom and Dad,” he finally says. “Elise and Marlin. And those,” He points at a picture of three girls. “are the girls.”
“They’re beautiful,” and they are.
“That’s Elizabeth, who’s in Denver, Jessica, in Chicago, and Martha, in Texas.”
“Martha, the almost lost cause,” I say.
“She’s thrown us a bone lately, and we have some hope,” he says. Then he starts to tell me how it seems Martha has found a good job and is actually dating an accountant which is a step up from the felons she seems to favor. But I stop listening half way through because I can feel his breath on my temple and shoulder. And I’m warm from the heat of his body, and that scent of his is distracting me to the point of confusion. Tears spring up because I’m so happy to be here right now with him, and I just want to hug him. So I turn in his embrace and do just that. I give him a Sam hug: a huge, uncomplicated, full body hug. He’s taken back for a split second before he returns the gesture. My face is buried in his neck, and I somehow keep the tears from falling.
“I miss you so much. I am so sorry.” His arms tighten as he kisses my head but doesn’t say anything. This time the words are for me to say. “I love you so much, Mark, it hurts my heart.”
I feel him relax like I’ve lifted a weight from his shoulders. He’ll never know how light my heart feels right now saying that to him. I’m free. I’m finally free. So much time passes as we hold each other that I forget we have to let go at some point. I reluctantly push back and smile up at him. His face isn’t angry anymore. It’s tired and little wistful. I reach up to feel his temple again. He’s burning up.
“You need to rest,” I say.
He’s eyeing me intently as he asks, “How’s Sam?”
I let my hand drop to his arm which is still holding me close. “He’s getting over his cold.” I laugh a little at his surprised look. “I guess I’m next.” I can see him processing all of this and trying to make sense of a senseless and mean spirited reaction. So to stop him from making excuses for my terrible behavior I say, “The other day a bike went by and he said ‘Mar, Mar’. And I said ‘that’s right baby, Mark rides a motorcycle.’ Then he said, ‘Mar, bao’. And I told him Mark was coming to play ball soon.”
Mark has a pained look on his face. And I’m shamelessly using my son to win him back. His hand is clasping my neck and bringing my mouth to his. He’s one whisper away from using that perfect mouth of his to fix everything when he stops. He kisses my brow before he steps back slightly.
“You get to earn it this time,” he says.
“And how am I suppose to do that,” I ask disappointed.
“You can start by cooking for me.”
I smile, “Wow, it doesn’t look good for us.”
He’s caressing my jaw with a serious look as he replies, “oh, I don’t know.”
***
I’m in my car driving home, and I flip back to Sting just for good measure. I’m singing and then I’m crying. But they aren’t ugly, nighttime tears. They’re hopeful tears. They’re, he hasn’t written me off so maybe we do have a chance, tears. They’re, I can’t wait to go home and kiss Sam goodnight even if he’s already asleep, tears. They are, my life’s pretty damn good and maybe it’s time to just get over it already, tears. They’re, I need to get up and go to the store tomorrow because I have some chicken soup to make, tears. And suddenly, I’m so happy; I’m laughing through my tears.
Epilogue
Fish and Mango Adios
1 large fish filet
2T Cajun seasoning
1 large ripe mango
¼ red onion, minced
1 peg garlic, minced
1 lime juiced
3T extra virgin olive oil
1T Cilantro
1t cumin powder
Coat the fish in a light layer of olive oil. Pat it slightly dry with a paper towel. Sprinkle with the seasoning on both sides. In a hot, non stick skillet cook until seared and done. For most fish, a knife will easily pierce it.
Combine the other ingredients with salt and pepper to taste. Serve together. Enjoy!
So my boys are taking me out to dinner tonight. It’s to make up for a promise Daddy couldn’t make good on to Mommy. We found out earlier in the day that we were having a boy, another one. That makes three of them for me and two for Mark. He’s been trying to act somewhat contrite all day. He did totally convince me that if we had another one I’d get my girl. I admit it still doesn’t take much convincing on his part when he uses that smile and starts kissing me.
To be fair, if either of us registered the slightest bit of disappointment at the doctor’s office, it was Mark. I think he really thought he had the power to dictate that outcome. His eyes flashed a whisper of defeat that he wasn’t getting his little girl as the nurse spoke. That bond between fathers and their daughters exists even before it exists. He recovered quickly. By mid afternoon he realized we were on our way to creating a baseball team with all these boys. Now he is back to trying to convince me that next time we’ll get our girl. I keep telling him if he carries her nine months then he’s right, next time we’ll get her. He hasn’t given up. I know Mark. That was just the first attack.
“What do you want to eat Sam?” Mark asks as we drive to the restaurant. We don’t
usually go out to dinner in the middle of the week, but Mark wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Sam gives his excited look and his big exaggerated smile as he says, “fish!” Sam has always loved fish. It’s one of the reasons we eat at The Fish House all of the time. If we ate out more often, we’d probably be regulars.
“Me too, me too,” Max chimes in. Max is two and a half and the spitting image of his father and my second heartstring, well third. Anything Sam does, Max does.
“What kind of fish?” Mark is smiling at me. We already know the answer to this too.
“Rainbow Trout!” Sam squeals and giggles. We’re pretty sure he likes it just for the name.
“Me too, me too,” Max calls again.
“Why does he always have to do what I do,” Sam whines.
“Because he loves you,” I say. “And he looks up to you. You should be proud.” This is a discussion we have at least ten times a day.
“I am,” Sam says rolling his eyes with a big smile. Sometimes I think he just likes to hear that he’s looked up to and loved. At five, Sam’s still an attention whore. He is our actor. Life has turned out great for Sam. He has two outstanding dads because whatever water lies under the bridge with his father and me, the fact is Big Sam is a really, good dad. Mark and I are smiling at each other as they launch into a conversation about the name of the baby. We agreed this one would be a Will. For some reason, we were still haggling over the girl’s name. I guess we all knew something innately.
We pull into the valet at The Fish House and get out to un-strap the boys. Mark now drives a limited Grand Cherokee. The bike has been MIA for about two and a half years. I have Sam to thank for that. Mark was getting Sam ready for bed not long after we were married. Sam was looking adorable with his wet hair all sticking up as Mark combed it.
If you’ve been wondering, Sam looks just like a dark haired version of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbs. He’s got the prettiest features. In fact, for the first six months of his life, when babies are not so distinguishable, at least fifty percent of admiring strangers wondered if he was a girl. Anyway, I was folding clothes listening to their riveting conversation on cars. Mark and Sam have many common interests - cars, airplanes, balls. Turned out they had another interest neither of us were aware of. Mark asked Sam what he wanted to drive when he grew up.
Sam answered, “bi li Mar.”
I looked up immediately to see Mark do a quick translation in his head and then a rainbow of emotions crossed his face, starting with shock and ending with fear. I looked back down quickly trying to smother my smile and pretend like I couldn’t speak boy, cars, or English. The bike was gone the next day. Sam got a Christmas-like inspired trip to Toys R Us the day after that. I didn’t even have to set him up to do it. He answered naturally. And I don’t know if Mark had an irrational vision of a two and a half year old Sam on a bike, but it was enough to scare him. We’ve never spoken about the bike’s disappearance. It’s a common understanding among us. Sometimes when you’re a parent you have to give up things you never thought you would. Usually, life is no worse for the loss.
Calamari has been ordered and apple juice all around except Mommy who’s having a Sprite. Mommy’s always the black sheep in this family. The boys are now discussing the benefit of green over blue crayons as they enjoy their coloring sheets. Max really hasn’t formed an opinion on these things yet. And if Sam has anything, he has opinions. They are great boys. I didn’t know I had this much space in my heart for love. Mark leans over to kiss my neck and ask against my ear.
“I’m serious. What can I do to make it up to you? Anything you want, baby.” Even if he couldn’t get it for me, Mark would try to anyway. I can’t help but smile at him as he clasps my hands.
“Maybe one of those you make love to me all night, nights,” I say quietly.
His eyes light up, but he shakes his head, “No, something else.”
“Why not?” I’m honestly surprised.
“Because I’m not sure who enjoys those nights more, you or me.”
“Me,” I assure him. Those blue eyes are searing me. “Definitely, me.”
“Stop looking at me like that,” he says smiling. “Something else. Something just for you.” He’s stroking my hair as I look over at the boys. They are giggling about something Sam just said. I don’t need anything. A few years ago, I started a small dessert and lunch spot with some private equity from a wealthy client. It’s been doing great no fatalities and very little drama. It’s only open until four thirty during the week so that Sam doesn’t have to stay too late at school, and Max joins me in the afternoon after he gets out of his program. Mark has lunch there almost every day, and if he doesn’t have lunch, we always get a pop in hello at some point in the afternoon. We’re also open on the weekends from noon to midnight. It’s a family affair on the weekends.
Mark started a security business with a few ex-Marines pals and his partner Alan Lewis. They just landed their biggest contract yet. We’re not rich, but we’re certainly not poor. And if we wanted we could live much higher than we do. The Johnsons just aren’t like that, especially, Mrs. Johnson. Things just don’t interest me that much anymore. I’m not so easily impressed these days.
“You don’t have to do anything, really. I’m happy.” I rub my belly. “And if he’s healthy and happy like our other boys, that’s all I care about.” He brings my hand to his mouth to kiss my palm. He’s such a good dad. He loves all of our kids, unconditionally.
“I love our family.” His face is close to mine. I know what’s coming, and I’m excited for it. I’m not sure it’s possible for me to ever get tired of Mark. “And I love you.”
“I love you more,” I say before his mouth closes in over mine. The boys don’t even spare a blink in our direction. They are used to their parents’ embarrassing public displays of affection. It took me awhile to get used to the way Mark always wants to kiss me and how he doesn’t really care who sees it happen. I now realize there is something wonderful about two people who would rather kiss each other than anyone else in the world. And that anyone who has an issue with it is probably just suffering from a case of sour grapes. I know. I had them, once.