I twist away, even as he begs, “Maxie, please!”
I continue, ignoring him. “You know, back then you looked me right in the eye and said you’d never cheat on me. But you lied. I’m sorry, you have to go.” My I just couldn’t give a fuck mantra has completely flown out the window.
I never ever imagined our night would end like this. I thought it would end with a kiss, maybe even falling into bed. I made sure to have condoms stashed in my night table drawer just in case. But I never thought I would be calling him a cab before we even ate dinner. One part of me thinks that I’m overreacting—that of course he was just a kid, and people change and if he felt badly enough about it to bring it up over two decades later, that should be enough punishment. But, I can’t help the way I feel.
Maybe if he hadn’t made it seem like it was my fault that night—maybe if he hadn’t lied so convincingly, I could give him a second chance. But I just can’t, not right now at least. Ben watches me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen as I call him a cab.
Before he leaves, Ben gives me a hug and rests his cheek against my hair. He breathes deeply, and it is the hardest thing I have ever done not to turn my head to kiss him. I know at this point I’m cutting off my nose to spite my face and that I’ll likely regret it. “I’m sorry,” I whisper quietly. It’s the best I can offer.
“No,” Ben answers softly. “I’m sorry.” With that, he leaves to wait outside for his cab. I sink down on the couch and remember that I need a shower, so I haul myself upstairs and turn the water on as hot as I can stand it, not even bothering to watch out the window to see when Ben’s cab arrives. I shampoo my hair three times just to make sure the pigeon poop is completely out, and then I just stand under the hot water, letting it run over me. I’m relieved that the kids are staying at Nick’s tonight. All I have to do when I get out of the shower is pull on a pair of cozy fleece pajama pants, a sweatshirt and fuzzy socks, and grab the dog and cat before I collapse on the couch. I settle down with one on each side, and tell them that they need to stay and comfort me. Charlotte is gone in about ten seconds, probably off to search for a dust bunny to play with. Daisy stays with me until I start crying on her fur, then she quickly moves to the other couch. “Et tu, Daisy?” I ask her sadly, and she lets out a loud sigh. Even my dog thinks I’m pathetic.
When I glance at the cable box, I realize that it’s only just after 8:00. In the space of an hour my night went from amazing anticipation to incredible passion to the depths of disappointment. I feel like a teenager. I haven’t been on a roller coaster of emotions like this since—well, since I was with Ben in college. Maybe it’s better that things didn’t work out. I’m too old for the ups and downs.
I pick up the phone and call Andi. She answers in an alarmed voice, “Why are you calling me? Why are you home and not out with Ben?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer before continuing, “Did he stand you up? If he did, I’ll kick his ass.”
“Can I get a word in edgewise?” I ask.
“Of course, sorry—I’m just worried about you.”
“He didn’t stand me up. He was at the train station, along with the stupid tabloids, all of whom enjoyed seeing me get pooped on by a pigeon…”
“That’s good luck,” Andi interjects. “My mother always said that being shit on by a bird brings good luck—at least for Jews.”
“Well, it wasn’t good luck. It was very bad luck. We came back here so I could shower, and as soon as we walked in the door, he had me up against the wall, kissing me passionately.”
“Very good luck—I don’t see the bad luck.”
“Then we fell on the carpet, and as he was moving down to kiss my neck…”
“More good luck…”
“Okay, let me finish before you judge if it’s good or bad luck. Ben suddenly stopped kissing me, and out of the blue admitted that it was really a girl’s phone number in his pocket the night we broke up. All these years I was hard on myself for snooping, thinking that I ruined our relationship, but I should have snooped.”
I take a deep breath and continue before Andi can put her Pollyannaish spin on things. I just want to wallow in my misery for a few minutes and get it all out. “I had a right to snoop on Ben, and I should have snooped on Nick. Maybe I would’ve known sooner—before half the town probably—that he was cheating on me with Sloane. Maybe I wouldn’t have made the tape in a ridiculous attempt to keep my marriage alive, because I would have already known that it was dead.”
“Max,” Andi starts softly, but I cut her off.
“Maybe if I had snooped and found the e-mails to Sloane months ago, my life wouldn’t have imploded; my daughter wouldn’t hate me, and I wouldn’t be on the cover of every trashy tabloid in the supermarket aisle. Maybe, I could have quietly divorced Nick without that stupid, fucking video taking over my entire life and wrecking it.” At this point I’m hysterically crying. “You know I don’t usually cry in front of anyone, even if it’s on the phone. For some reason, I always end up crying to you. Sorry. I guess my new mantra didn’t help much with this.”
“I’m coming over,” is Andi’s only response. Within five minutes she’s using her key to let herself in. We exchanged keys in case we ever got locked out or needed to pick up each other’s kids and take them home. I am so glad right now that she has the key, because even getting up off of the couch would be too much effort.
She sits down next to me and puts her arm around me. I lean on her shoulder, my tears wetting her sweatshirt. I don’t think I’ve had a cry like this since breaking up with Ben two decades ago. Even crying over Nick wasn’t quite like this.
“You know you’re not really mad at Ben,” Andi says quietly. “I think you’re just mad and this was the last straw. Ben’s a good scapegoat.”
Of course I know she’s right. Of course I know that it’s somewhat irrational to hold this one act of stupidity from over twenty-two years ago against Ben now. I can still hear his words from our first conversation last week, “…I could never hold anything against you from back then. It’s water under the bridge…”
I know I should just let it be water under the bridge, but I just can’t. Besides the whole snooping thing, there’s the fact that he was planning on cheating on me—even if he was just a scared child, even if he never would have followed through with it; he still went as far as getting her number. He made me feel like it was my fault that I snooped, my fault that I wasn’t trusting enough. “I don’t know if I can get past this, ancient history or not, especially so soon after Nick cheated on me,” I say.
“I understand how hard this is for you, especially since Nick just cheated on you. But I think you should give Ben another chance. I just get the feeling that he’s nothing like Nick.”
“Honestly, I can’t right now, even though I know I’ll regret it,” I say sadly. Maybe someday when the raw edge of pain over everything that’s happened dulls a bit, when I can tamp down my feelings and just see Ben for who he is, not for what we were and for what he did to me all those years ago, I’ll be able to give him another chance. I really don’t know when that day will come, though. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” I ask softly.
“I choose not to answer that,” Andi says with a grin. “Do you want a pizza? My treat. We can watch a movie and paint our toenails.”
“I just got a pedicure for my date—first one in over five years—but you can do yours.” For some reason, I laugh at that. Here we are acting like seventh graders—ordering pizza, doing pedicures, and talking about boys and breakups. I give Andi a hug. “Thanks for being there for me,” I whisper.
After Andi leaves, I sit down with my laptop and there’s a Facebook message from Ben. My heart is hammering as I open it. He starts by saying that he didn’t want to bother me with a phone call or a text and that he hopes it’s okay that he messaged me. He friended me on Facebook last week after we spoke, and I spent about half an hour going through his photos, pausing on each one and just gazing at his face. It’s such an
odd thing to be able to see past loves with the click of a mouse. I still find it surreal.
Staring at the little thumbnail next to Ben’s message gives me a shiver. I think about just closing the message because I really can’t handle any more emotion today. But of course I don’t—I keep reading. How could I not?
I know that you hate me right now, but I just had to tell you that seeing you was so great, and I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that after finally finding you, I’ve lost you again. I know I deserved to be thrown out of your house after what I admitted, but I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am that I caused you pain. I know that what I did was wrong, but it was over twenty years ago and I’ve changed. I was an idiot and believe me I’ve regretted it every day—literally every day—for over two decades. Unfortunately, I’ve been with enough women to know that you were (and are) something special. All those years I had been looking for someone to replace you, but no one could. I finally went to therapy after jumping from relationship to relationship (and after more than one woman told me I needed it) and I realized that I held everyone up to the impossible standards that you set and of course no one met them.
I hope that sometime you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me and give me a second chance. I would love to have the chance to see if what I think I’ve known all along is true. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if we had gotten married—if I hadn’t made that stupid mistake. I think that we would have stayed together forever, you know? Okay, I’ll stop now. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable and get too mushy. Just so you know—I’ve never been mushy with any woman. I’ve been told that I’m incapable of commitment and that I’m emotionally unavailable, but never mushy. You make me a better person than I am, and you always did. I don’t know if I’ll hear back from you. I hope I will, but I understand if I don’t. Thank you for seeing me after all these years—even for just a bit. Take care of yourself. Ben.
By the time I finish reading the message, there are tears streaming down my face. His apology is so much more heartfelt than Nick’s was, and yet the magnitude of what Nick did was so much greater. I want to see Ben so badly. I want to give him a second chance—or I guess it’s more of a third chance, but I also don’t want to set myself up to get hurt again. And I feel so foolish—I can’t believe that I’m reacting so harshly to something that he did so long ago.
I read and reread Ben’s message. I am more moved each time. I highlight the text, copy it and paste it into a message to Andi with the question, What do you think of this? I hesitate for a moment before hitting send. I’m sure Ben didn’t intend for me to share this message with anyone else and I feel kind of bad. But Andi will certainly encourage me to give him a chance, so I reason that it’s actually beneficial for Ben for me to share it. I hit send.
Within five minutes I get a reply, and I wonder if she pulled over on her way home to check her mail and answer me. OMG! OMG! OMG! How can you not give this man a second chance??? He sounds so amazing, and he is so cute. I realize that I copied the thumbnail picture of him from next to his message and Andi must have squinted to see it, especially if she’s on her phone. I figured she would have looked him up on Facebook when I first told her about him to see what he looks like, but then I realize that Andi always says Facebook is a waste of time, and she only uses it for messages. She’s right of course, but I’ll gladly waste time when it means looking at pictures of Ben, even now.
I write quickly back to Andi, I know. But, I don’t know how I can give him a chance; how I can take a chance—it’s not just him. It’s terrifying thinking about opening up to anyone, but it’s more terrifying opening up to him after everything that he admitted and after the way that I felt about him—the way that I’m afraid I still feel about him. What if I fall harder than I did in college and it doesn’t work out? What do I do then? It took me forever to get over him once. I don’t think I could get over him twice.
Nick was hard to get over, but I think Ben would be even harder, especially a second time, and I was with Nick for almost sixteen years. Honestly, I don’t know how I got over Nick so quickly. I’m probably just fooling myself and think I’m over him, and I’m going to break down and not get out of bed for a week when I stop and think about the fact that my marriage is over. It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it, that I always worried I’d be cheated on for whatever reason—my past, my insecurities, because I’d heard so many stories of cheating husbands—and then I was? And you know what? I’m surviving. At least I’m surviving Nick cheating on me. Now I just have to figure out how to get past this whole bombshell with Ben—how to move past the boy he was and see the man he is now.
Anyway, this is probably the longest message I have ever sent to you, and I’ve sent you some pretty long messages. That used to get Nick so mad—if he sent me a short message and I responded with a novel. But, that’s just the way I am—I ramble in messages. I’m doing it right now! But, in answer to whether or not I can give Ben a second chance, I don’t know. I just don’t.
I’m going to listen to Barry Manilow, Ready to Take a Chance Again, on YouTube now. Maybe it will give me the courage to write back to him. I love that song. I used to listen to it when I was a kid and imagine being a grown-up taking second chances—really. I thought it was the most romantic idea to have someone come and convince you to love again after having your heart broken. It didn’t hurt that I had a crush on Chevy Chase, and it was the theme to Foul Play—in my book one of the most romantic movies ever. I know—all the girls loved Sean Cassidy and Scott Baio. I loved Chevy Chase—what can I say? A sense of humor has always been sexy to me. Okay, I’m seriously going off on a tangent. I’m going to stop writing and hit send now. Sorry for the novel…
I think my stream of consciousness message has eased my anxiety a bit. I love writing to Andi because I know I can write anything and she won’t judge me. I click on YouTube and search for Ready to Take a Chance Again. The video is just a picture of Barry Manilow while the song plays over it, Barry crooning about living in a shell and playing it safe. I open a new document and type, Pros and Cons—Ben, while Barry sings. I sit back for a moment and think.
Pro: It’s Ben; his voice still makes me melt; his face still makes me weak in the knees; he… I stop typing and shut my laptop. This is getting me nowhere. I decide the best thing I can do is to simply go to sleep. But first, I fill a bowl with ice cream—lactose-free vanilla, instead of high octane Ben and Jerry’s. My system can’t handle that stuff anymore. I add a spoonful of peanut butter and a few of Sam’s organic sugar cookie bites and settle onto the couch. Of course Daisy is next to me in a second. “Oh sure,” I say to her. “Now you’re my friend because I have ice cream.” I put a little on my finger and let her lick it off. She finishes and looks at me adoringly, then snuggles in, sighing happily. Maybe I am better off being with just my pets for companionship, I decide as I polish off my ice cream and get ready for bed.
Chapter Seven
THE NEXT MORNING, I pick up the kids and Sloane answers the door in a short pink robe and high-heeled pink marabou slippers. Really? I want to shout. Who the fuck wears that anymore—especially in front of children? Her spectacular cleavage peeks out between the lapels. I want to cry. “Are my kids ready?” I ask in a steely voice.
“Hold on,” Sloane purrs. “I’ll check. Nick had to leave for an early meeting and I made them all oatmeal with fresh fruit. They were gobbling it down. I can’t believe that they never eat oatmeal with you. They eat it here all the time. They say you never buy it, so I guess that’s why they don’t eat it.”
I seriously don’t know if I want to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, cry, or strangle Sloane. I do buy oatmeal, because I eat it all the time. I do not serve my kids oatmeal, because you would think that I’m trying to feed them arsenic if I ever make it for them. There are shrieks and fake vomit noises and bowls pushed perilously close to the edge of the table. I swear; the dog sits below the table whenever she smells oatmeal co
oking, because she knows one of these days a bowl will go over the edge.
“I do buy oatmeal,” I respond as calmly as possible. “But, thanks so much for your concern.”
“Not according to your kids you don’t buy oatmeal,” Sloane chirps.
“Emma, Trevor, Will and Sam,” I bellow a little too loudly. “Let’s go. You’ll be late for school.” I made sure that they all finished their homework before I dropped them off and that all their school bags were packed, so in the morning I could just grab the bags, grab the kids at Nick’s and drop them off at school without stopping at home. Emma goes half an hour before Trevor, and he goes twenty-five minutes before Will. Sam goes fifteen minutes after Will, so if I drop them all off smoothly, everyone should be nice and early.
They shuffle out the door and out into the sunshine. Only Sam gives me a big hug and a kiss. Emma shoulders into me, making me lose my balance, as she passes me on her way to the car. Trevor and Will shrug when I ask them how they are. At least Sam is still excited to see me.
I feel sorry for myself for a few minutes, but once in the car another thought takes over—I realize that Sloane is at Nick’s on a weekday morning. Where is Ashley? I assumed that she was always there on the weekends that Nick had the kids, because it coincided with the weekends that her ex, Jake, had her daughter Ashley—but on a Wednesday morning? That’s not usually a visitation time. For one thing, visits are usually on a Wednesday night and there usually aren’t sleepovers during the week at all. Last night was a special circumstance. After I made plans with Ben I asked Nick if the kids could stay the night, without giving him a reason, of course. I always pick my kids up after dinner Wednesday (and the occasional Tuesday) nights, and every divorced mom I know (and I know quite a few) does the same thing.
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