“No, I don’t think I’ll forgive you for a long time, but I did see the pictures of you online saying that you went ballistic on that photographer. You really have crazy eyes in them and well, you just don’t look very good. I saw him point the camera at me and I know you were protecting me, because he wanted to take my picture. So, I just wanted to say thanks for that. It’s no big deal.”
“It’s a big deal to me. Where’d you see the picture? Did it pop up on Yahoo or something?” I’m praying that it didn’t. Even though I’ve decided not to pursue Ben for right now, I really don’t want him to see me looking like that.
“No, I saw the photographer and I Googled you to see if there were any pictures up and there were. I also saw pictures of you with some guy. Who was that? Do you have a boyfriend that you haven’t told us about? Is that why we slept over Dad’s on a Tuesday, because he slept here with you?”
“No, Emma, he absolutely did not sleep here. He was just an old college friend that I was meeting for dinner and that’s it—nothing more.”
I glance over my shoulder to gauge if the boys are listening to me, but they seem totally oblivious. Will and Trevor are downing their cereal and Sam is drawing a picture. “Emma, I would tell you if I was dating someone. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll even see him again.”
“That’s too bad,” Emma says, surprising the hell out of me. “He was cute. Dad has Sloane, maybe you should have someone too—maybe you wouldn’t seem so pathetic then,” she adds with a snort.
“Thanks, Emma—I really am touched that you’re giving me love advice, even if you think I’m pathetic. It’s very sweet. I feel like we’ve turned a corner with each other.” I reach out to hug her again, but she bats me away.
“Don’t get too excited,” she cautions me. “You still ruined my life, and I’m still really mad at you. But, I guess I understand that it wasn’t all you—some was Dad’s fault, I guess.”
I realize that this is a gift and I need to be very careful, so that we don’t plummet back into silence with each other. “Thanks, Emma. I love you.”
“Yeah, whatever,” she responds. “Love you too, I guess.”
Emma’s thaw helps me forget about Ben, at least for a bit. I specifically didn’t look at my phone during the morning rush. I didn’t want to see if I got a message back, because it would just distract me. But after everyone is off to school and the house is quiet, I read his message from last night. I’m sorry you can’t make it. Do you want to change it to Saturday? I know you said your ex has the kids. Let me know. I really would love to see you again—even if it’s just as friends for now.
Before I answer him, I go to his timeline. The picture of him and Rebecca is gone. I don’t know if he took it off or if she untagged him. I remember her name and type it into the search box, then click on her page again. The picture is still there, marked friends of friends, so I can see it. Ben is still tagged, which means that he must have hidden or deleted the post from his page. I can’t help but think that maybe he got rid of it, so that I wouldn’t see it. I don’t know if that makes me feel relieved that he cares, or annoyed that perhaps he’s hiding something from me.
Does he care enough to worry about what I would think—seeing a picture of him with another woman? Or does he just want to hedge his bets and he’s courting both of us? I can pretty much guarantee that if he’s sleeping with her, it’s no strings attached. I did believe him when he told me that he hasn’t been able to commit to anyone, and that I’m the only one he ever believed he could marry. I almost feel bad for this Rebecca woman, even if she is gorgeous. If Ben removed that picture, she must feel bad, although she might not even realize that it’s been removed. Okay, it’s a bit ridiculous that I’m worrying about this woman’s feelings when I really should just be worrying about my own.
I decide to send Ben a message. Hi Ben, I would love to see you on Saturday, but I think honestly the timing might not be right just now. I think I might need to be alone for a bit after everything I’ve been through. I wish you happiness in everything you do, and I hope you get to say, ‘I’m in a band’ again. It was great seeing you and talking to you—really. I have to admit, I’ve especially loved talking to you. I hope we can keep in touch. I’m not closing the door for good—just for a bit. Take care. I hit send before I can even think about it, and I have an odd sense of being free. I hemmed and hawed for so long; as much as it kills me to tell Ben good-bye, it feels good to have made a decision. And, it feels good to leave the door open too.
I grab my pocketbook and root through it for the CVS receipt that I jotted my to-do list on last month. I know I didn’t shred it with the rest of my old receipts. It seems like a lifetime ago. I really cannot believe how much my life has changed since then. Contact lawyer (or find lawyer); tell kids—figure out how to tell kids… Done and done. …look for job—or start business from home, catering? Pastries? Cake? Cookies? Not totally done, but getting closer, much closer. I have to capitalize on my fifteen minutes of fame before they’re up. I may as well milk it for all it’s worth. Plus, it’ll keep my mind off of Ben. It’ll probably be a lot easier once Sam starts kindergarten. But I can work mornings while Sam is in preschool, and then when he starts kindergarten next fall, I can really launch it full time.
I’m amazed that the hopeful feeling I got while baking returns. Nick never wanted me to go back to work, so I threw myself into school activities—chairing more committees than anyone else. But now that I’ve been removed from my posts, I’ll have more time on my hands. And, without Nick being a naysayer, I can write my own future and maybe even use my notoriety for gain.
I look out my window—there aren’t any paparazzi outside today. Maybe they’re all scared of me now. My fame has to be winding down. Just in case it’s not, I listen to the saved messages on my cell phone, looking for the one from the People reporter. Lying in bed last night I decided that I would grant an interview to People, because they seem pretty reputable. Whether they are or not, I guess I’ll find out. I thought about Glamour or even Cosmopolitan, both of whom contacted me, but I want something that will come out quickly. Since People is a weekly magazine, it would be faster than a monthly. I’m about to call when I change my mind. If there aren’t any photographers outside now, they probably really are losing interest in me and giving an interview might stir it up again.
I just really want my privacy back, but astonishingly, I don’t want my old life back. I don’t want Nick back. I don’t want my proclivity for doing what everyone else wants me to do back. I kind of like that I walked out of the PTA meeting the other day. I kind of like that I’m now a suburban rebel. I don’t feel like a lemming anymore, just running toward the cliff of old age with everyone else. That video being launched into cyberspace actually taught me how to live more authentically.
That restless feeling that’s always gnawed away at me is gone, I realize—maybe because I’m not bored anymore. I’m not on autopilot anymore. How could I be? It’s really shocking to think that perhaps everything that has happened might actually be for the best. Can my naked body zooming around cyberspace have actually freed me? I’m acutely aware that it’s no coincidence that I’m feeling this way after Emma actually hugged me and said more than two words to me. If it didn’t seem like there was a truce in our future, I’m absolutely certain that I wouldn’t be feeling this way—I would still be miserable. Dare I feel optimistic?
I can’t believe that bastard photographer has had such an amazing impact on my life—despite the fact that most of the world (or at least the part of the world that cares about gossip) thinks that I’m crazy now and has seen me in the most unflattering light possible. I don’t care—all I care about is that Emma sees me as someone who tries to protect her again. The fracture in our relationship has been harder to bear than the unraveling of my marriage. I suddenly miss my mom acutely and feel bad for all the times that I rebelled against her in my teens. I hope I made up for it as an adult.
I worry for a mom
ent that it’s really just a matter of time before the other shoe falls and something else terrible happens, but I shake the thought out of my head. As long as Emma is on the road to forgiving me, I can handle anything. I go back on my laptop and there’s a message from Ben. It just says, Whatever you feel comfortable with, Max. I would love to see you, of course. But if you’re not ready, I don’t want to push you. That’s not who I am.
I got what I wanted—Ben backed off, so why do I feel so sad suddenly? Did I really want him to fight for me?
I text Andi. I told Ben that I don’t want to see him again—at least for now. He seems OK with it. Said he doesn’t want to push me.
I doubt he’s OK with it, she writes back. And then, But, if he’s not going to push you, I won’t either. You know, I’m sure that woman, Rebecca, is no one to him. Did you even ask him who she is? It can’t hurt at this point.
I shake my head as I write back, I thought you weren’t going to push me. You just don’t get it, do you? I don’t want to get hurt again. Didn’t we already go through this last night? There, that’s the bad thing that I knew would happen—I got into a fight with Andi. And I feel worse than I ever did after a fight with Nick. Andi is always there for me and she just wants me to be happy. I feel terrible snapping at her again, especially on a text, so I call her.
“Sorry,” I say before she has a chance to say “Hello,” this time.
“God, I feel like an old married couple,” Andi jumps in. “We have to stop bickering and making up. I’m sorry you feel like I’m pressuring you—I just think that you’re really pushing away Ben because you’re scared, but the photo with Rebecca is a good excuse. I don’t blame you for being scared. Life is scary. Relationships are scary. I’m scared all the time that Matt’s gonna die. I married him knowing that he could relapse at any time. That was a huge risk—a bigger risk than dating a guy who’s clearly still in love with you even after twenty years, even if it looks like he may be dating someone else, which you can’t possibly know for sure until you ask him.”
“You done?” I ask.
“Yes,” Andi answers quietly.
“Okay. No fair pulling out the ill husband card. You know I love Matt, and you know how brave I think you are for always believing he’ll be okay. I know that this is nothing compared to that, but just please put yourself in my shoes. My marriage fell apart because my husband cheated on me, and then his dirty mistress shared the most humiliating video that I made in an attempt to save my marriage, an attempt which failed miserably. She tried to ruin my life and damn near succeeded.” I pause to take a deep breath, but not long enough to let Andi get a word in edgewise.
“My daughter’s finally thawing towards me just a bit, but it’s been hell enduring her hatred and knowing there’s really not a damn thing that I can do about it, except just hope that time heals all wounds. My kids are all suffering to a degree, I’m sure—some just don’t realize it yet. Trevor got booted out of school, and I’m sure that Will and Sam will show some effects from their parents falling apart at some point.”
“Your kids are more resilient than you think. You need to take care of yourself. You need to make yourself happy and then you can make sure your kids are happy. It’s like when you’re on a plane—you’re supposed to use the oxygen first and then give it to your kids.”
“Please let me finish. Then in waltzes Ben—the one man who broke my heart even more than Nick did, and he admits that our breakup, which I blamed on myself for decades, was actually not my fault because he was really thinking of cheating on me.” I pause to take another deep breath and then start again, before Andi can argue any of my points.
“So, then I decide that okay—it was so many years ago, I’ll give him another chance. He didn’t have to admit his wrongdoing after all of these years and he did, so that means he’s honest. I’m all excited about it, and there he is on Facebook with his arm around another woman, getting a kiss from her. So really, what am I supposed to do?”
“You’re supposed to act like an adult and ask him who she is and actually give yourself permission to be happy. Max, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been about everyone else being happy—often at your own expense. You’re always volunteering for this committee and that committee; you’re always chauffeuring your kids—and half the time everyone else’s kids—around and you never really do anything for yourself. Feeling like you can’t go back to the PTA is probably the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“Well, I agree with that. I did need some time off from the PTA.”
“You need more than that. For once, Max, do something for yourself. Give Ben a chance to explain; give him a chance to give you that fairy-tale ending that you so deserve after all of the crap that you’ve been through.” Andi pauses for a moment before she continues, “And yes, I know that you’ve been through crap. It may not be on the same level as my crap, but it’s crap, nonetheless. And maybe you won’t have a fairy-tale ending—who knows? But, you won’t know unless you try. What happened to your listening to Ready to Take a Chance Again? Did Barry Manilow not teach you anything?”
I laugh. “Yes, Barry Manilow taught me something. Fine. Maybe I’ll ask him about Rebecca. By the way, I’m doing something for myself—the cookie business I told you about. Do you think my rugelach will sell?”
“They’re amazing, Max. I’ve been telling you for years that you should go into business. Just tell me how I can help. How about I take Sam a couple of days a week?”
“That would be awesome, Andi. Thanks so much.”
“Anytime, babe.”
After we hang up, I breathe a sigh of relief that things are normal between us. I felt bad snapping at Andi, and I know that she only wants me to be happy, but I couldn’t stand the pressure—I need to give Ben a chance when I feel ready and right now, I don’t feel ready. Even if I’m not ready, though, I still feel a flutter in my stomach when I get on Facebook to check my messages and there’s another message from Ben.
Honestly, deep down I want him to put up a fight. As much as I don’t want to put myself out there with him, I can’t bear the thought of never kissing him again, so I’m kind of relieved that the message gets right to the point: I’ve been thinking about your message and I still won’t push you. But I just have to ask you, why? Was it because of what I admitted—that Chris was a girl and not a guy or is it just that you don’t feel anything for me? If you don’t feel anything, I won’t bother you again, but I can’t imagine that that’s it. That brief moment in your house was so amazing—I know you had to feel it too. And our conversations made me miss you even more. If it’s about Chris, all I can say is that it’s been over twenty years. It was a lifetime ago. I know you’ve been hurt. I know that your marriage just fell apart, but I’m not Nick. I’m not even the person I was at twenty-two. I would never hurt you again. Please, Maxie, give me another chance. Would you mind if I called you later? Just to talk. Either way, take care of yourself. Ben.
I want to give Ben another chance, and if I hadn’t seen that picture of him and Rebecca, I probably would have, but seeing that picture just made me realize how crushed I would be if I invested myself in him and then found out that he was seeing this other woman as well. Can I really expect him to be exclusive with just me anyway? It’s not like we’ve been together for years—we went out once and really, it didn’t count for anything—an embrace at the train station and a roll on the floor in my house. He doesn’t really owe me anything. Yet, why do I feel like I owe him something—a chance to redeem himself?
I decide to wait to write back to him until after I get Sam at school. I need a little time to figure out how to ask about Rebecca. After pick-up, Andi and I head to the park. I settle in on the bench, so grateful it’s empty except for us. Before I can say anything, she launches into, “Now, let’s talk about Ben. Did you ask him about Rebecca?”
“Not yet. But he did send me another message.” I take my phone out of my bag and bring up Ben’s message. I
hand it to Andi to read.
She puts her hand over her heart. “I love him and I’ve never even met him. You should write back, tell him that you still feel something, but that you’re scared. And you better ask him who Rebecca is.”
“Maybe I should do a list of pros and cons,” I say with a sigh. But just as I’m about to, my phone rings. It’s Nick.
“So, who’s the guy you went out with when I had the kids? Don’t you think you should have told me you had a date the other night? I have to see it online? If Sloane hadn’t sent me the link to the pictures of you being shit on—classic, by the way—I wouldn’t have known. Don’t you think I have a right to know if there’s a man in your life, since he’ll be around my kids?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask and then immediately regret it. For one thing, we’re at a park with Logan and Sam; for another I really try not to lose it with Nick because it doesn’t help anyone.
“Language, sweetheart. Language. You really need to control your anger.”
I decide to take the high road—you always catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Plus, animosity will just make things that much harder. I take a deep breath and answer slowly, “The guy you saw in the picture was Ben, an old friend from college.”
“The Ben—the love of your life, before me of course, Ben? Wow, did not see that coming. How did you get in touch with him? Let me guess—Facebook? Were you in touch with him before we ended? Maybe that’s why you threw me out.”
“I threw you out because you were a cheating, lying scumbag.” So much for the high road. I look around to make sure the boys aren’t close enough to hear me. “Look, there’s no point in our fighting. Nothing happened with Ben before. I never even talked to him until well after you moved out and he called me. Plus, though it’s really none of your business, nothing happened that night either. We didn’t even end up going out. Now, was that the only reason you called me?”
“No, I also called because I’m concerned about you. Sloane also sent me the pictures of you attacking the photographer. It said you hit rock bottom. I want to make sure you’re still okay to take care of our children.”
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