“You can?” Kylie said, incredulous.
“You can,” he said with a grin. “No nuts. Just flower.”
“Can you put one in apple cider?”
“I can’t see why not,” he said, and plunked one in her drink.
“Do you carry those around with you, just to impress women?”
“Did it work?”
“Yeah,” I said, laughing. “It did.”
“Then I’ll keep stuffing my pockets with them,” he said, and ambled off like a cowboy.
“He’s nice,” Kylie announced.
“I guess.”
“Two minutes to start,” Bree yelled.
I caught Vera Pastorelli rolling her eyes. Cassie’s head bent upward, locked in an intense discussion with Matt. He said something to her, and his mouth brushed her ear. Memory brushed my own earlobe, and I felt a shiver of recognition.
I downed my cocktail in two gulps. It had been a while since I drank bourbon, but the familiar warmth traveled through my bloodstream, giving my frazzled nerves a hug.
Kylie tugged at my sleeve. “What are you going to say, Mom?”
That was a good question. And one I couldn’t answer. “I don’t know.”
“How could you not know?” Kylie frowned. “Come up with something.”
I glanced around. The crowd had really filled out, and the room was packed. Maybe I needed to flag down Sawyer McMurphy for another cocktail. Instead, I popped the hibiscus flower in my mouth and started chewing. The flavor was unfamiliar, but sweet and interesting.
Some delusional person handed Bree a microphone. I wondered if she’d ever give it back.
“Welcome! Welcome!” Feedback shrieked through the room. Bree held the mic away from her body. “Will the candidates please come forward?”
The three of us came from different points in the room, gladiators entering the ring. Cassie left her beast with Matt, thankfully.
Vera stepped forward, grabbing the mic from a flabbergasted Bree. “Each of you has three minutes to address the audience. No Q and A this time—you all had your chance at the debate. Right now the candidates have the floor, people. Got it?”
We three nodded like bobbleheads, though her comments weren’t directed toward us. Please don’t pick me to go first, I thought. Then, just as quickly, Please let me go first to get it over with.
“I think one of the ladies went first last time,” Vera said, letting her gaze wander over Sawyer’s flannel-and-jeans-covered body. “How about starting us off, Sawyer?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sawyer said, and the inevitable feminine sigh echoed through the space, however slightly muted. Maybe Sawyer was losing his luster?
“Well,” he said, “I want to start by saying I’m very happy to be here, and honored to be standing next to such qualified candidates . . .”
Let’s face it, I wasn’t qualified to do anything more than cut hair. Which meant Sawyer was tap-dancing through his own bullshit—he had no idea what to say. I’d like to say this filled me with compassion, but honestly, I felt something close to relief.
“Being on the school board would mean a lot to me, because I would make decisions that would impact . . . the whole school . . . and I . . . take those decisions seriously because they are . . . serious decisions. Thank you.”
Silence. I could hear the hibiscus flowers wilting in glasses throughout the room. Sawyer’s hotness was finally not enough to cover up his awkwardness and ineptitude. My awkwardness and ineptitude had been on full display the entire campaign, so at least I would meet expectations.
“Ohhhkaay,” Vera said. She pushed up her baseball hat (hot pink and patterned with flamingos) and turned her attention to me. “District 168 parents, I give you Ally . . . Anderson.”
I got a tepid smattering of applause.
“Sometimes things need to change,” I began. “People don’t always like change—actually, people usually don’t. But I think we’ve all learned as a—um—society that in order to include everyone, to make everyone feel a part of things, we have to change. To move forward into a future where most people can feel they are at least heard, one in which we will work together to try to help everyone get used to a new way, a better way.”
The crowd perked up a bit, leaning in to hear more. My confidence didn’t exactly soar, but it roused from its slumber.
“I became a candidate for school board because I saw some simple things that could be changed that would make my daughter’s life easier. I know now that goal is a little narrow in scope. But the basic desire to seek better ways of doing things is something I can apply to so many areas of our students’ lives. We need to stop fearing change. Change is difficult, but accepting it is what keeps us resilient and competitive.”
I had them. They were nodding, smiling, mouthing the word yes. I needed a big finish.
“Change is the key to a thriving future for District 168,” I said, trying to imbue my voice with a James Earl Jones level of authority. “To borrow from David Bowie . . .” I cleared my throat. “Ch-ch-ch-changes,” I sang. “District 168 needs to face the strain. Ch-ch-changes . . .”
The nodding stopped. So did the smiling and all manner of positive commentary. Even Kylie looked pained. Matt cringed. Cassie gasped in horror.
Okay, so my voice wasn’t all that great. Fine, it sounded like a screeching owl with a raging head cold.
Only Sawyer grinned at me like a lunatic. I’d just made him look better.
“Well,” Vera said. “That was . . . interesting. Cassie? How about you take a shot at this?”
Cassie smiled broadly. “I’d love to.”
She killed. Slayed. Demolished her weary opponents.
Cassie was on flipping point. She was convincing. She was informative. Charming. She managed to tell a lunch-lady joke without being offensive and without messing it up. She finished with: “I can’t promise you your kids will get the best. That’s not always in our budget or our grasp. What I can promise is that if you vote for me, your kids will get my very best effort, my dedicated heart, and persistent spirit. There is a creative solution for every problem. Just as there is something special about each and every child in this district. I give you my absolute word I will celebrate that.”
The crowd of hard-to-impress District 168 parents actually went wild. They rushed Cassie as though she were a rock star, throwing compliments instead of underwear, and I found myself edged out until my back was literally almost against the door. I spotted Kylie with Matt and Cassie’s son. She was warily petting Riker, who seemed somewhat docile in response to her attention. I knew Matt would keep an eye on her.
The whole scene felt like a movie I was watching while I folded laundry. I knew what was going on, but didn’t have a firm grasp on the particulars. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t belong.
So I ducked out.
Outdoors, the night was still and quiet, and unseasonably warm. I sat on a bench facing a playground, the swings and monkey bars ghostly in the moonlight.
“Can I sit with you?”
It was Matt.
I sat up straight, mom-nerves jumping into action. “Where’s Kylie?”
“She’s with Cassie,” Matt said. “And she’s fine.”
“With Cassie? Are you sure?”
“She’s not that bad.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that she was,” I said, though I totally was. “I just thought Cassie would be distracted by all the sycophants.”
“They like her,” Matt said, and I detected a note of pride in his voice. “She’s very organized and dynamic.”
“In other words, she’d be better at the job than I would.”
“Maybe,” Matt admitted, “but that doesn’t make her a better person than you. I thought you did a good job too. You’re new to this. She isn’t. The race isn’t exactly fair.”
“Maybe this kind of thing just isn’t in my genes.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said, “but I do know singing isn’t.�
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I laughed. “It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?”
“My ears are still bleeding. You know, when you used to sing in the shower, I’d put a pillow over my head to block the sound.”
At the reference to our marriage, we both went quiet.
“Do you miss being married?” I asked, though all the possible answers made the hibiscus flower in my stomach feel like it had tentacles.
“I don’t know how to answer that. I miss you, Ally, for sure. I don’t miss the fights, though. Being together started to amplify all the negatives—the anger, the worry, the frustration.”
“That’s true,” I said quietly. “I have to admit it.”
“And we’d be dishonest if we claimed Kylie’s challenges caused all those things. The problems were always there, even when we were sincerely happy with each other. We just thought if we ignored them they’d go away.”
“Also true.”
“I’ll always love you,” Matt said.
“But . . .”
He put his arm over my shoulder. “No buts. I’ll always love you. It’s not the same kind of love as when we were happily married. It’s more of an appreciation for that time, for what we once had.”
“Does the other stuff—the fighting and anger and tears—does that stuff make you hate me a little?”
“I hate what we became. That bickering, sniping couple that made other people become uncomfortable in their presence.”
I took a breath. “So we need to get a divorce, don’t we?”
“We do.”
“I want to make it easy on you,” I said, and meant it, because I still loved him too. I always would. And it would always hurt, missing what we once were and mourning what we never allowed ourselves to become.
“I feel the same way,” he said.
“I have a feeling that’s easier said than done.”
Matt sighed. “I have a feeling you’re right. I guess we’re just going to have to get the ball rolling and see how this plays out.”
“I have an idea to help us keep on track, if you’re willing.”
“I’m open to anything.”
“That exercise you did at Dr. Indigo’s today. Why did you take off? Did it bother you?”
“Yes and no,” Matt said. “I had to leave because it worked. The feelings were so intense. I had to be alone for a little while.”
“What if we did something like that together? Got rid of our bad feelings toward each other. If we do, we’ll be less likely to bicker over stuff like who gets the Chicago-skyline paperweight we both like or the framed Pulp Fiction poster.”
“Do you think we’ll be less likely to fight about Kylie?” Matt’s voice was solemn.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s worth a try.”
“Let’s close our eyes, then,” he said, taking my hand. “Gather up your bad feelings about us. The bitterness, the anger, the hopelessness. What does it look like?”
I thought for a moment, plucking the bad memories from my brain. “It’s blue,” I said. “Which sounds cliché, but it’s true. Stormy blue, almost gray. It feels gritty, like sandpaper.”
“I can see it,” Matt said. “It has rings around it, like Saturn, but they’re dark.”
“It’s heavy,” I continued. “Really heavy. We have to figure out a way to hold it together. I can’t lift it myself.”
“Where are we?” Matt said. “I mean we’re walking somewhere, right?”
“I think we’re on a beach, like you were, only it’s nighttime. There’s a bonfire.”
“We burn it,” he said. “Incinerate it.”
“Uh-huh. Exactly.”
Matt held me close. “We do this together, Ally. One . . . two . . .”
“Three!” I said, and we both lurched forward.
“It’s burning to nothing,” I said, realizing tears were streaming down my face. “All those bad thoughts, those terrible moments.”
“What’s left is the good stuff. We fell in love. We put a beautiful girl in the world. We aren’t throwing those things onto the fire.”
“Those memories will always have a place in my heart, Matt. But it’s time for me to move forward from that place.”
“It is,” he said. “I’ve been trying to do that.”
We sat there, looking up at the stars, a romantic moment in that we were sharing something both of us needed, a little bit of peace. It felt different being next to Matt. He was solid and warm, but I’d lost the sense of oneness I’d always felt when he held me. I’d grieve that at some point, but at that moment, it was a relief. I could live without it. And I’d be okay.
“I’m going to head back inside,” Matt said after a bit. “Want to come with?”
“I should go in and make sure that crazy dog hasn’t eaten Kylie,” I said. “But I need one more minute.”
“Cassie needs a safety blanket. Like all of us, I guess. Hers is just . . . alive.”
“I knew it! Riker is a therapy dog.”
“Of sorts.” Matt smiled. “When I figured it out, it made me like Cassie more.”
“You know, it makes me like her more too. Even if she’s going to beat my ass in the election.”
Matt squeezed my shoulder. Before leaving, he said, “I can’t pretend that the desensitization treatment doesn’t still worry me, but I’ll agree to resuming it. I reserve the right to stop treatment if Kylie reacts again, okay?”
“I can agree to that. See? We’re getting along. Maybe Dr. Indigo does have all the answers.”
“She definitely has all the patchouli,” he joked, “I’ll give her that.”
“That was fantastically weird,” Sawyer said, stepping out from behind a thick hedge. “I would have assumed you guys were on acid if I didn’t know you.”
“Maybe we are.”
He grinned. “Can we get married, just so we can divorce with such grace?”
Sawyer was joking, but I wasn’t when I said, “I don’t ever want to get divorced again. At least I’m going to try not to. I think it’d be hard to survive it twice. Like with allergies—the first time you’re exposed you get a reaction, the second time is when that reaction can turn anaphylactic, and you can die.”
“Could be,” Sawyer said. “But something tells me you wouldn’t.”
“So, you heard the whole thing? That’s . . . kind of creepy. Why didn’t you walk away and give us a little privacy?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to, but it was too interesting.”
“You should be thankful you’re blessed with good looks. You need them.”
Sawyer folded his arms over his impressive chest and rocked back and forth on his heels. “This is probably the exact wrong time to do this, but do you want to go out sometime?”
I laughed. It felt . . . light. “So social awkwardness is your Achilles’ heel. I like that.”
“You do? It hasn’t worked out so well for me.”
“A lot of things haven’t worked out for me,” I said. “But . . . whatever. I’ll keep trying.”
“I need you to translate. Does that mean yes?”
“It does.”
“Is it okay if my daughter might come with?” he asked.
“Yep. As long as it’s okay if my daughter comes too.”
Sawyer laughed. “Our date might consist of making slime and friendship bracelets.”
“I am so in. My favorite things to do.”
Sawyer reached out and pulled me up from the bench. “Well, we’ve already got that in common. It can only get better.”
CHAPTER 22
Love must have still been in the air when Heather, Kylie, and I showed up for work at The Not-So-Blushing-Bride shop the following Sunday.
“You have a gift, Heather,” Radha said as soon as we walked in the door. “It got delivered ten minutes ago! Look!”
Sitting in the middle of one of the coffee tables was a gorgeous late-fall bouquet, artfully arranged in a square glass container.
Heather approached it as thou
gh the plants might reach out and strangle her. “This is weird, right? I mean, it’s really weird. Who does this?”
“Classy people,” Bernie said from the couch. “Flowers pave the way for love.”
“I need to write that down,” Micki said. “I can use that. It’s catchy.”
“Who would know you were here besides us?” Radha asked. “That’s what’s weird.”
“I might have been . . . messaging someone,” Heather said, her cheeks glowing with embarrassment. “I sort of told him I was hanging out here today.”
I was glad to be in the shop. Micki had set up appointments with three clients for full hair and makeup consultation. Apparently, Christmas weddings were popular for the over-forty set. They valued the celebratory atmosphere and weren’t bothered by the thought that everyone’s attention might be a little scattered.
“Read the card,” I said.
Heather flopped on the couch. “You read it. I just can’t.”
Enclosed in a heavy cream-colored envelope, the card only said, “It’s just dinner. Bring a friend if you want.”
“What does that mean?” Kylie said.
“I don’t know,” Heather said.
I flopped down right next to her. “Yes, you do. Spill.”
“I ended up meeting that Melvin guy for coffee. We kind of hit it off. He wants to meet for dinner, you know, take it to the next level.”
“You have to!” Radha shrieked. “Seriously, Heather!”
Heather drew her knees to her chest. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Micki said. “But it’s just a meal, right? If you don’t like him, you’ve only given away an hour of your time. Bring one of us with you.”
“I’ll go,” Kylie offered.
I slipped my laptop out of my bag. “Here. We are all going to leave you alone for ten minutes. You decide either way, but don’t leave the poor guy hanging.”
We each busied ourselves in other corners of the store, but the place wasn’t so big that we couldn’t at least try to spy on what Heather was doing. She opened the laptop and stared at it for a moment. Just go, I thought. What do you have to lose?
After about five excruciating minutes, she quickly typed a message and then snapped the laptop shut. I was dying to know, and from the looks on everyone else’s faces, they were also struggling to hold on to their need to ask. Heather didn’t reveal a thing, and started organizing a hosiery display.
The Other Family Page 23