Ex and the Single Girl

by Lani Diane Rich

I shut and locked the door behind me, then sat down at the desk. I picked up the phone. Hung it up. Picked it up, dialed three numbers. Slammed it down. I stood up, stretched my arms, and sat down again.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Portia, just do it,” I said, dialing the entire number with shaking fingers and then turning around in the seat to discourage myself from hanging up.

  Ring. Ring.

  Ring.

  If it’s the answering machine, I’ll just hang up, I thought, a sense of refreshing relief washing through me.

  “Hello?” A woman’s voice, light and Southern with a hint of honey. A lot like Mags’s.

  My throat closed. My eyes watered.

  “I’m calling for Jack Tripplehorn?” My voice sounded childlike. I cleared my throat. “Is he at home?”

  “No, he’s at work right now. May I take a message?” I heard water running in the background. Dishes clanking.

  I cleared my throat. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  The water stopped. “This is his wife. May I ask who’s calling?”

  His wife. His wife.

  My stepmother.

  Oh, god. Would she even know who I was? Would she even know I existed?

  “This is his daughter.”

  I heard a gasp and what sounded like the clatter of a glass hitting a countertop.

  “Portia?” My name came through the line in an incredulous whisper.

  He’d told her about me. My eyes started to tear up.

  “Um, is there a better time for me to call?” My heart was battering against my chest and I was sure it would burst through if I didn’t hang up soon.

  “Oh, honey, yes, he’ll be home tonight.” Her voice gave a little squeak, and then came through again, an octave higher. “I can’t believe it’s you. Jack has missed you so.”

  My heart stopped its battering. “What?”

  “He’s missed you, honey He’s just a big, stupid, stubborn, stupid man is all. Oh, I’m so glad you called. I’ve been after him to call you forever.” She sniffled, and I heard her blow her nose.

  “He did call me,” I said, feeling as though someone else was talking. Detached.

  “He did?” She huffed. “Well, he didn’t tell me. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you two reconnect. Can we see you?”

  I started to reattach, and the anger flowed in like lava.

  “If he’s missed me so much, why did you have to bug him to call me?”

  “I told you, because he’s a big stupid man.” She paused, sighed. “I don’t mean that, baby. Your daddy’s a good man. It’s just that after your mama threw him out and returned all the letters he wrote you, he kinda bought into all that pardon-my- French crap about you being better off without him—”

  “What?” My heart was doing double-beats now, and my hands were going cold.

  “He understands now how a girl needs her daddy, but by the time he figured it out it had been so long—”

  “My mother threw him out?”

  There was a long pause. “You didn’t know that?”

  “He wrote me letters?”

  Silence.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said finally. “I shouldn’t have said anything. That’s between you and your mama, honey. Oh, this is a horrible way for us to start our relationship, me causing you trouble in your family. I just assumed you knew the whole story.” I could hear the earnestness in her voice, the understanding, the compassion I’d always wanted from Mags.

  Mags. Fury raged in my gut.

  “I’ve never gotten the whole story,” I said after a minute. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  “I have to go. Thank you, uh...” I paused, realizing I didn’t even know her name.

  “Marianne,” she said quietly. “My name is Marianne.”

  “I have to go, Marianne,” I said.

  “Portia?” I could hear the tears welling in her voice.

  “I’m sorry I’ve upset you,” I said.

  She sniffled. “Oh, don’t you worry about me. I cry when the peas overcook.” She laughed. I wished I could laugh with her. “I just...Can I tell Jack you’ll call again? Or is there a number where he can reach, you?”

  Only with the Mizzes, at home or at the Page, and I didn’t want them messing with this anymore. “I’ll be in touch. I promise.”

  “Okay,” she said. “You take care now, Portia.”

  I nodded without realizing that would mean nothing to her and hung up the phone. I felt dizzy I clenched my hands into fists and pushed them into my legs, trying to find something solid I could cling to.

  I heard the bells jingle on the door. Mags’s tinkling laugh floated through to the back of the store, followed by Bev’s deeper tones. I stood up and walked with heavy feet toward the door of the office, pulling it open.

  Mags was standing across from Vera at the front counter, wearing a light blue Donna Reed dress, every brown hair perfectly placed. Lips flawlessly lined. She saw me approach and was about to speak, but stopped as I came close enough for her to see my expression.

  “You threw him out?”

  I could see Bev stiffen in my peripheral vision, but I kept my focus on Mags.

  “You sent back the letters he wrote me?”

  Mags looked around the store. No one else was there but Peter, and he was busying himself at the coffee bar, pretending not to listen.

  “Do you want to tell me where the hell you got the right to return my letters?”

  Bev took a step forward. I held my hand up.

  “So help me God, Bev, if you tell me this has nothing to do with me—•”

  “Don’t you dare speak to me in that tone, young lady,” she hissed.

  “No,” I said, pulling up to my full height. “Don’t you dare, Bev. Don’t you dare pretend this is okay. This has less to do with you than it does with me, so why don’t you just stay the hell out of it?”

  Bev’s face burned red. Vera stepped out from behind the counter and put her arm on my shoulders. “Portia, you’re upset, maybe you should go upstairs for a while and—”

  “No, Vera,” I said through clenched teeth. “Thank you. I’d like to stay here and have this out.”

  Peter and Vera exchanged looks, and Peter wordlessly headed to the front door, quietly flipping the OPEN/CLOSED sign and locking the door. I turned my eyes back on Mags.

  “Are you going to give me an answer, Mags?”

  She turned her head to the side. There was a tear running down her cheek, but her shoulders were still as stone.

  Bev stepped forward. “I think you should go upstairs and cool off for a while, Portia.”

  “Stay out of it.” I leveled my eyes on her. Her hand, which was about to touch my arm, froze in midair.

  “Excuse me?” she said, lowering her hand slowly. If I had been in any other state of mind, I would have crumbled under her iron stare. As it was, I took a step closer to her.

  “This is none of your business, Grandma.” Bev’s eyes flashed. I knew they would. “That’s what you are, right? Why the hell do I call you Bev, anyway?”

  “Because that’s my name.”

  “Because you didn’t want to be a grandmother. Or a mother.

  You wanted everything to be a good time, like were all a bunch of buddies. Well, you know what? I didn’t need a buddy. I needed a grandmother.” I turned my focus on Mags, who hadn’t moved an inch. “I needed a mother.”

  I pulled the cardigan away from my shoulders and gripped it in my fingers, staring at the vibrant red for a moment before handing it to Mags.

  “You never told me he wanted a relationship with me.” She raised her eyes to mine and I met them, cold with rage. “I take back what I said about being a buddy. You’re not even that.” She said nothing. I spun around and stormed out the side door, banging it into the wall as I flew out, enraged. I didn’t realize Peter had followed me until I almost slammed the door on him as I flung myself into my apartment.

  “Go back downstairs, Peter.”
<
br />   “No,” he said, following me into my bedroom, standing in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest. “I’m not going to leave you when you’re in this state.”

  “What?” I said. “Georgia? Don’t worry. I won’t be here for long.”

  His eyebrows knit together for a second as I tossed my duffel bag onto the bed. “Where are you going, Portia?”

  “I’m going to Tuscaloosa,” I said, throwing a small pile of T-shirts in the bag, then standing up and pointing one finger at Peter. “All this time, all this time she had me believing that he’d left. And she threw him out. It was her, it was her choice the whole time.”

  “I understand you’re upset,” Peter began.

  “Upset? I don’t have a relationship with my father because of her lies and her...her...her lies.” I threw up my hands and gave up trying to find the words for what I was feeling. Screw words. I turned and pulled open another drawer, grabbing some jeans.

  “You shouldn’t drive like this,” Peter said.

  “I’ll be fine, Peter.” He watched me with soft concern. I tried to swallow my annoyance. “I’m fine.”

  He held his hand out. “Wait for a half hour. It won’t take me long to pack.”

  “Thanks, Peter, but no thanks. Tell Vera not to worry” I swiped my hand over the top of my dresser, tossing hair stuff and deodorant into my bag. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Peter shook his head. “We’ll call when we get to the hotel.” I slammed a drawer shut with my hip. “Don’t you know when you’re not wanted?”

  He smiled. “No. And so far, it’s working for me.”

  He walked over to me, took the bag from my shoulder and tossed it on the bed.

  “Peter, I’m not playing games here.”

  I made a move toward the bed. He grabbed me by my shoulders and moved me back.

  “Me, neither. I don’t want you driving in this state of mind, and you shouldn’t be alone when you see your father. Now, I’m gonna go and I’m gonna pack and either you’re going to be here or you’re not when I get back. But I don’t think it would kill you to wait thirty fucking minutes and let somebody help you for once.” I crossed my arms over my abdomen and stared him down. Was this the same mild-mannered Peter who’d let me push him out of my life without saying anything? Had he really changed? There was only one way to find out.

  “Okay. Thirty minutes.”

  He smiled. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.” He headed out the bedroom door and I reached into my duffel bag, then rushed out after him.

  “Peter!” I called. He turned as he pulled open the front door. I grabbed a piece of paper off the counter and scribbled some instructions on it. “I need you to get me something from the house.”

  “She’s fine,” I heard Peter say as I stepped out of the hotel bathroom. We’d gotten one room with two double beds. I just couldn’t see being prudish about sleeping arrangements with a guy who’d seen me naked every day for two years. We were adults and there were two beds, so I wasn’t going to worry about it.

  “Yeah, we’re just about to go see him.” He pointed to the receiver and mouthed “Vera” at me, then spoke back into the phone. “I’ll watch out for her. Don’t worry. How are Mags and Bev?”

  I bristled at the sound of their names. I didn’t want to think about Mags and Bev. I was too angry and too hurt to think about either of them without feeling physical pain.

  “Uh-huh,” Peter said, and looked at me, but didn’t give any clues as to what Vera was saying on the other end.

  “We’re planning on heading back early tomorrow morning, so I should be able to help out in the store...” He stopped. I didn’t have to listen in to know that Vera was telling him not to worry about it. He smiled and made a motion to me, asking if I wanted to speak. I shook my head.

  “No, she’s still in the shower,” he said. “But I’ll tell her.”

  He hung up and looked at me.

  “They’re worried about you,” he said finally.

  I looked at my watch. “It’s almost eight o’clock,” I said. “Are you ready?”

  He stood up. “Are you?”

  I nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  That was true enough. Part of me wanted to run home and hide under the covers. But I’d come all this way, dragged Peter through my drama, and it was time to get it over with.

  Peter put his hand on the small of my back and ushered me out the door.

  “Let’s do it, then.”

  Jack’s house was a big, white sprawling ranch-style on the outskirts of town. Peter pulled up in front and stopped the car, then turned to me.

  “You want me to come in with you?” he asked.

  I stared at the lights in the house. I saw a figure float past one of the windows. Looked like a woman. Must be Marianne.

  “Portia?” Peter craned his head into my line of vision. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt and clutching the box in my lap. “I don’t know how long this is going to take.”

  Peter smiled. “I’ll wait.”

  I looked at him, and the irritation I’d felt earlier melted away. “Peter, thank you for—”

  “It’s nothing. Really. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

  I squeezed his hand and hopped out of the car. The night air felt heavy and wet, and gravity seemed to get stronger the closer my feet brought me to Jack’s house. When I got up to the porch, my heartbeat was quick and light, and I thought I might faint. I pushed the doorbell.

  “I’ll get it,” a man’s voice boomed from inside. My gut did a flip. The porch light turned on, glaring in my face. The door opened.

  I froze. I thought about running away, but couldn’t move.

  There he was. My father, the man who had picked me up and danced with me when I was a little girl. The man who, as it turned out, had loved me after all. His hair was graying at the temples, and he looked heavier than the man I remembered, but I knew it was the same man.

  And I didn’t know him at all.

  He smiled at me politely for a moment, then his smile faded.

  “Well, I’ll be,” he whispered. “Don’t you look just like her?”

  I blinked. It took me a second to realize he was talking about Mags.

  “I’m sorry for not calling,” I said, my voice wavering in and out like a bad radio. “I should have called first.”

  “No,” he said. “No, it’s okay. I’m...” He paused and I could see the muscles working in his jaw. “I’m real glad you’re here.”

  “Okay,” I said. I held out the shoebox in my hands. “This is for you.”

  He took it tentatively and pulled the top off.

  “I wrote you letters, through the years,” I said. “There are some pictures of me growing up.”

  He picked my sixth-grade picture off the top and smiled. “You had braces.”

  “Yeah.”

  He looked from the picture to me, his eyes shining. “You’re beautiful.”

  I tried to blink the tears away, but they came too fast. I put my hand over my face and sobbed. I heard him put the box down on a deck chair and felt him pull me into his arms.

  “Now don’t tell me no one’s ever told you that before,” he said, his voice crackling with the effort of his humor, running his hands over my head. “I wouldn’t believe it for a second.”

  The floodgates opened, and thirty years of hurt and anger and confusion came out in enough tears to drown a small city. I couldn’t have stopped it if my life depended on it. Through it all, he held me tight to him, running his hands over my hair, telling me he was sorry.

  “It’s okay,” I choked finally, pulling back and swiping the back of my hand over my soppy face. “It’s not your fault. But I didn’t know...I didn’t know until...”

  He struggled to pull on a small smile. I could see that his eyes were shiny and that it was taking a lot out of him to hold them at shiny. “I know. Marianne told me.”

  I pulled my shir
tsleeve down over my hand and mopped at my face, letting go with a feeble laugh. “Great first impression, huh?”

  He smiled. “You made your first impression on me at the hospital.” I raised my eyes to his. He let out a stuttered sigh, watching me with the same loving expression he’d had the day he picked me up in his arms and waltzed me around the room. Another surge of emotion overtook me, and I could feel my eyes welling up with fresh tears.

  “Baby, I’m so sorry.” He coughed and pinched his fingers over his eyelids. “I should have never let this go so long. I was just scared.”

  I swiped at my face. “Scared of what?”

  “That you’d be so mad at me for taking so long, you wouldn’t want me in your life,” he said.

  I felt my face crumple again and I shook my head. “I’m not mad.”

  His face contorted for a moment and then he pulled on a smile. “Well, you should be.”

  “Jack?” A woman’s voice came through as the screen door squeaked. Jack stepped aside and turned around to face a short, pudgy woman with blond hair wiping her hands on a dish towel. She looked from me to Jack, then put her hand to her mouth with a gasp. “Is this...?”

  Jack nodded. “Portia, this is my wife, Marianne.”

  Marianne waved her hand in front of her face as her eyes filled up.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice tight and high with emotion. She looked at Jack and grabbed his hand, squeezing it and raising it to her heart.

  “I’m going to get y’all something to drink,” she said, stepping back toward the door. “Portia? What’s your drink?”

  “Water would be great,” I said.

  “You bet.” She looked at Jack, smiled, and disappeared into the house.

  Jack raised his hand to the Adirondack chairs on the porch and we both sat. We were quiet until Marianne brought us each a glass of ice water, and then once she went into the house again, Jack began to speak.

  “Did you talk to your mother?”

  “No,” I said. “I mean, I confronted her. But she didn’t say anything.”

  He gave a sad laugh. “That’s Mags for you.”

  He took a sip of his water. I stared into my melting ice.

  “I can’t believe she did that,” I said. “She had no right to send those letters back. She had no right to throw you out and not tell you why.”