Misery Loves Cabernet

by Kim Gruenenfelder

  “I go to Swanson Preschool,” Alex says through a full mouth.

  “Me, too,” Sean says through his mouthful of ice cream.

  “And who’s your best friend there?” he asks them both.

  “Sean.” / “Alex.”

  “And what’s your favorite toy at the school?” Liam continues.

  My cousin Jenn once said that when you get married, foreplay changes. You no longer get hot when a man wears a suit to a date and brings you flowers. You get hot when you see him load the dishwasher, or run the vacuum cleaner. I gotta say, that is nothing compared to watching men who are good around children. Over the next twenty minutes, I watched Liam listen intently as the boys told him all about their dinosaurs and their trains. I even watched as he let them wrestle him to the ground (a sight that almost frightened me, because they were being so rough).

  But that was nothing compared to when we got to Jenn’s house. The sight of watching this man read them books while they sat in their pajamas, one on each side of him, their eyelids getting droopy from the late night and the sugar low. Oh man—Jenn might not be the only one suddenly sopping wet tonight.

  As Liam continues reading, I walk downstairs, and call Jenn at the hospital. Her mother answers, and after we talk she hands the phone over to Jenn.

  “How are they?” Jenn asks. “Are they being hideous? Have I completely ruined your chances with my married crush?”

  “They’re already in bed, and they’ve been amazing,” I assure her. “We took them for ice cream. Was that okay?”

  “I’m in labor. I wish you could take me for ice cream. Where’d you go?”

  “Cold Stone.”

  “Oh,” Jenn says, wincing. “Was Alex a terror about the sprinkles?”

  “Nope. Sprinkles on top for him. M&Ms mixed in for Sean.”

  “You’re a better woman than I.”

  “Thanks. Listen, would it be okay if Liam stayed with me for a while here? He’s just been amazing with the boys, and I could use the help.”

  Jenn laughs. “Yes, babysitter, your boyfriend can stay with you.”

  “Yay,” I say quietly. “And thank you.”

  “No problem. Help yourself to a bottle from the wine refrigerator. You’ve earned it.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “Call me if you need anything. Love you.”

  “Love you, too. Good night.” As Jenn hangs up, I can hear her telling her mom, “Mom, incense isn’t allowed in the room. Put that out.”

  I hang up, then race over to Jenn’s kitchen. She and Rob are such grown-ups, they actually have a wine refrigerator. I look through everything, and pull out a Guenoc Claret. I open the bottle, giving it time to breathe, while I search her cabinets for some wineglasses. I happily pour two glasses, then head upstairs to see if story time is over.

  And that’s when I see it: Liam out cold on the floor, sleeping between the twin beds of the boys, also asleep.

  On the one hand, they all look so peaceful and cute, and my mind jumps ahead to Liam and me married, and him putting our kids to bed.

  On the other hand, to quote Rod Stewart: Tonight’s the night.

  I tiptoe in, and kneel down next to Liam. I shake him lightly on the shoulder, “Wake up,” I whisper. “The boys are asleep.”

  Liam smiles, his eyes still closed. He gently puts his arm around me, and tries to pull me down to sleep next to him. I suspect this is an unconscious gesture, because although I allow myself to be pulled down (Hey, I’m still lying next to the guy. That’s progress, right?), I whisper, “I opened some wine. Do you want to go downstairs?”

  And I get no response.

  So, I just lie there like an idiot for five minutes, wanting him to wake up, but not wanting to be responsible for being the person who woke him up.

  Then I go another five minutes.

  Nothing great comes without some failure.

  Finally, I peel Liam’s arm off my body, stand up, and go look for my nicotine gum.

  Thirty-one

  I spend the next hour chewing orange gum, sipping beautiful wine, and checking my e-mail.

  The first e-mail is from Kate. It’s addressed to Dawn and me.

  Hi Guys.

  I haven’t had a chance to talk with you guys yet, but I have news: Will is being transferred to Chicago at the end of January. He’s already got his eye on a house in Naperville, which we’re flying out to see after our engagement party next week. It looks pretty amazing: thirty-five-hundred square feet, good schools, close to downtown. All in all, a perfect place to raise a family.

  Obviously, I’m going to give notice on my job at the station. Jack keeps saying things like, “You love your work,” and “You love living in California.” But, honestly, my job is getting to me. I feel like I don’t do enough for the political community, it’s not the job I thought it was going to be when I broke into radio at twenty-two, etc. Maybe I could do more in the Midwest. Who knows?

  Anyway, I know I did something stupid tonight. I’m embarrassed. But nothing happened, and I’d prefer none of us mention it again. The engagement party will still be at the Biltmore next Saturday. The wedding may have to move to Chicago, I don’t know. But I do know my favorite women in the world will be there, and you two will always be by my side.

  Love,

  Kate

  I pick up the phone to call Kate, but I get her answering machine. I hang up before I can leave a message.

  I type back:

  I’m just going to write this once, and you can ignore me, and I promise not to say another word about it. Obviously, I want you to be happy. But I’ve rarely seen the geographical cure work, and I don’t know many people who love their job more than you. Most important, people who have been best friends for nine years know each other pretty damn well, and have a pretty good idea of what makes the other happy.

  And I don’t mean me. I mean Jack.

  Love,

  Charlie

  I sit back in Jenn’s reclining chair, and stare at my screen. The thought of Kate moving tears me up inside. She’s been my rock for over ten years. Through all the jobs, the boyfriends, the dramas of my life, she’s been there. And now she’ll be gone. And e-mails and phone calls aren’t the same as being there.

  And just when I thought my night couldn’t get worse, I get roped into an e-mail chat:

  Jordan1313: Hey, how you doin’?

  I stare at the instant message, and start to feel sick. I can barely breathe. Instantly, my ego is deflated, and I’m not sure what would make me feel better: getting rid of him, or getting him back.

  AngelCharlie: Hangin’ in there. You?

  Jordan1313: I miss you.

  Yikes! Now what? As I debate what to type next he writes:

  Jordan1313: That’s me on your phone. Pick up.

  I type furiously.

  AngelCharlie: I can’t pick up. I’m not at home.

  Jordan1313: Oh.

  A few seconds later:

  Jordan1313: Are you at that Liam guy’s house?

  I type back:

  AngelCharlie: No, I’m at Jenn’s, watching the boys. She’s at Cedars right now having her baby.

  Jordan1313. Oh, good for her. Tell her to get the epidural.

  And a few seconds later:

  Jordan1313: I’m sorry I hung up when I called last week. I thought you had moved on to another guy already, and I got upset.

  Is now the time to point out that he also broke up with me the day before that?

  Jordan1313: So . . . are you dating him?

  AngelCharlie: No.

  Jordan1313: Are you dating anyone else?

  AngelCharlie: Not yet. Why? Are you?

  Jordan1313: No.

  Jordan1313: Although you were right about Stacey. She made a move on me last night. I’m an idiot for not seeing it coming. It would appear the German job might not happen now, because I rebuffed her.

  Well, what the hell am I supposed to say to that?

  Jordan1313: Actually, I’m not even su
re if you told me she liked me, or warned me that she would hit on me. I don’t really remember what we said in New York. I just remember the outcome.

  Jordan1313: Shit. I have to go. Will you e-mail me this week?

  I debate for a minute before I write:

  AngelCharlie: Sure.

  Jordan1313: I’d like that. Oh, and I might be home for a few days on Thanksgiving weekend. If so, do you want to go have dinner?

  I look at the screen, and realize I am sighing aloud.

  AngelCharlie: I don’t know. I’ll have to see how my schedule looks.

  Jordan1313: I understand. Well, hopefully, the stars will align in our favor.

  And then he writes the thing that really messes up my head.

  Jordan1313: Love, me

  Thirty-two

  Men are fuckers who just want to mess with your head.

  I end up falling asleep on Jenn and Rob’s couch, watching a rerun of some sitcom from the nineties I don’t remember. I didn’t think I’d ever fall asleep; I was once again in the purgatory that is my romantic life: Who do I want? Who wants me? Who will make me happy?

  The following morning, I am no further along in my pursuit of happiness.

  “Get this party started on a Saturday night!” Pink loudly sings to me.

  I am jolted awake by the blasting sound of a synthesizer, and Pink letting me know that everyone is waiting for her to arrive.

  I pull myself off of the couch and stub my toe on a bin of Legos as I follow the music to Jenn’s kitchen. There, I see Sean eating at the breakfast table, and Alex watching Liam make pancakes.

  “So, you want a stegosaurus?” Liam asks.

  “Yeah, and you need to put spikes on the back of its tail,” Alex advises.

  As I watch Liam pour the tiniest bit of batter into the frying pan, I mumble, “Good morning.”

  “Good morning!” Liam and the boys say in unison.

  “Coffee’s made,” Liam tells me. “How did you sleep?”

  “Oh, fine,” I say, turning down the music before pouring myself coffee in the biggest mug I can find in Jenn’s cupboard. “You?”

  “Great. The boys and I have been making pancakes in the shapes of dinosaurs and trains.”

  “I got a T. rex,” Sean tells me with his mouth full of pancakes.

  “Great,” I say, sleep still permeating my voice. “I told Jenn I’d get the boys to the hospital when visiting hours start. They’re pretty excited to see their new sister,” I say, as Liam lifts Alex’s pancake out of the griddle with his spatula.

  As Alex carefully carries his stegosaurus to the table, Liam says, “Excellent. So, what can I make you? A T. rex? An Apatosaurus? Perhaps a frisky little Compsonathus?”

  “Just a big circle is fine,” I say, and rub his arm suggestively.

  Jenn’s home phone rings. I see from the caller ID it’s the hospital, so I pick up. “Hello?”

  “I think I’m holding someone here who’d like to meet you,” Rob says in a soft voice.

  We were at Cedars-Sinai within the hour. Hurricanes Sean and Alex raced through the hospital to meet their new sister, then lost all interest in about five minutes. While Rob went outside to make phone calls and to send e-mails of baby’s first picture, Liam took the boys out to the Grove Shopping Center to look at the big Christmas tree, and basically wreak havoc in an outside space where running was acceptable.

  Jenn’s hospital room is now peaceful, and silent. As Jenn takes a quick shower, I hold the new baby. She is asleep in my arms, and I am already in love with her. She’s perfect. Ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes. These are the moments that life is all about.

  Do at least one thing in your life that will outlast it.

  Thirty-three

  You can go entire weeks or months without anything interesting happening. And that’s okay. Your life doesn’t always have to be bounding forward at full speed for you to be happy.

  The following week was a complete failure to communicate. I didn’t have the emotional energy to call or e-mail Jordan, nor did he call or e-mail me.

  The not calling was fine for now. Because, until Friday of that week, I still had Liam in my bed (and, sadly, by that I mean guest room). Unfortunately for me, that Friday, we wrapped local shooting, Drew had his dressing room defrosted, and I lost Liam as my roommate.

  And, even though I knew I was on a bit of a deadline with him (could there be a more captive audience than a roommate?), I never did get up the nerve to kiss him, or to declare my feelings for him in any way.

  I have excuses aplenty. We were shooting twelve-hour days all week. Then Kate would keep me on the phone for hours and hours every night describing her roller-coaster relationships with Will and Jack. And Liam was already starting to spend evenings in the editing bay looking at dailies, and preparing for finance meetings next week in New York. Plus, Drew sent me to Rancho Cucamonga for the perfect dozen donuts. (That took six hours.)

  But, really, my lack of nerves stemmed more from fear. Over the course of the past few weeks, Liam had stopped being this unattainable god to me, and became this really nice, loving person. He had meshed in perfectly with my family and friends. He didn’t think they were bizarre, he thought they were charming. He had gone shoe shopping with my costume-designer father. Drank shots of whiskey with my Mawv. Went to yoga with my Mom, and babysat Sean and Alex with me. My mother had even invited him to Thanksgiving and he had accepted.

  Which meant that, as desperately as I wanted to kiss him, now I would risk losing him if he was alienated by my advances. And I really couldn’t bear the thought of losing what we had. I liked him too much as a friend.

  Cut to Saturday night. Despite her whirlwind of drama, Kate was still determined to marry Will. So, Liam picked me up that night, and we headed out to her wildly lavish engagement party downtown.

  “So she’s been on the phone every night this week with Jack, and Will doesn’t mind?” Liam asks me as he navigates his car through Downtown traffic.

  I shrug. “Apparently, Will isn’t threatened by him. When I had dinner with Will and Kate on Tuesday, he specifically talked about how Jack was a total loser who would never amount to anything, or have any stability in his life. I mean, on the one hand, I guess it’s great that he’s so unthreatened by her ex, but on the other hand . . .”

  “. . . she’s still sleeping with him,” Liam finishes.

  I shrug. “Well, they haven’t slept together this week. Jack moved on from seduction, and is now onto phone skills.”

  “I’m sorry. What are phone skills?”

  “You know, being able to talk until three in the morning. Making the woman laugh over the phone. I’m sure you’re great at that.”

  “Not really. If I’m talking to a woman at three in the morning, I’m probably trying to convince her to check out some of my other nocturnal skills.”

  Liam gives me a mischievous smile.

  I make a show of rolling my eyes at his hubris, but truthfully, I’m intrigued.

  Liam is my date tonight. There’s an open bar, free food, and a beautiful, romantic setting. If I don’t have a shot here, I might as well pack my arrows and quiver, and go home.

  We park the car, and head into the hotel. We walk into one of the smaller banquet rooms, where Kate and Will are receiving guests at a table toward the front of the room. Kate looks like a forties movie star in a silver lamé floor-length gown, and Will looks positively elegant in a navy blue suit.

  The room is decorated in light and dark green: the colors of Kate’s wedding. There are white flowers of all sorts everywhere. The center of the room has been transformed into a dance floor, where I see Dawn dancing with a man I’m sure is yet another stud from her stable.

  Liam and I each take a glass of champagne from a wandering waiter, just as Dawn finishes her dance, gives a hug to her partner, and walks over to us. “How’s it going so far?” I ask her.

  “Jack’s here,” Dawn says, nodding her head toward a table where Jack sits in an
ill-fitting suit by his lonesome.

  “Good God,” I say. Then I look at Liam. “You’re a guy, you tell me: What on earth would possess a man to show up at his ex-girlfriend’s engagement party?”

  “Never underestimate the power of the out-on-a-limb gesture,” Liam answers.

  He looks over at Jack. “Frankly, I hope he wins. That’s a gold medalist, right there.”

  “You told him your silver medalist analogy?” Dawn asks me.

  “Yeah, but I think I explained it wrong,” I say to her. “Liam, a silver medalist is the one who tries and tries, and never quite gets what they’re working for. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Liam says, smiling.

  “Why would you take offense?” Dawn asks Liam.

  “He actually has an Olympic silver medal,” I tell her.

  Dawn shakes her head. “Girl, you really do have the worst luck with what comes out of your mouth around good-looking men.”

  “Anyway,” I say, glaring at Dawn while I talk to Liam, “a gold medalist is what you want to be. And, frankly, as much as I love Jack, Will is the gold medalist. Not Jack.”

  Liam smiles at me. “Darling, I adore you. But I’m going to have to disagree. You’re missing the point of the silver medal. Yes, I would have loved winning a gold medal in track. But I love running. I do it every day, because it makes me happy. So, it doesn’t really matter if things didn’t turn out exactly as I thought they would in my head. I went after the thing I really wanted, and I got it. Just in a different form than I thought I would.”

  Liam looks at Will for a moment. “Fear of failure is an insidious thing. Leads people to pretend they never wanted a medal in the first place.”

  I look over at Will, than back at Liam. “Huh?”

  Liam gestures with his champagne glass toward Will. “That guy is a lawyer, right?”