Man of My Dreams

by Faith Andrews

  “That’s what I’m here for. So...”

  “So...what?” I ask, confused, wondering what I managed to miss this time in my state of self-pity.

  “Didn’t you get your mail yesterday?”

  Shit! I actually haven’t gone to the mailbox in a few days. God only knows what’s waiting for me. “No, why? Who moved, got engaged, had a baby or died that I forgot to acknowledge?”

  “Nothing like that, you’re good. But Lisa emailed me last night. Come to think of it she probably emailed you too. Guess you haven’t gotten around to checking that either.”

  I haven’t showered in two days. Email is certainly not a priority right now. “Nope. Haven’t gotten to that either. Why, what’s up?”

  “I’d rather you see it for yourself. Go get yourself and that bathroom cleaned up, get the mail, and I’ll be expecting your call.” She hangs up and I shake my head while letting out an over-exaggerated sigh. I don’t have time for this. But I’m definitely intrigued.

  I forgo the cleaning and the shower, but decide to put on the pajamas I threw off earlier and run to the mailbox. When I open the box it’s overflowing. Bills, catalogs, credit card offers, what looks like a ‘thank you’ card from a birthday the kids just went to. And then I see it.

  A shiny, gold square envelope addressed to Ms. Mia Page Murphy. There is no return address label and no one has used my maiden name in forever so I am immediately curious about this mysterious parcel.

  I rush inside, throw the pile of mail on the table in the entryway, and head for the kitchen with the single envelope in hand. I rip it open, like Charlie did with his last chocolate Wonka bar. But instead of a golden ticket I come face to face with something far more enticing. My very own ticket of sorts—to a trip down memory lane.

  I glare at the invitation with an ear to ear grin.

  Class of 1997

  You are cordially invited to

  Westmont High School’s ten year reunion

  at the Westmont Country Club

  On Saturday, March tenth, two thousand seven

  at eight o’clock in the evening

  A million and one thoughts bombard my mind, the first being that I always imagined my husband would escort me to my ten year high school reunion. In all the years I’d pictured it, I loved the idea of flaunting Declan off to the girls who made me feel less than worthy of his type and the guys who never gave me the time of day. I’d planned to bring along brag books with my favorite photos of the girls to boast about my perfect life with my perfect family. And everyone would fill my head with compliments about looking so good after two kids and snagging such a hot hunk of eye-candy.

  But right now my marriage is in limbo and toting Declan along to my reunion might give him the wrong impression. Or worse, the strain between the two of us would be visible on the outside and I’d be judged by everyone for it. I’m not prepared to put on an act in front of these people so I decide I’ll be going stag to this thing. Too bad the invitation indicates “no spouses.” I would have brought Grace along as my plus one. She might not have gone to my high school, but she was definitely one of us.

  I hear the pitter patter of Cara’s footsteps upstairs and I know it’s a matter of seconds before she winds up in Charlie’s crib to wake her too. A phone call to Grace will have to wait so I decide on a quick text to let her know I received the invitation.

  She replies back with something I hadn’t even thought about:

  Better get something hot to wear for your reunion with Noah! I’m taking you shopping next week!

  I’m not quite sure how I let that scenario slip past me, especially after just dreaming about him. I shrug it off; even throughout all the erotic dreams, I never thought of Noah as anything but an old crush. Someone who crept into my dreams every now and then to remind me of the past. And while remembering the past was sometimes fun, my present and my future belonged to Declan. He was the man who held the key to my heart and, unlike him, I was content with who I’d chosen to spend my life with and how that life had turned out.

  But things are different now.

  Before running up the stairs to squeeze my girls and rid myself of this bitterness, I come to an eye-opening realization. Maybe some flirting with Noah is just the thing I need to feel good about myself after Declan’s little brush with infidelity. This reunion will be good for me—an escape from my tumultuous reality and a break from being a grown up. I would never act on it. I would just have a good time without doing any damage. Besides, for all I know Noah Matheson is a happily married man with a perfect family of his own.

  “Can we go to Nana’s house today? Pleeeaaase, Mommy?” Cara does her best puppy dog face and it’s hard not to cave in to the adorable pleading. That face makes it difficult to say no to anything it accompanies, even if that request is for something as impossible as her very own pony. The child has everyone who knows her fooled, which is precisely why our playroom is busting at the seams with too many toys. But this is a simple request, one I don’t mind giving in to.

  “Sure, sweetie. I’ll call them to make sure they’re not busy today. I bet they would love to see their little angels.”

  I need a change in scenery and so do the girls. Moping around within these four walls is making us all very antsy. And antsy isn’t a good thing when you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  I check the clock, forgetting what day it even is. Without Declan and his routine, I’ve lost all track of time. Luckily I’ve committed Nick Jr.’s cartoon schedule to memory, and by the sounds of the intro to Little Bear, I know it’s ten thirty a.m. on a weekday. One quick scratch of the head and a memory of the garbage trucks coming yesterday and I remember that it’s Thursday.

  Mom should be home; her Mahjong group meets on Tuesdays and her crochet club is on Fridays. Dad would already be at the office—his second home for the last thirty-five years, where he works as our town’s most well-respected and successful realtor. Even at almost sixty that man has no intentions of retiring any time soon.

  I plop two bowls of sliced bananas and watermelon on the girls’ miniature Dora table, pat their heads and walk into the other room to call my mom, away from the blaring TV.

  I dial her number and she answers after half a ring. I expect the usual sing-song greeting, but instead my heart stops when I hear her trying to speak through unmistakable sobs and sniffles.

  “Mom? What’s the matter?” I have never mastered the art of self-control in situations like this. The sound of tears, especially from my stone of a mother, makes me nervous, makes me panic.

  It’s been a minute, an hour, maybe just a second, but she still hasn’t answered me and I’m not sure my heart is going to remain in my chest much longer. “MOM! Tell me what happened!”

  “It’s Daddy, Mimi.”

  Oh no. She never calls me Mimi, only when something’s wrong. Oh my God. What’s wrong with my father?

  “What do you mean, Mom? What happened, is he...” I can’t even bring myself to complete the sentence.

  “No, no, sweetie. I’m sorry. I…I don’t know. Sam from the office called. Daddy had a heart attack at work. I just got off the phone and was about to dial your number when you called. The ambulance is already on its way to the hospital. Can you come get me and we can go there together? I don’t think I can do this without you.” Hearing my mother ask for help, showing any sign of weakness—this is so not her. She’s scared shitless and quite frankly, listening to her this way, I’m scared out of my mind myself.

  “Of course, Mom. I’ll be right over.” For some odd reason I find the need to tell her I love her. Even if it’s not something we say to each other often, she needs the comfort right now. “I love you, Mom. He’ll be okay and so will we.”

  She sobs again, a long drawn out, heart wrenching moan, before she answers me. “I love you too, sweetie. Come quick. Please.”

  I hang up, look over at the kids in their mismatched pajamas and shut the TV off. I bring over two teeny pairs of flip fl
ops, the ones we usually keep in the back for pool days, and quickly put them on their little feet.

  “Come on girls. We get to see Nana today after all. But we gotta move. Quick.”

  I take a quick look in the mirror in the entryway. I don’t look like total shit, but then again I really don’t care. This is an emergency and it won’t be the first time the kids and I have left the house without brushed teeth or combed hair, wearing two-day-old, wrinkled clothes. Every mother, except of course the Hollywood superstars who have nannies to mind after them, has been down this road before.

  I hustle to get the girls in their car seats, as I listen to them bicker back and forth about who gets to sit on Papa’s lap first and the reality starts to set in. I try to hold back the tears, but for the first time since hearing my dad had a heart attack, I am terrified. I can’t lose him. I love that man more than life itself and I need him. We all need him.

  Suddenly I realize I cannot do this without Declan. I dial his number frantically before I pull out of the driveway and am so happy he answers on the first ring.

  “Dec, it’s my dad. He’s had a heart attack. I need you.”

  An hour later, we’re seated in the waiting room of the hospital—waiting. My father is still in surgery and the doctors have yet to update us with his status. Mom, the kids and I didn’t get here in time to see him before they rolled him up to the operating room and the terrifying feeling that I may never see him again is gnawing at me like a termite eating through a piece of wood.

  Declan is seated next to me with Charlie on his lap, playing with his cuff links. He removes his hand from her restless grip and places it at the base of my neck, trying to massage away my worry.

  “He’s going to be okay, Mia. He’s a healthy man and this hospital has one of the best cardiac teams in the state. He’s in good hands. Please stop crying, baby.”

  His words make sense. This is no doubt routine to these surgeons, they probably fix people’s hearts at least one hundred times a week. But this isn’t just anyone. My father’s heart is in their hands, literally, and to them he is only another patient. To me—he is everything. Declan’s logical words do nothing to calm my nerves.

  “He has to be okay, Dec. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” I wipe away more tears. I’m surprised there are any left after how much I’ve cried these past months.

  “Babe, you know I’m here for you. We’ll get through this...no matter what happens...together.” He squeezes my hand tight, reassuring me of his words, bringing it up to his mouth for a soft kiss.

  For a split second all the pain, disappointment, and resentment vanish. This whole situation brings back too many scary memories, but what stands out the most is having Declan by my side. He helped me through a dark time once before and I can’t imagine anyone else next to me in this hospital waiting room.

  Maybe it’s the fear of loss, or the emotional overload, but something comes over me and I just blurt it out. “Dec, please come home. Tonight. Today. Whatever. I can’t be alone anymore.”

  I expect him to jump up out of his seat and do a happy dance, but instead he looks away and then down at the scuffed up tile floor. When he lifts his head, his eyes are closed tight, his jaw clenched even tighter.

  I don’t know what to say to this reaction. So I say nothing at all. I just stare, waiting for his explanation.

  “Mia, I leave Monday for Hong Kong.”

  I breathe in a long intake of sterilized air.

  He continues. “It’s a month long trip.”

  My heart stops. Tears rim my already swollen eyes.

  “Mia, they knew I was available. The timing was right. I didn’t know when you’d let me come back home so I volunteered to do it. I was going to tell you this weekend. I was going to take the three of you out to spend some time together before I left, I swear.”

  I know this isn’t his fault, but I still want to yell and scream at him as if it is. But the words can’t make their way out. My brain isn’t allowing them to form correctly. Can this be classified as a nervous breakdown?

  “Say something. Please?”

  I’m about to beg him to call his boss, take a leave of absence, quit, but a masked doctor steps out of the swinging doors of the operating area and I feel every drop of blood drain out of my face, working its way down my veins to my feet. He stops in front of me and Declan. My mother rushes over from the vending machine a few feet away and we all pay close attention to the possible life altering words that are about to escape this man’s mouth.

  I can’t get a read on what he’s about to say. They must train them to be empty of all emotion in situations like this. His eyes are blank, not revealing any hint of good or bad. He directs the hard stare at my mother and starts to speak. “Your husband made it out of surgery.”

  Thank you, God! We all let out the breath we were holding, simultaneously.

  “But things were more complicated than we had anticipated. He’s in critical condition, and will be until we can get in there again. But the heart’s been through too much trauma today so we need more time before the next operation. I will explain the details to you thoroughly, but what you need to know now is that he is not out of the woods yet.”

  I don’t know how to register this. The heart’s been through too much trauma. If that weren’t the term to define this year, I don’t know what is. My own heart felt like it had been ripped out and stomped on before today and now, there isn’t much more left of it.

  Declan walks to the nurse’s station with our daughters. I see one of the younger, friendlier nurses bend down to their level and take Cara’s hand. She carries a bag of crayons to the seating area a few feet away.

  He makes his way back over to me and my mother and brings me in for a hug.

  I know he means well and if the circumstances were different this hug would make me feel protected, a reminder that I am not alone. But from what the doctor just told us, my father is going to have a long recovery and Declan will be in Hong Kong for most of it. In this moment, surrounded by almost all of the faces I love most, I have never felt more alone in my life.

  “I have three papers due at the end of the week, Dec. Stop distracting me.” I try to push his roaming hands off my body, even though I really don’t want to.

  “Come on, babe. You’ve been at it all day. You deserve a little break.” His lips are in that spot, just below my ear, nibbling my jaw line. The weak spot. The one that always makes me cave.

  But not today.

  I roll my eyes back, enjoying where this could go, but quickly snap back when my fingers graze the pages of the reference book I should be memorizing. “No!” I put my hand up against his beautiful face, squishing his nose and shoving him away.

  “Damn it, Mia. Fine! Do the studious thing, but I need a breather. I’m going to the Burger Hut to grab a bite, I’ll bring something back.”

  “Don’t forget the strawberry shake!”

  He leans down to kiss me goodbye as I highlight a pertinent piece of information from my notes. He starts to walk out of my dorm room and the phone rings.

  I look up from the mess and stop Declan at the door, “Babe, please get that for me?”

  Without hesitation, he does me the favor and picks the phone up off the receiver. “Hello?”

  I watch his eyes brighten and his mouth curl in to a smile at the sound of the person on the other end. “Oh hey, Mr. P. How’s it going? Yup, she’s knee deep in research. I’m actually running out to grab her some fuel. Want her?”

  I lift my head from the books, huffing and throwing my arm out in the direction of the phone.

  “Okay, Mr. P. No problem.” Declan walks over to me with the receiver and places it in my hand. Then he sits on the edge of the bed.

  “I thought you were going.”

  “Your dad asked me to wait.” He looks as confused as I feel, but he nudges me along, “Go ahead. Talk to him.”

  “Hi, Daddy. What’s up?”

  This whole thing is odd
. I spoke to my dad yesterday and told him how much school work I had to get done in the next few days. He would never interrupt my studying. Something’s up and I’m starting to get nervous.

  “I don’t want to alarm you and I hate to do this over the phone, but...”

  Declan must sense the fear in my eyes, he reaches over and squeezes my knee.

  “But what, Dad? Something’s wrong. What is it?”

  “Mom got some results back today from her mammogram. They found something—a lump. It could be nothing, it could be something. We won’t know until after the biopsy report comes in.” My dad sounds so calm, as if he’s rehearsed this. His voice doesn’t tremble or crack as if he isn’t telling me what I’m thinking.

  Nothing is great, but something? As in cancer. Oh my god, I’m going to be sick. I throw the phone onto the bed, unable to listen to the rest. “Declan, take the phone. Talk to him. I...I can’t.”

  I pace my room, crying, fanning myself, gulping down the nausea that wants to take over me, as I watch Declan jot down information from my father. Thank you for being here, baby. Thank you for not walking out one second before that phone rang. I wouldn’t be able to compose myself to make any sense out of the instructions my father’s giving out.

  Declan hangs up the phone and walks over to me on the other side of the room. “Mia, calm down. I’m here and we don’t have any reason to freak out just yet. We need to cool down and figure out what we do next.”

  I love how he keeps saying ‘we.’ It’s so comforting to know I’m not in this alone. So I use the same word when I make my next demand. “We need to leave. We have to go home. We have to be with her.”

  Declan shakes his head, slapping his hands down on his thighs. “So much for calm, Mia. Listen to me. There is no rush. Your father told me the biopsy results won’t be in for another few days. We both have papers and assignments due, we can’t just...”