Love-Lines

by Sheri Langer

  “Go ahead—it’s yours.” David said gallantly.

  Fordham refused, having come up with an innocent way for them to touch, if just for a moment. “Rock, paper, scissors?” she challenged, staring into David’s eyes. “I like to earn my victories.”

  They played several rounds until David won fair and square. In what she deemed a naturally selfless gesture, he offered her the candy.

  “No, that’s okay,” Fordham said, making a puffy face. “I’ll be happier in the long run if you take it.”

  “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Thanks. I should probably try to keep it that way.”

  David broke the bar in half. “Here you go.” He held her half up to her mouth.

  She took a healthy bite without even considering the calories. “Very diplomatic,” she said, finishing her half.

  As she and David gathered the rest of the candy mess and tossed it back into the girls’ bags, she said, “Thanks for tonight, David. It was nice to see Whitty have fun. She doesn’t seem to do that enough.” Fordham picked up a wrapper from the floor. “Oh, and thanks for sharing your candy with me.”

  “The pleasure was all mine.” David said.

  Fordham was feeling freer to be playful. Maybe Evie was right. David hadn’t said a word about Pam the whole time they’d been together. She even caught a glimmer of disappointment in him as he was getting ready to leave.

  “By all means, feel free to drop Lily off here anytime,” she said.

  “Thanks, Fordham. I just might take you up on that.” He picked up one of the newly filled Halloween bags. “Come on, Lily, let’s go. It’s getting late, and we still have to de-witch you.”

  Lily came into the room, carrying Ella. She held her gently and gave her kisses on her head that the typically skittish kitty seemed to appreciate.

  “I love you, Ella,” Lily said then turned to Whitty. “And you too.”

  FORDHAM WALKED OUT to the car with David, said good night, and headed back into the house, where a giant bag of garbage was waiting to be tossed. She went to the side of the house to drop the trash into the pail and watched as David safely secured Lily in the car. In the dark, she knew she was obscured from their view. It was so quiet that she could hear their conversation.

  “I like Whitty’s mommy. She’s pretty,” Lily said, “like my Barbie before I cut her hair.”

  “Yes, she’s nice,” David answered.

  “You don’t think she’s pretty?”

  “Yes, she’s pretty.”

  Fordham’s heart skipped a beat. David had said she was pretty.

  “As pretty as Mommy Pammy?”

  Fordham winced as if Lily’s words had pierced her skin.

  “Yes, very pretty.”

  Fordham continued to listen in case there would be more information she needed to know before making a complete fool of herself over David Prince.

  “What’s wrong with Whitty’s leg?”

  “Something from when she was in her mommy’s belly.”

  “Will it go away?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Daddy, can we get a cat like Ella?”

  “Lily, honey, you know that Grammy is allergic, and when she visits us, we don’t want her to get sick.”

  “I know, but I really want a cat like Ella.”

  “Maybe you can go to Whitty’s house sometimes and play with her.”

  “Yay! Daddy, when are we gonna be home? I really, really have to pee!”

  Of course, Fordham would have Lily over, but not if Mommy Pammy was going to be any part of the visit.

  FORDHAM SPENT MOST of her gynecologist’s appointment thinking about what it would be like to have another child. The visit with Lily had reminded her of all the things she enjoyed about motherhood, and the picture Margo had emailed, showing her growing belly, had cemented it. She even went so far as to fantasize about going to a sperm bank and ordering a shot of Brandon. He wasn’t father material, but he was stunning.

  A sperm bank and in vitro. That was her most realistic option. She wasn’t exactly using her equipment these days, and there was nothing quite as sobering as stirrups and latex gloves topped off by a cold probing speculum to serve as a harsh reminder of that. To top it off, it had taken her and Gil years to decide to have a baby and even more years to finally get pregnant. If she was serious about having another child, she would have to do a lot of soul searching.

  She needed to get her head out from between her legs. She had too much going on to dwell on her nonexistent sex life or to indulge in dreams about pink dimpled babies. Her appointment was uptown, and if she hurried, she could get back to the office in time to meet with Abe and go over her notes about the length of the submissions. Work would save her from herself.

  Fordham took out her phone and was checking her messages as she exited the examination room. When she got to the central waiting area, a door shut, and she automatically looked up. Staring right at her was the last person she had ever expected to see.

  Chapter Thirteen: The Good, the Bad, and the Bubbly

  “Aaron?”

  “Fordham?”

  “Wh... uh... what are you doing here?”

  “Business...”

  Fordham couldn’t stop staring at him. He certainly wasn’t a lanky kid with a mop of unruly hair anymore. His eyes were a deep, penetrating shade of cocoa. She remembered them as being simply brown. The mustache and goatee were new, too, and gave him a sexy edge that hadn’t quite been rooted when he was a kid.

  “Don’t you live in Florida? In Boca? With your wife? And your ob-gyn shingle?”

  “I do, sort of... still...” He lowered his voice, forcing Fordham to stand closer to hear him. “Well, not exactly.”

  “I promise that wasn’t a trick question.”

  “It’s complicated,” he said, gazing down at the floor. “And now I’m a fertility specialist. How do you know all this, anyway?”

  “Facebook. LinkedIn. Twitter. Evie. We’re still close, and she still knows everything about everyone.”

  “I’ll have to keep that in mind,” he said, sporting a grin. “Last I heard, through the grapevine, you were married.”

  “That grapevine is yielding raisins.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Well, you haven’t aged a day since the last time I saw you.” He seemed to be deep in reflection. “I remember! You were naked, at Marv’s house before he left for college!”

  Several people in the waiting room dropped their phones, eyes trained on Fordham and Aaron as if all that was missing were buckets of popcorn. Fordham was uncomfortable enough without strangers peering at her history before she could process it herself. One hugely pregnant woman was staring at them particularly hard.

  “Can we talk outside?” Fordham asked, scanning the room.

  “Oh, please, stay!” the pregnant woman said, pulling out a candy bar. “I’ll give you this!”

  Fordham started to walk away.

  “Please!” the woman cried, “I could be here till I deliver!”

  “YOU LOOK ABSOLUTELY amazing!” Aaron ignored the pigeon crapping on his expensive shoes. “Seriously, when was the last time we were together?”

  Fordham didn’t hesitate for an instant. “Your house, the morning you left for Spain. I came to say goodbye and to give you back your U2 tape. You kissed me while you were ironing your black Levis with the hole in the right knee.”

  “But what did I have for breakfast?”

  “Pancakes. Your mother whipped up your favorite—blueberry pancakes. A little butter, Log Cabin syrup, and coffee light, two sugars.” Uncomfortable, Fordham shifted her head to the side just in time to see a young couple kissing goodbye at the bus stop.

  “Wow! You’re scarier than turbulence.”

  “You forgot I have a good memory.” Recalling Aaron’s breakup letter, Fordham took a few steps away from him.

  “You have a machine that should be shared with central intelligence.”

  “Act
ually, I forget a lot of important stuff, like where I parked,” she said, scanning the crowded street—anything to not focus on how incredible he looked.

  “Have lunch with me,” he said while pressing her into a familiar hug.

  “I can’t,” she said, pushing him away.

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  Fordham found his question curious. Maybe he realized she had good reasons not to have lunch with him.

  “I-I don’t know, Aaron,” she stammered. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Come on. It’s been a long time.” He cupped her chin and lifted her face toward his. “I’ve missed you.”

  THEY WERE SEATED AT a small table next to a window overlooking a pretty garden dotted with pink and yellow flowers. Fordham couldn’t pronounce the name of the restaurant or anything on the menu except à la carte. She didn’t care. They were on their second bottle of champagne, and she couldn’t tell the difference between the foie gras en croute and Mrs. Weinberg’s chopped liver on a Ritz cracker. She focused on a delicate pink flower hanging on a nearby tree when she didn’t want Aaron’s eyes to meet hers, which worked until a gust of wind swept it off and carried it away. The important thing was to stay safe and keep talking. Silence was the key to true connection. With words on hold, everything said in a look or gesture could undress her heart.

  “I liked my job. But then Margo, my old friend, revoked her claim as Manhattan’s most confirmed bachelorette, fell in love, and got pregnant. Maybe even in that order. I didn’t know I was the designated pinch hitter, but now I have her job. And this book has to sell or”—she took another sip of champagne—“I don’t want to think about it.”

  Champagne always ensured her chattiness. She wondered if Aaron remembered that as he poured her another glass.

  “Margo. You’re not talking about Margo Flax, are you?”

  “Why? You know her? Please don’t tell me you’re the father!”

  “No. But I got her pregnant.”

  “Um... I’m buzzed and... nope, still makes no sense.”

  “Come on, take a guess.”

  “Okay. I like games. Sometimes. Let’s see... your profession,” she mused. “You’re a gyno—no, wait, you’re a fertility specialist... and”—her eyes popped wide open—“it was you! You did the deed!”

  “I did, and she’s doing incredibly well.”

  “That’s wonderful. You ruined my life.” She almost said again but had the presence of mind not to open that can of wriggling worms. They had been kids when they were a couple, and it was ridiculous to still care about how it had ended. This is just a catch-up lunch with an old friend, she kept telling herself.

  “Don’t be silly, Fordham. You’ll do what you need to do. You’re tough. Some people fall apart when a marriage ends.”

  Fordham took a roll from the breadbasket and slathered it in butter. “I couldn’t. Too many responsibilities. I have a daughter.”

  She took a bite of her roll and wondered what he thought about that. She also wondered how much their relationship had meant to him. If it had been up to her, she’d have gone straight from her cap and gown into a wedding dress. They could have honeymooned in Spain, and now she wouldn’t have an aversion to paella. But that hadn’t happened.

  “I’m really sorry about your divorce,” Aaron said earnestly.

  “Much appreciated. But I was relieved when Gil left. Finally, there was some oxygen for me.”

  “You’re lucky. The last time Denise let me breathe was right before we cut our cake.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

  “Well, there’s always an upside. I couldn’t eat, so my skinny jeans fit, and I even learned how to fix a leaky toilet.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said, sending a shiver from the base of her spine right to her swimming head.

  “Aaron, are you sure that you and Denise are really over?” Her ego wanted him to say that he and Denise never even had a chance... that after Fordham, he could never love anyone else... that she was more beautiful than ever, and he wanted to try again. Her mind pointed out that he’d crushed her heart and reminded her to be practical. “Maybe counseling could help?”

  A server in a tuxedo shirt and tie came over to fill their glasses with sparkling water. Fordham noticed he had the same color eyes as David Prince and coughed a little as if that would purge the thought.

  “This marriage has seen more triage than the Red Cross. I’m done.”

  “Do you have anything in writing?”

  Aaron stabbed a cherry tomato so hard it burst, sending a stream of seeds into the air before hitting the tablecloth. He fumbled with his napkin to clean it but gave up and motioned to the server for help. “I haven’t signed anything yet, but I decided to give her the power tools for when she’s in between contractors. Literally.”

  “You sound angry.”

  “I am. Our vows turned from ‘I do’ to ‘I don’t.’”

  They exchanged a glance, and each took a bite of something without commenting on the food. Fordham barely tasted hers. A busboy came to the aid of the tomato stain with a small spray bottle, and in seconds, there was no trace of the incident. Fordham made a quick mental note to be on the hunt for the infomercial.

  “Aaron, this feels strange.”

  “Why?”

  She couldn’t say that the smell of his cologne and the sight of his precious dimples were making her more light-headed than the alcohol. Play tough. “I don’t know. Maybe because even though you said the words, we were both strongly invested in our goodbye.”

  “We were kids.”

  “Maybe, but I was the kid who believed she was an adult, and I guess I expected that you were going to pretend to be one too.” Fordham gazed out the window, suddenly aware of how many buds were right next to flowers that had already bloomed. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but it spoke to her about aligning the past with the present, and that eased her mind.

  “I think I did. Remember the time you dragged me to Macy’s to window-shop for dishes?”

  “I did not drag you. I invited you. And you kept on threatening to use a salad plate as a Frisbee.”

  “I did not!” he said, smirking.

  “And I really enjoyed when customer service blasted, ‘Will Aaron Karp’s mother please report to the service desk. Your son is looking for you.’”

  “Yeah, that was a good one. Guess I couldn’t pull off being an adult quite the way you could. But I always hoped I’d see you again.” He put his hand on hers.

  “And so you have.” She pulled her hand away and checked her watch.

  “I’d like to do this again,” he said, undaunted by the gesture. “Listen, I’m going to be around for a while. I’m staying at the DoubleTree in Tarrytown. I have all kinds of meetings going on, but I would love to get together again.” He gently wiped a smudge of chocolate off her lips with his thumb.

  Fordham hoped he hadn’t felt her tremble. “I don’t know.” She sighed. “I was pretty comfortable leaving you as a well-worn memory.”

  “And now?”

  “And now, I’m not sure what an adult who feels like a kid is supposed to make of any of this.”

  “Maybe you should let the kid lead, for a change.”

  THERE WAS NO WAY SHE could go back to the office. It was late, and her head was still swimming in champagne bubbles. She could spend the rest of the day sitting on the bench near the restaurant. It wouldn’t matter. She couldn’t concentrate on anything except Aaron. He was all grown up, and the years had been nothing but kind to him. He had no need for a comb-over and a smile not even the dentist Marv Weiner could replicate. And he still smelled great. She used to love when he dowsed himself in Drakkar Noir when they were kids, but now he sported an even sexier, more sophisticated scent. Burberry maybe? And best of all, a guy like him—with no rap sheet, unsightly moles, protruding incisors, or training pants—wanted to spend time with her.

  She was still uptown an
d, after nearly tripping over an errant sneaker lying on the street, decided she was too buzzed to drive. She’d splurge and take a Lyft home. That would give her time to relax and process the afternoon. If she got lucky, no one would be around, and she might have the chance to sneak in a much-needed nap. And if she got even luckier, maybe her whole life would simply fall into place. Fat chance.

  When she arrived home, Dorie was front and center, straightening out the hall closet. “Fordham? What are you doing home so early? Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m not sure if okay cuts it.”

  “What is it? Work? Abe again?”

  “Aaron.”

  “Aaron...” Dorie hesitated and let the name sink in. “Aaron”—a bunch of wire hangers in her hand fell to the floor—“Karp?”

  “No, Mom, Aaron the brother of Moses. Of course Aaron Karp.” Fordham retrieved the hangers and stuffed them into the garbage bag parked by the closet door.

  “I don’t know. To me, one is as likely as the other. What about him?” Dorie turned back to the closet and began pushing the clothes on the rod from one side to the other at record speed. After the breakup, when she’d witnessed Fordham’s despair, Dorie had said she never wanted to hear Aaron’s name uttered in her presence again.

  “I saw him,” Fordham said nonchalantly. “I was leaving Dr. Ratisher’s office, and he was leaving Dr. Dvorkin’s office, and we met in the middle of the waiting room.”

  Dorie, holding a toddler-sized baseball glove, shifted to face Fordham. “He was at the gynecologist’s office. Oh my God! Is he a woman now?”

  “No, he’s not a woman!” Fordham exclaimed. “He’s a doctor, a fertility specialist. Get this—he’s the one who got Margo pregnant. I said a whopping thank-you to him for that one.”

  “Isn’t he in Florida—with a wife?”

  “He was. He’s getting divorced. He’s up here on business.”

  “Sounds like a pretty involved conversation for a waiting room.” Dorie dropped the glove into a white bag marked For Donation.