by Sheri Langer
An email from Margo was more astonishing. “Fordham, darling, I’m thrilled for you and Aaron! Abe told me the good news. I didn’t want to say anything, and I swear Aaron didn’t have a clue, but I was the one who set up the deal that sent him to NY. He and I became friends while I was trying to get pregnant, and when your name came up, I knew I couldn’t depend on fate, so I decided to intervene. I realized I’d left you in the lurch and figured surprising you with a gorgeous rich guy you used to love might help. Let’s face it—a man is only a good catch if he’s netting a profit. All’s well that ends well, and you can thank me when I visit after Brandywine and Slick finally emerge. Meanwhile, I’ve completely lost sight of my toes. Gotta run. We’re having brunch with a snake charmer. From one Cobra plan to another...”
Margo strikes again. Of course, the whole connection had seemed uncanny, but life being a strange string of coincidences was kind of the norm for Fordham. The secrecy, however, was baffling. She wasn’t sure why Margo had held back—unless she’d figured Fordham would be too mired in anger to appreciate the gesture. That did make sense.
It was getting late, and Fordham didn’t have the time to ruminate over how she’d ended up engaged to Aaron. She clicked out of her email and onto the weather in LA. She wasn’t surprised to see that an unusual influx of rain was forecast for most of the time she was going to be there.
Fordham had just gotten out her luggage when Whitty came into her room. “The bus is coming soon,” she said, stoic.
“Monkey, I’m going to miss you sooo much,” Fordham said, hugging her close. “Please be good for Mom-Mom, and try to understand that I’m doing this for us.”
“Sorry, but that’s a lie you’re telling yourself, Mom. I think you just got tired of no one ever seeing the fourth outfit.”
“Whitty, you’re not being fair.”
“I’m not being fair? You want us to live with Mr. Babymaker in a place where a deep conversation is, ‘Like, oh m’God, did you see her highlights? I think she bought them in a box. Like, oh m’God,’” she said, imitating a Valley girl.
Fordham was about to defend her decision but decided against it and let Whitty continue to vent.
“David is right,” Whitty said.
“David?” Fordham asked, confused.
“Yeah. In PW, he says sometimes people make choices to try to make their poems sound true, but for a poem to really mean something, you can’t force the truth.”
Fordham heard honking from outside.
“There’s the bus.” Whitty gave her a perfunctory hug. “I have to go,” she said, walking out with her head hung low.
Fordham stood motionless, trying to grasp what Whitty had said. She was a wise young girl, but Fordham had to focus on her own truth. The best thing to do to get in a better frame of mind was to move forward and pack.
There was a knock at her door and Dorie appeared, carrying a small package. “This just came for you,” she said, handing Fordham the box.
“I didn’t even hear the doorbell,” Fordham said.
“There’s a lot you’re not hearing,” Dorie said.
Fordham rolled her eyes.
“It’s from Aaron,” Fordham said, opening the box. She had no cause to think David might send her a going-away engagement gift.
“Shocking,” Dorie mocked.
Fordham opened the package unceremoniously. A pair of designer sunglasses in a fancy case was accompanied by a note. She read aloud: “These are for when our days are ‘Sunny,’ but I’m going to love you ‘Come Rain or Come Shine.’ ‘The More I See You,’ the more I want you, and soon the bells are going to chime.”
“Judging from your track record, you won’t hear them,” Dorie teased.
Fordham ignored Dorie’s comment and tried on the glasses.
“Are you sure those lenses are rosy enough?” Dorie wasn’t pulling any punches.
The phone rang, and Fordham picked it up as Dorie sat with her morning coffee in hand.
“Hi, Aaron, thank you for the gift,” Fordham said. “Yes, they’re very cute. Yes, you’re very cute. Uh-huh. And the card is very cute. Yes, Aaron, everything is cute, but if you want me to be ready, you have to let me hang up... you’re right. I’m sorry for snapping at you. I just have a lot to do. Yes. I’ll be ready. Yeah—I know you love me. Me too you.” She hung up. “I need coffee.”
“You’re in luck. I just perked some. And have a muffin. Whitty baked them by herself yesterday, and they’re delicious.”
Fordham remembered David saying how impressed he was with Whitty’s baking. David was impressed with Whitty, period. Fordham followed Dorie into the kitchen.
“Oh no. Whitty left her project,” Dorie said, seeing it on the counter.
“So she’ll take it in tomorrow.”
“She can’t,” Dorie said, admiring the poster. “They’re having the school fair today. Just stop by the school on your way to the airport. I’m sure Aaron won’t mind.”
“Of course he won’t mind.” Fordham thought, He might mind, but she was confident he’d happily concede to her wishes.
“Are you ever going to tell David the truth?” Dorie asked.
“I saw him last night. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t... I have to finish packing.”
But instead of packing, Fordham rerouted and went into Whitty’s room. Where pictures of Disney princesses had once hung, there were now Yankees posters, prized artwork, and her recently framed award-winning poem. Fordham picked up a stuffed elephant off of Whitty’s bed. Gil had bought it on his way home from work on Whitty’s first day of kindergarten. It was pink and fuzzy and just plush enough to use as a pillow. Whitty called it Elly-Smelly because a new bottle of Gil’s cologne had been in the same bag and leaked on its head. Whitty would never admit it, but she still cuddled with Elly when she was going to sleep.
That was another reason this move was a good idea. It would give Whitty the chance to build a better relationship with a father figure. It was natural for her to resent Aaron, but in time, they would find a way to appreciate each other and become close. Whitty needed a man in her life, and even though Aaron was clearly inexperienced at fatherhood, Fordham believed he was willing to make the effort. That had to count for something.
Fordham was done packing and left her luggage by the front door. With nervous energy to spare, she decided to straighten up the house. She was in the backyard, shaking out a small area rug, when Dorie stepped out from the side door and interrupted her.
“Gil is on his—oops, I mean, Aaron is on his way. I was on the phone with Abe, and Aaron beeped in.”
“Mom, Aaron is not Gil. Not at all.”
“I know that. I’m getting old. It was an innocent slip.”
“Fine. I’m not going to argue with you,” Fordham said, heading into the kitchen. She laid the rug back in its place. “I know you don’t like my decision. I know Whitty doesn’t like my decision. But I do, and that’s the bottom line.”
“Maybe you’re right. I mean, let’s face it, you’re not getting any younger. You’ve already lived through the marriage from hell, and you’ve spent the last three years serial dating, and no one has suited you. This could be your best shot at the kind of life you’ve imagined for yourself.”
“Reverse psychology, Mother. What do you mean by the life I imagined for myself? I like my life. I just don’t want—”
“To take any chances,” Dorie said, waving the submission, which she’d stashed in her pocket. “I know. And with Aaron, you know exactly what you’re getting.”
“For your information, Mom, David is engaged.”
“That’s ridiculous. Who told you such nonsense?”
“No one.” Fordham hung her head. “After the wedding, when Whitty was with you, I went to David’s house to talk to him. But I didn’t get the chance because while I was standing at his office window, he proposed to Pam.”
“Had you been drinking?”
“My mother taught me never to drink and drive.
I had plenty of coffee and was clearheaded before I went.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
“No, I didn’t ask him!” Fordham’s cheeks grew hot. “He didn’t say anything about it, so I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up.”
“Don’t you think it was a little odd for him to not mention it when he saw the ring on your finger?”
Dorie had a point. He’d had the opportunity to tell her he was getting married, too, but he never said a word. If anything, he seemed more into her than ever.
The doorbell rang.
“It must be your limo,” Dorie said. “Are you sure you’re not leaving something important behind?”
Fordham rolled her eyes. The woman was relentless. She went into her room to see if she’d forgotten anything. There was nothing she needed that she hadn’t already packed. She was only going for two weeks. Her eyes were fixated on David’s submission, still hanging on the wall. She considered taking it along or at least taking a shot of it to keep on her phone. She would feel strange not reading it before drifting off to sleep. But she decided to leave the memory safely in its place. She went back inside to find Dorie sitting in the family room, chatting with a limo driver who looked too young to have a permit much less a license.
“So you’re Fordham.” The driver had a Liverpool accent. He gave her a brief once-over and grinned. “Awesome.”
“You had five minutes, Mother. What could you have possibly told him?” Fordham scowled.
“That you’re a brilliant editor,” the driver chimed in.
“Oh,” Fordham said, relieved.
“And a fool in love,” the driver said, walking over to the luggage. “Will these be all, Miss?”
“Yes,” Fordham said, glaring at Dorie.
The driver started to collect her bags.
The doorbell rang, and Aaron walked in, stressed. “Good morning, Dorie,” he said, looking past her as if she weren’t physically present. “Hey, baby.” He kissed Fordham on the cheek.
Fordham wasn’t feeling very responsive with her mother hovering, but Aaron seemed unfazed. “We’ve got to run. I have stops to make before we go to the airport. I was stuck on a conference call that wouldn’t end. I sent the limo here so you’d be ready to roll.” He looked at Fordham accusingly. “I had to take a cab.” He checked the time and turned to the driver. “Is this her stuff?”
The driver nodded.
“Why isn’t it in the car?” Aaron shouted at the driver. “You know what—go out to the cab and transfer my stuff first.” He was texting as he spoke.
The driver exchanged an understanding glance with Dorie and left. Aaron finished what he was doing and followed.
Fordham took a long, loving look around the house. “Bye, Mom,” she said, teary-eyed. “Thank you for everything and then some.” Fordham hugged her and went toward the door.
“Wait a minute,” Dorie said, walking into the kitchen. She came back holding Whitty’s project. “Did you forget? You have to bring this to Whitty.” Dorie handed her the oaktag.
“Oh, you’re right. My head’s not on straight today.”
Fordham held up Whitty’s work. It was a diagram entitled, “A Family through My Eyes,” highlighting a replica of their house done in marker, crayon, glued-on tiles, and stapled wads of crumpled paper. A mother and father were presiding over the outdoor scene while two girls, one a little older than the other, were playing with a cat at the foot of two older relatives who were sitting on chairs in front of the house.
“She did a good job, didn’t she?” Dorie smiled.
“She always does. I’ll make sure she gets it. Bye, Mom.”
“Goodbye, sweetheart. And whatever happens, I love you.”
“I love you too,” Fordham said, carrying the bulky project in her hand.
Dorie closed the door, but Fordham could see her watching through the window. She walked to the limo, carrying Whitty’s project. Aaron was standing beside the passenger door.
“What’s that?” he asked, perplexed.
“Whitty’s project. She forgot to take it.”
“So why can’t your mother bring it to her?”
“Because I’m not going to ask my mother to do my job.”
“Baby, I don’t have time for this. I still have to go to Feingold’s office to pick up lab coats, and I haven’t even had my oatmeal yet.”
“But this is Whitty’s project, and she needs it now.”
“She’s playing you again, baby. You know that. She probably left it behind deliberately because she doesn’t want you to go. You can’t give in to that kind of behavior. She has to understand that things are going to be different now that I’m in the picture.”
Fordham looked down at Whitty’s project. The man in it clearly resembled David. He had light-brown hair and no mustache or goatee.
Pictures really did say a thousand words. This one wasn’t calla lilies or Warhol. It was Whitty’s way of telling her what she needed to hear.
“But you’re not,” she said with certainty.
“I’m not what?”
“In the picture. It’s right here. In front of me. And it’s not you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.”
“Aaron, I am so sorry,” she said.
“That’s okay. All’s forgiven. Just tell Dorie to take that thing to Whitty so we can get out of here.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“We’re going to miss our flight,” he said, taking her arm. “We’ll talk on the way.”
“Aaron,” she said, shrugging him off, “this isn’t working.”
“What are you talking about?” Aaron seemed genuinely confused.
“What I’m talking about is that I’m not the same girl I was in high school. I have a daughter now who means more to me than breathing. I watched my father take a nosedive from being the conquering hero to being the man who sold out to a bookie. I have a mother who I thought was shallow until I watched her make lemonade, not from the lemons but from the damn pits. I still love chocolate ice cream with sprinkles, listening to Chicago, and talking to Evie on the phone for hours, but I’m an adult now. And you really don’t know me.”
“That’s ridiculous. Of course I know you. You just have cold feet.”
“It isn’t cold feet,” she said with confidence. “I don’t love you. I did, and then when I saw you again after all these years... I wanted to. But I can’t use the past to build a future.”
“I think you’re scared. And if I go you’re going to realize you’ve made a big mistake unless... unless there’s someone else.” He glared at her, realizing he could answer his own question.
Fordham nodded.
“So, what you’re telling me is I’m not charming enough to be your prince?”
“No, you’re charming, but”—she studied the picture again—“I have another prince in mind. I’m sorry, Aaron. I have to go.”
“Seriously? You’re going? Just like that?” he said, snapping his finger in the air.
“I’m almost as surprised as you are, but yes,” she said, handing him back the ring.
“This is crazy, Fordham. Don’t do this to us.”
“Aaron, there hasn’t been an ‘us’ in years. Good luck in LA,” she said, carefully adjusting Whitty’s project.
“You’ll be back.” He glanced at his watch. “Mark my words. This isn’t over,” he said, getting into the limo.
The driver winked at her in the side mirror. She realized he had never brought her bags out of the house. He raised his hand out the window, giving her a thumbs-up. She doubted Aaron noticed. And she didn’t care. Fordham could see Dorie out of the corner of her eye, dancing by the front door.
As the limo turned the corner, Fordham realized she had turned one too. She was done looking back to agonize over failures, real or imagined. She could never change where she had been or the choices she had made. The past would always be a living lesson that she could return to at any time t
o fill in the blanks, quell her fears, or carry her to a dream she never allowed herself to have. It would be there to lean on or listen to, to ignore or expose, to argue or reckon with, or to simply enjoy for the clarity it brought. It was hers to own in all its glorious dysfunction if she ever needed the wisdom carved from her tears and triumphs. The past was her medal, and she would honor it in that spirit.
No magic or luck had brought her to this moment, just a willingness to listen to the beats and pauses of her life in an entirely different way. It was time to look ahead and take a terrifying gamble in which she had no inkling of what was at stake. There were no guarantees, but this time, she believed the odds were in her favor. This time, she was betting everything on her heart, to win.
Chapter Twenty-Four: Sleepless in Seattle—Really
Whitty’s poster in hand, Fordham got in the car, anxious but happily prepared to tell David everything. She’d start with the submission because that would be the most benign introduction to her stalking him in his driveway. Then she’d explain her role as editor of the book. Hopefully, by that time, he’d be so engrossed in her confession that he wouldn’t ask about Pam’s thong that had gone missing. It would be even better if he didn’t know about that at all. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to any of it, but it was a semi-calculated risk she had no choice but to take.
Fordham pulled into the school like Danica Patrick and parked like James Bond. She didn’t have sweaty, blissful sex to account for the weight loss, but she was still down five pounds and feeling confident. She grabbed the poster and marched into the school as if it were Oscar night and she’d been nominated. Maybe she’d win, and maybe she wouldn’t, but she was there, and that had to count for something.