“Probably not,” I muttered.
“When’s your last client?”
“I’m done at six thirty.”
“Right. We’ll have the TV by then. Wanna meet us at Po-Jack’s?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. Let me know when you’re on your way. You have time to hit the Harlequin for lunch?”
I grinned.
Hope was so going down.
“Yep.”
“What time?”
“One.”
“Pick you up or see you there?”
“It’s a block away from me, Hixon.”
“Okay, baby,” he said through a chuckle. “See you there.”
“Yeah, honey. See you there.”
“Later, babe.”
“Later, Hix.”
We hung up and Lou declared, “Your client’s here.”
“Right, I’ll go out and—”
She grabbed my arm. “Unh-unh. I just watched you go from looking like you wanted to commit murder to looking like a cat who got her cream. What’s going on?”
I didn’t have a lot of time so I laid it all out for her as best I could.
When I was done, she was grinning like a fool.
“What?” I asked.
“Yup,” she said.
“What?” I repeated.
“First, you got something to fight for and you’re finally freaking fighting for it, and since it’s worth it that makes me all kinds of happy. And second, when you said to Hix that what you two have is gonna work, he said, ‘yup.’” She leaned right into my space. “And I . . . fucking . . . love that.” She leaned back and cackled before she said, “Yup. That’s it but that’s all he had to say. Yup! That . . . is . . . awesome!”
She turned, nabbed an industrial-sized bottle of conditioner and turned back, strutting right by me and throwing open the door.
She shouted, “Yup!” into the salon as she walked through, and I noticed my client staring at her curiously.
The door swung closed.
And I burst out laughing.
The Ride of Life
Hixon
THAT NIGHT, HIX parked at the curb of the house he’d once called home and walked up the front walk.
He did it staring at his old front porch thinking he needed to invest in some furniture to put on his for Greta.
Maybe some of those Adirondack chairs.
He was at the door with his hand lifted to ring the bell when the door opened.
Hope stood there made up like they were actually going to Jameson’s, but without a nice dress. Instead she was wearing nice slacks and a pretty top, not like she normally made herself up in some jeans and a sweater, with just mascara and blush and whatever she did with her hair when she did it quick for when she had a day of running Mamie around and working for her dad.
Shit.
At least she had bare feet.
She reached to the storm door and Hix got out of the way as she pushed it open, greeting, “Hixon.”
He caught the door and returned, “Hope.”
She turned and walked in. He followed her and he did it thinking he’d forgotten to keep track of the time since he’d last been in his old house. She’d demanded he come get any of his stuff that he’d want, and after they’d gone around about it for weeks, he’d done it.
That had to have been four, maybe five months ago.
But it looked just the same. She hadn’t changed a thing. It was still clean as a pin, like she liked it, tidy, like kids didn’t live there, and well-decorated in a way they both had liked it.
Their divorce agreement meant he left her with the house and the furniture, and since she made enough money he didn’t have to pay child support. Seeing as she made that money at a job she’d never lose, Hix’s lawyer had told him to fight her for a settlement since she got everything and he walked away with the old desk his father had given him for his apartment in college and some boxes of other shit that had meaning but no value.
He hadn’t fought for it. She didn’t have it, her father would have to have given it to her, or she’d have had to sell the house or dip into accounts that were healthy because they’d fought to keep them that way and she’d already given him his share of that.
But regardless, anything she gave him would be put toward the kids’ futures so there was no point. All they’d saved for that was in an account neither of them could touch except to do something for the kids.
In return, she’d signed away any rights to go after his pension or retirement accounts.
He hadn’t wanted the divorce so he’d thought it was a decent enough deal.
Now he was glad. He didn’t have pushing their situation to someplace ugly to get money out of her, which would have surely endangered his relationship with her family, something that meant something to him, but even if it didn’t, he’d need to keep it copasetic for the kids. It left their house intact for the kids to live in it without at least that change to their lives. And he didn’t have a single memory of her or the life they’d shared that he had to face daily.
Clean slate.
All good.
She turned to him in her living room and he stopped three steps in.
“You wanted to chat,” he started when she didn’t. “I’m here.”
“Would you like a beer?” she asked.
“No,” he answered.
“A bourbon?” she offered.
“No, Hope,” he told her.
“Would you at least sit?” she requested, beginning to show impatience or nerves, he couldn’t tell which.
He could do that so he went to one of the two couches that faced each other vertical to the fireplace and sat in the corner.
A fireplace where he noticed she had a fire going.
And there were candles lit.
Jesus.
Throw on some music, and with her made up, dressed like that and the room this way, he’d be smacked in the face where she wanted this to go instead of it being just in his face.
He didn’t settle in. He sat close to the edge with his elbows to his knees, his hands hanging between them, and looked at her settling in across from him.
When she did, she tucked her legs under her like they’d be chatting all night, and Hix fought his mouth getting tight.
“I’m glad you finally agreed to talk to me,” she said softly.
“I did and we’re doin’ that but I don’t wanna do it for long. The kids are home, they got a new TV and—”
She interrupted him. “Shaw can watch over the girls and Shaw can also set up a TV.”
He kept going like she didn’t say anything. “Greta’s with them.”
She assumed a hurt expression and looked to the fire.
“Hope, I’m here, you wanted to talk, talk,” he prompted.
She drew in a delicate breath and looked back at him, tears now shimmering in her eyes.
Christ.
“It wasn’t about the ring,” she said quietly.
“All right.”
She stared at him a beat before she asked, “Don’t you want to know what it was about?”
He felt his brows draw together. “Am I here to play games?”
“Of course not,” she said swiftly.
“So let’s get this done, Hope, be straight with me and say what you gotta say.”
She again stared at him before she lifted her chin a touch and declared, “Cooking.”
His brows did not unknit when he asked, “Say what?”
“Cooking.”
“Hope,” he growled, sliding to the edge of his seat.
“You let me cook, Hixon.”
He went still.
“You expected it,” she stated.
“Are you telling me you didn’t divorce me because I didn’t tell you I’d buy you a twenty-five thousand dollar ring but instead you did it because you did the cooking?”
“You expected it.”
“I don’t like to cook, and Hope, you know I’m shit at
it.”
“Because you never tried to learn.”
“You’re right, because I never wanted to learn.”
“So it was down to me.”
For fuck’s sake.
“There’s no point to this,” he muttered, beginning to take his feet but he kept his seat when she spoke.
“It’s about the cooking. And the cleaning. You also let me do most of that too.”
He didn’t get a chance to say anything, she carried on.
“You’d vacuum, Hix, but I asked you to do it more than once a week and you said it didn’t need it when it did. We had Maynard for thirteen years and he shed crazy, all over the place, but we also have three kids. The floors needed vacuuming more than once a week.”
Their dog Maynard died three years ago.
And he was getting this shit now?
“You’re not giving me a point to this,” he informed her.
“I dusted, you never dusted, not ever.”
“Hope, that’s bullshit.”
“Right, okay, so maybe you did it a couple of times, but Hix,” she threw up a hand, “we were married nineteen years.”
“Together only eighteen since you kicked me out,” he corrected her.
“Like that makes a difference,” she returned.
“And you bitching about me not dusting and vacuuming and you cooking makes a difference at this point?” he fired back.
“You don’t get it and I thought you got it and it hurt, Hixon, it hurt like you wouldn’t believe when you didn’t get it.”
“Get what?” he asked.
“Get this.” She threw both her hands out that time, doing it with arms wide, indicating her immaculate house. “I kept this house nice. I cooked. I cleaned. I did the dishes even, most of the time, when it was me who cooked. I’d get Mamie from dance and I did most of the running them around before Shaw could drive and you let me.”
“You have a job that’s more flexible than mine but that’s beside the point. You were my wife and you are their mother, Hope,” he reminded her.
“I was and I am, and I thought maybe you might appreciate it a little bit.”
That shut his mouth.
“But no, you expected it and when you got that money from your Uncle Jack, I asked for that ring because I thought you’d want to give it to me, I thought you’d want to show me you loved me, you appreciated what I did for you, for this family, but you laughed at me.”
“Hope—”
“And that hurt.”
“I can see that,” he said quietly, watching her.
Her chest moved out as she drew in a big breath and she looked to the fire when she let it out.
“It wasn’t even like that ring was all the money Uncle Jack gave you. It wasn’t even half. But that doesn’t matter because that wasn’t what it was about,” she whispered to the fire.
“So you didn’t want the ring,” he noted.
Her eyes cut back to him. “Of course I wanted the ring. It was a beautiful ring. But what I really wanted was what it would mean if you gave it to me.”
“So why didn’t you tell me that?”
She bent slightly toward him. “Because you should know.”
Okay, she had a point, a good one, and she’d made it.
But that pissed him off.
“And when I shared with you repeatedly I didn’t know, why didn’t you tell me then?”
“Because you should have figured it out.”
“Are you joking?” he whispered.
“No,” she snapped.
Yeah, he was pissed off.
“You didn’t once mow the lawn, Hope.”
“You don’t have to mow the lawn every night, Hixon.”
“You didn’t once take the trash out, not even fucking once, not our whole marriage.”
“And you don’t have to take the trash out every night either,” she retorted.
“You never took your car in to have the oil changed. I did that.”
“And what?” she asked. “That happens every three months?”
“You also didn’t get up with the kids every morning. I did.”
“Hix—”
“What about shoveling the walks, Hope?” he pushed.
“Again, that didn’t happen even close to every day,” she returned.
“We’re gettin’ into the minutiae, you wanna talk about grocery shopping? Who did that?”
“We both did, Hix. But I’ll admit, you took the kids and made a thing of it most the time, but only because you bought them junk and I didn’t like it.”
“So we both did things to take care of this house, our lives and our family,” he pointed out.
“Yes, but—”
“And I didn’t ask for a twenty-five-thousand-dollar anything because that was my job as your husband, their father. I just did it because it had to be done and because a part of me liked doin’ it because I was looking after the ones I loved.”
Now she shut her mouth.
“I’m not as clean as you and I know this because you dogged my ass for nearly two decades about it, but it’s just the way it was. I didn’t need every dog hair vacuumed up and every particle of dust swept away because I was living in a house with my wife and three kids and our dog and I actually liked the mess of my family around me.”
She kept her mouth shut.
Hix did not.
“You wanted it like that and I didn’t mind hanging my jacket on the hooks by the door so you wouldn’t see it flung over the couch or puttin’ up the towel folded like you liked it because who gives a shit? But I’d never consider it grounds to throw a tantrum or, say, end our marriage to get up in your face about the fact that it was a pain in my ass to do shit that meant nothing to me because it meant something to you. And since we’re lettin’ things fly, you never lettin’ us have another dog because they shed fucking sucked, Hope. The kids were devastated when we lost Maynard, they wanted another pet, I did too, and you puttin’ your foot down about that with the excuse of what a pain in the ass pet hair was blew. So, frankly, Hope, it sometimes bugged the crap outta me you were so damned neat and bitched about it when we weren’t. And it definitely bugged me you were that way when we all wanted another dog.”
“You never said anything,” she stated quietly.
Was she serious?
“Now you’re definitely joking,” he bit out.
She got what she’d just said and how fucked up it was and tried to backpedal.
“I . . . what I meant was—”
Hix cut her off. “You meant what you said. And I hear you about the ring and about what it would signify to you and you actually had a point, fourteen months ago. Now you don’t. You had plenty of time in between to stop tryin’ to make me dance to your tune when I didn’t even hear the record that was playing. And it shits me we’re sittin’ here now talking about all this crap, but take it as honest when I say I’m sorry I laughed when you asked for that ring. It was insensitive and that wasn’t the right response. But Hope, you lost traction immediately not sharin’ with me I hurt you then, and your response to mine was so outta whack, it’s freaking insane. And now I’m thinkin’ you got just a hint of bein’ in the dark about something someone you give a shit about has a problem with and they never shared it with you. Magnify that to make it cause the end of a marriage and powerless to do anything but watch a shitload of garbage land on your kids because that happened, and maybe you’ll get where I’m comin’ from.”
He watched her swallow. Then Hix held her eyes as she held his and he was about to put an end to this waste of time when she spoke again.
“So where does this take us now?”
“Sorry?” he asked.
“Where do we go from here?”
He felt his neck get tight.
But before he could figure out what to say, she uncurled her legs from under her and rushed across to him. Getting on her knees in front of him, she grabbed his hand and held it tight in both of hers.
&nbs
p; “I’m sorry,” she whispered urgently. “I’m so sorry. I knew I’d done wrong at the lawyer’s office when we signed those papers but it had gone so far, I didn’t know how to stop it. But then you wouldn’t talk to me and I couldn’t tell you I was sorry. I couldn’t explain where I was at. I couldn’t start fixing things between us. Then you found her and—”
“Stop.”
She stopped.
He tugged his hand from hers.
The second he started doing that, her eyes dropped to his hand and she kept them there even as her hands fell to her sides.
“We’re done, Hope.”
Her gaze shot to his. “We’re not done.”
“We’re done.”
“You love me.”
“I did. I don’t anymore.”
More tears hit her eyes and she scooted forward on her knees, pressing her stomach to his leg as she lifted a hand and rested it on his chest.
“You do. You love me. You totally love me, Hix, in a way you always will.”
“Hope, God,” he pulled in breath through his nose and finished, “I’m sorry. I don’t. Not anymore.”
“That’s not true.”
He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pulled it away, let it go and slid down the couch from her.
She fell back to her calves and stared at him.
“I wanna get along with you, for the kids,” he told her. “I want you to stop doin’ the shit you’re doin’ that hurts them. I want to help repair your relationship with Shaw so you’ll have him for the time we still have him before he goes off to live his life. But us, we’re done. There’s no turning back.”
“We were good together,” she reminded him.
“We were. Now that’s over,” he reminded her.
“We weren’t good, honey. We were great. We were happy. We’re talking now about this . . . this . . .” she shook her head in a fierce way and forced out, “stuff. The bad stuff. But it wasn’t bad. It was good. We laughed a lot. I made you laugh a lot. I should have listened after we lost Maynard and I should have shared what I was feeling, but all this stuff . . . this stuff we’re talking about . . . I see now it doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’re right, Hope, and I’m sorry but now all of that is over in a way there’s no going back,” he said as gently as he could.
“I don’t care about the cooking, Hix. It’s not that.” She flipped out her hands. “I mean, it is but it isn’t. It’s the significance—”
Complicated Page 47