Say Never

by Thomas, Janis

  “The esquire-thing was my idea,” she says proudly. “And the ‘impaired vision’ comment.”

  “Did you write any of that, McKenna?” Danny asks and McKenna nods her head vigorously.

  “I totally did, Daddy. The overbite-thingy, only I said Simon looked like a rabbit. Auntie Meg and Cera made it sound better.”

  “Well, it certainly has, um…”

  “Imaginative details and expressive language?” I supply.

  “You could say that.”

  I put my hands up in the air, palms out. Simultaneously, Cera and McKenna high-five me. My brother shrugs, chuckles, then heads for the fridge and grabs himself a beer.

  My buoyant mood evaporates a moment later when Danny announces, “What do you say we all grab a bite at Applebee’s before we go see Mommy!”

  I mentally hold up a finger. Number One, I’ve never eaten at Applebee’s in my life and don’t plan to. Next mental finger, my middle finger. Number Two, I have no intention of visiting my traitorous sister-in-law after she sicced Patsy Gates on me last night. Third mental finger. Number Three…Hmm. It seems I have more mental fingers than points.

  “I think I’ll bow out on both.”

  Danny looks me. “Really? Applebee’s has great chicken-fried steak.”

  “As enticing as that sounds, no thanks.”

  “We could go somewhere else?” he suggests and I shake my head.

  “You guys go. I need to do some things, like check my email and post something on Facebook. Plus, I’ve got that lunch tomorrow. I want to get my thoughts together.”

  “Can I stay with Aunt Meg?” Cera asks, and I want to shoot myself in the head for how happy I am that she called me ‘Aunt Meg.’

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  “I know your mom wants to see you, Cera,” Danny says. “Let’s do the right thing, okay?”

  Cera rolls her eyes, and if I didn’t know better, I would swear that she’s counting to ten in her head. Still, when Danny tells the girls to get their shoes on, she follows McKenna to the foyer without protest.

  Danny withdraws Tebow from the high chair, a stupid smirk on his face.

  “What?”

  “I’m impressed, is all. You and the girls all getting along so swimmingly. I can’t wait to tell Caroline.”

  “Oh, yeah, she’ll probably think I crushed up my Xanax and slipped it into their milk.”

  “Did you?” Danny asks, still grinning.

  “No. I’m all out of Xanax. I used Prozac instead.”

  * * *

  I stare at the computer screen as though I am looking at an alien-constructed device way beyond my intellectual understanding. I feel like my brain has been scrambled and yanked out through my nostrils and my whole body feels like it’s made of lead.

  When Danny and the kids left, I immediately booted up my laptop, but sometime between pressing the power button and seeing my screensaver, I have fallen into a lethargy, and I can barely muster the energy to check my emails.

  Today has been an emotional rollercoaster, from getting McKenna to school on time to her sentencing in the principal’s office to Tebow’s tantrum from hell in Target. I have no desire to update my Facebook Page, nor tweet reassurances to my fans, nor even read the comments everyone is posting about me. I don’t want to work on future segments for my show, or do Google searches on funny and ridiculous subjects that will entertain my listeners. I just want to get the email from Eileen Buchanan—which my phone alerted me about earlier—shut down my computer and crawl into a hot tub.

  A week ago, in my normal life, I would finish my work day, meet friends or co-workers for drinks or dinner, go home to my apartment and spend hours working, staying up until the wee hours even though I had to be up at six AM to get to the station on time. And I should be working now, since I’ve fallen way behind. But parenting sucks the life and energy out of you. It’s a complete drain. I understand those mom bloggers who complain that by eight o’clock at night, they haven’t a single functioning brain cell. The omniscient They say that motherhood is the hardest job in the world. I used to roll my eyes when I heard that phrase, but now I know that They are right. NASA space shuttle engineers and crime-scene-cleanup crews have it easy by comparison. Not for the first time, I realize that I could never be a mother. I’d become a pill popper or an alcoholic. More of one, anyway.

  But you handled it today, Meg, I tell myself. You survived a tantrum without cracking into a million pieces and you turned around a potentially disastrous situation with McKenna, plus you got the girls working together. Not too bad.

  I consider this for a moment, then tsk. Sure, today I did all right. I was successful one out of the four days I’ve been here. But you can’t be a good parent only a quarter of the time. Quarter-of-the-time parents raise drug addicts and axe murderers, or worse.

  I shrug my shoulders to the empty living room. It’s a moot point. I’m never going to be a mother, bad or good. I feel a slight pang at this thought, but I ignore it. All I have to do is make it to next Wednesday without misplacing or in any way causing or allowing bodily harm to befall my charges. And stay sane while I do it. No problem. Right.

  I click on my Outlook software and wait for my emails to load. I stare into space, and my thoughts wander, then unwittingly land on Matt Ryan. I haven’t seen him today, although I did catch sight of his truck sailing down the street when I brought the kids to the Camaro this morning. My stomach flutters at the memory of his lips against mine, but I quickly push the thought away.

  I open the expected email from Eileen, then type the restaurant’s address into the GPS on my phone. I feel slightly unprepared for my interview tomorrow. Back when I landed the job at WTLC, I came in with both barrels and wowed Gordon into submission. But I don’t want the job with KTOC, so there isn’t the same pressure. However, I don’t want to come across as ambivalent. I want to impress Eileen Buchanan enough to get a great offer. I should probably jot down some ideas. Unfortunately, my brain is taking a vay-cay.

  I shut down my laptop and push away from the table. Matt Ryan’s face comes into my head again, his blue eyes framed by those long dark lashes, his full lips and chiseled jaw. I wonder what he’s doing right now. Playing guitar on his patio?

  Shit, Meg. Get a grip. You do not need any complications.

  Still, the kitchen trash probably needs to be taken out. Or the recyclables. I walk into the kitchen and head for the bins, and my heart drops when I see that Danny has already taken them out. Damn it. But Godiva is outside. She should probably come in. It’s chilly out there, even for a Lab with a coat thicker than a ski parka.

  I open the back door and call her name. Instantly, she bounds into the kitchen, her nails clacking on the floor. She licks my shoes then noses my crotch then races over to her dog bed and collapses. I turn toward Matt’s house and see that all the windows are dark.

  He probably has a date, I think. With someone young and available and geographically desirable who doesn’t turn into a total bitch after he kisses her.

  I slam the door shut just as the house phone starts to ring. Annoyed with myself for thinking too much about Matt, I march to the phone on the kitchen counter.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh. You’re still there, good,” Caroline says, and the sound of her voice causes my shoulders to shoot to my ears. “Do you think you can bring me my pajamas with the grey cows on them?”

  “Danny and the kids already left, Caroline,” I say tersely. “They’re stopping for dinner on the way.”

  A pause. “You’re not coming?” Her voice is quiet on the other end of the line.

  “Well, obviously I’m bummed about missing out on the chicken-fried steak at Applebee’s, but, you know, what can you do?”

  “I was sort of hoping you’d come,” she says, and I choke out a laugh.

  “Why? So you can check every inch of your kids’ bodies for injuries right in front of my face? So you can berate me for all my failings just to amuse yourself
?”

  “Meg, I…No, I wasn’t planning on that. I trust you. I thought yesterday we came to a…you know…a truce.”

  “That’s what I thought, Caroline, right up until you sent Patsy Gates over to check up on me and humiliate me!”

  There is a pause on the line, then:

  “I didn’t, Meg, I swear. I haven’t talked to Patsy since Monday!”

  It’s my turn to pause. Finally, my brain makes the right connections and I sigh. “You didn’t call her yesterday?”

  “No. Why? Did she come to the house?”

  “Caroline, I know you think Patsy Gates is your BFF and all, but if I were you, I’d get your ass home before she cooks her way right into Danny’s heart.”

  My sister-in-law laughs suddenly and enthusiastically. “She made him garlic chicken, didn’t she?”

  “Yes. She did. And that’s funny because…?”

  “Oh, Meg. Housewives and mothers get very few thrills in their lives. We take them where we can. Patsy Gates has had a thing for Danny forever.”

  “And you don’t mind? You’ve never called her on it?”

  “Why should I? He is totally oblivious, and by the way he would never cheat on me with the likes of her, so what’s the harm?”

  “I don’t know, but it all seems very Desperate Housewives to me.”

  “Like I said, we get our thrills where we can. I’m stuck in here, you know? But there’s a physical therapist who kind of rocks my world even though he’s young enough to be my… nephew. Gives great leg stretches.”

  “Caroline, you slut!” I say this without rancor and am relieved when she laughs along with me. The tightness in my chest eases as I suddenly realize I don’t hate my sister-in-law anymore. “Okay, so why did you want me to come tonight?”

  “It’s just that you were kind of a buffer with Cera yesterday. I thought she’d be more relaxed with me if you were here.”

  “Just talk to her, Caroline. You’re a mom. You know how to do that better than me. Ask her about her birthday cake.”

  “Okay, I will. Thanks, Meg.”

  “Just be cool. She’ll come around.”

  “So, what are you going to do with no kids in the house?” I hear the grin in her voice.

  “What do you think I’m gonna do?” I ask.

  “Bathe,” she says and we both laugh.

  Nineteen

  Guest: As a parent, your primary job is your children. Your career should never get in the way of being one hundred percent invested in your children’s lives.

  Meg: Which is why I’m never having kids. Seriously, you don’t get a 401K plan from wiping runny noses.

  * * *

  “You’re not picking me up today?”

  McKenna’s voice trembles slightly.

  “Your dad’s picking you up, honey. I have a meeting.”

  She bites her lower lip. “Okay. But what about the letter?”

  “Just give it to your teacher and she’ll give it to Mr. Paulson and everything will be okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise,” I say solemnly. And if it’s not, I’m going to come back and kick some Principal-Paulson-ass. “Hey, it’s Friday! Your last day before Thanksgiving break! You get to stay late and have a party.” I know about the party because I had to scramble to the market at 6:30 this morning to buy some pumpkin muffins for the class. Missed the flyer yesterday afternoon, what with the whole apology letter-thing.

  “Your outfit is perfect, too,” I tell her and give her an admiring once over. “Very festive.”

  My niece asked me to help her get dressed this morning, and together we chose a brown skirt, an orange and yellow top, and beige suede boots which I told her would represent the fall colors. She had no idea what I was talking about, but went along with it anyway, much to my delight. She even chose a Dora clutch bag to round out the ensemble. (It doesn’t match perfectly, what with Dora’s stupid purple shirt, but I didn’t want to squelch her enthusiasm.)

  I chuck her under her chin. “Just enjoy yourself today and steer clear of you-know-who.”

  “Dumb-witty,” she whispers, then grins up at me. I put my finger to my lips to shush her, but I’m grinning too.

  * * *

  I drop Cera and Tebow with Danny at his office building on Beach Boulevard on my way to PCH. My brother is waiting for me in the parking lot with the trunk of the Camry yawning open.

  The three of them are going on a little adventure this afternoon before picking up McKenna at 4:30. During a heated interrogation at the breakfast table this morning, throughout which my step-niece rolled her eyes, Danny discovered that Cera has never been to the Queen Mary or the Aquarium of the Pacific. And because he wants her to feel important and part of the family, Danny is bending over backwards to quote-unquote make her dreams come true. (I mentioned to him that Cera’s dreams are probably more geared toward watching Justin Bieber videos on YouTube all day, but Danny was not to be swayed.)

  “This is stupid,” Cera complains as we pull in next to the Camry. “Who cares about the Queen Mary? It’s just a big boat.”

  “Yes, it is. But it also has a lot of history.” I hope she doesn’t ask me exactly what ‘history’ I’m talking about, because frankly, I haven’t a clue. “And the Aquarium is very cool,” I add, before she can inquire further about the ‘big boat.’

  “I don’t think it’s cool to imprison sea-life. How would you feel if you were trapped in a tiny glass cage with the same stupid fish surrounding you all day and all night and you could never escape and be free to do your own thing?”

  I’ve been feeling that way for about five days now, I think. “At least they don’t have to be worried about being eaten by great whites or orcas, right?”

  I shut off the engine and see Danny swing around the back of the Camaro. I turn to Cera and force her to meet my eyes.

  “Look, this is important to Danny. He’s doing this for you, Cera. I know it goes against your nature, but please, make an effort to be nice to him.”

  “Why do you care whether or not I’m nice to him?”

  I squint at her. “Because he’s my brother and I love him.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it,” she says. Danny taps on the glass of the passenger window.

  “What does that mean?” I ask her.

  “Well, you live far away and you never come visit.”

  I think about her words for a few seconds as Danny taps again impatiently.

  “Kind of like you, huh? But we’re both here now, Cera. I’m trying to make the best of it. How about you?”

  She considers this, then takes a deep breath and yanks open her door. “Hi, Danny!” she exclaims brightly as she steps to the pavement. “I’m super-excited about the Queen Mary and the Aquarium!” She leans back into the car and gives me a wide-eyed look.

  “Smart ass,” I whisper to her, but when I glance at Danny, I see that he has a goofy smile on his face.

  I get out of the Camaro and transfer the stroller and diaper bag to the Camry, then pull a lethargic Tebow from his car seat and hand him to my brother. He fusses a little in Danny’s arms and reaches a hand out to me. My heart gives a slight tug as I intertwine my fingers with his.

  “See you later, alligator,” I tell him, then plant a kiss on his clammy forehead.

  “Blerandluch!” he replies.

  “Too bad you can’t come with us,” Danny says to me. “We’re going to have a great time, aren’t we guys?”

  Cera, who is staring at the ground with a bored expression, immediately perks up into a lithium frenzy. “Oh, for sure. It’s going to be totally awesome beyond words to describe it!”

  “Down, girl,” I say. “Yeah, I’m real sorry to miss it, but, you know. Work.”

  Danny gives my arm a squeeze. “Good luck at lunch. I hope it goes well.”

  “Thanks, bro,” I say as I get behind the wheel. With a wave, I pull out of the parking lot and head for the ocean.

  * * *

 
Eileen Buchanan has chosen a lovely (two star) café just north of Seal Beach for our meeting, which was very considerate of her since KTOC is located in Santa Monica and therefore a far longer drive for her than for me. Traffic on PCH is moving quickly, giving me little opportunity to appreciate the view of the ocean. But every time I stop for a light, my eyes are drawn to the shoreline. It’s another beautiful day in Southern California, crisp and clear and sunny. I’m certain if I lived here, I would get bored by the endless perfect days, but I admit, I’ve enjoyed this last week of not having to layer up every time I go outside. (Although I do miss my pashmina scarf and my winter coat which I got at Saks Fifth Avenue last year. What would I do with those out here?)

  I reach the restaurant a full ten minutes before our designated time of 12:30. I find metered parking on a side street and I’m just stepping out of the car when my cell phone rings. Without looking at the caller ID, I answer.

  “Meg Monroe.”

  “Meg, Gordon.”

  Oh, crap.

  “Gordon! It’s about freaking time.”

  “Well, gee, Meg, I’m sorry if I haven’t been able to return your call in a timely manner due to the fact that I’m running my ass off around here trying to make sense out of chaos.” His tone is biting, not a good sign. “You know, I sure do wish you’d come to me about wanting to leave. Instead, I have to hear it from a third party.”

  “Gordon, I don’t want to leave. I swear! You know how much the show means to me. Barry is lying through his teeth!”

  “Barry has nothing to do with this, Meg—”

  “The hell he doesn’t,” I cry. “He’s feeding you this bullshit about me meeting with another station out here.”

  “KTOC, right?” he says, and my stomach drops.

  “Gordon, I am not meeting with KTOC.” Not yet, anyway. Not for about five more minutes…

  “I know you are, Meg. I spoke with KTOC this morning.”