Last Couple Standing

by Matthew Norman

  “Me too!”

  “Put on shoes, you guys,” said Jessica.

  “Okay!”

  “Okay!”

  As they thundered down the stairs, Jessica did what she did every morning: She reached for her phone. She had a text message. When she tapped the green icon on her screen, she found a picture of a smiling dog in a pickup truck.

  Sure, he’s a bad driver. But he’s a very, very good boy.

  It was the same thing he’d said on their first date. She laughed then, and she laughed now. Mitch was telling dad jokes a full decade before he was even a dad, God bless him. She felt her eyes turn hot with tears.

  She sat up and looked at the lived-in clutter of their bedroom—of their lives. Unfolded laundry wrinkled in a basket. Her running shoes next to his running shoes. Teetering piles of books that they’d get to eventually. They’d survive this. They had to.

  She got up and put on a sweatshirt and looked at herself in the mirror. Day one, she thought. As backassed as it sounded, maybe their experiment had saved them. She slept with someone. He slept with someone. Now they were starting over. This was day one.

  Her phone shook on the dresser, vibrating loud against the wood. She didn’t need to pick it up to read it. It was from the phone number with no name.

  I’m outside. Please come talk to me.

  * * *

  —

  As far as Luke could tell, it hadn’t rained overnight at all, but the interior was wet anyway.

  “What the fuck?” he said.

  He blotted the seats with some towels from the garage as the Jeep idled in the driveway. It helped a little, but eventually he accepted that by the time he made it to Starbucks for his mom’s latte, he’d look like he’d wet himself. As he buckled his seatbelt, he realized what had happened. “Oh, right,” he said. “Dew.”

  The seats and dashboard weren’t the only things that were all wet. The pedals—the gas, brake, and clutch—had a slippery glaze of moisture on them beneath his sneakers, which caused a precarious start in first gear. But he managed to get it rolling without stalling.

  Mr. Butler told him that someday the clutch would feel like an extension of his own foot, and he wouldn’t even have to think about it anymore. “That’s life, man,” he’d said. “Stuff’s hard at first. Then you get used to it.”

  It was good advice, but he was mad at Mr. Butler now, so he disregarded it entirely. It’s a particular kind of grief when you realize that adults can sometimes be real assholes.

  As he rolled down toward the end of the driveway, he looked over at the Butlers’ house, like he always did. He saw Emily and Jude in the driveway wearing pajamas and sneakers, waving at him. He waved back, relieved that Mr. Butler wasn’t with them.

  There was someone else there, though. Luke noticed him at the same time the kids did. A young guy in jeans and a T-shirt stood by the mailbox next to a piece of furniture—an end table–looking thing. He thought of what Scarlett had said. “Some bartender. Hot—like, hot hot.” This had to be him. He looked like a model.

  The Jeep’s front tire ran into the grass, so Luke pulled the steering wheel over, righting the course, and tried to focus on driving. He put the clutch in and came to a stop at his mailbox. He looked left, and then right. That was when he saw Mr. Butler’s car coming up the street.

  * * *

  —

  The windows were down. The music blared.

  Mitch had flipped ahead in the album to one of his all-time Tom Petty favorites, “Runnin’ Down a Dream.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and remembered a long-forgotten road trip back in college with the Husbands, before they were husbands.

  He was young then, ridiculously so—his whole life ahead of him—and that was how he felt now. Seeing that silly dog had revitalized him. And, as much as he hated to admit it, so had talking to Alan. He felt bad for his friend, but for the first time in a long, long time—since The Divorces started—he felt absolutely certain that he didn’t want what his friends had. The Husbands and the Wives, the rest of the Core Four. He loved them, but they could all go straight to hell, because Mitch wanted nothing more in the world than to stay married.

  He was technically speeding. But who could blame him? He was speeding in the way everyone speeds when you’re driving along a deserted street on a Saturday morning with a kick-ass song on the stereo and a boot lifted off your chest.

  First, Mitch saw Luke, sitting in his Jeep at the end of his driveway—and he could see that Luke saw him, too, so he slowed down to wave. Luke didn’t wave back, though. Instead, he glared. The look Mitch saw through their respective windshields was pure disdain.

  Next he saw Emily and Jude, and after that, Jessica. The three of them stood motionless in the driveway. And then he saw the guy.

  It was him.

  Young. Handsome. Really handsome. Mitch recognized him instantly, but he wasn’t sure how. As the CR-V rolled closer, though, he remembered date night. Bar Vasquez. Their waiter. White shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. This was the guy Jessica slept with. The guy who’d nearly ruined it all.

  It’s funny all the things that can go through your mind in just a few seconds. All these complex thoughts and feelings, and then the sound of a Jeep engine roaring suddenly to life.

  * * *

  —

  From where she stood, Jessica had a perfect view of the crash.

  The Jeep sprang forward from the driveway. Mitch swerved as best he could, and because his windows were rolled down, she heard him shout, just before impact, “Luke! Shit!”

  The airbags all deployed in one big pop, and the four long wooden boards that used to be their bed flew out of the CR-V, like missiles fired from a destroyer, and fell clattering onto the street. One stopped at the kids’ feet. One slid past Ryan and flipped his handmade end table over. The other two landed between the heap of crashed vehicles, like part of the wreckage.

  Mitch turned off the radio and stepped out of his car. He blinked.

  Luke stepped out of his Jeep, an equally stunned expression on his face. His Orioles cap was knocked sideways on his head. “My foot slipped,” he said. Mitch still didn’t say anything. They all just looked at one another. Both cars hissed and clicked. A neighbor’s dog barked.

  “Daddy!” yelled Emily. “You guys crashed!”

  53

  “What are you doing here?” said Mitch.

  The guy looked over at the jacked-up cars, which at that point were one conjoined thing, and then he looked at Mitch. “Dude, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Actually, you’re bleeding.”

  Mitch looked down at himself.

  “No. Right there.”

  Mitch touched his own neck. There was the slightest sting, and some red on his fingertips. One of the boards had grazed him on its way out the window, apparently. Later, he’d think seriously about how it easily could’ve killed him if not for a lucky inch or so, but right then he didn’t give a shit. “I’m fine,” he said. “Why are you here?”

  The guy took a breath, steadying himself. They’d all been spread out: Mitch and Luke in the street, Jessica and the kids in the driveway, him—the guy—at the mailbox. Now, though, they came together at the bottom of Jessica and Mitch’s driveway, close enough to touch one another.

  “Who’re you?” asked Jude.

  “Yeah,” said Emily. “Who are you?”

  Jessica cleared her throat. “Mitch, kids, this is Ryan. Mommy’s…friend.”

  “How do you know each other?” asked Emily.

  Mitch looked at Ryan. So did Emily and Jude. Ryan looked at Mitch.

  “Okay,” said Ryan. “No one’s acknowledging this, so I guess I will. You guys just got into a car accident. Should we, like, call the police or something?”

  Luke gazed back at
his Jeep and sighed. Mitch, though, looked only at Ryan.

  “So, no?” Ryan said. “Fine. Listen, um, sir. Mitch. I’ve come to talk to Jessica.”

  “Oh, you have, huh?” said Mitch.

  “Do you know each other from work?” asked Jude.

  “How’re you friends?” asked Emily.

  “Give us a sec, kids,” said Mitch.

  “You should get a Band-Aid, Daddy,” said Emily.

  “I will, babe, in just a minute.” Mitch was still staring down Ryan.

  “Jessica, can we talk?” asked Ryan. “Like, maybe over there? I have something I need to say.”

  “Ryan,” she said, “I think this is not a great ti—”

  “Is this what you want?” said Mitch. “Jessica? Him? This guy?”

  She tossed her hands up, barefoot there on the pavement. “Are we gonna do this now? In front of the—”

  “Yeah,” said Mitch. “We are. We’re all in this together.”

  “Jessica,” said Ryan, “I’m in love with you.”

  “Oh Jesus, Ryan,” she said. “Stop it.”

  Maybe it was the adrenaline—low-level shock from the accident—or maybe it was the light trail of blood that was starting to pool at the collar of his sweatshirt, but that particular word coming out of Ryan’s mouth made Mitch feel suddenly ill. And then it made him mad.

  “I’m serious,” Ryan said. “And I think you have feelings for me, too. In fact, I know you do. Maybe those feelings aren’t love. Not yet. But I think they can be, if you give me a chance. I mean, we had fun, right?”

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” said Mitch. “This is our home.”

  “Kids,” said Jessica, “maybe you should go in—”

  Next door at Ellen and James’s house, Ellen stepped out onto her front porch in her pajamas and robe. Everyone turned and looked at her. She was holding a half-eaten waffle. “Luke?” she said. “Holy shit. What happened? Are you okay?”

  “Mom, I’m fine,” said Luke.

  “They crashed,” said Emily, pointing. “See? It was loud.”

  Ellen assessed the damage in the street and joined the huddle, holding her robe closed against the morning chill. “Hi, Jessica,” she said. “Hello, Mitch. Is everyone okay? Who’s fault was it?”

  “Just hear me out,” said Ryan. “Don’t you think there’s a reason you kept coming back to me?”

  “Ryan, stop.”

  “It means something,” said Ryan. “We’ve got a real connection. You can’t deny it. I don’t care that you have kids. Or that you’re older than me.”

  Luke stepped up and stood next to Ellen. “Are you even gonna say hi to her, Mr. Butler? I mean, are you really that big of a dick?”

  “What?” said Mitch.

  Luke glared at him—the same glare from before the crash.

  “Say hi to who? I’m kinda in the middle of—”

  It was probably meant to be a punch, but the result was more like a slap. It certainly sounded like it. Either way, it hurt, and Mitch stumbled backward, holding the side of his face. “Luke? What the hell, man?”

  And then Jude jumped into the fray, wrapping Luke around the waist like a would-be tackler. “Don’t hit my dad!” he shouted. Jessica and Ellen went to their respective sons, pulling them away from each other.

  “You had sex with my mom, you asshole!” yelled Luke.

  “What?” said Mitch.

  “Wait, what?” said Jessica.

  “Luke,” said Ellen. “Oh God. Honey, no.”

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking here, Luke,” said Mitch. His cheek stung. “But, yeah. No. Your mom and I didn’t—”

  “We didn’t, Luke,” Ellen said. “We just—”

  “You just what?” asked Jessica. “When? What the hell’s going on?”

  “What’s sex?” asked Emily.

  A car was coming now, and the group collectively stopped and watched it approach. It was a Mercedes-Benz, one of the super-expensive ones. As the big car rounded the curve, it slowed and then stopped in the middle of the street. The driver’s-side door opened, and Scarlett Powers stepped out.

  “Scarlett?” Jessica, Mitch, Luke, and Ryan all said this at the same time.

  “Yo, what the fuck?” she said.

  Emily gasped.

  “Oh, I mean shit,” Scarlett said. “No, not shit. Sorry. Luke, your Jeep.”

  “What are you doing here, Scarlett?” asked Jessica.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  Everyone looked at one another.

  “Me?” said Jessica.

  “Yeah, you.”

  “How did you even find me?”

  “School directory,” she said. She looked at Luke and smiled. “I looked up this guy’s address, because he’s your neighbor. What’s up, creeper?”

  Jessica looked at Ryan. “Actually, how did you find me?”

  “The Internet,” he said.

  “What?”

  Ryan shrugged. “You told me your last name. The other night. I love you, Jessica.”

  “Stop saying that. Please.”

  “Yes,” said Mitch. “I’m warning you. Do not say that again.”

  “I have to have you be my therapist again, Dr. Butler,” said Scarlett. “You were right…about everything. You’re always right about everything. I’m a mess without you. Just look at me. I’m having setbacks all over the place. See? I totally just stole this from a convenience store.” She took a tube of cherry Chapstick out of her pocket and showed it to the group. “My lips aren’t even that dry. I’m probably gonna get arrested again by, like, the end of the week. I’m crying out for help here.”

  “Scarlett, that’s sweet. Really. But I explained why that’s not possible. There are rules.”

  “Rules?” She laughed and waved her hand at them, the whole group, the entire scene. “You two are married. You’re her side piece. I don’t know you, but you’re wearing your pajamas. There are two children here, which there probably shouldn’t be. And you. You saw my boobs yesterday.”

  “What did she say?” asked Ellen. “Luke?”

  “Those two cars are, like, destroyed,” said Scarlett. “We’re in the middle of the suburbs, and there’re wood planks all over the street. Mr. Butler’s bleeding. Does any of this look like following the rules to you? I mean, come on, who cares? We’re good. Take me back.”

  “All right, listen, everyone,” said Jessica. “Clearly, there’s a lot going on right now. A lot of confusion. There’s been an accident. Mitch and Luke may have concussions. People are punching people.”

  “What?” said Scarlett. “Who got punched?”

  “I punched Mr. Butler,” said Luke. “In the face.”

  “Really?” said Scarlett. “That’s baller.”

  “It was a slap,” said Mitch. “Luke, you slapped me.”

  “My dad had sex with Luke’s mom,” said Emily.

  “What?”

  “No.”

  “Honey!”

  “Jesus.”

  “Emily,” said Mitch. “Baby, Ms. Ellen and I did not…have sex.”

  “We almost did,” said Ellen. “I mean, we were about to.”

  “Mom!”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Mom? Oh my God.”

  Scarlett had left the Mercedes’s door open, and now the car started to ping. That was the only sound. And now Jessica was looking at Mitch.

  “El,” he said.

  “What?” Jessica asked.

  “El. El was…is Ellen.”

  “Oh. Ooooh. Really?”

  “Who’s El?” asked Jude.

  “It was a misunderstanding,” said Mitch. “Ellen and I found ourselves…in a moment.” He turned to his neighbor. She was looking at the gro
und, still holding her robe. “Ellen, you’re lovely, okay? I mean that.”

  Ellen looked up at him, shuffling a step in her slippers.

  “I’m serious. Your dress was great. I can only imagine that the red one you told me about is even better. And any guy would be lucky to have that with you. But I couldn’t do it. I’m in love with my wife.”

  “Mitch,” Jessica said.

  “We didn’t do it.”

  “But you said—”

  “I lied. I didn’t have sex with her or anyone. I just thought that’s what you wanted to hear.”

  “It wasn’t. I just thought it was.”

  “You two really need to work on communication,” said Ellen.

  “I love you, Jessica,” said Mitch. And then he said it again, looking at Ryan this time. “I love you. And no, it’s not just because of the kids. We love them. Kids, we love you. But I don’t want to stay with you because of them. No, we’re not one of those couples. I want to be with you because of you. I have since the day I met you. The kids are like a bonus prize. This last month has sucked. It’s been terrible. I don’t want to be with anyone else. Ever. I don’t even like anyone else. Just you.”

  “Aw,” said Scarlett. “Mr. B., that’s adorable.”

  “I want that, too,” said Jessica.

  “You do?”

  “I don’t want Ryan. Ryan’s just hot.”

  “Hey,” said Ryan. “That’s not fair.”

  Ellen nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Mom!”

  “I’m sorry, Luke. But…look at him.”

  “You should see his roommate,” said Scarlett. “Who’s a complete douchebag, by the way. Ryan, you can tell him that for me.”

  “Jessica,” said Ryan, “I made you a table.” He picked his work up off the ground and set it back upright next to the mailbox.

  “It’s a nice, table, Ryan,” she said. “Really. But this is my life. Mitch is my life.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I get it. But can I just say something else?”

  “Dude,” said Mitch. “Are you serious?”

  “This guy’s your life?” said Ryan. “Really? The fact that you’re even in this situation tells me that he didn’t appreciate you in the first place. You love her, Mitch? Come on. If you love her—if you really love her—and if she really loves you, I wouldn’t even be here in your driveway. And she never would’ve been in my bed.”