You and Me and Us

by Alison Hammer

  “Yeah, I almost went with mint, but I thought this would be better.”

  “I can’t wait to try it.”

  She smiles again and I can’t remember the last time I was on the receiving end of so many smiles.

  I fold my hands on the table and watch as she continues to work. I don’t have to pretend to be impressed, because I genuinely am. My idea of making lemonade has always been scooping powder into a pitcher of water and mixing it up. Sometimes it amazes me that this beautiful creature not only grew inside of me, but that she has half of my DNA.

  CeCe’s fingers move swiftly as she rips the leaves from the stems, leaving a few fully intact. She adds the torn leaves to the bowl of sugar and starts moving a wooden spoon around, more in a stabbing motion than stirring. She stops to push her glasses up her nose and laughs, clearly reading the confusion on my face.

  “I’m bruising the basil leaves,” she says as though that makes sense.

  “Food Network?”

  She nods and continues her assault of the basil.

  When the leaves are adequately bruised, she pours the mixture into a glass pitcher, followed by the bowl of freshly squeezed lemon juice and water from the faucet.

  She angles her body so I can watch as she works, stirring the mixture with the wooden spoon. I can picture her cooking on a set, playing to a camera as she dazzles the audience at home.

  “Maybe I should be filming this,” I say, pulling my phone out. “Could be worth something someday—early shots of celebrity chef!”

  CeCe flashes a smile so pure it makes my heart melt. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her genuinely happy. I start filming.

  “What are you making?” I ask.

  “Today I’m making lemonade from scratch with fresh basil,” she says, looking directly at the camera. “For my mom.”

  Oh, my heart. It takes everything I have to keep my focus on filming her. “How long do you have to do that?” I ask; she’s been stirring for a while.

  “Until the sugar is dissolved.”

  I nod, wishing I didn’t know how much sugar was in there.

  “And then I’ll pour it in the sun tea that’s brewing outside to make an elevated Arnold Palmer.” She smiles to the camera and I stop recording, but I don’t want her to stop talking.

  “What kind of tea is it?” I ask.

  “It’s normal tea,” she says. “Well, normal tea bags—not the stuff you usually use. It’s called sun tea because you leave it out in the sun for a few hours and it brews naturally.”

  “Food Network,” we say at the same time.

  “How long till I can try it?” I ask.

  “Maybe after dinner? I want to give the flavors time to meld together, and the tea will have to cool down since it’ll be warm from the sun.”

  I lick my lips in anticipation. “Can I have a little sneak taste before that?”

  “Patience is a virtue, Mom.”

  “Not one of mine.” I laugh, and she joins in.

  I’m enjoying the moment so much that I don’t notice Tommy walking in.

  “Everything okay in here?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe with a suspicious look on his face.

  “Of course,” CeCe responds as if it’s a crazy question.

  “Of course,” I mimic her, giving Tommy a look that I hope says I don’t have any idea, either, but let’s go with it.

  He smiles and looks back and forth between the two of us, his eyes resting on the pitcher of lemonade and the grocery bag on the chair between us. “Did you guys go to Whole Foods?”

  “I thought you . . .” I look from him to CeCe, who has suddenly stopped laughing. And just like that, the magic of the moment is gone.

  Being a parent really sucks sometimes.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Alexis

  Tommy, as usual, is the first one up. I find him in the piano room, working on the puzzle. They started from the top, CeCe’s choice, and the sky is beginning to come together. I can’t remember if the thin and wispy clouds are cumulous or whatever the other kind is, but it looks beautiful.

  “Morning.” I give him a quick kiss before heading into the kitchen to get us both coffee.

  “So what’s on tap for today?” I ask. We’ve been trying to tackle at least one item from his list every day, and as much as I resisted the idea at first, it’s been nice giving every day its own purpose.

  “I was thinking maybe Big Kahuna’s,” Tommy says.

  The mention of the water park down the street sends waves of worry through me. I shiver at the thought of Tommy there, carrying the portable oxygen concentrator he started bringing everywhere two days ago.

  It’s almost to the point where even the walk up our stairs leaves him breathless, and I don’t see how he could manage to climb to the top of those towering slides. And knowing him, he wouldn’t be able to sit back and watch others have all the fun without him.

  I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to be a voice of reason without crushing his spirit.

  “The mini-golf part,” he says.

  I exhale a sigh of relief. Mini golf we can handle.

  “Are we going to make an exception on the grounding?” I ask.

  “About that,” Tommy says.

  “Were we too hard on her?” I ask.

  “Probably not,” Tommy says. “But maybe we can let it slide this once? It might be selfish of me, but I don’t want to waste a day of the time we have left with CeCe being punished.”

  “You are the least selfish person I know, Tommy Whistler.” I give him a kiss and watch as he focuses his attention on finding a puzzle piece that has a bird’s left wing on it.

  Once he finds it and snaps the wing into place, he looks up with an expression I can’t quite read. “Speaking of being less selfish and more selfless, Monica called me this morning.”

  The coffee I’d been drinking goes down the wrong way and I start coughing.

  “Monica-Monica?” I ask, just to be sure.

  “That Monica.”

  My stomach turns at the thought of my worst fears being realized. I assumed there would be a run-in at some point, but I thought it would be more accidental, and I didn’t think it would happen this soon.

  “What did she say?” I ask, trying and failing to sound casual.

  “That it’s been a while.”

  I snort. “That’s an understatement.”

  “She heard what’s going on, from Brit, I’d guess,” he says. “She wants to come see me. To talk.”

  “To talk?” I raise my eyebrow suspiciously. For what reason, I have no idea. Tommy has made it clear I have nothing to be worried about—but that’s easy to say when his ex is just an idea. But when he sees her again, with her jet-black hair, olive skin and almost translucent green eyes, making you wonder what cultures collided to create her, then it might be a different story.

  I shiver at the thought. Monica would be a hard act to follow even for a woman who had high self-esteem and a positive body image.

  “Of course, just to talk,” Tommy says. “If you aren’t comfortable with it, I’ll tell her not to come. I know I promised.”

  I take another sip of my now cold coffee. He did promise. But I know I can’t and won’t stop him from talking to her. If nothing else, he deserves closure. There was a moment when she mattered to him, and if he can forgive her, then he’s a better person than I am. Which, of course, he is.

  “No, you should talk to her if you want to.”

  “I knew you’d understand,” Tommy says. Clearly, he has more faith in me than I do.

  “But I don’t want CeCe to be here.”

  Tommy nods, and I search his eyes for a clue to how he’s feeling about all of this.

  “Do you forgive her?” I ask.

  “I did, a long time ago.”

  I nod, trying to gather enough courage to ask the question I wasn’t quite brave enough to ask the last time we talked about her. And I can’t unhear the answer if it’s what I’ve been
afraid of all these years.

  “Have you kept in touch? With her?” I ask.

  “With Monica? No.” I exhale, relieved. “The last time we spoke was when the divorce was final. But I did tweet her to say congratulations after you told me her Netflix news.”

  I try to hide my surprise. “You did?”

  “Of course not.” He laughs. “You know I don’t tweet.”

  “But if you did?” I ask, relaxing into our natural banter.

  “Then my tweets would only be for you, my love.” He takes my hand and brings it to his lips.

  “Oh, stop,” I say, pulling my hand away. “But keep going.”

  “I would sing your praises a hundred forty characters at a time.”

  “You can have two hundred eighty characters now,” I tell him.

  “Even better.” He smiles and wraps his hand around mine. “Just one more thing about Monica?”

  I nod.

  “She doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

  “You don’t have to.” I avert my eyes down to the puzzle, which is starting to take shape.

  “I want to.” He reaches over and gently turns my head toward his so I have no choice but to look at him. “I wouldn’t change a thing—well, maybe a few things. But everything I went through and everything I did before you is what I needed to go through to be ready for you. So what good would it do to be upset with her? I ended up with everything I ever wanted.”

  I slide my chair closer to his and rest my head on his shoulder, my thoughts bouncing between how I got so lucky to find a man like Tommy, and how in the world I can find a way to keep CeCe out of the house when Monica comes knocking on our door.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Alexis

  It doesn’t feel like we’re still in Destin,” CeCe says as we walk out of a cave in the middle of Big Kahuna’s tropical miniature golf course.

  The transformation in CeCe was automatic, her foul mood disappearing as soon as we told her that we were lifting her punishment, and that we were going to Big Kahuna’s for the morning. She was disappointed at first that we wouldn’t be able to do any of the crazy waterslides, but she understood. And she even did a little investigating into the park’s attractions and found a wave pool that she thought might not be too much for Tommy.

  So after the next hole, when Tommy will likely show off his mad mini-golf skills with another hole in one, or at least a hole in three, we’re going to cool off with a ride around the wave pool.

  “It is pretty magical,” I have to admit. It’s been years since I let them convince me to come along to the water park, one of the biggest tourist attractions in Destin. The landscaping really is impressive, with trees providing shade overhead and wooden bridges that go over a streaming “river” and under a canopy of tropical flowers. The gigantic tiki heads are a little too much for my taste, but I forgive them as part of the shtick.

  “The water’s going to feel so good,” Tommy says. The breaths between his words sound labored; he’s going to need oxygen soon.

  “The best,” CeCe agrees.

  She gives her dad a smile bigger than I’ve seen, not just since all of this happened, but since she officially made the change from tween to teen. It’s almost as if the little girl she used to be has come out to play for the day, and I have to admit it’s a nice change.

  Maybe Tommy was on to something with this list of his. So far it seems like it’s as much for us as it is for him. Like he’s leaving us the gift of new memories we’ll have to treasure.

  I blink back the tears that are threatening to fall because I don’t want to put even the slightest blemish on this perfect day.

  “You’re up first, Mom,” CeCe says as we walk up to what we all decided would be our last hole of the day. I drop my blue ball on the starting line and get into position as if I know what I’m doing. I stand with my legs apart and square my shoulders like Tommy told me to, and bring the putter back before swinging it to make contact with the ball.

  It flies, getting pretty good distance until it bounces off a windmill, which sends it rolling back almost halfway to where it started.

  I shrug and move out of the way so CeCe can take her turn, trying to get her purple ball through the windmill and into the tiny hole on the other side.

  Beside me, Tommy leans back against the heavy trunk of a tree, breathing slow and shallow.

  “You okay?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer, terrified I cursed us by thinking about the perfection of this day before it’s ended.

  “I’m fine,” Tommy snaps. He tries to soften the sting with a smile, but the pain on his face makes it look more like a grimace.

  He slips the oxygen tubes into place before walking over to the green. He drops his red ball onto the fake turf and CeCe moves it into place so Tommy doesn’t have to bend down. He ruffles her hair in appreciation as she steps back to watch him in action.

  I watch as he gets himself in position as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He brings the putter back and swings. It makes contact, but instead of flying through the opening of the windmill like I expected it to, Tommy’s ball makes a similar trajectory to mine, and ends up almost back at the beginning.

  “It’s okay, Daddy,” CeCe says, quickly by his side. He huffs and walks, oxygen bag in hand, up to the ball. We both watch with bated breath as he swings the putter again. This time, the ball hits just to the left of the windmill’s opening. It bounces back a few inches, lined up perfectly with the opening.

  “Now it’s just messing with me,” Tommy says, an unfamiliar gruffness to his voice. CeCe looks over at me, unsure. I give her a small smile, hoping that this is just a fleeting moment. Tommy isn’t used to being physically challenged, especially at something that should be as carefree and fun as mini golf.

  Tommy hits the ball a little harder than necessary, and it glides toward the windmill’s entrance at the exact time the spinning arms cross in front of it. The ball bounces back again, but Tommy stops it with his putter, moving it in one fluid motion so it finally rolls through. I exhale the breath I’ve been holding, and I imagine CeCe doing the same. Tommy’s posture immediately changes; he looks exhausted but satisfied.

  “The windmills are always the hardest,” he says, flipping the putter so it’s resting on his shoulder. “What do you say we get out of here?”

  I expect CeCe to protest—I know she’s been looking forward to the wave pool—but she nods, agreeing with her dad.

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here,” she says. “Up for some ice cream at Bruster’s?”

  “That sounds good, kiddo,” Tommy says.

  CeCe rewards him with a smile before running around to the other side of the windmill to collect our balls.

  AS SOON AS we’re in the car with the AC blasting, Tommy shuts his eyes. He’s asleep before we’re even out of the parking lot. I turn and look at CeCe in the backseat. It’s amazing how quickly she can go back and forth between a little girl and a young woman.

  “Thanks for being a good sport today,” I tell her, keeping my voice down even though I know it would take more than that to wake Tommy from his slumber.

  “It’s not a big deal,” she mumbles.

  “It is,” I tell her. “And I appreciate it.”

  She shrugs and I put the car in drive. I slow down when we get close to Bruster’s in case CeCe still wants to stop.

  “Do you want ice cream?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, and I keep going. I’ll find a way to make it up to her. We’ll pick a day soon and I’ll take her back to the water park so she can go on all the slides, not just in the wave pool. And afterward, we’ll stop for ice cream and compare notes about which slides we thought were the best.

  I sigh, letting reality sink back in. Because even if that day comes true and it’s perfect in every other way, it won’t make up for the one thing that would make it complete. Because after today, there’s no denying that the things we’ve been trying not to think about are starting to happen.<
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  Back home, CeCe opens the car door to let herself out, and I hate the idea of the day ending on such a sad note. There may be nothing I can do to slow down time as far as Tommy is concerned, but I can do something to make this day a little less awful for CeCe.

  “Hey, Ceese?”

  She turns and looks back at me, her tired face void of any emotion. Its blankness scares me, and for a moment I forget what I was going to say. But then she brings her hand up to her mouth and starts to bite the edge of her nail.

  “What do you say we go for a mani-pedi after we get your dad settled inside?”

  “Okay,” she says with a shrug.

  Not quite the reaction I was hoping for, but at least it isn’t a no.

  JILL RECOMMENDED A nail salon in a strip mall down on 98, tucked between the Best Buy and Office Depot. Once we get settled into the chairs for our pedicures, the old CeCe starts to come back to life. It may have helped that I let her pick out the color for my toes.

  When CeCe was younger, before she started to resent the fact that we look so much alike, she loved it when we got matching colors. It made for some interesting meetings at work when I would show up with a rainbow of sparkling colors on my nails.

  I expect her to hand me something purple, but instead she picks a pale, pastel pink. It’s a more subtle shade than the orangey pink that’s become my summer go-to, but I like the way it looks against my tan skin.

  “If you want, we can go for ice cream after,” I say. She gives me a look that warns me not to push my luck. “Or we can just go back home.”

  “Let’s go back home unless Dad is up and wants us to bring him some.”

  I nod. “Hopefully he’ll have some energy back after a good nap. We wore him out today, but he’s really looking forward to the movie tonight.”

  CeCe’s eyes light up at this. So far she’s really enjoyed the movies that have been on Tommy’s list for us to watch together, but what’s been even more special are the discussions they’ve inspired. Tommy and CeCe talk about everything from cinema styles to performance techniques, while I watch and listen, enjoying the way they connect over a mutual love.