Chronicles of a Midlife Crisis (29 page)

Following Sam up the walk, I hang back as she rings the bell. They’re going to need a moment, no doubt. I can tell by my daughter’s demeanor that, despite her rage, she’s missed her mom. Within seconds, the door swings open and Lucy is there. Her eyes fall on Sam and instantly fill with tears.

“Hi honey,” she manages.

“Hi Mom.” Sam’s voice wobbles. Lucy reaches a tentative hand out to our daughter and touches her arm. It’s all Sam needs to fall apart.

“Oh Sam,” Lucy says, drawing our sobbing daughter into her embrace. “I’m so sorry.”

“I-I was so embarrassed,” Sam wails. “How could you do that t-to me?”

Lucy hugs her, stroking her hair. “I know. I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of that to happen.”

“I-I know.”

“And you will
never
be humiliated like that again.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

I stand holding my salad, witnessing their touching exchange. It’s a relief to have the two women I love back on speaking terms. Sure, Sam said she wanted to live with me full-time, but it’s obvious by her current reaction that she’s lost without Lucy. I can be a great dad to her, but she’s a girl and she needs a female role model in her life. She needs her mom.

The salad is starting to get heavy and the females show no signs of ceasing their love-in. I clear my throat. Lucy looks up, acknowledging me. “Let’s go inside,” she says.

We head to the kitchen and I place the salad on the counter. “Smells good,” I say.

“Enchiladas,” Lucy says, giving Sam’s hand a squeeze. “Not very original, but I know you guys love them.”

“Great.” I clap my hands together. “I’ve really missed your enchiladas.” It comes out as a double entendre, but thankfully, neither of them notices.

“Do you want a beer?” Lucy offers, going to the fridge. “Sam, I’ve got San Pellegrino?”

When we’ve got our drinks, Lucy suggests we sit in the living room. Sam reclines in a corner of the sectional, looking instantly at home. I perch in the center seat. It’s going to take me a little longer to feel completely comfortable back here.

“So,” Lucy says, taking the spot between us, “it’s really great to have you both home.”

Sam and I nod. Sam looks like she might cry again.

“I’ve got some news,” Lucy continues, giving Sam’s knee a squeeze. “I’ve left my job.”

“Really?” Sam asks. “Why?”

I give Lucy a knowing look, but her eyes are affixed on Sam.

“I decided that it’s not what I want to do with my life anymore. I want to do something more meaningful than go shopping for some TV character.”

“
And
, I told you to stay away from that Cody kid.” I don’t say it though. We don’t need to bring that whole mess up right now. Things are going so well.

Sam says, “So what are you going to do?”

“Well …” Lucy replies, her face lighting up. “I want to start my own business.”

I take a swig of beer. “Really?”

She looks at me. “Really.”

“Doing what?” I didn’t mean it to sound challenging, but it sort of does. Lucy doesn’t rise to it, though.

Instead, she looks at Sam. “Reusable shopping bags.”

“Oh.”

“But not just ordinary black or beige ones,” Lucy continues. “These will be beautiful: an environmental fashion statement.”

Is there a market for that? I guess Lucy would know more than I would. She’s spent the last eight years of her life shopping. Sam seems to think so because she says, “Cool.”

Lucy angles her body toward Sam, excluding me from the conversation entirely. “I want to hire you.”

“Me?” Sam asks. “To do what?”

“I want you to be my designer,” Lucy says. “It was the art on your bedroom wall that inspired me. I want some of those big floral prints you do. And I was thinking about something cleaner too, maybe like, your insects?”

“Totally,” Sam says excitedly. “I think bugs are a really edgy design element.”

“I love it!”

“Great,” I say, pushing my way back into the conversation. “Have you got the start-up money?”

Lucy turns to me. “I’ve got some of it, and I’ll get a small-business loan.”

“You’ll qualify?”

“I’ve already started working on my business plan,” she says with a touch of defensiveness in her voice.

I don’t want to piss her off—not right before we announce our reunion to Sam. “I’m proud of you,” I say, giving her a warm smile. Then I look to Sam. “Your mom’s got some more news, too.”

“Actually,” Lucy says, glancing at her watch, “I think those enchiladas need to come out.” She addresses our daughter. “Could you take them out for me? Just cover them and let them sit for a bit. There’s a piece of foil on the counter.”

Sam hops up. “Should I set the table?”

“That’d be great.”

We watch her bounce to the kitchen, happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. The girl is really forgiving. I guess a short memory is a blessing. I turn to Lucy. “She’s really excited.”

“Me too.”

“Should we tell her at dinner then—that we’ll be moving back in?”

Lucy bites her lip and slowly shakes her head. “No.”

I feel a surge of anger—or maybe it’s fear. “When then?”

“I can’t,” Lucy says calmly. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I can’t live with you, Trent. Not now, anyway.”

“Fine,” I snap, standing up. “We won’t stay. We’ll let you get packing.”

“Please,” she says, reaching for my hand. “Don’t storm off. Let’s talk about this.”

I don’t get why she’s so freakishly calm. Lucy’s always been the one with the temper. “There’s nothing to talk about.” I pull my hand away and glance over my shoulder. Sam is digging in the cutlery drawer, oblivious to our conversation. “You don’t want to put our family back together, Lucy, so you can move out of the house.”

“I’m not moving out,” she says firmly. “I’ll need the space for my business.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“No.”

“You’re putting this … shopping bag thing ahead of us? When did you become so goddamn selfish?”

“Yesterday, actually.”

“I’m out of here.” I start to walk off but she grabs my arm.

“Just hear me out, okay?”

Reluctantly, I allow her to drag me back to the sofa. “We
are
a family, Trent, whether we live in the same house or not.”

I grunt. I’m not going to sit here and listen to a bunch of Oprah Winfrey bullshit. But she just keeps on talking.

“We’ve hurt each other so much these past few months. It’s going to take a long time for the pain to go away.” She touches my hand in a motherly way. “But we also had a lot of good years together, and we can’t forget that either.”

Christ! I somehow resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Get to the point,” I growl.

“I want Sam to feel she has a home with both of us—here with me, and at your apartment with you.”

“She wants to live with me,” I growl, though after the tearful reunion at the front door, I’m not so sure anymore.

“I think we can both agree that it’s best for Sam to have both parents in her life.”

“Yeah,” I snap, “but that doesn’t automatically mean you get the house.”

“You’re the one who left,” she says, still eerily calm. “I’m staying.”

I stand up. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Don’t go, Trent.”

“You’ve really changed, Lucy, you know that? You’re acting like some weird Zen …
freak
.”

She shrugs. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“See?” I cry. “I just called you a weird freak and you didn’t even react! The old Lucy would have been pissed off. What the hell has happened to you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just decided I want to live my life differently. I don’t want to be angry anymore.”

She’s definitely been watching too many daytime talk shows.

“Please,” she says, “stay for dinner.”

“I’ve lost my appetite.” I storm into the kitchen where Sam is folding napkins. “Let’s go.”

Her cheerful expression fades and I feel like shit. “What? Why?”

“Your mother and I …” Fuck. What am I supposed to say? She’s finally reunited with her mom, and now I’m dragging her away. Lucy steps forward.

“Your dad needs some time on his own,” she says beatifically. “But I’d like you to stay.”

Sam looks at me, as if for permission. I can tell she doesn’t want to leave, but feels guilty not coming with me. She’s such a sweet kid. Yeah, she’s acted out a bit lately, but who can blame her? Lucy and I have put her through so much crap. I suddenly feel really emotional. “Stay,” I croak. “I’ll pick you up later.”

“I can bring her back to your place,” Lucy offers. “Or she could spend the night here … if you want some more time?”

My daughter steps forward, obviously noticing the tears welling up in my eyes. “I want to go back to Dad’s place tonight.” She places a comforting hand on my shoulder. I press my lips together to keep from bawling. “Is it okay if I eat with Mom, though?”

I nod and kiss the top of her head. Before I fall apart completely, I hurry out of the house.

Lucy

WYNN COMES BACK ON THURSDAY.
I’d expected him to stay with his family for the Easter weekend, but he said he had to see me.

“I’m not going to change my mind about
Dating Cody
,” I say, leading him into the house.

“What about dating Wynn?” he says, standing a little too close to me.

I step back. “I’m not going to do the show and I’m not going to continue seeing you. If you can’t accept that, you can leave.”

“Okay,” he says, his tone resigned, “I get it.”

“Do you want tea?”

“Sure.” He follows me into the kitchen and I busy myself filling the kettle. “I’m not here to nag you,” he says, taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

“Good.”

“But think how good the show would be for your bag business. Everyone would see you and Sam working together to make these beautiful organic bags. They’d sell like hot cakes.”

He’s right, of course. But I’m not about to sell my privacy or my daughter’s right to a normal life just to make my business a success. “I’ve got a marketing plan,” I say.

“You can’t buy that kind of exposure,” he continues. “I mean, everyone would be using your bags. The environmental impact would be huge!”

“I thought you weren’t here to nag me?”

“I’m not nagging.”

“Okay, you’re just telling me that if I do
Dating Cody
I’ll basically save the planet.”

He holds his hands up. “Sorry.”

We make small talk about Sam and the weather until the kettle whistles. As I make the tea I decide to ask about his trip, but I keep my tone cool so as not to encourage him with my interest. “How was your visit with your family?”

“Great! I really reconnected with them, you know? I feel bad that I wasted so much time getting wrapped up in the Hollywood bullshit.”

I pass him his tea and slide the milk and sugar over to him. “Don’t feel bad,” I say, leaning on the counter. “You’ve done the right thing now. I’m sure they’re just happy to have you back in their lives.”

“They are.” He reaches for my hand. “Thanks to you.”

Cue a subject change. I pull my hand away. “So … what’s next for Wynn Felker?”

He shrugs. “I thought I’d be doing
Dating Cody
.”

“I think you should finish out your contract and let Cody die a peaceful death.”

“It’s not going to be easy to shake the image,” Wynn explains. “My agent says I’ll have to do something edgy and provocative—definitely something indie.”

“Makes sense.”

He takes a sip of tea. “So maybe when I’ve reinvented myself as a gay serial killer you’ll date me then?”

I laugh. “As hot as that sounds, I bet you’ll fall in love with some gorgeous actress who plays your sister-slash-victim or something.”

“Nah.”

He will, I can feel it. And in the past few days, I’ve learned to trust my intuition. Wynn looks at his watch. “Shit. I’ve got a meeting.”

I walk him to the door.

“So,” he turns to me, his hand resting on the handle, “could I give you a call sometime—just to check in?”

“It’s not really a good idea. Sam’s going to be living here, part-time at least. I promised her that this is over. I can’t go back on my word.”

Wynn takes a deep breath through his nostrils, nods his head slowly. “I understand.”

“But I wish you the best of luck. You’ve got a lot of exciting things ahead of you.”

Without a word, Wynn leans in and plants a lingering, wet kiss on my jaw line. It’s not a simple peck on the cheek; there’s a sensual, almost sucking quality to it. My breath catches in my throat, and I feel that same surge of attraction toward him. But in a moment, he’s out the door and gone.

I head back to the kitchen and my lukewarm cup of tea. Taking a sip, I allow myself a wistful sigh. It was the right decision, ending things with Wynn. Our brief dalliance had caused way too many problems, and it never would have worked. We’re just way too different. Wynn’s a TV star; I’m (currently) a housewife. Wynn was raised in a trailer park by a single mother with a temper; I grew up in the suburbs with Waspish parents whose idea of a tantrum was to close the cutlery door louder than usual. And most importantly, I have a child. Wynn is little more than a child himself. Sure, he’s twenty-seven, but it will be years before he understands the incredible love and sacrifice it takes to be a parent. Still, I can’t help but wish I’d had sex with him. It probably would have been great.

But I refuse to live with regret. This is a time to look forward, to focus on my business, my daughter, and myself. And right now, I need to devote all my energy to getting ReTotes off the ground. That’s the name Sam and I came up with: ReTotes. She’s already working on a logo.

At least the first step is done: we’ve named the company and I’ve secured Sam as my designer. Her cooperation was paramount to my success. Sure, I could have hired someone else, but if my daughter wasn’t invested in this with me, I wouldn’t have the same passion for it. Now, I need to move on to the next step.

Wynn’s comment about
Dating Cody
being the ultimate marketing tool was bang-on, but it’s not like I don’t have my own plans. I’ll use guerrilla marketing tactics to make these bags the must-have fashion accessory of the season, the enviro “It” bag. And for that, I need Camille.