Monarch Beach (17 page)

“I’m Jessica.” She stuck out a small hand. “I like your dress.”

“Thanks. I feel a little overdressed actually. With a view like this, I wish I had worn something simpler. I feel like I’m competing.”

“You get used to it, but it’s cool. Dad loves it.”

The three of us silently admired the view. I wondered what was running through Jessica’s head. Did she hate her parents for splitting up? Did she know it was her mom’s fault, or did she think Edward was responsible? What was it like to be a visitor in her dad’s home, while her own bedroom was in Pasadena? I shuddered. One day Max would have to deal with these things.

“Hey, I see you’ve all met.” Edward joined us on the deck. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen and have a drink? I’m a terrible father letting my kids drink, but when I was young the drinking age was eighteen, at least in a few states.”

“I’ll be twenty-one in August,” Edward Jr. said.

“Does that mean I won’t have to support you anymore?” Edward grinned.

“Sure Dad, I’ll quit Wake Forest and be a busboy at your restaurant. No problem.”

“Touché. But it wouldn’t hurt you to get a summer job.”

“I work so hard at school, I need the summer to catch up on sleep.”

“Yeah, that’s why you got home at two a.m. last night.”

“There was a sweet band at the Yellow Submarine. Tonight I’m staying in.”

“You bet you’re staying in. We’re barbecuing ostrich and lamb. You’re going to help entertain Amanda and Max.”

I watched Jessica as Edward and his son bantered. She stood in the corner of the kitchen, shelling peas. Her wrists and ankles were no bigger than my mother’s. Her forehead was set in a permanent frown. She seemed to be concentrating very hard on popping the peas out of their pods and into the bowl.

“I bet Tulane is a big change from California,” I said as I walked up to her.

“New Orleans is a cool city. And my mom went to Tulane, so it’s pretty familiar.” She didn’t look up from her peas.

“I went to Berkeley and so did my dad. It definitely helps,” I replied.

I had exhausted conversation with Jessica. I didn’t know anything about the music eighteen-year-old girls listened to, the clothes they wore, or the movie stars they were in love with. We had already summed up Tulane with the fact her mother had gone there. I looked for Max, the only person in the kitchen I could talk to easily, but he had disappeared into the living room.

“Amanda, would you like to toss a salad?” Edward put his hand on my shoulder.

“Yes, I’d love to.” I moved away from Jessica and watched Edward take lettuce, tomatoes, asparagus, and olive oil out of the fridge. I felt like there was a magnetic field around Edward. As long as I stayed in that field I was safe, but if I strayed outside I landed in unknown territory.

Edward assembled the salad ingredients on the center island and pulled a knife out of a chipped drawer.

“I’ll apologize in advance. None of my tableware match. My wife got the carving set, the pepper grinder, the salad spinner, and the silver serving tongs in the divorce. When we separated I was still an attorney; I thought all I needed was chopsticks to eat takeout Chinese.”

“Hey, Dad, don’t complain. Mom’s always going on about how you took the Beach Boys CDs, the backgammon set, and the ocean canoe,” Edward Jr. said, trimming fat off a thick piece of lamb.

“Your mother never went near the ocean, let alone in a canoe,” Edward countered.

I focused on rinsing tomatoes and trimming asparagus. It was nice to see what an easy relationship Edward had with his son, but it didn’t seem to extend to Jessica. She hadn’t said a word to either of them since we walked into the kitchen. I pictured the four of them like bowling pins: Jessica and her mother lined up on one side and Edward and his son on the other.

“I bet your kitchen has every gizmo.” Edward grinned at me. “Amanda’s soon-to-be-ex is a chef,” he said to Edward and Jessica. “Owns a restaurant actually. I had to twist her arm to go out with me; she thought all restaurants owners were terrorists.”

I blushed and Jessica blushed, too.

“I know; I shouldn’t discuss the Big D. Jessica thinks it’s like talking about cancer. But it’s part of life, and life goes on. I get my two beautiful children to myself four times a year, and when they feel sorry for old pops living in a hillside shack and eating off Pier 1 plates, they’re
nice
to me. If I was still married to their mom I’d probably only see them when they wanted cash.”

“Dad,” Jessica and Edward said at the same time.

“Okay, let’s change the subject. Edward, shall we throw these slabs on the barbecue?”

Edward and Edward Jr. carried big plates of meat and seasoning onto the deck. Jessica mumbled something about needing to check her cell phone and disappeared through the swinging doors. I was left with a stack of washed lettuce leaves, which I dried between paper towels.

“Mom, look at this cool new app. See all these hippos are jumping through rings and you try to shoot them with a stun gun.” Max came into the kitchen, waving an iPhone in front of my nose.

“Max, I told you to put the phone down. Please go wash your hands, and you can help me toss the salad.”

Max put the phone on the island and moved to the sink. The phone buzzed in front of me. I wiped my hands and saw one new text. I quickly turned away; I didn’t want to snoop with Edward’s phone, but Max had put it next to the olive oil. I picked up the oil to drizzle it over the salad, and black letters appeared on Edward’s phone. They said “To Edward Honey Pot” “from Legsuptohere.”

I froze. Edward and his son were chatting on the deck. Max was noisily lathering his hands with soap. It was just Edward’s iPhone and me staring at each other. I wanted to walk away from it. This was only our second date, it shouldn’t matter if Edward got texts from someone who called him “Honey Pot.” I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what kind of a woman would sign herself “Legsuptohere.”

“Okay, Mom, what should I do?” Max asked.

“Why don’t you go help Edward with the barbecue,” I said quickly.

Max went out onto the deck. I could ignore the text and finish tossing the salad or I could press read. I still held the bottle of olive oil in my hand. I wanted to slam it down on the phone and watch them both break into a million pieces. I couldn’t help myself, I pressed read. The text said: “Had a sexational time last night. I know you have company but sext me later. Ha ha. Love L.”

I closed the text and looked up to see if anyone had seen me. Spying was as bad as cheating. I stood by the sink and ran the water to clear my head. Edward told me he had worked last night, obviously not all night. I watched Edward outside, turning the meat and laughing with his son and Max.

“Amanda, dinner is served,” Edward announced, poking his head into the kitchen. “Want me to carry the salad bowl?”

“No, I have it.” I gave him my most confident smile.

We sat at the table, and Edward passed around plates heaped with ostrich meat, glazed carrots, and grilled onions.

“Okay, whoever is brave enough, try the ostrich. If you don’t like it, I have some tame lamb here,” Edward said when everyone had their plates.

I didn’t feel brave. I felt scared of being with this family, of getting my heart broken, of sitting next to a man who got texts from Legsuptohere. I also knew I couldn’t taste the meat, no matter what animal it came from.

“It’s awesome,” Max announced, eating two large bites.

Normally I would say how proud I was of him for trying it. Most eight-year-olds kept to a strict diet of hot dogs and mac ’n’ cheese. But it took all my energy to chew my carrots.

“I want to raise my glass to our guests. I hope Amanda and Max find everything they’re looking for in Southern California. They are a welcome addition to the landscape.” He winked at me, and I could feel his hand briefly rest on my thigh under the table.

“I like it,” Edward Jr. said. “Looks like your chef has taught you a few things.”

Jessica pushed a few pieces of carrot around the plate and took a mouthful of salad. Women and girls, I thought bleakly, were victims. Men sailed through life, eating and drinking and screwing whomever they pleased. I tried to remember it was Edward’s wife who fooled around, but my brain was frozen around the name “Legsuptohere.” I put my fork down. I couldn’t even pretend to eat.

Edward and his son chatted about cricket, surfing, and Wimbledon. Max started getting restless, and banged his fork against his plate.

“Max, please stop,” I said.

“We’ll have dessert soon. Why don’t you get my iPhone? Play some games,” Edward said.

I almost stood up to stop him, but Edward’s hand was back on my thigh. I sat motionless. My throat was so dry I could barely swallow. I took a swig of wine and felt my cheeks flush.

Max brought out Edward’s phone and sat down, mesmerized by a new game.

“I’m getting another beer.” Edward Jr. got up. “Anyone want anything?”

“I have everything I need,” Edward replied. I felt his hand press harder on my thigh. He leaned close to me, his breath smelled of wine and onions. “You look beautiful,” he whispered.

I smiled back. My eyes suddenly filled with tears. Is that what men said when they fooled around? That “you look beautiful”? I blinked. I wanted to go home but I was too miserable to move.

“Hey, Dad.” Edward Jr. came out of the kitchen, carrying a beer, and an iPhone in a green case. “You think I could cut out after dessert? I kind of have plans.”

I looked from the phone Edward Jr. was holding, to the phone Max was playing with.

“You both have the same phone,” I said.

“Apple had a special, so my son suckered me into buying him an iPhone, too. Buy one get the second half price. We even have the same cases,” Edward said.

“It was a great promotion. And the only other cases were purple or leopard print. What do you say? Do you mind?” Edward Jr. turned to me.

I couldn’t answer. All I could think was:
They have the same phone
.

“You were out late last night,” Edward said.

“I met this cute girl from Montana. She’s only here for a week,” Edward Jr. begged.

I could hear my own breathing: inhaling, exhaling. I imagined a college coed from Montana; tall and fit like Edward Jr.
Legsuptohere,
I repeated to myself. It wasn’t Edward’s phone.

“It’s up to Amanda,” Edward said. “I promised her a family evening.”

“It’s fine.” The words came out in a giant rush of air.

“Cool. I’ll help get the dessert.” Edward Jr. beamed at me.

“I think I’ll catch a ride down the hill.” Jessica had moved all the carrots to one side of her plate and the meat to the other.

“See what I mean.” Edward shook his head. “I can’t keep these kids around unless I’m handing out twenty-dollar bills.”

“It’s fine,” I said again, this time my voice sounded normal.

We ate dessert: kiwi, pomegranate, and raspberries, topped with vanilla ice cream.

“The ice cream is homemade at the restaurant,” Edward said proudly.

Edward Jr. cleaned his plate. “I don’t know, Dad, you’re getting kind of girly. You should take up poker or something.”

“The restaurant is how I pay your mother’s alimony. Which hopefully filters down to your child support and puts clothes on your back,” Edward replied.

“Yeah, well. Just don’t start making doilies.” Edward Jr. pushed his chair back, grabbed his bowl and beer glass, and went into the kitchen.

“I think I’m going to go, Dad.” Jessica had eaten the fruit, and left the ice cream in a small blob on her plate.

I ate every bite, slowly. My taste buds were functioning again, and the pomegranate and ice cream tasted heavenly.

“We lost them,” Edward said as he sat back. “How about you, Max, do you like my ice cream?”

“It’s great. Can I play some more games?” He put his spoon on his plate and picked up Edward’s phone.

“Sure, why don’t you take it into the living room.”

When Max left, Edward put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him.

“The iPhone is the greatest babysitter,” Edward remarked.

I didn’t want to talk about iPhones, or apps or texts. I just wanted to sit with my head on Edward’s shoulder.

“My kids like you,” Edward said as he rubbed my palm with his hand.

“Jessica didn’t say two words to me,” I told him.

“She’s not big on conversation. Hasn’t really talked to me in five years.”

“Have you ever told her your wife cheated on you?”

“I can’t think of anything worse than a girl knowing that about her mother. We said it was ‘irreconcilable differences.’ Whoever invented that term has a lot to answer for. Historically, you had to have a reason to divorce: ‘she screwed the milkman,’ or ‘he fucked the Scandinavian nanny.’ People thought twice before they were branded with the scarlet
A
. Now it’s ‘irreconcilable differences,’ like you couldn’t agree on what flavor oatmeal to have for breakfast.”

“Jessica might be nicer to you if she knew,” I told him. I hoped I could be that circumspect with Max.

“She’s eighteen. She has to be mad at me about something. It’s a teenager’s creed.”

“She’s very pretty,” I said. I reluctantly moved my head from Edward’s shoulder, in case Max came out on the deck.

“Too thin. That’s how she communicates, by not eating anything I cook.” He shook his head.

“Is it a real problem?” I asked.

“It was the first year after the divorce. She looked like a toothpick. At first we thought it was just a thirteen-year-old trying to fit into micro minis, but then we noticed at her mom’s house she ate fine, but when she stayed with me she drank lemon tea and ate celery sticks.”

“What happened?”

“Her mom and I and Jessica saw a therapist once a week. I’d take her to her favorite restaurants on the nights she stayed with me. I figured she wouldn’t be able to hide her food in public and she wouldn’t want to make a scene. She’s a bright girl though. Eventually I think she figured she wasn’t solving anything. We were still divorced.”

“Wow.” I wondered what minefields lay ahead for Andre and Max and me.