Mike, Mike & Me Read online

“You never did get to see the presidential suite at the Don CeSar. If you had, you’d be saying ‘eh,’ too.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Can I get you a glass of wine?”

  “No, thanks.” I gesture at his casual black slacks and white linen shirt, wondering why he isn’t wearing a suit and tie, and, again, why he’s here in his suite midday. “Do you have…I mean, aren’t you busy with…business?”

  He laughs. “Not at the moment.”

  “I thought that was why you were here.”

  “It is. Why?”

  “You don’t look like you’re dressed for it. That’s all.”

  “The kind of business I’m here to do doesn’t demand any particular style of dress.”

  “Oh. Well, actually, I thought you didn’t have a job in the first place.”

  “I don’t, per se. My job these days involves some investments and holdings, and from time to time I come up to New York to deal with them.”

  I want to ask him more about that, but he cuts me off with a brisk, “Sit down.”

  I sit down.

  He sits next to me on the couch. Not right next to me, but close enough that I can smell his cologne.

  He never wore cologne when I knew him.

  “The last time I saw you,” he says in a tone that’s hard to read, “you ran away, Beau.”

  “You don’t mince words, do you?”

  “I never did.”

  “No,” I agree, thinking back. “You never did.”

  His expression is wry. “As I recall, neither did you.”

  thirty-eight

  The past

  “I can’t marry you, Mike.”

  The words were blunt, yet even as I said them, I wasn’t entirely certain that I meant them.

  I still loved him. I still thought we could work it out somehow.

  He swallowed hard, asked, “Because of him?”

  That was the last thing I wanted to admit.

  I wanted there to be another reason, a noble reason.

  Like, I was secretly dying of a terrible disease.

  Or, I couldn’t bear children.

  In my narcissistic, youthful ignorance, I almost thought that either of those things would be easier to live with than what I’d done.

  “Yes,” I said quietly, staring down at the diamond ring I was positive then that I would never wear. “Because of him.”

  “I can’t believe you’re going to throw away everything we have because of a…a fling.”

  Frankly, I couldn’t either.

  There were so many things I suddenly wanted to say to Mike.

  But not this Mike.

  I just hoped it wasn’t too late.

  I stood up and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going, Beau?”

  “I just…I’m sorry.”

  “Wait a minute. You can’t just walk out. Beau, come on. Stay here and talk to me. You owe me that, at least.”

  Yes. I owed him that, at least.

  I was crying. Hard.

  But I didn’t turn around, and I didn’t stay.

  thirty-nine

  The present

  No, I never did mince words, and I’m not going to start now.

  “That’s why I’m here, Mike.” I look him squarely in the eye. “Because of the way I ended things with you that summer. It wasn’t fair to you.”

  “Gee, you think?” He laughs softly, bitterly.

  “Just…listen, Mike. I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry for what happened last week. I didn’t mean to run away like I did.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know why I expected anything different from you, Beau.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just…I guess I figured you might have grown up a little over the years. I thought, when you came down to Florida, that you were ready to pick up where we left off.”

  “I know you did, and…”

  I wanted to tell him that he was wrong about that. But it was time I stopped lying to him…and to myself.

  “Maybe that is what I wanted, somewhere in the back of my mind,” I admit reluctantly. “But when I realized that was what you wanted, too…and that it could actually happen…”

  “You chickened out.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re here now.” He reaches for my hand, grasps it tightly in his, just the way he used to.

  “Only because I need to tell you something.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I came here to tell you that I’m truly sorry. For everything. And I came to say goodbye.”

  “A proper goodbye?” He put his arms around me. “Do you mean…?”

  “No,” I say, pushing him away with a sad smile. “I really do mean goodbye, Mike. I love my husband. I’ve loved him all along. So, to answer the question you never did give me a chance to answer, no.”

  “No…?”

  “No, I don’t regret that I married Mike. This is it. This is my life. The life I chose….”

  For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

  “This is my life,” I say again, firmly, all grown up at last. “And…I’m going back to it.”

  forty

  The past

  He wasn’t home.

  I stood in the crummy vestibule of his crummy building in Chinatown pressing the call button beside his name for a long, long time.

  There was no answering muffled voice on the intercom; no reassuring buzz-click as he unlocked the inner door from upstairs to let me in.

  Where the hell was he?

  Why wasn’t he here when I needed him?

  I stared miserably out at the rainy, darkened street, wishing I had stopped to grab a slicker, at least. Wishing I didn’t have to venture back out there so soon. Wishing a lot of other things, too late.

  Maybe if I just waited here long enough, he would show up.

  No. I couldn’t do that.

  For all I knew, Mike was out on a date with another girl.

  Or maybe he had left New York and was on his way back to the Midwest.

  No. He wouldn’t do that.

  He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

  Would he?

  Actually…why wouldn’t he? Would I really blame him if he’d fled without a backward glance?

  No. But I couldn’t accept that we might never see each other again.

  He was probably just…out.

  I could tell him what I had to tell him later, over the phone. Or tomorrow. It didn’t have to be said tonight.

  I just wanted it to be.

  Now that I knew what—and whom—I wanted, and needed…

  Well, I wanted and needed everything settled.

  Too many things could happen between now and tomorrow morning. Especially if Mike—and his whole rad speech and his totally unexpected engagement ring—hadn’t left my apartment by the time I got back.

  What if he tried to talk me into marrying him?

  What if I said yes?

  That, after all, was what I had wanted from him all along, wasn’t it? A commitment.

  And now that he was offering one, I was just going to walk away?

  You already did, I reminded myself.

  But it might not be too late. He might still be at my apartment. Or at Penn Station, waiting for a train. Or on his way to his parents’ house on Long Island already…but I knew where they lived. I knew where to find him…

  If that was what I decided to do.

  One thing was certain…I couldn’t stand here all night in a crummy vestibule waiting for somebody who might never come back.

  forty-one

  The present

  “I’m back,” I call, walking into the house, then pausing to sniff the air.

  That’s odd. It smells like bleach, and flowers, and onions frying in olive oil.

  Melina was here, I remember belatedly. Which might explain the bleach, though it isn’t something she uses on
a regular basis, despite my requests.

  Well, maybe Mike stood over her making her scrub the place from top to bottom. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had. Right before he told her to get lost.

  C’est la vie. He’s right about that. He’s right about a lot of things.

  In the remarkably dust-free and uncluttered living room, I find five children—three of them mine, two of them Laura and Kirk’s—lined up on the couch, captivated by an episode of Dragon Tales. Only Tyler, propped on pillows at the end of the row, looks up and smiles happily at the sound of my voice.

  “What’s going on in here?” I ask and pick him up, cuddling him close, inhaling deeply.

  This morning when I said goodbye, he reeked of old saliva and Cheese Nips. Now he smells like fabric softener and Johnson’s Baby Shampoo.

  “Did you have a bath, sweetie?” I ask him, surprised. “Boys, did Daddy give Tyler a bath?”

  “Shh…we’re s’posed to be good and quiet,” Mikey informs me, not even looking away from the television.

  I set Tyler back on the couch and marvel that he doesn’t protest, just snuggles in contentedly next to his big brothers and returns his attention to Ord’s on-screen birthday party. My baby is starting to grow up.

  Everybody does, sooner or later.

  Walking into the kitchen, which is as shockingly spotless as the living room, I find Mike standing at the stove, his back to the door.

  For a second I just stand there, watching him.

  He stirs the contents of the skillet, consults the cookbook propped open on the counter, pours a measuring cup filled with amber liquid into the pan.

  Then I notice the source of the floral scent: a huge bouquet of stargazer lilies on the table.

  “Mike?” I say quietly, walking toward him. “I’m home.”

  He turns, and the relieved expression on his face confirms the question I answered back in the hotel.

  No, I don’t have any regrets. None at all.

  This is my life. The life I chose.

  forty-two

  The past

  I stepped back out into the pouring rain, looking up and down Canal Street.

  Naturally, there wasn’t a cab in sight.

  I was going to get drenched walking to the subway, but what did it matter? My T-shirt, stirrup pants and black canvas high-tops were already soaked through, my sticky hair was matted to my head and smelled strongly of wet Aqua Net, and my eye makeup must have been somewhere around my chin by then.

  I walked down the street with my head down, because of the rain and because, quite simply, I could no longer hold it high.

  That was why I didn’t see him first.

  That was why I didn’t see him until I felt a hand on my arm, heard him say my name, looked up to see a familiar pair of dimples.

  forty-three

  The present

  He doesn’t ask where I’ve been.

  Someday, I’ll tell him. But not now. There’s nothing to hide, but it doesn’t seem nearly important as it once was.

  All that matters now is that I’m back where I belong.

  “Hey,” he says, pulling me close and hugging me.

  “Hey,” I whisper back, leaning my head against his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  “Cooking dinner. You hungry?”

  “That depends. What are you making?”

  “Arroz con pollo. It’s Mexican.”

  I grin and look up at him. “I know it is.”

  “I know how much you love Mexican food.”

  “I do. And so do you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “For dinner and for the flowers. And for getting Melina to actually clean the house.”

  His smile fades. “About that…I have something to tell you and you’re not going to like it.”

  “What is it?”

  “I…well, I fired her. This afternoon.”

  I’m silent, waiting for the rest; sensing, somehow, that there’s more.

  “I went out and bought a Spanish-English dictionary so that I could communicate with her. So when she got here, I brought the kids over to Laura’s to get them out of the way, and then I told her…and she…she…”

  “What?” I prod as he trails off, looking distinctly unsettled. “What did she do, Mike? Cry? Beg for her job? Refuse to leave?”

  “No. She…” He takes a deep breath. “She slapped me across the face.”

  “What?”

  “I told her she was caliente, which I thought meant that she was fired, and it turns out that it meant—” “You told our cleaning lady that she was hot?” I ask in disbelief.

  “Unfortunately, yes. Yes, I did.”

  I start to laugh.

  So does he.

  “I think she thought I was hitting on her,” he says.

  “Ya think?” I ask, still giggling.

  “She started screaming at me in Spanish, and I may not know the language, but it isn’t difficult to figure out that bastardo isn’t a compliment.”

  I laugh harder.

  So does he.

  “Then she gestured that she was quitting, and she stormed out of here.”

  “How did she gesture that she was quitting?”

  “Oh, trust me, that’s universal in any language,” he says ruefully. “So you’re not mad?”

  I shake my head, still giggling. “I’m actually relieved that it’s over. But how did you replace her so fast?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The house is so clean. What did you do, call one of those services that advertises in the Penny Saver?”

  “I cleaned it myself,” he informs me. “I left the kids over at Laura’s for the afternoon, and I cleaned everything. Oh, and I finished in the nick of time. Laura’s water broke and she’s in the hospital. We may have their kids overnight. Kirk promised he’ll call as soon as there’s news.”

  “She’s having the babies now?” I’m so happy. So, so happy. For them.

  For us.

  “She’s having the babies now.” Mike holds me close again. “Remember when you and I went to the hospital?”

  “Which time?”

  “All three. But for some reason the first time stands out more than anything else. You were so scared. I was trying to keep you calm, telling jokes, going on and on about that stupid couch to make you laugh, when all the while I was probably even more terrified than you were.”

  “You were terrified?” I ask, stunned.

  “Of course.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of something happening to you. Or the baby. Or failing as a father. Or as a husband. Sometimes, I’m still terrified of those things.”

  “Don’t be.” I kiss him. “You aren’t a failure.”

  “Not in the things that count,” he says. “But…”

  “But?” I hold my breath.

  “I still don’t have my own sitcom.”

  I laugh. “Do you wish that you did?”

  “Nah,” he says, looking down at me, flashing his dimples. “I have everything I need.”

  “So,” I say contentedly, “do I.”

  forty-four

  The past

  “Where are you going?” Mike asked me, pulling me beneath his black umbrella as the rain poured down around us.

  “I…um…home,” I stammered. “I was going home. I didn’t know where you were, and—”

  “I’m right here. Are you okay? You’re soaked.” He leaned in and brushed the raindrops mingling with teardrops on my cheeks, using his thumbs as mini–windshield wipers. “Hey…you’re crying.”

  “I know. It’s because I thought you were gone.”

  “I was gone. And now I’m back. I went to see Eddie and the Cruisers II.”

  He went to see Eddie and the Cruisers II?

  He went to see Eddie and the Cruisers II!

  I had never been so relieved in all my life.

  “Thank God,” I said, clutching his shirt in both my hands.

&nbs
p; “You mean because now you won’t have to see it with me?”

  “I mean because you’re here.”

  “Where else would I be?” He looked around at the stormy night and said, “Actually, I can think of a few other places I’d rather be, but—”

  I cut him off with a kiss, standing on my tiptoes and pulling his face down to mine.

  “I broke up with him,” I said when we stopped kissing.

  “You did? For good?”

  “For good.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive, Mike,” I said, and I meant it. “I don’t want to be with anybody but you.”

  forty-five

  The present

  You know, if I’ve learned anything lately, it’s that everything comes around again sooner or later, if you wait long enough. Chandelier earrings. Paula Abdul. Strawberry Shortcake dolls.

  Even old boyfriends you’ve written off for good.

  I got one last e-mail from Mike after that day at the Pierre.

  I just wanted to let you know that it’s okay. Really. I’m glad you’re happy. You deserve it. Don’t we all?:-) Take good care of yourself and that family of yours. www.palmbeachpost.comaccent

  That’s it.

  I click on the link, and am promptly transported through cyberspace to the newspaper’s Web site.

  It takes me a few minutes to find the item, partly because I’m not sure what I’m looking for, and partly because I almost skip right past his face.

  I told you I’ll never get used to seeing Mike as a middle-aged man. But he looks good in the picture, very handsome, very…rad, I think with a smile.

  And he’s posing with a beautiful brunette in pearls.

  I read the engagement announcement through a few times—particularly the last part. About how the groom founded a software company in Silicon Valley over a decade ago with two fellow researchers, one of whose names was familiar. Bradley Masterson was Mike’s old computer-engineering professor. And I might not know much about computers, but even I recognize the name of the software company that they founded.