Another Piece of My Heart (35 page)

Padding down to the kitchen in bare feet, I fill the kettle and put it on the stove for tea, turning to take a croissant out of the bread bin. I get butter and homemade jelly and arrange them on the table, going outside to grab the paper at the end of the drive and sitting down at the table with a hot cup of tea and breakfast.

I feel like a grown-up. I said good-bye to the man I love, and now I am savoring breakfast while reading the paper although I’m not actually reading because my mind is still whirring, and I cannot concentrate on anything, so I’m just flicking the pages and feeling like … a woman who is loved. A wife. Setting a place for herself on the kitchen table, going outside in her robe to grab the paper from the ground underneath the mailbox.

When my mom’s here, I still feel, at times, like a little girl. Not that she ever treats me like that, but this is the house I’ve lived in for years, this is where I was a little girl, so of course I’m going to feel like that.

With my mom away, and Michael here, it feels like mine, and I can allow myself to pretend that this is our first home, this is our life: me kissing Michael good-bye in the morning before getting ready for work myself, creating a beautiful home for the two of us.

I chew thoughtfully on the croissant as I try to imagine what it would be like if Cal lived here, too. If I can find a way for it to work in my head, then I could see how it would work in real life.

What kind of a person must I be if I really don’t have any maternal instincts? Surely they have to be in there somewhere. Don’t they? I mean, surely if I spend a ton more time with him, really get to know him, my maternal instincts will kick in, no? Look how everyone adores him. Even my mom melts into a puddle of love at the very mention of his name.

I want this all to work. I want to know what it’s like to be a mother, and I want things to work with Michael. I guess it’s just going to take time, and let’s face it, no one’s going anywhere.

Especially now that we’re in love! And it’s official!

I grab my phone and quickly text Sally in Boston, telling her the good news, before skipping upstairs to jump in the shower and start my day.

Forty-five

It is a slow day at the florist’s. Manuel and Pablo are busy in the back room, taking deliveries of wholesale flowers, making arrangements that are due to go out today, and I’m totally daydreaming at the register about this being the real deal, and how we’re going to spend the rest of our lives, and okay, okay, I even think a little bit about what kind of wedding we’re going to have, when my cell phone rings.

Michael.

“Em? What are you doing right now?” He sounds excited.

“I’m at work, thinking about you.” I smile. “Why?”

“I’m standing in the most incredible apartment. You know Patrick? The guy I work with who’s been guiding me with the takeover of the jewelry company in the UK? They’re transferring him to London to run it properly, and he has to find someone to take over the lease of his apartment. He’s got the whole first floor in an old Victorian house in Bernal Heights, and he just gave me the keys and told me to run over and take a look because he has to find someone quick.

“Em! It’s incredible. It’s really bright, with high ceilings, and a yard! We could get a dog!”

“It sounds amazing!” Michael’s enthusiasm is contagious.

“So here’s the thing. He has another three people coming to see it this afternoon, and he says whoever wants it first, gets it. Emily, it’s perfect. You have to come and see it.”

“What? Now?”

“Yes! You have to get in here now. How soon can you get here? If you leave now there shouldn’t be any traffic. You could be here in half an hour. I’m telling you, Em, it’s a great price, and we are not going to find anything like this again. He’s giving us a break on the price, but you have to come now.”

If Michael’s voice weren’t so urgent, I’d probably just say I couldn’t because I did promise my mom I’d work every day, but … this is important. This is our first apartment, and it sounds incredible, and I think she’d understand. And frankly, my mom runs out all the time, leaving Manuel and Pablo here by themselves.

I don’t see it as being a big problem. Manuel and Pablo are great, and I know they won’t mind.

“Okay!” I say. “Manuel and Pablo can run things until Julia gets here to take over my shift. I’ll leave now.”

*   *   *

It’s only as I’m crossing the Golden Gate Bridge that I remember Cal.

“Oh, shit!” I scream, feeling the color drain from my face as I realize I am supposed to pick him up in fifteen minutes. There’s no way. Even if I turn around now, I’ll never make it back in time. I’m completely stuck, and I realize I have to get someone else to pick him up.

I pick up my cell and scroll through, looking for Andi’s number, trying to keep one eye on the road. Andi will probably go apeshit, but I truly forgot, and it’s not like I don’t feel bad. I feel horrible. If I could turn around right now and get to Cal in time, I would, but it’s too late.

Of course Andi doesn’t pick up. I leave a message, but now I’ve got, like, twelve minutes, and I have to do something. I try my dad, but his cell is switched off, as usual, and I’m starting to feel sick and I’m wondering what the hell I should do.

And then a flash of inspiration hits. Yes!

Sophia.

*   *   *

“I can’t,” Sophia says. “I have classes all afternoon.”

“Sophia, you have to,” I plead. “I feel really bad, and I totally screwed up, okay? You have to skip your classes today and get there. Please, Sophia. Please.”

“But, Emily, I have a huge test this afternoon. I can’t. If there were any way for me to miss today I would, but I can’t miss this. I’m sorry. You’ll have to find someone else.”

“There isn’t anyone else.” I finally lose it because I’m so damned frustrated, and I don’t mean to shout, but I do.

“I’ll phone Andi,” Sophia says.

“I already did. Thanks for all the help,” I know I’m being sarcastic, but I’m genuinely shocked that Sophia isn’t stepping up to help. “I’ll figure it out by myself.”

Forty-six

Cal is the last one in the class. He has been the last one in the class for the past couple of weeks, since Emily has been picking him up, but he doesn’t mind. He quite likes it. His teacher makes a big fuss of him, giving him a special snack from her secret stash in the cupboard above the sink. Today it was Rice Krispies treats, which are his absolute favorites.

Today it’s a really long time. His teacher keeps looking at the clock and picking up the phone, trying to reach his parents, but no one is answering. He is beginning to get a little scared.

There is a soft knock on the door frame. Mrs. Gundell, Cal’s teacher, looks up with relief, only to see a man she doesn’t recognize shuffling awkwardly in the doorway.

“I here to get Cal,” he says as the teacher and Cal both frown at him, Cal trying to think how he knows him.

“Hello, Cal.” A lovely, if toothless, smile spreads over his face. “I am Manuel. Emily’s friend? From the flower store? Emily, she send me to pick up Cal,” he says.

“Oh.” Mrs. Gundell frowns. “I don’t have a note. We have a policy of not releasing children to anyone other than regular parents unless there is a note.”

Manuel looks worried. The teacher looks worried. Cal starts to cry.

“Look.” Manuel scooches over and drops to one knee. “I brought you flower, man.” He extends a pot with a plastic flower, pressing a button on the base, which starts music playing, as the flower bobs and weaves.

Cal instantly stops crying and smiles, bewitched, stretching out a hand to touch the dancing flower.

Manuel looks up at the teacher. “I give you Emily’s cell? You talk to her?”

She sighs loudly. “This isn’t what I’d normally do, but…” She shakes her head. She was supposed to be home five minutes ago. “Okay,” she finally mutters reluctantly. “Let me call her.”

She flicks through her notebook, looking for contact numbers before picking up the phone and dialing.

“Emily? This is Lisa Gundell. Cal’s teacher? I have someone here saying he is picking up Cal, but I have no note.”

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” Emily gushes. “I totally forgot I was supposed to pick him up and I only realized when I was already on the Golden Gate Bridge. I tried to get hold of Andi and my dad, but I couldn’t get anyone, then my sister has a test, so she couldn’t miss school, and Manuel is the only person I could think of. I am so sorry, but Manuel’s great. He works with my mom at the florist’s. Cal will be fine, and I’m coming straight back out.”

“So it’s fine to release him to the care of … Manuel?”

“Totally fine.”

“Okay.” She sighs. “But this cannot happen again. Next time we need a note in the morning.”

“It won’t happen again.” Emily almost collapses with relief. “I’m really sorry.”

*   *   *

Two minutes later, Cal is climbing into a beat-up old red Chevrolet Silverado pickup truck. There are no car seats, and the seat belts are broken. Manuel drives very slowly and carefully back to the flower shop, where Cal happily immerses himself in making sculptures out of florist’s foam, eating chocolate, and endlessly pressing the button that makes the dancing flower dance.

Forty-seven

Michael was right. This is totally worth it. The apartment is like something out of a magazine, and I cannot believe that after living in farm outbuildings for the past three years, I might actually be living someplace like this.

Michael and I walk slowly from room to room, and I cannot wipe the smile off my face.

We start with the master bedroom at the front of the house. High ceilings, a large bay window onto the street, surrounded by the original wood-paneled shutters. A queen-sized bed with a twin sofa at the foot of the bed, and an antique desk in the bay, with a sleek crystal lamp.

There are large walk-in closets on either side of the fireplace, and off to one side, a small en suite bathroom with a shower stall, sink, and toilet. A large hallway, with floorboards covered with old Dhurrie rugs, leads down to the rest of the house. A tiny spare room with a large window overlooking the garden. I walk over to the bookshelves and stand dreamily for a minute, running my fingers over the spines of the books, as Michael comes up behind me.

“You know this room could be perfect for Cal,” he whispers, and I freeze.

“Michael, we haven’t even talked about that properly. I don’t know where I am with that.”

“I know, I know,” he says. “I don’t necessarily mean permanently. I mean when he comes for sleepovers.”

If he comes for sleepovers,
I think. But I don’t say anything. It is slowly beginning to dawn on me that Michael, bless his heart, is something of a romantic. I know he feels strongly about me having a place in Cal’s life, but I’m also starting to realize that he has this romantic notion of having an instant family, and it isn’t the slightest bit grounded in reality.

I’m kind of stunned that I can see this so clearly, that I’m mature enough to realize this, and I know we’re going to have to talk about it at some point. It’s the same fantasy of how he would be a happier person, or more secure, if he hadn’t been adopted. I wasn’t adopted, I always used to point out, and I’m even more fucked up than him.

Part of me loves that he has a romantic fantasy about how our life is. But I worry that his fantasy inevitably involves Cal.

We walk out and on through the rest of the apartment.

The kitchen, next to the living room, is a bright square room with gleaming stainless counters and subway-tile backsplash.

“Patrick put a new kitchen in last year.” Michael, doing the sales pitch, tells me as I sigh with pleasure over the glass-fronted Liebherr fridge.

“We’ll have to keep a tidy fridge.” I gesture at the huge bowl of perfect white eggs at the front of the fridge.

“I already checked it out.” Michael comes up behind me and reaches over, moving the bowl aside, revealing a mess of jars, cartons, and ancient Tupperware.

“Phew! Because that fridge was going to be a dealbreaker. I was worried it was all too much for me to keep up with.”

“It’s not too much, is it?” Michael asks. “It’s perfect, right?”

“Sssh.” I hold a finger to my lips. “Don’t say anything until I’ve seen the whole thing.”

We walk, finally, into the light-filled living room with French doors onto a small, pretty, enclosed yard.

“Did you see the floors?” Michael can’t help himself, he has to start pointing out the features. “They’re the original wide-planked oak. Patrick said he sanded them down himself. And that fireplace? It works. And isn’t the shower awesome?”

“It’s all awesome.” And finally I turn to him. “It’s perfect. I love it.” I spin around, hugging myself as I dance around the room like a schoolgirl. I cannot believe that the first apartment we stumbled upon is as perfect, and as perfect for us, as this.

Thank you, God. Thank you, Fate. Thank you, whatever angels are smiling down upon us.

“Here’s the best thing.” Michael sinks down on the huge white sofa. “See this furniture? He’s leaving it all. He wants to rent it furnished, so we don’t have to buy a single thing.”

“It’s amazing.” I shake my head, then frown suddenly. “Are you sure we can afford it? I mean, you? I’m going to try to earn money, but I don’t even have a proper job, and I have no idea how much I’m going to…”

“Stop,” he says gently. “Relax. With the bonus I’ve been promised thanks to this UK deal, yes. We can definitely afford it. I can afford it on my own. We’re fine.”

“Yes. Yes! Yes!” I collapse on the sofa next to Michael, lean my head back, and shout up at the ceiling, “I love it! This is it! Our first home!”

Michael checks his watch, then looks at me with a sly grin. “I think perhaps our new home needs christening, don’t you? It will bring us luck.”

“C’mere, big boy,” I growl, taking hold of his waistband and pulling him close. “We can christen it as much as you like.”

Forty-eight

At four o’clock, Andi’s alarm on her cell phone goes off.

“Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry,” she says to Diana, one of her clients, whose house goes on the market next month. Andi has just been rearranging the furniture in the living room to show off the rug she picked out that was delivered this morning. “I have to go and get my son.”