Better Off Without Him (28 page)

“Why did Patricia say we should pretend Ben’s her boyfriend?”

“Would you want Ben to be your boyfriend?”

She thought for a moment. “Well, he’s kinda old, but yes.”

“All right, then. Let the woman dream. We’ll be eating in half an hour. Get your sisters in here to help.”

I picked up the phone and dialed Mitch again.

“Ben and Patricia are pretending to be a couple so that MarshaTheBitch won’t think he’s my, well, you know.”

“Does she know I’m your ‘you know’?”

“No. Your very existence is a carefully guarded secret from all of Brian’s family. Except Rebecca. Who thinks it’s a good idea.”

“Vicky is planning to deep-fry the turkey.”

“That’s supposed to be delicious.”

“She bought fifty gallons of olive oil.”

“That will taste awful.”

“Probably.”

“And doesn’t olive oil have a lower flash point? Couldn’t it catch fire?”

“I’ve already alerted the fire department.”

“I still think I’m ahead.”

“Yes, but the day is still young.”

“I miss you.”

“Me too. Got to go.”

I hung up. The turkey looked perfect. Lauren was chasing Jane and Olivia out of the kitchen with a broom. Good girl. I could hear Anthony’s voice, telling a joke. Good boy. I straightened my shoulders and headed back to the living room.

It was a happy Thanksgiving after all.

The Monday after Thanksgiving, Mitch went out to California for a whole week. When he returned we had a very cozy reunion, complete with Brie, crackers and champagne, all consumed naked. I was getting dressed, thinking about how cold it was getting and how I was going to hate driving home in the dark, when he told me that he was planning to return to California in a few weeks.

“But you just came back,” I pointed out, pulling on a sock.

“Yeah. Well.”

Something in his tone made me look at him hard. “What?”

“I was looking at an art gallery.”

I frowned. “Really? I didn’t know you were interested in art.”

His eyes lit up. “It’s not just art. It’s animation art. Seri-cells, sketches, everything I’ve been selling on my website. I went out to check things over, and the place is fantastic. In La Jolla. It would be a terrific opportunity. I mean, it’s the next step for me if I want to continue doing this.”

I was getting a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew how much he loved animation art, and I knew he was starting to loose patience with his retail stores.

“So, if you buy the gallery, would you run it?”

He nodded. “Yes. I’d really want to be hands-on.”

“Ah. So I suppose that would mean your actually moving there? To California? Unless you can afford your own commuter jet?”

He put his arms around me. “I’d be moving there, yes,” he said softly.

“What about the stores?” I asked, pulling back to look at him.

“There’s a buyer. The same guy has been after me for a couple of years now. It would be easy.” He was looking very serious. “Do you love me, Mona?”

“No.” The word came out before I could even think about it.

“I know. I’m not in love with you either. I like you a hell of a lot, and I’d miss you like crazy, but I don’t think you and I are in a position where I’d ask you to move out there with me.”

I shook my head. “No. And I wouldn’t ask you to pass this by just because of me.”

We sat there for a few seconds, sitting at the edge of his crumpled bed.

“We’ll see how things go when I go back,” he said at last. “Nothing has been decided. I have to see about financing, for one thing. It could all be a bust, and I stay right where I am.”

I nodded. “True. And we could just keep on going just as we are,” I said, but I knew that wouldn’t be exactly the case. The summer romance was finally winding down. If he didn’t go to California, there would eventually come a time when we would have to move forward, and it seemed that either of us was in a place to do that.

The girls spent Christmas Eve with Brian. I spent it with Mitch. I bought him a real live Mickey Mouse watch. He bought me the complete Cary Grant film collection on DVD and an antique pendant, a single pearl with three tiny rubies. It was beautiful.

Christmas Day was quiet. We all woke up early, opened presents, ate Lily’s blueberry pancakes and spent the day toasting marshmallows and watching Christmas movies. The day after Christmas, Mitch went back out to California. He stayed three days. He stopped by the house on the way in from the airport to tell me how it went, but he didn’t need to say a word. I could tell by the way his face was lit up.

“You bought the gallery.”

He nodded. We were standing in the foyer. He hadn’t even taken off his coat.

I felt a huge lump in my throat. “When are you leaving?”

“I’m going back next week to look for an apartment, then again the beginning of February.” He looked so happy. “Vicki is moving into the Chatham house with her boys, instead of going to Florida, so I don’t have to worry about trying to sell in this market. The buyer for the stores should be ready March 1st, and then I’m out of here.” He put his arms around me. “Mona, I’m so sorry to end this. We had such a great time.”

Now the lump was in my stomach. “I know. I’m going to miss you. Who’s going to make me laugh when you’re gone?”

“Are you kidding? You’ll probably meet Mr. Perfect walking out of the courtroom the day your divorce is final.”

“I doubt it, but thanks for the thought. I hope you find somebody great in California.”

He kissed me. “I hope I find somebody with real boobs in California.”

I stepped back from him and took a deep breath. “Good luck, Mitch. And thank you for being exactly what I needed.”

And then he was gone.

The day before Divorce Day, I went to David West’s office, where I signed some papers and he walked me through everything that would happen in court the following day. I was feeling depressed and just a little frail. Mitch had left for California that morning. He’d be back by tomorrow night, but too late for me to see him. I had promised to call him as soon as I was out of court.

When I got back home I decided it would not be good to sit around and mope all afternoon, so I pulled on sweats and walked into town for a yoga class. I walked back a little slower, muscles aching. I was sitting at my kitchen counter, trying to decide between herbal tea and Absolut, when Brian came through the kitchen door.

I had not seen him since the summer, and he looked like hell. The lines around his mouth were harsher, more deeply drawn, and he was thin and tired-looking.

“You can’t do that anymore, Brian,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” he growled.

“I know that officially we’re still a team until tomorrow, but this is pretty much my house now. You can’t just walk in. Next time, knock. If it’s a problem, just let me know. I’ll have the locks changed.”

He was frowning. “I’m sorry. I just – “ He ran his hand through his hair. “Can I talk to you, please?”

I shrugged. “Sure. Tea?”

He shook his head. “No. Thank you. I think we made a mistake.”

“We? Who we?”

“You and I we.”

“What mistake?”

“Well, I think it’s a mistake to get a divorce.”

I stared at him. “What?”

He cleared his throat. “I think it will be a mistake going through with this divorce.”

I shook my head to clear it. “Brian, wait a minute. There was no ‘we’ getting a divorce. It was you. All you. In fact, you sat in this very kitchen and said, ‘I want a divorce’.”

“Well, that may be. But you certainly didn’t fight it.”

I took a deep breath. “You moved out. Into a condo you had bought months previously with another woman. You sent me a settlement proposal the next day. You refused to see me, or even talk to me, except about the girls. How was I supposed to be fighting? And for what?”

He looked into my eyes. “Okay, Mona, then I made the mistake. Is that what you want to hear? Huh? I made a mistake.”

My mouth dropped open. I had never heard those words come out of his mouth before.

He looked uncomfortable. “So, I’m admitting to you that I was wrong. Now, I know things are almost final, but I’m asking to come home. We can still call the whole thing off. It was crazy, but it’s over now, and I’m ready to come back.”

I sat down. Hard. “What did you say?” I whispered.

“I’m ready to come back, Mona, in spite of everything.”

I couldn’t breathe. “You’re ready to come back? Here?”

“Yes. And although I realize that while you were apart, you may have, well, been involved with other men, that’s water under the bridge now. I’m ready to go forward again with our marriage.”

I stood back up and leaned into him. “And whatever makes you think I’d ever want you back?”

It was his turn to look stunned. “What?”

“You were a crappy husband the first time around, Brian. Why would I want to put myself through all that again?”

“But, but – “ He threw his hands up in the air. “We were happy.”

“You were happy. I thought I was happy because I was clueless. I didn’t know any better. I thought every marriage was about one person doing all the work and the other person getting all the benefits. Do you know, Brian, the whole time you’ve been gone, I’ve never thought, gee, I wish Brian were here, so he could do this for me. Or that for me. Or anything for me. You know why? Because you never did anything for me when you were here. I never felt overwhelmed or unable to cope after you’d gone because I did everything myself anyway. What the hell did I ever need you for? What did you ever do for me? What did you ever give me? Sex? Sure, but guess what, buddy, there’s plenty of that around. Why would I ever need you back in my life?”

“We had a good marriage,” he sputtered.

“You had a good marriage. I was in servitude.”

“Mona, don’t you love me anymore?”

“No, Brian, I don’t think I do.” Once I said it, I was a little surprised at myself. But only for a moment, because I knew it was true.

But Brian was fighting back hard. “Did you ever love me?”

“How can you ask me that?” I whispered. “I loved you with all my heart.” I felt the blood begin to boil in my ears. “I loved you so much that I did everything you asked, and never questioned a thing. I took care of you and your children and your house and your life and I never complained or asked you to help me because I loved you. I never so much as kissed another man our entire marriage because I loved you. The real question here is did you ever love me?”

He came toward me, his arms open. “Mona, of course.”

I took a step away. “Then how could you buy a house with another woman and leave me and your family?”

That seemed to stop him. “I can’t explain it,” he said at last. “Dominique was like a drug. She just got to me and I couldn’t say no to her. It was an aberration. I swear it will never happen again.”

I looked at him hard. “I’d have an easier time believing that if Dominique was the first, rather than the latest.”

An ugly look crossed his face. “That skunk Doug,” he growled. “He told you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, Brian, he did. And you know why? Because he said that you would want to come back to me, and he wanted me to know exactly the kind of man you were so that when you did try to come back, I’d say no.” I took a deep breath. “So that’s what I’m saying. No. Please leave now.”

“Mona, – “

“I mean it. Leave. Right now. It’s over. Completely.”

He stared. Then he turned and walked out the door.

I sat there in the empty kitchen. We’d been married twenty years. We had three beautiful daughters. Last year, we had spent New Years Day with our old picture atlas, picking out exotic places we would retire to. By tomorrow, it would all be over. Suddenly, finally, all the anger was gone. All that was left was the sadness.

January, in general, is a good month for me. Here in Northern New Jersey, winter settles in for good in January. It’s not the teasing, damp winter of Thanksgiving, or the maybe-you’ll-get-a-white-Christmas winter of December, but the real thing – cold, crisp, with lots of potential for snow. The girls and I spend lots of time watching the Weather Channel in January, praying for snow days.

I have lots of leisure time in January, time I spend looking through foreign travel magazines, especially the English ones, reading articles about Schlepping Through Sky or Cavorting In Cornwall. Mainly, I love to look at all the tweed, and fantasize about long, rambling walks in the crisp European air.

The food is always great in January, too. With the holiday cooking frenzy behind me, I bake lots of things with cinnamon and raisins in them. I start pulling out recipes for hearty stews and pot pies. I eat apple crumble and roasted squash, and drink gallons of hot, spiced cider.

Best of all, January is about new beginnings. I’m a resolution person. I make a New Year’s Resolution every year, and I really try to stick to it. I’m very reasonable about my resolutions. Last year, I resolved to learn to make a perfect pie crust. The year before that, I learned to say all my housekeeping requests in perfect Spanish. This year, I resolved to sign my name as Mona Quincy without giving it a second thought.

So, all and all, any day in January is a good one. But the day I divorced my husband Brian, after he left me for someone 15 years younger and 30 pounds lighter, was the best.

The morning began with no fighting, no wardrobe issues, no last minute demands. Jessica came down for breakfast in a mohawk. That’s a haircut where the sides of the head are shaved but the center is left in a soft, tufted crown. She had gotten this haircut four days previously to show her new boyfriend that even though they were too young to be legally committed to each other, there were other ways of showing undying love and devotion, and since he had a mohawk, she’d get one too. The good thing about that particular morning was that when she came downstairs and I saw her, I didn’t jump three feet into the air and scream in fright.

She came over to me and put her hand on my shoulder. “I’ll get a ride home from school today, in case you want to, you know, get drunk after court. Okay?”

I nodded and tried not to tear up.

Lauren was next. She gave me a small kiss and a big hug. “Mom, I know this is going to be a strange day for you. Just know that I love you and think you’re the best Mom in the world.” Then she grabbed a Pop Tart and went out the door, leaving me tearful and elated.

Finally, Miranda came down. “I’m working after school today, babysitting at the Fosters,” she said.

“I know.”

“But I’ll be thinking about you.”

“Thanks.”

“I love you, Mom.”

That started the tears again.

Divorce is not a private affair. We sat in the courtroom along with several other couples awaiting dissolution. I had noticed that Dominique slipped in, and was sitting in the back row. Brian must have neglected to tell her about his last-minute change of heart. When our docket number was called and we were going up to the front of the courtroom, I turned to sneak a look at her again and found that Patricia, arriving late, wearing a fabulous fur coat the exact color of old gold, had managed to sit directly in front of her. Patricia, much taller, waved happily.

So I stood in a courtroom and legally stopped being Mona Berman and became Mona Quincy again. Brian looked grim. Hirsch Fielding looked exactly like the jerk I imagined. David West was cool, comforting, and smugly satisfied. The lawyers talked, the judge talked, we answered questions, signed some things, and that was that. Then Patricia took me out to lunch.

When I got home, Ben Cutler’s truck was parked on the street in front of my house. Aunt Lily was supposed to be at the library taking a class in something that I hoped wasn’t bomb-building. As I came in the kitchen door, I saw Ben leaning against the counter.

He gave her a long, cool look. “I don’t like to be kept waiting, madam.’ She smiled slowly and pulled loose the ribbons at her throat. Her cloak fell to the floor, and she stood, naked in the candlelight. ‘I’ll try to make it up to you’, she said, walking towards him, watching his eyes widen with pleasure.

“Hey,” I said. “What’s up? Did something burst while I was gone?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Lily let me in before she left. I was just, you know, in the neighborhood, and knew today was the big day, so I figured I’d see how you were doing.”

He was not in his usual plumber clothes. He was wearing a thick turtleneck sweater over his jeans, which were clean and pressed. He looked magnificent. The early afternoon sun was shining softly through his dark hair, there was just a suggestion of stubble on his perfect jaw, and his eyes were wide and twinkling.

“Can I get you some coffee?” I asked, shrugging out of my jacket.

I turned and he was right behind me. He grabbed me and pulled me to him, and he kissed me. Right on the lips.

It was the most astonishing kiss I’d ever received.

In my whole life.

Really.

It left me speechless.

And breathless.

When I finally pulled away, my entire body was quivering. Like a tightly strung harp string that had just been plucked. I stared up at him. I tried to form words but only managed “Whaa..?”

“I’ve wanted to do that forever,” he said. “I’m crazy about you, Mona, and I could never do a thing about it. But you’re a single woman now, and I want you to know how serious I am.”

Holy shit.

“Serious?” I croaked.

“Yes. Listen, we’ve been spending more time together the past few months, and I was hoping you’d start feeling a little differently towards me. You know, like maybe I could actually be somebody important in your life.”

I felt lightheaded. Maybe it was the kiss. I gotta tell you, it was something. “I need to sit,” I gasped. He propelled me to a kitchen chair, sat me down, pushed my head down and rubbed my back while I took long, deep breaths. When the world steadied itself, I opened my eyes. Ben was crouched down in front of me, his gorgeous eyes filled with concern.

“Better?” he asked gently.

I nodded, and he brushed the hair away from my face.

“Water?”

“No. I’m good.” I took another long breath. There. That was better. What had he just said?

I squinted at him. “What did you just say?”

“That I wanted to be a part of your life.”

“Oh. That’s what I thought you said.”

It was kind of funny, actually, that he wanted to be part of my life, since he’d been part of my fantasy life for just about as long as I’d known him. I’d given him all kinds of thought. Like what he looked like naked. How he’d look dangling grapes over my mouth. If he was into licking ice cream off my stomach. If he liked to spoon after sex. If he’d prefer being on the top or on the bottom. And now, here was Ben, offering me the chance to answer all those questions, and more. Ben the kind. Ben the thoughtful. Ben the unbelievably handsome. Ben who, now that I was single and he was obviously willing, I could now take to bed and keep there as long as I wanted.

I looked at him. I opened my mouth to say something, but I could find no words.

“I know you’ve been seeing somebody else,” he said gently.

My brain completely froze. Somebody else? Yes, of course there had been somebody else. Somebody sweet and thoughtful who made me laugh. Tall. Dark hair. Cute mole on his left nipple. What was his name again?

“Mitch,” I blurted.

“That’s his name?”

I cleared my throat. “Yes

Ben was frowning. “Is it serious?”

“Actually, we broke it off. He bought an art gallery in California. He’s leaving. We weren’t in love, so I’m not heartbroken or anything. I miss him, but he’s gone.”

“Good. I mean, I’m sorry you miss him, but maybe you can think about a future with me.”

“A future?” I looked at him. “This is really weird.”

“Mona, no it’s not. Think about us. Think about how we are together.”

I shut my eyes. Okay. Ben with clothes. Ben sitting in my kitchen. Drinking coffee. We could talk about everything. We had talked about everything. Our kids. My writing. We laughed together all the time. We’d even been on an actual date or two, and that felt fine. On Thanksgiving, he had been an absolute trouper. In fact, he had such a doting companion to Patricia that I had to keep reminding myself it was all a charade.

“We’re pretty good friends,” I admitted, opening my eyes.

“Yes, Mona. We’re very good friends. Is there a problem with us being more than friends?”

I had to think about that. “Yes,” I said finally. “The problem is sex.”

He opened his mouth to speak, stopped himself, and then started again. “We’ve never had sex, Mona.”

“Well, yes.” I said carefully. “That is literally true, but I’ve sort of been having sex with you in an abstract way for some time now. Years, actually. Sometimes in my head. Often, really, in my head. A lot in my books. You’re one of my most repeated male characters, and you wouldn’t believe the things you’ve done.”

He had been looking at me, but shifted his eyes to the right. I could practically hear all the gears in his brain going round.

“Are you going to tell me about them,” he said at last, “or should I just start reading?”

I touched his hand. “Do you really love me?”

“Yes.” He was looking right at me now. “I love you. And I’m in love with you.”

“What did you want to do about it?”

He shrugged. “Well, I figured if we started planning now, we could get some invitations printed up by spring and get married in June. What do you think?”

I stared. My jaw dropped. He smiled, closed my mouth with his index finger and kissed me very gently on the lips. Off in the distance, angels sang.

“Or we could try dating,” he said. “You know, dinner. A movie. Maybe Scrabble. I don’t expect you to dive into this head first. I’m perfectly willing to court you.”

My lips were still buzzing but I managed a smile. “Court me? Is that a romance-book reference to score some points?”

He grinned. “Hey. Whatever helps.” He tilted his head at me. “You seem really caught off guard by all this. Didn’t you get the feeling that my interest in you was more than just polite professionalism?”

I sighed. “No. You see, I had a whole relationship with you in my head. I never thought of you as anything more than that. Now that I look back, I probably should have been a little more aware about what was going on. That’s my problem. I mean, I’m not sure how to separate the real person that is you from the dark, brooding hero in my head.”

He stood up. “You’ll figure it out, Mona. I have.” He walked across the kitchen and opened the door. “See, I had the same problem. But I managed to fall in love with the living, breathing Mona, in spite of the other Mona.”

“What other Mona?”

He walked back to me. He pulled me to my feet and held me so closely that we were practically touching. Something electric was actually vibrating between us as he spoke. “The naked one. The one who keeps dragging me into bed. Touching me, stroking me, driving me crazy with her kisses.” He stepped back and grinned again. “All God’s children got fantasies, Mona.”

Golly.

“Think about it, Mona. I know this has been an emotional day for you. So think about what I’ve said.”

“Okay,” I managed.

“And call me. Anytime you want. For whatever reason. Okay?”

I nodded and he shut the door behind him.

I sat back down. Ben wanted me. Brian, who had wanted me back, had just divorced me. It was all suddenly too much, and I put my head down and started to cry.

I was sobbing so loudly I didn’t hear the back door open again, but Patricia’s voice came floating in, and I raised my head to see her leaning back out the door and yelling. Seconds later MarshaMarsha burst in. They sat down on either side of me, patting my shoulders.

“I was right to check on you,” Patricia was saying. “I knew you were too calm at the hearing. Go ahead and cry, darling. Get it all out.”

“I’m not crying about the divorce,” I managed.

“The girls?” MarshaMarsha asked. “Did something…”

“No,” I wailed.

Patricia grabbed my arm and gave it a little shake. “You haven’t been reading Jodi Picoult again, have you?”

I shook my head, sniffing loudly. Tissues appeared, and I grabbed them, blew noisily, and blurted, “Ben just told me he loved me.”

Silence.

“Ben Cutler?” Patricia finally asked.

I nodded.

“But,’ she continued, “you’re crying. Why would you be crying?”

I mopped my eyes. “I don’t know. I practically fainted when he kissed me.”

MarshaMarsha caught her breath. “He kissed you. Oh God, what was it like?”

“The best kiss I’ve ever had. In. My. Life.”

“But,” Patricia was soldiering on, “why are you crying? This is Ben. The best-looking man never photographed for an Abercrombie and Fitch clothing advertisement.”

“What did you tell him?” MarshaMarsha asked.

I took a breath. “I told him I’d think about it.”

“But this is Ben,’ Patricia said. “Who loves your kids, and your animals, and can have an entire conversation with Lily without the aid of pharmaceuticals.”

I nodded. “I know.”

MarshaMarsha leaned in close, disbelief on her face. “Did you tell him to go away?” she whispered.

I shook my head.

“Thank God,” she breathed.

“Mona.” Patricia was looking aghast. “This is Ben. Who is one of the best men I’ve known. Who probably has enough money to take you to Tahiti so you can spend the rest of your life sucking down coconut milk. And he’ll fix all your toilets for free.”

“I know,” I wailed. “I know.”

The front door slammed and Anthony’s voice drifted in. “I thought you were back. Are you a free woman at last?” I saw him come into the kitchen through a haze of tears. He stopped and put his hands to his mouth. “Oh, Mona, don’t cry. This divorce is a good thing.”