Chronicles of a Midlife Crisis (9 page)

“Listen,” he says, lowering his voice. “I can’t be doing this right now. I’m at the office. If you want to fight, I’ll call you later.”

Suddenly, I’m crying again. “I don’t want to fight! I just want to know I can still count on you to be there for our daughter. My job is busy and unpredictable, and I need your support, Trent. Maybe you hate me now, for whatever reason, but don’t take it out on Sam.”

“I don’t hate you,”he says in an emphatic whisper. “I still care about you very much.”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” I sniffle.

“Let me call you later. And tell Sam I’ll take her for dinner tonight. I mean it.”

I notice that I’m left out of the dinner invitation, but frankly, I’m not in the mood. “Fine,” I mumble. “But you can’t let her down again, Trent. You really can’t.”

Trent

I
’
M FEELING A LOT BETTER
since I spent some good quality time with Sam. As usual, Lucy had blown everything out of proportion. Sam seems to be doing fine. And she wasn’t at all pissed off that I didn’t call her on Thursday. She said she watched some TV, ate a bag of chips, and worked on her art project. Lucy made it sound as though she’d spent the evening alone, crying and digging through the garbage can for food scraps.

I picked her up on Friday and we went for burgers at White Spot. As usual, the place was packed with seniors and families with squawking kids. But the place is a tradition for us. We’ve been going there since she was a little girl, ordering the Pirate Pak. Now she gets a lean and tasty chicken burger, but it still has the same feel.

Conversation was a little awkward, though. There seem to be a lot of “don’t touch” subjects at the moment. Neither of us wanted to discuss her mom, our marriage, or if I’m going to move back in. I tried to get her going on her art show, but she just shrugged and said her project was “coming along.” Finally, we connected over an old Will Ferrell movie she’d just watched on TV. We both knew the thing practically verbatim, so we threw jokes back and forth until the bill came.

When I dropped her off at the house, I suggested hanging out the next day. “We could do something fun,” I said, scrambling to think of something that qualified as fun to a fifteenyear-old girl. “Shopping! I could take you shopping?”

“That’s okay,” Sam said, hopping out of the car. “I’ve got to work on my art project.” She slammed the door and was gone.

Knowing that my daughter is in a good place allows me to focus on more pressing issues, namely drinks with Annika and her friend on Tuesday. “Bring a friend,” she said, like I’ve got tons of single guy friends free to hit the bar mid-week. In fact, I don’t have any single guy friends. Sure, there are a couple of guys in the office, but I can’t let them know about Annika and me.

For the first time, I realize that most of my friends are really just the husbands of Lucy’s friends. And being the husbands of Lucy’s friends, they probably hate me now. Of course, they don’t really hate me. Deep down, they probably understand, even respect what I did. I bet they’re envious that I had the balls to do what they can only dream about. But to their wives, I’m practically Satan. And no one’s gonna let their husband out for drinks on a Tuesday night with Satan.

On second thought, Lucy probably hasn’t even told any of her friends. It would tarnish her reputation as Miss Perfect. That would make it even more awkward for me to call up one of the guys and invite him for drinks with Annika and her friend. At least Hope knows we’ve separated. And of course, Mike has a unique understanding of my situation. He’s the only option. I dial the phone.

“You’ve got to come,” I plead, when he says something about quizzing Sarah-Louise for a national spelling bee. “You’re the only guy I can turn to.”

“Thanks,” Mike says. “It’s nice to feel special.”

“You know what I mean. You’re the only friend I have who gets what I’m going through.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he acquiesces. “It’s lonely when everyone takes your wife’s side.”

“Is everyone taking Lucy’s side?”

Mike laughs. “How the hell should I know? I’m just saying how it felt when I left.”

“Right.” I remember Lucy’s outrage when she heard about Mike’s exotic optometry conventions. “Can you help a guy out? I’m sure her friend is hot.”

There’s a pause, and I hope Mike is checking his calendar. “I can come between seven and nine,” he finally says.

“Thank you! You’re the best!” I’m being over-the-top effusive, but such is my relief at having someone to bring with me tomorrow night. It’s bad enough that Annika thinks I’ve got the sexual skills of a fifteen-year-old. If she thinks I’m a friendless loser too, she’s sure to dump me.

“I gotta go. I’ve got a patient,” Mike says. “See you tomorrow.”

Lucy

“
DRINKS ON A TUESDAY
?” I say, digging my purse out from under my desk.

“Yes, drinks on a Tuesday,” Camille insists, snatching up her car keys. “You’ve obviously lost your mind and I need to talk you back into some sort of sanity.”

I lower my voice. “I can’t go out with Cody. He’s too young.”

“Cody’s too young, but Wynn’s not. He’s twenty-seven.”

“And I’m forty! That’s too big an age difference.”

“Look at Ashton and Demi,” Camille says, like this is a really convincing argument.

“Yeah, I’m sure they’ll still be married when she’s sixty-five and he’s like, thirty or whatever.”

“Fine!” she caves in. “Don’t go out with him. But at least come out with me for a cocktail or two. I worry about you sitting home alone, pining away for that asshole.”

I am instantly defensive. “He’s not an asshole!” But a moment’s reflection makes me reconsider. Trent has been a bit asshole-ish of late. He did finally take Sam out for dinner, but he’s made absolutely no effort to work on his “grown-up man problems”—at least none that I can see. “And I’m not pining,” I grumble.

“Good. If you’re not pining, then you can come out for an after-work martini.”

I realize that the only way out of this would be to sprint for the door and barricade myself in the SUV. “Let me call Sam. If she’s got plans tonight, I’ll come for one.”

“Two,” Camille presses.

“Don’t push it!”

Trent

“
THIS IS LEAH
.” Annika introduces the tall blond beside her. She’s pretty, but a little severe in that successful businesswoman sort of way.

I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Trent.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Leah says, a knowing twinkle in her eye. Shit. What has she heard? My eyes dart to Annika, but she’s smiling happily, almost proudly. Did I imagine the smirking tone? I must have. Obviously Annika’s not going to tell her visiting friend that her new boyfriend has erectile dysfunction.

I clear my throat. “This is my buddy, Mike.”

Mike turns to Annika first. “Good to finally meet you.”

Finally? He’d never heard of Annika until two weeks ago. He makes it sound as though I’ve been talking about her obsessively for six months. Annika gives a delighted giggle, obviously interpreting his comment the same way. Mike then turns to Leah. “And nice to meet
you
, Leah,” he says smoothly.

“Thanks.” Leah’s eyes flit to Annika’s. She looks a little panicked.

“Sit,” Annika says nervously, indicating the two low cubes across from them. “Where is that waiter?”

When Mike and I have ordered beers, Annika fills the awkward silence. “So Mike, Trent tells me you’re an optometrist. Do you enjoy it?”

“Yeah, it’s not bad. It has its perks.” He looks directly at Leah. “There are a lot of optometry conventions in Vegas and Palm Springs. Good times.”

Leah smiles tightly.

I jump in. “What do you do, Leah?”

“I’m the human resources director for Shinnegar Thompson.”

“And what do they do?”

“They’re the largest laminate flooring manufacturer in North America.”

“Really?” Mike says brightly. “I’ve been thinking of tearing up the carpets in the office. Maybe you could come in and show me your samples.”

It comes out like “show me your tits.” Why is Mike acting like such a tool? I wanted him along so I wouldn’t look like a friendless loser. Now I’m thinking that might have been better.

Leah clears her throat. “We have a sales rep here. I’ll tell him to give you a call.”

“Come on,” Mike cajoles, taking a swig of beer, “I don’t want some local guy. I want the big shot from Toronto.”

She looks at him. “I’m in human resources. I don’t sell flooring.”

Annika senses this isn’t going well. “Honey,” she says, placing a proprietary hand on my wrist, “tell Leah how you love Toronto.” She turns to Leah. “Trent loves Toronto.”

I do? I mean, I’ve had some fun times there, I guess. And I’ve never really understood that whole “Let’s all hate Toronto” thing that some Canadians get into. But love it? I guess to smooth things over, I can love it. “Yeah, I love it.”

Leah seems pleased. “Have you spent much time there?”

“I’ve gone for business a few times. And my—” I stop myself. I almost said “my wife and I,” which would obviously be the wrong choice of words. I cover quickly. “My daughter and I went out and did the theme parks and museums a few years ago.”

Annika snuggles up to me. “Trent has a fifteen-year-old daughter. She’s a really talented artist.”

Leah is unfazed, but Mike looks at me. Annika made it sound as if she and Sam were the best of friends.

Annika turns to Mike. “What about you? How old are your kids?”

“Fifteen, fourteen, and eleven.” He winks at Leah. “That last one was a bit of a slipup.”

She looks at him like he’s a piece of dog crap sitting on the cube chair. But he continues.

“No kids, Leah?” He stares directly at her breasts. “I can tell.”

What the fuck are you doing, Mike? I manage to hold my tongue, but my eyes shoot daggers at him. Why are you acting like such a sleaze? I feel Annika’s nails dig into my forearm. It’s obviously important to her that our friends get along.

Leah gives Mike a tense smile. “What does your wife think about you hanging out at a bar on a Tuesday night?”

“My wife and I have an understanding.”

Leah takes a sip of her martini. “Maybe you only think your wife’s at home with the kids. Maybe as soon as you head out the door, she calls a sitter and runs off to see her boy-toy.”

“You don’t know my wife.”

“Maybe you don’t either.”

Oh shit, this is a disaster. But when I look at Leah’s expression, she actually seems to be enjoying putting Mike in his place. And, of course, he probably considers her put-downs a subtle type of flirting.

Annika shifts her cube closer to mine and leans in. “I missed you this weekend.”

“Me too,” I say, though, in reality, I was relieved to forget about our disastrous rendezvous for a couple days. “But I had to spend some time with Sam.”

“I understand. I can’t wait to meet her.”

I try not to react. It just never occurred to me to introduce the two. I mean maybe, down the road, if this thing with Annika turns into something more, but Sam’s so not ready to be meeting my girlfriend. If Annika even is my girlfriend. Right now, with the way she’s cozying up to me right in front of Mike and Leah, I’d have to say she is. “Sam needs some time,” I say lamely.

“Of course,” she says, kissing my neck intimately. “I’d never pressure her. My stepmom was so desperate for my sister and me to like her that it totally backfired.”

“Oh.” I take a large swig of my beer. I’m not going to read anything into that stepmom comment. She’s just sharing her past, not talking about her relationship with Sam. That would be crazy. Shifting subtly toward Mike, I pick up their conversation.

“You don’t know what it’s like to have kids and responsibilities. You have to get out and have a few beers and just forget about it all once in a while.”

“That’s so sweet,” Leah says. “If I ever have children, I can only hope they’ll have a doting father like you.”

“You guys! Stop!” Annika cries playfully. “I don’t want Trent to have to break up a brawl.”

Mike snorts. “Like he could.”

“Of course he could,” Annika says, rubbing my bicep. “He’s my big strong man.” She leans in for a kiss. I feel really weird with Mike watching, but I don’t see another option. I kiss her.

Mike says, “He might be able to take me, but he’d never be able to handle this wildcat.” He points his beer bottle at Leah, who bursts into laughter.

“How about another round?” I say, suddenly thankful that Mike is here. “Where’s that waiter?”

Lucy

I TRY NOT TO FEEL SELF-CONSCIOUS
as Camille leads me into the martini bar. It’s surprisingly busy for a Tuesday. At least, it’s surprising to me. I haven’t gone out for mid-week cocktails since the early nineties. By the time I finish work, I’ve always been too guilt-riddled to do anything but rush straight home. But Sam assured me that she was helping with setup for the art show. And obviously, Trent could not care less whether I come rushing home or not.

Camille heads straight to the bar, a dark wood and backlit glass construction. The bartender, all tanned and smooth-chested, approaches.

“Gin and tonic?” Camille asks me over her shoulder. I nod and she orders, plopping her breasts on top of the bar. With an appreciative glance, the bartender sets about making our cocktails.

“God,” I whisper as we wait, “everybody’s so ridiculously good-looking in here.”

“Including us,” Camille says confidently.

“Speak for yourself,” I mumble. I don’t mean to be self-deprecating, but I can’t help but feel old and out of place. A woman my age should be home with her daughter … and her husband.

“Please!” my friend cries. She pretends to address the crowd. “Anyone in here been asked out by this year’s Choice Hottie? What? No one?” She turns to me. “Oh, you have?”

“Okay,” I laugh, gathering the G&T that has materialized on the bar. “I’m soooo good-looking.”

“That’s better.” Camille pays the bartender and indicates two vacant seats in the corner. “Quick!” she says, already making a beeline for the stools near the window.

I follow along, trying to ignore the gaggle of tanned, breastimplanted twenty-somethings in knockoff Pucci prints. Of course, theirs is a phony, L.A. type of attractiveness, but I still feel plain in comparison.