Dating da Vinci (30 page)

“So why did you do it?”

His eyebrows rose. “I was in love. If you look up ‘fool in love‘ in the dictionary, there I am. I was crazy about Monica, since we were ten years old. But Joel was the smart one, the funny one, and he won her heart. It was only after Monica would do something stupid, like flirt with another boy in school, or start nitpicking him, that he'd break up with her and she'd come crying to me.”

“But why would he break up with her if he loved her?”

“Well, it got to be a pattern with them. Plus this ping-pong relationship started when we were thirteen, and I guess in some ways, they never really matured beyond that. Monica drove him crazy. She was so beautiful, and all she'd have to say to get his attention was that another man flirted with her. In high school, all the college guys were after her, and in college, all the graduates were after her, and it was all too much for him sometimes. He felt like he'd never be enough for her.”

“But you were there waiting in the wings?”

“I can't really explain it. It wasn't a malicious thing. I really was there as a shoulder to cry on, but when you're sixteen and
hormones are raging, things just get out of hand. And I knew they weren't meant to be together. They fought all the time. Monica can be hard to handle.”

“But you know how to handle her?”

Jonathon crossed his arms, his biceps bulging against his chest. “We're equals. She couldn't throw it in my face that she could have any guy she wanted, because I was that guy. And she knows I could say the same.”

“She told me you had a reputation.”

“I didn't go through so many women to be a dick. I did it looking for someone I could love as much as I loved Monica. But I never found her.”

“So she told Joel about you against your will?”

“No. I threatened to tell Joel if she didn't first. I couldn't stand the thought of them getting married without him knowing that we'd been together before, even though it was over.”

“But would it have been? Truly over?”

Jonathon shook his head. “She says so, but I knew better. I knew that I would be friends with Joel until I died. I would've married someone I loved just less than Monica, someone to keep me from being lonely, to have children with, and we'd be together every week, our families. At birthday parties and summer vacations. And Monica would be there in her teeny bikini taunting me, this terrible secret between us. And she and Joel would continue to fight and I wouldn't be able to say no to her. It would've been a miserable life.”

“But you're miserable now.”

“I'm only miserable when I think about Joel. Just full of regret, though the therapists tell me the life I have now is far superior to the one I described to you. But when Monica told me you two were going to talk, I knew I had to get to you first.”

“Why?”

“Because Monica doesn't know that Joel forgave me.”

“He
what?
”

“He forgave me. About three months before he died. He was working on the new law firm, and Monica told me she was having meetings with him. So I called him up.”

“Because you were scared they would do something?”

“No. Maybe. I don't know. I never really worried about them after he found you. You were the woman I always imagined him with.”

“You did? How so?”

“He needed someone to make him feel good about himself. To not belittle his ambitions. Someone who wanted to make family a priority. He needed an equal.”

“And
that
was
me
?”

“Of course. You were both attractive and smart and funny. You complemented each other.”

“But I was going to ask Monica if he cheated on me before he died.”

“He told me you thought that. So he gave up the account and swore he'd never see her again.”

“I wonder why he didn't mention the meeting with you?”

“I don't know. I just know I couldn't tell Monica that he forgave me, because he never forgave her. I wanted to be friends with him again. I know I couldn't get back the type of friendship that we had before or the trust, but I was willing to try. But it wouldn't have worked out, my sneaking behind my wife's back to be friends with the man she loved.”

“Doesn't that drive you insane that she loved him more?”

“I know my wife: she wants what she can't have. And because they were always two puzzle pieces that never quite fit, she made it her mission to force them to fit. But she didn't love him more, only differently. So stop worrying.”

“But he
did
cheat on me, didn't he?”

“I never asked him, but it was me who couldn't say no to Monica, not your husband.”

“So then, why do you think she wants to meet with me? To confess?”

“I think she just wants to make sure you're leading a good life. Maybe she feels guilty that she didn't end up with him. Think about it: if Joel would've gone through with marrying her,
she
would've been the widow.”

“And then she would've come back to you.”

“Exactly. Kids and all, she would've come back to me.”

“So you two would've ended up together no matter what.”

“No matter what.” He stood to leave, and I hugged him goodbye. I thought about destiny and fate, and the possibility that he was right: no matter what, they
would
have ended up together. I hugged him once for me and once for Joel. I could feel Joel's presence around us, and I knew Joel would be happy that Jonathon had come to set things straight.

I wiped away the tears in my eyes. “Thank you, Jonathon. You have no idea how much this helped.”

“Thank you for loving him. He may have lived a short life, but it was the one that he deserved, thanks to you.”

“IT'S THE THIRD NIGHT in a row,” I whined into the phone, then quickly added, “not that I'm keeping track.”

Bellezza licked my feet. I'd been baking and basting and cleaning since sunrise, getting ready for Thanksgiving the following day. In addition to my family, I invited Zoya and Donald and, yes, da Vinci. Then there was the matter of Cortland, possibly arriving for pie, but my first three attempts at the pecan recipe my mom-in-law raved about were disastrous. I couldn't seem to get it together this year.

Da Vinci promised he'd be home before bedtime, and when I'd hung up, William was standing behind me, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Is
that
what you're wearing tonight?”

I smoothed my outfit: sweatpants and a fitted T-shirt, a slight improvement over my pre-da Vinci attire. At least my sweatpants didn't have holes in them and the Birks had been donated to Goodwill. “Honey, we're not having company until tomorrow.”

His face corked into a scowl. “What did da Vinci say? Is he coming home or not?”

I ruffled his hair. “You like him, huh?”

William pushed up his glasses on his nose. “He promised we could play Scrabble later. Can I stay up late?”

I glanced over at the kitchen table with the Scrabble board already neatly arranged. And it wasn't even Friday. I felt the anger rise up to my temples. He could disappoint me all day long, but not my boys. “Yes, he'll be here later, sweetie. But if you want Mommy to play…”

William shook his head. “No can do, Mommy-o. We're playing Italian–English Scrabble tonight. He can only spell words in English and I can only spell them in Italian. That way, he can win, because I don't know much Italian.”

“That's awfully nice of you. Just don't be disappointed if you can't play until tomorrow. He may be home late.”

“So don't you think you should change clothes, then?”

“For da Vinci?” I considered my undergarments, the funderwear I purposely wore in case of his return. It was the undressing that mattered most.

William shrugged his tiny shoulders. “Suit yourself, Mom. But it wouldn't hurt to wear a little makeup.”

I touched my hand to my cheek. Why did William care so much? Was he worried about me losing da Vinci, too? I had dyed my hair, bleached my teeth, microdermed my face, and lost fifteen pounds, but it was much more for me than da Vinci. “Is that so? I guess I could put on a little blush.”

He wiggled his loose front tooth with his tongue, obviously proud of himself. “Good plan, Mom.”

Every once in a while he slipped up and called me Mommy, but for the most part I was simply referred to as the less endearing “mom.” A milestone in the toddler-to-gradeschooler transition. I shrugged it off, remembering I hadn't gotten the mail that day and walked to the mailbox in my bunny slippers when I saw Cortland pull up in the duck house driveway across the street. I tried to duck behind the mailbox (no pun intended) and thought I'd scurry in before he spotted me. Thanks to William, I felt self-conscious about my looks. Perhaps I actually cared
a little
.

“Hey!” Cortland yelled, and I turned around, rolling my shoulders back, as if that would make me suddenly put together.

“Hey, yourself.” Another car pulled up next to his.

“Inspection,” he yelled back.

I waved my bills at him. “Good for you.” I turned around again, simultaneously hoping that they'd find massive termite damage to keep him from moving in and hoping the place's only sin was its tackiness. Cortland sprinted across the street and stopped by my side, so close he could see the lack of rouge on my cheeks.

“Hey, are you still making that pecan pie?”

“I don't know why Judith said that. She compliments me when she shouldn't. It's just an ordinary pie—nothing special.”

“They say it's not the food that counts, but the company you keep.”

I shrugged. “Suit yourself. I'm sure Rachel will want you to come over.”

Cortland put his hands on his hips. “I'm talking to her tomorrow.”

I slapped the mail against my thigh. “Please tell me you're not going to be the heartless asshole that breaks up with my sister on Thanksgiving Day.”

“She suggested we move in together until I told her I was moving across the street from you.”

“I told you she wouldn't like it.”

“You called it. But I couldn't stand being in my wife's house one more minute. It was time to start a new chapter of my life. A fresh start.”

“That's not easy to do.”

“I like a good challenge. Like getting you to give me a chance.”

“You don't know anything about me.”

“Well, I know enough to know I'd like to know more.”

I kicked a rock with my bunny slipper's nose. “I suppose it would be a safe and wise choice to get to know my new neighbor.”

“Like favorite food? 35 Across.”

I grinned, remembering that morning's crossword. “Twoeg-gsovereasy.”

“I think I speak your language, Rames.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Maybe so, but it just wouldn't be a good idea to date you after my sister. She would never forgive me.”

Cortland's smile left his face. “Come on. You really think she'd care?”

“She'd at least pretend to. She's a drama queen.”

“This much I know.” Cortland glanced back at his duck house. “Well, can I at least get your neighborly opinion on a few things in the house?”

“You need a woman's perspective?”

“Always.”

I followed him across the street. The inspector was up on the roof, and we entered the house, the smell of vanilla Plug-Ins washing over us. “Very ducky,” I said, noting the feathered creatures everywhere— stenciled, painted, wallpapered.

Cortland shook his head. “Sometimes you have to look beyond how things are now and think about what they could be. You know?”

“Potential? Of course. You should've seen my house before we bought it. The former owner loved pink. Every room, wall and carpet was some shade of pink.”

“I knew you could help. C'mere.” He took my hand and led me into the kitchen, to the thirty-year-old olive-green appliances, stained linoleum floor, and stark, white-tiled countertops. “I'm going to rip out the kitchen. Install granite instead. Black, you think?”

I shook my head. “Too stark. Go with a beige blend.”

“Stainless steel appliances?”

“Why not?”

“And what do you think about stained concrete flooring?”

“Sounds cold.”

Cortland inched closer to me and looked down at my feet. “That's what bunny slippers are for.”

I cleared my throat, noticing the outdated lighting. “There's a great lighting store, locally owned, just a couple blocks over.”

“Maybe you could go with me?”

I stared at my feet, knocking my heels together like Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz. “
Look, Cortland.”

“You won't be able to get rid of me that easily. Especially since I'm right across the street. Here, let me show you something. It's the reason I wanted this house.”

I followed him down the narrow hallway to a large bedroom, which I quickly gathered was the master with a large bay window that offered a lovely view into the backyard.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?”

The koi pond was surrounded by stones with a bench and a walking path that winded to another sitting area and fall flowers everywhere in golds, reds, purple and whites. “Perfect for entertaining, being the mover and shaker you are.”

“Or just unwinding after a long day. Come on.” We walked out the patio door to the pond where two dozen koi swam around, their bright orange scales glistening in the fading sunlight. He led me down the stone path to the seating area with a swing facing a bed of mums, in which stood a statue of a duck and a row of her ducklings. We sat on the swing, me on one end and Cortland on the other. He rocked us gently, his foot tapping on the earthen floor.

“Nice ducks.”

“I'm thinking of naming them. Besides, I don't want Mrs. Thompson to haunt me if I remove all of her beloved ducks.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He pointed. “That one on the left? He's totally Mr. Quackers. And the one on the end? Yellowbelly. That's all I've got.”

I laughed. “So this is why you wanted the house?”

“Think you might slip over at night after you tuck the boys in? We can come back here and rock, and you can tell me all of your troubles.”

“Troubles?”

“As in problems, trials, tribulations, woe, grief, heartache.”