Every Other Saturday (9 page)

“Of course,” Dave said.

“I recommend a twenty-four-hour gym for late-night woman problems.”

“Yes, sir.”

The radio on the officer’s shoulder chirped and he bent his head to listen. He waved a hand at Dave as he returned to his patrol car and sped away, lights flashing. Dave got in his truck, wiped a layer of sweat with a fast-food napkin, and reapplied deodorant from his gym bag. He changed quickly back into his khakis and drove to Julia’s with the windows down, enjoying the strangely calming effect of the humid August air whipping around him.

# # #

When Julia got home at midnight, Elizabeth sat cross-legged on the couch, little belly just protruding over her sweatpants, both thumbs typing furiously at her phone. She smiled at Julia, and then looked back at her phone and laughed. “Sorry,” she said. “Some friends are texting me from a bar. It’s pretty ridiculous. How was your evening?”

“Totally exhausting,” Julia said, too tired to put a better face on it than that.

“Oh, right. I forgot you were working.” Elizabeth sounded almost sad. Was it the most pathetic thing in the world that a private preschool mom had to work on her feet for a living?

Julia ignored her paranoia. “How were they tonight? Any problems?”

“Perfect,” Elizabeth said. “We made potholders—they’re all on the table. Brandon did get upset that he couldn’t find his lip balm, but I had some in my purse and he got okay with it after awhile.” She added hastily, “I wiped it off with my finger.”

“Were they up late?”

“Not very. You know Mia; she was out halfway through story time. Lyric whimpered a little bit before nodding off.”

Elizabeth stood and grabbed a lightweight jacket from the arm of the sofa. Julia walked her to the door, digging in her pockets for the cash Caroline had given her at the end of the evening. Dave would pay her back for his portion when he got home.

She had enough for Elizabeth with twelve dollars left over. As she said good night and watched the younger woman get into her car, Julia calculated that she would have barely made enough to cover blister ointment and Band-Aids if they weren’t sharing the babysitting costs. She was glad for the help, but the feeling of being in Dave Bernstein’s debt was unsettling in a way she couldn’t fully articulate.

He came home almost an hour later, at 1:15 in the morning. Julia was dozing on the couch with an old paperback on her lap and some sort of true crime show on television. His soft knock woke her just in time to wipe the drool off her chin before he came in, wiping his feet.

“Hey,” he said. “How’d it go?”

She relayed the conversation with Elizabeth, leaving out the part about the lip balm. His eyebrows shot up when she mentioned Lyric whimpering at bedtime. “Does she do that in strange houses?”

“She hasn’t spent much time away from home overnight,” he said. “Except occasional vacations. And, um, my house, when I first moved. But she adapted pretty well.”

“Don’t you think she’ll settle in after a couple of times in Mia’s room?” Julia tried to hide the desperation in her voice. This had to work out, at least until she could come up with something else.

“Sure,” Dave said. “She’s a tough kid. She’ll be fine.”

“How was it?” Julia glanced at the clock over the television. “It must have gone well.”

He followed her gaze, and then looked back at her, sheepish. “Sorry. Did I keep you up? You don’t have to—I could have a key, or… you could leave it under the mat when you go to bed.”

“Don’t be silly.” She stifled a yawn and walked to the kitchen table. “I’m a night owl.”

“Do you think this is going to be okay for you? I’m not always very good at this stuff, but this feels like it could get…weird. Like I’m talking to my parents after a date.”

She snorted involuntarily. “Wow.”

“My sister, obviously. My younger, way more attractive sister.”

“Overcorrection.” Julia narrowed her eyes. It was sort of funny, watching him squirm. She had only ever seen him confident and blustery. She handed him the pink and white potholder Elizabeth had showed her was Lyric’s.

“Wow. She made these with them?”

“I know. She’s superhuman,” Julia said. “And this isn’t weird for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ve had guy roommates before. They told me all about the girls they were seeing and it was never awkward.” She didn’t mention that this was because she and Adam were married and two of his fraternity brothers lived with them in their first rented home. “It can be like that. You don’t have to tell me anything about your dates, unless you want to. And if I go to bed, I’ll leave a key under the mat. It’s no big deal.”

The truth was, she was dying of curiosity. How did a first date starting at seven end at one in the morning? He was sober, but disheveled. Julia had a sudden vision of Dave on the bench seat of his shiny red truck, some hot girl straddling his lap, steaming up the windows in an empty parking lot. She needed a life. Soon.

“So what’s the damage?”

“Sorry?”

“What time did you get home? You paid Elizabeth, I assume.”

“Oh, right. About an hour ago.”

He handed her a few crisp bills and tucked his wallet back into his pocket. “So.”

“So.”

“Guess I’ll go get the munchkin.”

“Right!” Julia said, stupidly. She’d almost forgotten Lyric. “Of course.”

“So, are they…like, dating-dating?” Lianne asked, her eyes wide. She sank onto a patio chair, forgetting a bag of hamburger buns. Dave had told them about his date with Betty Rubble the night before, but the news about Debbie and Aaron was far more scintillating. Lianne lowered her voice and glanced toward the house, where they could see Lyric and Cooper through the windows, playing restaurant. “That can’t be right. Is it possible Lyric misunderstood?”

“That was my first thought, too,” Dave said. “But he was definitely over there, drinking wine, and when I confronted her, she basically admitted it.”

“Basically admitted it?” Max had turned from the big gas grill where he was making burgers. “Do you think she was just messing with you? Maybe she was pissed that you broke into her house—total dick move, by the way.”

“Don’t you start with that,” Dave said. “I apologized to her. But wouldn’t you have done the same? It’s Aaron.”

Max whistled. “Man. Can’t believe sweet little Aaron had the balls.”

“But that’s totally wrong, don’t you think?” Lianne said. “Isn’t that against the bro code?”

“It’s against
every
code,” Dave said.

“I don’t know.” Max met Dave’s angry stare. “Never mind.” He turned back to the grill and unnecessarily adjusted the burgers with the spatula.

“What?” Dave and Lianne said simultaneously.

“Nothing.” Max faced them, his uncertain expression alternating between his wife and best friend. He looked uncomfortable. “It’s just…”

“You are not fucking serious.” Anger rose in Dave’s gut. “You are
not
about to defend him.”

“Honey, you can’t possibly think it would be okay for Aaron and Debbie to get involved.” Lianne got up to finish laying out buns and condiments. Dave had always, always liked Lianne.

“Babe, you haven’t been around as long. There’s more to it. You didn’t know us in college.”

“Un. Fucking. Believable.” Dave scowled. He took his empty beer bottle to the recycling bin Max kept in the corner of the patio under an awning, letting it clatter loudly against the plastic.

“I am
not
defending him,” Max said. “I’m just explaining to my lovely wife that it’s complicated. When we were at Georgia, and we first met Debbie and her friends, it was at a crush party with our fraternity and her sorority.”

Dave bit his lip to avoid interjecting, focusing instead on retrieving another beer from the cooler. How could something that happened almost twenty years ago have any relevance now?

“That was almost a year before Debbie and Dave started dating,” he said to Lianne. Then to Dave, “You were still seeing that Emily chick, remember? At the time, that seemed pretty serious.”

Dave shuddered dramatically. Emily. What a train wreck.

“Anyway, we started hanging around with this group of girls a good bit, just fun. But Aaron developed a big crush on Debbie.”

“It wasn’t a big crush.” Dave looked at Lianne, as though she were a judge hearing his case. “That’s not how I remember it.”

“You weren’t around all the time. He had it bad for her. He used to make up songs on his guitar about her and torture us with them.”

“Awww.” Lianne pursed her lips. “I can totally see Aaron doing that.”

Dave glared at her. “Whose side are you on, Benedict Arnold?”

She looked chastised. “So did Debbie return his feelings?”

“No,” Dave said emphatically. “She didn’t, I’m sure of that much.”

Max shrugged. “True. Aaron definitely approached her a couple of times and it was clear she wasn’t interested.” He looked at Dave. “By the time you guys ended up together, we all thought Aaron had pretty much given up on her anyway.”

“Burgers, babe,” Lianne said suddenly and Max turned back to the grill, hurriedly flipping. “I’ll go get the platter.”

While Lianne was inside, Dave put a bun on one of the paper plates. “Are you saying Debbie and I shouldn’t have dated in college because Aaron wanted her first? If you recall, I was not the one who instigated that. Remember the spring formal?”

Lianne returned with an empty platter. “Now that sounds like a story I need to hear.”

“Maybe later, babe. And of course that’s not what I’m saying. It’s just…” Max adjusted imaginary glasses in his best Woody Allen impression. “The heart wants what it wants.”

“You’re a tool,” Dave said.

Max laughed and unloaded a burger onto Dave’s bun. “Anyway. The blog. I love this new angle you’ve added. Kind of a date doctor for lonely Jewish women.”

“So I guess we’re changing the subject?”

Max shrugged and took the platter from his wife, who kissed him on the cheek. “Yeah, dude. If you’re going to be saving all Atlanta’s Jewish ladies from becoming spinsters, we probably need to develop a strategy.”

Lianne bumped Max playfully from behind with her hip. “Hey! Don’t assume all the women on J-Date are lonely and pathetic. Being a single Jewish girl is tough in this town. I remember it all too well.”

“Careful,” Max said. “If you knock my schwartz onto the grill, Cooper will be an only child forever.”

Dave cringed. “That’s not the kosher dog I bargained for, man.”

“Seriously,” Lianne said. “I have girlfriends who moved to New York because they couldn’t find a decent Jewish guy here.” She selected an olive from the table and popped it into her mouth. “So what exactly are you going to be blogging about these women? Everything that’s wrong with them?”

“No way,” Dave said. “Even I am not that stupid. Just some honest ideas about how they can be a better first date. A guy’s perspective. And after last night, I can tell you it’s needed.”

Lianne wrinkled her nose. “Sounds kind of sexist. No offense. Like, they’re supposed to make themselves more appealing to you. What about how you can be more appealing to them?”

Dave shrugged. “They can respond with that if they want. I can take as good as I give.” He scooped a handful of potato chips onto his plate and made his way to a cushioned patio chair. “Besides, women don’t seem to think it’s too sexist. Since I added it to my profile, I have the next three dates lined up.”

“Women want this, babe.” Max encircled his wife’s waist with one arm, spatula in the other. “Like you said, it’s hard being single. Every little bit helps.”

“What could I have done better on our first date, then?” she challenged.

Max shot Dave a panicked look. Dave took a huge bite of burger and pointed at his mouth in mock helplessness.

“That’s…different. We met at a wedding—that’s not a real first date.”

“So what does Dave from the Cave have to say,” Lianne took the burgers from Max and set them on the table, “about a bridesmaid who gets drunk at a wedding and goes back to another guest’s hotel room that very same night?”

Dave washed the burger down with a swig of beer. “Since you married him two years later? I say mazel tov.”

Lianne gave him a gratified smile. “I still say you’re opening a big can of worms here, Dave. Be careful.”

“I think it’s worth it,” Max said. “The publicity will probably drive enough additional advertising on your blog to cover the expenses. Plus, you can bring in more female followers.”

“Do I need more women?” Dave asked.

Lianne snorted.

“No offense,” Dave said to her. “But it’s
Tales from the
Man
Cave
.”

Lianne gave him a challenging look. “Women control 67% of household spending. Even more than that online.”

“So advertisers like them,” Max added quickly. “How many of your current readers are women?”

“I don’t know—maybe eight, ten percent.”

“That many? Even after the hot dog thing?”

“Okay, yeah. Let’s say six percent.”

Lianne groaned and rolled her eyes. Max settled himself in the chair across from Dave. “If you do this dating thing right, you could win them back and then some. We can call up Gillette and see if they want to do some crossover ads, or Gatorade—get ads with Mia Hamm or someone.”

“Mia Hamm retired more than a decade ago. And I feel a little uncomfortable using my personal life as a platform like this.”

“Said the man who live-Tweeted his prostate exam.”

Dave smirked. “That was gold. Besides, it was for a good cause.”

Max and Lianne exchanged a look. She glanced at the window and walked behind Dave’s chair, putting her hands on his shoulders. “That’s just it, honey,” she said gently, before heading inside to call the kids out for dinner. “
You
are a good cause.”

“She’s right,” Max said. “You want to help these women or get publicity for your blog, that’s great. We support you. But don’t lose sight of the dating part. You need to invest some time in a relationship that’s not a shit spiral with your ex-wife.”

Before Dave could respond, he heard the patio door open and his daughter’s voice echoing across the late August evening.

# # #

Aaron came to see him the next day. Dave was at his desk, editing the first date blog, when his old friend knocked lightly on the open office door. Aaron was smaller and thinner than Dave; he had a long, thin face made longer by the bushy russet beard he’d worn on and off since college. He was in his customary IT guy uniform of worn khaki utility pants and one of his huge collection of obnoxious t-shirts. This one was gray and read, “Shawshank State Prison, Accounting Department.”

“You always leave your front door unlocked?” Aaron said.

“Not anymore,” Dave said acidly. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering my calls. Or texts. Or emails.”

Dave hesitated, and then nodded at a nearby camp chair—the only other seat in the sparsely furnished room. He usually kept his office closed off to visitors. If the guys came over, they were always either in the kitchen or in the basement Man Cave where Dave did his videos.

The silence went on for another beat before Aaron broke it. “Nice setup.”

The tiny office held a huge desk, Dave’s computer, a server in the corner with tangled wires protruding from it, and a few shelves crammed with papers, tapes, and equipment. Unlike the Man Cave, there was almost no personal décor or sports memorabilia—just his autographed Hank Aaron bat leaning in the corner, a visual reminder to strive for greatness.

“I’m sure you could improve on it.” Dave gestured to the blinking boxes. “I set most of it up myself.”

Aaron continued looking around, appraising and, Dave knew, making IT improvements in his head. He fidgeted awkwardly, but Dave wasn’t going to help him out. Whatever this conversation was, Aaron was going to have to man up and start it himself.

Dave stared at him, waiting. Daring.

“So…” Aaron began.

“So.”

His friend took a deep breath. “Okay, out with it. I’m really nervous about this, and I questioned my own sanity repeatedly on the way over here, but I’m here to ask permission to date Debbie.”

“Permission? What am I, her dad?”

Aaron’s face clouded. “Of course not. Shit, I didn’t think of asking her dad.”

“Don’t. He’s an asshole.”

“I know. I’ve met him—with you guys. Sorry, I’m getting off track.”

“Oh, we’re off track? Tell me which crazy fucking track we are supposed to be on that involves you fucking my wife?”

“We’re not—and she’s your ex-wife.”

“Then why are you here?”

Aaron was quiet for a beat. “Dave, you’re my oldest friend.”

“Yeah, and I can see how much you value that friendship.”

Aaron sighed. “Shit. I knew this was going to suck.” He got up awkwardly from the camp chair. “I’m sorry. Let’s talk later, okay?”

“When? When I’ve calmed down? Is there some point in the future where you can possibly imagine me being calm about this? You think we’ll all go bowling together next week or something?”

“No,” Aaron admitted. “I’ve had a hard time imagining the future at all. I just know how I feel, and that I can’t act on that unless I know you’re going to be okay.”

“At this point, I’m surprised you’re even concerned about me.”

“I’m concerned about all of us. You, me, Debbie. And Lyric.”

“Don’t talk about Lyric, Aaron.”

“She’s part of this, isn’t she? I love that kid like she was mine.”

A red rage lowered over Dave’s eyes like a curtain. His words came out low, more vicious than he intended. “But she’s
not
yours, Aaron.”

His friend flinched visibly at the words, and Dave regretted them almost immediately. Aaron had always wanted children, but he’d had very few relationships, and could never seem to take any of them past the four-month mark. He was their single friend; that’s just the way it was. He had been an amazing honorary uncle, closer to Lyric than any of her real uncles by far. Now that Max was busier with Lianne and Cooper, Aaron was the most consistent guy in Lyric’s life besides Dave.

But the anger wouldn’t be set aside. This was too big. There were some lines you just didn’t cross. “If you love her so much, don’t you think you should refrain from screwing up her life?”