Point, Click, Love (25 page)

“Come on, you guys,” said Katie, not very sternly. “Come up here and let’s figure out what we want.”

They climbed up onto the seat and immediately opened their packets of crayons and began coloring. Katie decided to relax and enjoy what was probably their last meal out for a very long time.

When the waitress came around with a steaming pot of coffee, Katie looked up from her menu and nodded with a smile. Then she noticed the growing crowd at the door of the restaurant, and
there at the front, wearing a long-sleeved white shirt, black nylon pants, and a baseball hat, was a familiar face that she couldn’t quite place.

As Katie stared at the man, trying to figure out who he was, he looked over and caught her eye. He, too, stared, giving her a look that said, “Do I know you?” Then, after a few seconds, his face changed with recognition and a huge smile overtook his face. He mouthed the word, “Katie?”

At that very second, Katie also figured out who he was. Nate. This was Nate, the first man she met on Match.com. Now here he was, standing in her and her kids’ favorite breakfast spot, with what looked to be two kids of his own.

Katie found herself smiling too, not sure why but vaguely remembering that she had felt a fondness for Nate. But then she was overcome with embarrassment. She remembered that she had stopped emailing him suddenly, despite the fact that they had really hit it off, for no better reason than the fact that he made a lame joke about fondling melons at the grocery store.

She wanted to look down, hang her head low, but she couldn’t tear herself away from Nate’s wide friendly face peeking out from under the maroon baseball hat of a team she’d never heard of. In an instant, against her will, every moment of the past months flashed before her eyes—every sleazy, sordid, shameful moment—and she couldn’t help but think it all could have been avoided if she had only chosen Nate, if she had only had the good sense to recognize that a harmless vulgar joke from a good man is far preferable to the insipid flattery of a scoundrel.

She looked over at her kids, coloring away, and thought about all that she had hidden from them these past months, all the secrets and lies and half-truths. She no longer wanted to keep anything from them. She would no longer let anyone or anything into her life that she wasn’t prepared to share with them. She looked again at Nate, then at the two boys standing next to him, one
probably Frank’s age and one probably a little older. An overwhelming feeling of regret washed over her, a feeling that this was the direction she should have taken. But then she wondered, need it be a regret? Nate was smiling at her all this time. He didn’t look angry or annoyed. Maybe he didn’t hold Katie’s rude behavior against her after all.

She lifted up her hand and waved. He waved back. Then she motioned for him to come over to her table. Nate bent down and told his sons something, then walked over to Katie’s table.

“Nice to see you, Nate,” said Katie, extending her hand. “Frank, Maggie, this is a friend of mine, Nate.”

“Nice to meet you, Frank and Maggie,” said Nate. “My kids are right over there. Walter and Nick.”

“You know, this booth is pretty big,” said Katie. “If you guys don’t feel like waiting, you could sit with us.”

“That sounds great,” said Nate, and he turned and motioned to his kids to come over.

Once they all settled in and the crayons were evenly distributed, Katie said to Nate in a quiet voice, “Hey, I’m sorry about—”

“Stop,” said Nate. “No need.”

“It’s just that—”

“I know how it goes,” said Nate. “It’s happened to me plenty of times. People change their minds. You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“Thanks,” said Katie. “I think, well … I probably made a mistake.”

“Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t,” said Nate.

“Maybe we could find out?” said Katie.

“Maybe,” said Nate.

Chapter Seventeen

A
s Maxine walked with Ted and Bill along the steep, winding road that led to Jennifer Aniston’s home, she experienced the uncomfortable realization that she had never been so excited about anything in her entire life. Not her marriage, not the birth of her children, not her first art exhibit—nothing in her life seemed to match this moment.

She felt like she was climbing a mountain, eager to reach the summit so she could ask the wise old man sitting cross-legged at the top what it’s all about. Only she wasn’t seeking the wisdom of a learned ascetic but rather a Hollywood starlet with no known credentials in any area besides acting.

Maxine could not be bothered to contemplate what all this said about her as a person, so she blocked it out of her mind and focused
on the situation at hand. Here she was, steps from the house. Who would answer the front door? Would it be Jen? Another celebrity friend? John Mayer? And what would she do once inside? How would she get close enough to Jen to meet her, to talk to her?

When the three of them reached the steps that led up to the house, Maxine suddenly heard an odd buzzing coming from her purse, followed by a piercing chime. Startled, she looked at Ted and Bill.

“Maxine?” said Ted.

“What was that?” asked Maxine.

“Um, could be a text?” said Bill with a slightly annoyed, Valley Girl lilt.

“Oh!” said Maxine. While she had already sent texts to Jake, Maxine had yet to receive one herself, so she hadn’t ever heard that particular vibrating ring tone before. She fumbled through her purse and pulled out her phone—a small, out-of-date flip phone. Still flustered, she couldn’t figure out the right button to press to read the text.

“Here, give it to me,” said Bill, grabbing it out of Maxine’s hand. “Oh, my God, this phone is like straight out of 2005. Did they give it to you for free when you signed up?”

“Yes,” said Maxine sheepishly. She’d never before experienced the unique embarrassment of having made a truly poor consumer decision. “I’m sorry, I’m new to texting.”

“It’s okay, Maxine,” said Ted, trying to make up for Bill’s rudeness. “Some people’s talents go far beyond being able to thumb a tiny keyboard,” he said, rolling his eyes at Bill.

“Whatever,” said Bill, handing the phone back to Maxine. “Who’s Matthew?”

“My son!” Maxine shouted with sudden alarm, grabbing the phone anxiously.

The text read: “Abby goin 2 call u but I dint do it! BTW, siked ur texing!!!”

“What did he say?” asked Ted, genuinely concerned.

“He says my daughter is going to call me and he didn’t do it. Do what? What didn’t he do?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” said Bill as he looked up at the house, which was rapidly filling with guests.

“But he said Abby is going to call,” said Maxine. “Can I text and get a call at the same time?”

“Why don’t you just call Abby?” suggested Ted, with a hint of growing impatience in his voice. He, too, was gazing longingly up at the house.

“Right, yes. Call Abby,” said Maxine. “Should I call our home number?”

“Does Abby have a cell?” asked Bill exasperatedly.

“No. Right. Okay, home number is … Gosh, I haven’t called the house in …” Maxine looked at Ted and Bill, who were staring at each other, their eyes wide, eyebrows raised. “You know what, why don’t you two go ahead and I’ll meet you up there.”

“Awesome!” said Bill.

“Are you sure?” asked Ted.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“All right,” said Ted, relieved. “So just give your name and tell the person at the door you’re with us. Bill Miller. That’s the name they have, right?” Ted asked Bill.

“Yeah,” said Bill distractedly as he turned toward the house.

“Got it, thanks,” said Maxine as she punched in the number.

“See you inside,” said Ted hesitantly.

“Abby?” said Maxine.

“No, it’s Suzanne. Mommy?”

“Hi, Suzanne.” Maxine looked at her watch. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“Abby and Matthew were fighting and they woke me up.”

“You need to go back to bed, sweetie.”

“I did, but then the phone rang.”

“I’m sorry. Where’s Abby?”

“In the bathroom. How are you, Mommy? Where are you? What are you doing?”

“Suzanne, sweetie? I need to talk to Abby first.”

“Okay, but she locked herself in the bathroom after Matt pushed her.”

“What?”

“Hang on, here she is.”

“Mom?” came a muffled voice on the other end.

“Abby?”

“I wath going to caw you.”

“Why are you talking like that, honey?”

“Becauth I have a nathkin on my ip.”

“Well, take the napkin off your lip and talk to me,” said Maxine. “What happened?”

“My lip is bleeding. Matt pushed me.”

“Are you all right, Abby? Is it still bleeding?”

“I don’t know. Hold on, let me check. No, I think it stopped.”

“Why did Matthew push you?”

“I let him borrow my iPod because he couldn’t find his, and then when he gave it back to me all of my music was wiped out! And then he pushed me!”

“Huh?”

“Okay, so first I pushed him, but then he pushed me and I bumped against his dresser and my lip started gushing blood!”

“Gushing!?” Maxine yelled, causing two guests who were walking up to the house to turn around and look at her.

“Maybe not gushing, but bleeding.”

“Abby, where’s your father?”

“He’s at some meeting or something.”

“Why didn’t you call him?”

“I tried, but he’s not picking up.”

“Oh, God,” mumbled Maxine under her breath. A meeting or
something? At this time of night? What the hell was he thinking? “Listen, Abby. Are you all right now? Did the bleeding stop?”

“I gueth,” Abby said glumly, having replaced the napkin on her lip.

“Abby. Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.”

“Listen. I have to go somewhere now. It’s very important. If you need me, just call me. If for some reason your lip starts bleeding again. Okay? And tell Matthew to keep his hands to himself. All right?”

“Okay, Mom. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, honey.”

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Are you having fun?”

“Yes,” said Maxine, watching the people pass her by.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, honey. I can’t talk now. I really gotta go.”

“Suzanne wants to talk to you.”

“Tell her I’ll call back later, sweetheart,” said Maxine. “You guys need to get to bed anyway. Good night, sweetie.”

“Good night, Mom.”

Maxine stuffed her phone back into her purse and hurried up the steps to the house. At the front door stood a young woman holding a walkie-talkie type of device and wearing headphones.

“Hi. I’m Maxine Walters.”

The woman began scrolling through her clipboarded list.

“Oh, no. Um, it’s not there. I’m with Ted. I mean, Bill. Bill …” Maxine was blank. “Ted’s boyfriend? Bill … Miller! Yes! Bill Miller! That’s it.” Maxine smiled contentedly, looking over the woman’s shoulder into the house. The rooms were sparsely furnished, with candles everywhere, giving off a soft orange glow.

“There’s no Bill Miller,” said the woman.

“What?” said Maxine.

“No Bill Miller,” the woman repeated in a listless monotone, which signaled that she felt so far superior to Maxine that she wasn’t even going to waste her energy being haughty. “Would you like me to look up another name?”

“Maybe it’s under Ted? Ted … oh, what’s Ted’s last name? Did he ever tell me? I don’t think so.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, because I don’t have any Teds either.”

“This is crazy!” said Maxine. “They just walked in a few minutes ago. Two guys. Cute, young, gay.”

“Uh-huh,” said the woman with insincere patience.

“What do you mean, ‘uh-huh’? What does that mean?” Maxine said heatedly.

“It means ‘uh-huh,’ ” said the woman, finally allowing herself to show her disdain for Maxine.

“You don’t need to talk to me like that,” said Maxine. “I’m an invited guest to this party. I’m on the list!”

“No, you’re not on the list.”

“Well, my friend is.”

“Actually, he’s not on the list either.”

“Well, he’s in the party right now, and if you would let me go get him, he would tell you that I’m invited.”

The woman gave Maxine a “yeah, right” look. “Why don’t you call him?” she said.

“Right!” Maxine’s face lit up with delight. “I can call him. Thank you!” she said with a smile. As Maxine scrolled through her contacts, looking for Ted’s number, she noticed the woman staring at her phone with a confused look. “It’s a loaner,” said Maxine with annoyance. “My real one is in the shop.” In the shop? Were phones like cars?

Maxine dialed, but the call went right to voice mail. It didn’t even ring.

“He must have it turned off,” she said to the woman, searching her face for a glimmer of sympathy.

“Sorry,” said the woman, reverting back to her monotone.

“Listen,” said Maxine. “You’ve got to understand. I’m not a crasher. I’m an artist. I’ve got a show at the Susan Shackelford Gallery. For real!”

“Look, Maxine—Maxine, is it? That’s fine, but do you understand where you are?”

“Yes.”

“Right. And do you think I can let anyone through these doors unless I’m one hundred percent positive that they are on the list?”

“Okay.”

“Uh-huh. Because if I make a mistake and you go in there and do something crazy, which I can’t say is out of the realm of possibility, then it’s my job. Get it?”

The woman’s guard seemed to be dropping ever so slightly. Maxine saw her chance.

“Of course, I understand. It’s your job! But, I promise, I’m a normal person who wouldn’t do anything to embarrass you. I mean, I’m from the Midwest!”

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave now,” said the woman, as she smiled at a couple who had just arrived and were standing behind Maxine.

“Are you serious?” asked Maxine in genuine disbelief. “You’re really not going to let me in?” Her voice was getting louder, her tone more angrily sarcastic. “Me? I’m a harmless forty-two-year-old mom! And you—some idiotic twenty-something starfucker—are going to turn me away?” Maxine paused to catch her breath and noticed the woman talking into her headpiece. “What? You’re calling for help?”