Starting Over (18 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I
t really went that well?”

This is coming from Julia, who has asked me that same question about a dozen times in the five minutes I’ve been in their house later that same night. Josie had promised to babysit for them earlier in the week, so I had to stop by here to drop her off.

“Seriously? Like you didn’t gut him like a fish or anything?” she asks while tidying up the kitchen. And then she freezes when a thought occurs to her. “Wait a second. I’m not going to see anything about you on the ten o’clock news, am I? Because I have to admit, that might be a little awesome.”

“No, no, and no,” I say.

“So then everything worked out for the best and Josie seems okay with it?” Alex asks, after shooting a confused look to his wife.

We all look to where Josie is helping Violet color some pieces of paper on the floor in the family room, out of earshot.

“I think so,” I say and turn to face them. “I have a feeling that she would have said something to me if it wasn’t okay.”

“Then what’s next?” Alex asks.

I run through the preliminary details, having spoken to my attorney again this afternoon after Matthew left. And in fact, he had already spoken to his and asked for the petition to be dropped. Now it’s just a question of working out visitation and perhaps child support.

“What do you mean, ‘perhaps child support’?” Julia asks with a face that looks like her eyebrows could not possibly go any higher if she tried. “Girlie, if you don’t make that motherf—”

“Stop. Please. Don’t. I get it, Julia, and thank you so very much for the reminder,” I say to her. “I need to think about it a little more because I’ve been fine all this time and I don’t know . . . I feel like it makes me look like that’s all I care about. Is that weird?”

“Yes,” from Julia and a no from my brother.

They look at each other, and she squints her eyes at him, trying her hardest to look evil, which makes him chuckle and blow her off completely. “Listen,” he says, “so long as you and Josie are happy, I’m sure that part of it will work itself out.”

“It better,” Julia mumbles underneath her breath.

I get up to leave after saying good-bye to Josie and letting her know that I’ll be back to pick her up by eleven o’clock. In my head I’m thinking that I’ll just drive straight home and . . .

And do what exactly?

I’m not in the mood to paint. Actually, I’m too moody to paint or draw or work on any of the unfinished pieces I have in my studio at the moment. So what am I going to do? Sit around and twiddle my thumbs?

Then an idea pops into my head, and before I can chicken out, I jump into my car and drive straight to Cameron’s house. In the twenty or so minutes it takes me to get there, I start having second thoughts. But then I convince myself that I should just keep driving, so I do.

When I reach his street, I stop midway and pull over, putting my car in park and staring down the rest of the road that leads to his driveway, wondering if I’m doing the right thing here.

Stop it, Vanessa, just drive
, I tell myself.

I finally make it to his house and park next to his car but just end up sitting in my own car again. It’s as if my body is stuck to this seat and there is no way I can get out. I try to rack my brain to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. Why can’t I go that extra step here? Then my cell phone buzzes in my purse.

I dig through and see that it’s Cameron calling. Well, if there ever was a sign, which I don’t necessarily believe in, this is it.

“Hello,” I say into the phone. “I was just thinking about you.”

“That’s funny, because so was I. Well, obviously I was since I dialed your number and we’re talking and stuff,” he says. Then he’s quiet for a second again. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

I smile into the phone, picturing him rubbing the back of his neck as a nervous reflex while he’s talking to me. “You were a little bit, yes, but that’s okay.”

“You make me a little nervous,” he says. “And as I’ve already told you, I’m not very good at this.”

I think back to all the times we’ve seen each other, and everything else in between, and wonder how in the world he can possibly think this about himself. Then I wonder why the hell I’m sitting here still in the car when I can be seeing him in person just a few steps away.

“So how did it go today?” he asks suddenly, changing the subject.

I was getting ready to get out of the car when he asks this of me. For some reason, his concern switches on something inside of me. It’s so hard to explain, but it’s as if my brain comes to a sudden realization that I should stop this before it goes any further . . . even though it’s already gone much further than I expected with Cameron. But my heart starts to pound in my chest like a bass drum as I battle with this right outside his door and in his driveway of all places.

If it were any other time in my life—free of stress and without having to worry about making sure everything keeps going smoothly with Josie and her father—I’d be okay, I think. But I can’t seem to let go of the fact that she still needs me. And in order for me to be there for her, I must be able to focus on her. With Cameron in the picture, I don’t think that I can do that to the best of my abilities, and I owe that to my daughter after messing up so badly up to this point.

Maybe these are all stupid excuses for me simply being afraid of getting hurt again. Because if Cameron and I move to the next step, and the step beyond that, and it doesn’t work out, then it’s not only me I have to be concerned about getting hurt . . . it’s Josie too.

And I can’t let that happen.

“It went fine,” I say to him. “Really well, actually.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m happy for you and for Josie.”

A long silence stretches between us. Then he asks, “Is it too soon to ask when I can see you again?”

“Cameron—”

“I was wondering because—”

“Wait a second, I need to say something and I need to say it now before I change my mind.”

“Sure, sure, sorry about that.”

God, why does he have to be so nice? It makes this that much more difficult. And then I smile to myself, thinking of how he was worried about me calling him nice in the past, since nice guys always finish last. Sadly, he was right in this case, and now I’m convinced I’m the world’s worst person.

“Listen, Cameron,” I say with trepidation thick in my throat. “My daughter really needs me right now, and I think it would be best if we take time to think things over.”

I hear his steady breathing on the line, so I know he’s still there. Probably questioning why he ever decided to date me in the first place; probably wishing he’d chosen the cupcake lady after all. After a few seconds of radio silence, I ask, “Can you say something?”

“We’re breaking up, right?” he asks, more to himself, I think, so I don’t answer. “I mean, that’s essentially what you’re saying to me. Because, let me get this straight, it’s not the right time for you?”

I guess when you break it down, yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. And yup, it sounds as awful in my head as it does when he says it like that to me.

“Vanessa, can I ask you something? When will it ever be the right time for you? Because if you think life will ever get easier, it won’t. Sometimes you have to take a chance . . . this is one of those times, because I know that you feel more than just simple attraction between us, that there is something here worth investing the time in.”

He’s right about that part . . . I did feel it, I still do. But it’s also a little scary to me, the not knowing what’s going to happen. I’ve been able to live my life for so long with just worrying about one person that I don’t think I can handle much else, especially right now . . . or ever. Maybe all those jokes I’ve made to Josie about starting to date when I get into an old folks’ home aren’t jokes at all but what’s really in store for me.

“So I don’t have any say in this?” he asks while I’m sitting here silent and having a mini meltdown parked in his driveway. “Because I say we should see where this takes us, Vanessa.”

“I want to, Cameron, I really do, but—”

“But what? You just said so yourself: you want to.”

“But it’s not enough, not right now,” I say, and with that he’s the one to go quiet again. “Cameron, it wouldn’t be fair to you or to us.” After a long pause, and with nothing coming from his end, I say softly, “I’m sorry. I wish things could be different, I really do. But I just can’t right now.”

“So there’s nothing else left to say, is there?”

“No, I guess not.”

I put the car in reverse and slowly and ever so quietly roll down his driveway without Cameron ever knowing how close I am to him right now. It’s not until I get to the end of the street that I hang up, since neither of us wants to say good-bye.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I
t took a while, but after a few weeks of back and forth between our attorneys, Matthew and I come up with a plausible visitation schedule and child support arrangement, which Julia is way too excited over. I haven’t decided yet on legal paternity, but, much to my own surprise, I haven’t ruled it out. Matthew has been holding up his side of the bargain, so we’ll see about that part later on . . . much later.

Josie has been adjusting nicely and seems genuinely happy to have her father in her life. She’s been seeing him once a week after school and one day each weekend so far. Matthew has been sticking to his word by calling Josie every night and hasn’t canceled once on any of their scheduled visits. The only unknown they haven’t breeched yet is Josie meeting her stepmother and two little sisters. But that will finally be happening today, when Matthew picks her up in a little while to spend the whole day with his family. No sleepover, because
I’m
not there yet. And until I am, that’s not happening.

I’m running through my list of errands I have to run while she’s with her dad today when Josie appears in front of me. She’s sporting a cute red and blue striped summer top and a pair of jean shorts; her blonde hair is up in a high ponytail, and on her feet are a pair of my old black Havaianas, which makes me smile.

“How do I look?”

“Adorable, of course.”

She twirls around and then asks again.

“Sweetie, you look perfect. Why are you so worried about how you look anyway?”

She shrugs as if it’s not a big deal and says, “Just want to look nice.”

“Are you sure that’s it?”

I watch her face for any reaction, and then I see it; she’s worried about making a good first impression with Matthew’s family. God, I love this kid. She has such a good heart, and the fact that she’s so eager to make this first impression go well shows me that she’s really trying to make this relationship with her father work.

“I guarantee you that it will be fine, okay?” She agrees halfheartedly. So I say, “Listen, kid, I think you’re the best, and anybody who doesn’t think that is crazy. End of story. So don’t worry about it. Just be yourself and you’ll do great and they will love you, I promise.”

“You really think so, Mom?”

“I know it, kid.”

She looks much more like her usual carefree self for a second, until her nose scrunches up, reminding me of her father, as it has done for years, but now I can freely tell her so. “What’s wrong now?”

“I have to tell you something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad.”

“By the laws set forth in the parents’ commandments, that statement can never be agreed to by any parent, as they reserve the right to judgment after hearing whatever it is that their offspring will say after it is prefaced with that statement.”

“What did you just say?” she asks, completely bewildered.

“I said I can’t make that promise so just spit it out.”

We both crane our necks at the sound of Matthew’s car pulling into our driveway.

“You better hurry up and tell me whatever it is you have on your mind before your father gets to that door.”

Josie starts to walk backward slowly toward the door, and when she reaches it, she says, in a run-on sentence one-breath rush, “I signed up for the science fair that Mr. Thomas is having at school next week before Christmas break and I want you to come and not chicken out because he’s going to be there and that weird cupcake lady will probably be there too and she’s really been hanging around a lot lately again because you’re not around and I just wanted to see if there is any way that you would think of getting back together with Mr. Thomas because you guys were really supercute together and even my friends think so, and that’s it.”

The doorbell rings and she turns to open the door.

“Hi, Dad!” Then she turns around to me and says, “Bye, Mom!”

And then she’s out the door with Matthew before he even gets a chance to say much of anything other than hello and good-bye to me.

The little sneak.

I start to laugh out loud at what she was able to expel in one breath and with such conviction, no less, before leaving. And then I laugh even more, thinking of exactly what she said, especially the “weird cupcake lady” part. Because, really, she’s kind of weird. I mean, who goes around wearing so many variations of brown almost every single day of the year? I happen to love certain colors in my wardrobe too, but you don’t see me wearing all black, all day, every day, three hundred sixty-five days of the year. That would be weird . . . very weird. And besides, I already did that back in high school when I obsessed over Depeche Mode and the Cure.

I’ll definitely have to have a talk with Josie about this more than I already have, which really wasn’t much to begin with. I simply told her that it wasn’t the right time for me to be dating.

She had the same reaction as Cameron . . . not good.

What she actually said was that I was being stupid and then proceeded to ask me what I was doing at that exact moment that had me so busy that I couldn’t make time for him.

To say that I felt outwitted by my own daughter would be putting it mildly. But she’s kind of right. The problem is that I don’t have the nerve to fix this with Cameron. And what if he doesn’t want to talk to me?

He texted me a handful of times just to say hello and that he’d been thinking of me, then stopped after I didn’t respond; it feels terrible not to answer him.

If I were him, and I called after these last few weeks of not even a word, I wouldn’t want to talk to me either. So no matter what, I’m back to square one.

“Would you listen to yourself?” I say out loud to nobody but me. “You sound like an annoying . . . girl.”

The truth of it is, I do miss him, and I miss that beginning part of our relationship where I was finding out all these interesting things about him and letting him know all the little things about me that I never tell anyone; it’s this perfect little bubble that we can never get back to. And the sex . . . for the one night I spent with him, I don’t think I’ll ever get over that. He was perfect; gentle and assuring, warm and safe . . . everything I didn’t realize I wanted or needed. I even miss those T-shirts of his, because they always looked so damn cute on him. And that is probably the most attractive thing about him: that he doesn’t realize how gorgeous and sexy he is.

So what the hell am I doing about it?

Nothing.

But I still have to go to Josie’s science fair . . . not alone though, so I call for reinforcements.

Alex picks up on the second ring, asking if everything is okay.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” I ask him.

“Isn’t today the day that Josie meets Matthew’s family?”

“Yes, she left a little while ago, but that’s not why I’m calling you.”

He tells me to hang on a second. Then I hear him in the background telling Violet that she needs to get down from whatever limb she’s hanging off of in their house. I’m awful, because I start to laugh at this.

“It’s not funny, Vanessa,” he says in a frustrated voice. “She’s been climbing this empty bookcase that I have in my office like a freaking monkey every time I turn my back.”

“It’s a little funny.” My laughter dies down long enough that I can tell him the real reason for my call. “Josie has this science fair thing that she just told me about next week. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming with me.”

“I’ll be there.” He says Violet’s name sternly again and then comes back to me. “Listen, I have to go before she breaks something here, so just text me the details and I’ll meet you there, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

When I hang up, the errand list is forgotten about completely. Instead, I head upstairs to my art studio and sit down on my stool. I stare at the blank canvas, thinking of all the ways I can fill the empty space, all the limitless possibilities waiting to be fleshed out by my hands.

But nothing ever comes, and all I’m left with is what I started with . . . a blank and lonely looking canvas.