Starting Over (5 page)

Honestly, I don’t really know. I feel like it was the right answer
only for the sake of not being social with one of my daughter’s teachers.
Even if it is just a burger. But I would hate for any gossip to start
and
for Josie to have to deal with the fallout at school. Maybe I’m overthinking it. I probably am. Either way, I’m not changing my mind.

“Sweetie, don’t you think it would be weird to hang out with your science teacher?”

She gnaws on her bottom lip for a second or two. I swear, with the
amount of times she does that, it’s a miracle she has any lip left
to chew on.

“I guess, maybe,” she says reluctantly. “But . . .”

“But what?”

“Do you think that . . .” She trails off as she looks down the street to where Cameron and his sister are still within sight. “Never mind.”

I have no clue what she’s thinking, but I let it go and change the subject. “
Soooo
, you sold the piece, huh?”

Josie’s bright smile replaces whatever she’s been mulling over. “That’s right!”

She takes out the wad of bills that were stuffed in her front pocket. At first glance, the crinkly bills are an indistinguishable pile of green in the palm of her hand. Carefully, she untangles them until she counts off a total of five twenty-dollar bills.

“One hundred bucks?” I ask her in complete astonishment.

She juts out her chin proudly. “Yep. And my cut is fifty, so cough it up, Chompers.”

Laughing, I hand her two twenty-dollar bills and then fish out ten dollars from change I have in my pocket. I watch as she has a mini-celebration with her newfound cash, and then I put my arm around her shoulder, bringing her in for a half hug.

“Looks like dinner’s on you, kid,” I say to her.

I release her and walk back to Elizabeth, who’s still browsing my artwork in the back of the booth.

I can’t help but double over with laughter when Josie shouts, “That’s not fair!”

“You get what you get, and you don’t get upset,” I shout back with a huge grin.

And with that, I have the final say . . . for now, because of course I’m not going to let her pay for dinner. She earned her share fair and square, even if the owner of the sketch is someone I’m not too sure how I feel about just yet.

CHAPTER FIVE

I
’m enjoying the ’80s on 8 satellite radio station on the morning drive to drop Josie off at school the following week, bopping my head, singing along, appreciating the day, when she asks me something so out of the blue and unexpected, I almost veer off the road.

“Mom, are you all right?”

“Yeah, sweetie.” I’m not. I’m totally lying to her right now. “Why do you ask?”

“Well.” She pivots in her seat to face me. “I was just wondering why you never go out on a date. Because I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately and trying to remember the last time you went out with a guy.”

The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” playing in the background is quickly forgotten about. She actually reaches across the console to turn the volume down to ensure that she has my undivided attention.

“I mean, you’re kind of hot, you know, for a mom,” she adds almost as an afterthought.

Shooting her the stink eye, I say, “Gee, thanks for that.”

“Mom, I’m serious.”

“I see that, kid.”

I don’t know what the protocol here is. I feel completely and utterly out of my depth with this topic since it’s never been breached before. How do I tell her that it never was in the equation to begin with? How do I explain that dating a man, or a variety of men, wasn’t in the cards for me? That it was just something that I forgot about, but that wouldn’t be the truth. Because it really was a conscious decision I made a long time ago when Josie was just a baby.

“I don’t really know how to answer that, Josie,” I say, which isn’t a lie. “I’m happy just doing what I’ve been doing.”

I can feel her eyes boring holes into my profile, so I add, “Plus, I’m really busy.”

Josie stays quiet a moment longer. “Busy doing what exactly?”

“What do you mean, ‘busy doing what exactly’?”

She mumbles something unintelligible under her breath and then pivots back so that she’s staring out the passenger-side window.

“What are you saying over there?” I ask.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“I don’t understand why you’re getting upset about this, Josie,” I tell her. “I mean, it doesn’t affect you in the slightest.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Mom,” she says angrily. “Because I think you’re using me as an excuse not to date.”

What the hell?
This escalated quickly.

Taking a moment to try to deflate the heaviness suddenly surrounding us, I approach a red light and turn to face Josie, who’s still looking out her window.

“Hey,” I say gently to her. She turns her head to look at me. “I’m happy with my life, you know that, right?”

She reluctantly nods and then says, “Are you really happy, Mom?”

In my heart I know that I couldn’t have asked for a better life; a better daughter. But recently, I’ve felt a twinge of sadness or something else I can’t quite put my finger on, which doesn’t necessarily mean I’m not happy, per se. More like . . . lonely, I think.

“I am, sweetie, I swear.”

“Can you promise me something?” she asks, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“Of course.”

By now the light is green and I accelerate the car to keep up with the bustling traffic around me. Josie smacks her lips in delight and says, “If someone asked you out, would you say yes?”

“Well, I don’t know if I can answer that because I don’t get asked out.”

“That’s because you put out the vibe that you don’t want to be asked out, Mom.”

Slightly stunned by her answer, I say, “How do you know all of this?”

I sneak a glance at her while I’m driving. Her eyes are shining bright and full of mischief when she says, “I pay attention. Plus, I’ve been watching
Gilmore Girls
on Netflix.”

Laughing at her chosen source material at the same time I’m turning into her school’s drop-off area, I can see from the corner of my eye that she’s waiting for me to answer her. Would I go out on a date? Just asking myself that question feels awkward, so I can only imagine how the actual date would be. I did, however, tell myself that I wanted to make new strides in my social life and to be amenable to new possibilities. So maybe I should be open to this. And suddenly I’m on the same page as Josie, and a feeling of excitement rolls through me as I fully accept this option.

“You know what,” I say, sounding surprised and shocked and terrified all at the same time, like I’m hopped up on the drug of life all of a sudden. And just as dramatically, I put the car in park in front of her school. “I would say yes if a man asked me out on a date.”

“Awesome!”

Josie puts her hand up for a high five, and caught up in the moment, I smack the crap out of it so hard that she winces. “Oh my God, sweetie, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” she says through a tiny laugh.

A strong tap on my driver’s side window kills the mood, not to mention scares the living hell out of me. I practically jump and turn in my seat to find the parent assigned to patrol the drop-off area staring at me. Realizing I’m holding up the line of cars behind me, I push the button to slide the window down and apologize.

“Lady, you’re still holding up the line. Say your good-byes and move along now.”

“I was getting to that,” I say to her back at this point, since she’s already walking past my car to her regular spot where she oversees everything. “Jeez, somebody’s in a bad mood today.”

Josie kisses my cheek and bolts out the door. When I drive past the woman who patrols the through traffic and attempt to convey how sorry I am with a smile, she just shakes her head in disgust.

Well, okay then, just going to pretend that didn’t happen.

I quickly put that unpleasant person out of my mind and start to go over the conversation with Josie while driving into the office. Scratch that; I totally need to go to Starbucks first and get myself an extra double shot of espresso in my coffee today after that talk.

I pull into a parking space at Starbucks a short while later. Just as my hand reaches for the front door, a semi-decent looking man steps in beside me and opens it wide with a welcoming smile.

“After you,” he says.

Completely thrown off by him, I mumble a quick thank-you before ducking into the store.

Once in line, I can sense the same man who held the door open standing right behind me and staring. I glance as smoothly as possible to my side and confirm from the corner of my eye that yes, he’s staring at me. I smile uncomfortably and tug some hair behind my ear in response, quickly averting my eyes. Unfortunately for me, he clears his throat and catches my line of sight again. But when he opens his mouth to say something to me, the barista calls me up and I place my order.

Saved by the barista!

Wait a second, isn’t this what Josie was talking about before? Putting out a “don’t approach me” vibe?

Oh my God! She’s right! My almost thirteen-year-old daughter was right, and I think it’s the funniest thing in the world. Further proof of this is when I start to laugh out loud like a crazy person in the middle of the Starbucks just as I’m being handed my drink.

I look like a complete loon, but I don’t care. This is a huge realization for me. Because now that I’m aware of it, I can work on it and be more welcoming and open to men. Well, not open like a whorehouse open, but open to simply talking to a man and maybe a date if the man in question appeals to me.

I’m still laughing to myself when I walk by the man who had opened the door for me. He now looks so uncomfortable and is probably questioning what he saw in me to begin with, but I go right up to him and of all things . . . give him a hug.

“Lady,” he says warily, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but please let go of me immediately.”

Taking a step back, I wipe the tears from laughing so hard from my eyes. “I just wanted to thank you.”

“Sure. Whatever, lady.”

With a bounce in my step, I ignore the man’s reservations and head out the door, and the smile on my face exudes how I feel at the moment: hopeful.

CHAPTER SIX

S
till on a high from this morning’s epiphany, I roll into work with my face still beaming with a full-wattage smile. So much so that my coworkers immediately notice. A lot of them make comments about how I seem different, while others just smile back and go back to whatever they were doing.

When I reach my desk and power up my desktop computer, I’m
already thinking of how I can make myself a little more available. I don’t
have friends who I can call on a moment’s notice, and while I don’t feel
bad about it, if I could change something right away, it would be that.

The only issue is with whom to start. I wouldn’t know where to begin looking within what had been my close clique of friends before Josie. And honestly, the fact that they were able to let me fall to the wayside, even though I completely allowed it, kind of makes me not want to reach out and start over from scratch after so many years.

That leaves one person.

Julia.

Maybe I can get in touch with Julia and see if she’d be available for dinner sometime this weekend, seeing as how Josie has plans with her own friends. Although . . . maybe I’m being slightly presumptuous in assuming that Julia would even want to do that.

Enough excuses, Vanessa
, I tell myself and pick up my desk phone in irritation to call her.

“Here’s today’s mail, Vanessa.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking the giant pile from Diana, one of my coworkers, and putting it on my desk. It looks like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but I’m going to call Julia before I distribute it.

As I’m dialing Julia, I accidently nudge the mail, and it starts to lean a little too much to the left. I slam the phone back on the receiver, but not quickly enough to keep all the mail from toppling off my desk like a cascade of cards onto the floor by my feet.

“Do you need help?” Diana asks from her cubicle, which is just a few feet away. She stands up and darts around her desk like a gazelle. Before I know it, she’s crouched down by my feet, helping me collect the mail from the floor.

“Thanks, Diana,” I say sheepishly. “I should know better by now than to attempt to multitask.”

She giggles and then says, “Well, it really was a huge pile of mail to begin with.”

After we finish sorting the mail together, I say a quick but very heartfelt thanks to Diana before she goes back to her workstation. I’m left now with much smaller piles that are easier to distribute.

I set off dropping mail in people’s in-boxes until left with my very own pile. After opening each one and rating it from important to straight in the garbage can, I’m left with one manila envelope addressed to Holt Construction that has my name listed in the address portion. Now, I may be older, and there have been many years since I’ve seen it firsthand, but I’ll never forget this handwriting.

There are moments in your life that you bookmark for safekeeping so you can seek them out in times of need and relish the happiness of that particular memory. The memory itself may blur around the edges with time; however, it still brings feelings of elation and comfort. Sometimes, when life unexpectedly throws a giant curveball your way, as it is doing right now, and doesn’t give a good goddamn about the disruption it creates, these same memories are the very things to bring you back from the depths of despair and keep you going when it feels as if there is no end in sight.

I hold the innocuous, nondescript manila envelope in my hands and turn it over and over before slicing the top open.

There is one piece of paper within the envelope in what is clearly a man’s handwriting. And after reading the first sentence, the wind that had been so far blowing my sails all morning disappears with an unceremonious bang.

Dear Vanessa,

I hope this letter finds you and our baby doing well. I know it may come as a shock to you for me to reach out after all these years, but I hope you will find it in your heart to continue reading and save judgment until the very end.

First, I’d like to apologize for behaving like a reprehensible jerk. There is not a day that has gone by that I don’t regret my decision to leave you and our baby behind. It has always been on my mind, and even though this is the first time I have reached out to you, it is certainly not the first time I’ve written this letter. There are plenty of drafts and attempts I’ve made over the years, but in the end, I’ve been nothing but a coward. It wasn’t until this past year that I realized the magnitude of my decision and decided to contact you to see, if possible, if the irreparable damage I’ve caused you and our baby could be corrected. I don’t know if you’re married and if our child has a man in their life that they consider their father, but I’d like the chance for them to know their real father.

I, myself, am happily married to a very gracious woman and have recently had a blessing in the form of twin girls. These two little human beings have brought an awakening of sorts into my life. And with the help of my wife and under her advisement, she suggested that I attempt to actually mail you the letter that I’ve been crafting for years now and try to mend the broken bridge between us.

I realize that you must be cursing me as you read this. But I ask that you consider speaking with me at the phone number listed below so we can close this chapter in our lives and move forward for the sake of our child.

All the best,

Matthew

Phone# (305) 555-5309

All the best? All the best?!

Is he joking?

The hand holding the letter starts to shake uncontrollably with rage.

After all these years, thirteen to be exact, he has the nerve to put a letter in the mailbox and think that I’ll be okay with letting him in to both of our lives? Does he honestly think with his flowery words and years-late apology, that I would allow him to be a father to Josie?

Not in a million years.

My eyes start to well up with tears as I think about the struggle that has been my life for the past thirteen years. I don’t feel sorry for myself, because that’s not my style. No, I’m sad for my daughter, who has no idea of the magnitude of jerk her father is. And to add to that, I’m picturing him with his perfect wife and perfect kids having the time of their lives while Josie has gone without one iota of his time for her entire life.

The day that Matthew left I had returned to the apartment we
shared from my almost three-month checkup, and he was sitting on the
couch. He had his head in his hands and was deep in thought. What I
should have noticed was the already packed suitcase by the front door
that he would later take with him, never to be seen or heard from again.

He said he had changed his mind about becoming a father. He said he didn’t think he was ready. He said he wanted me to get an abortion. He said a lot of things that day. All of them splintered my heart into a million pieces and made it clear that I would be raising this child alone.

I accepted that truth eventually. It wasn’t easy, but with the help of my family and then friends, I was able to move forward with the pregnancy. Six months later, Jocelyn Georgia Holt came blasting into this world, and I’ve never regretted a single moment of my life with her.

“Vanessa?”

I look up to find my dad standing over my workstation. He looks concerned, as I’m sure the waterproof mascara staining my cheeks is letting anyone within a mile radius know I’ve been crying. Quickly I stuff the letter back into the manila envelope and shove it into my purse before wiping my face with my hands.

“I was calling you, but you didn’t answer.” He looks at the letter sticking out of my purse and then back at me. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “Everything’s fine, Dad.”

My dad is a very sweet man, but he’s really the last person with whom I want to talk about this. So I put on a fake grin, which seems convincing enough that he seems to be okay with it and goes on to fill me in on a work situation at one of the construction sites. I nod and take notes as he speaks; all the while my brain is preoccupied with the letter in my purse.

“Got it,” I say. “Is there anything else you need for me to do?”

He shakes his head. “No. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yup, totally fine, thanks.”

Reluctantly, my dad goes back to his office and closes the door behind him.

Because I
am
fine.

Or I will be since I won’t be answering Matthew’s letter, and I certainly won’t be entertaining the thought of him meeting Josie if it’s the last thing I ever do in this lifetime.