An Ex to Grind (31 page)

"Everything okay?" he said later, after we'd finished dinner and were sitting on the sofa. He was sipping decaf. I was polishing off what was left of the pinot.

"It was delicious," I said, slurring. I wasn't drunk, but my tongue was thick and my brain scrambled. Okay, so I was drunk.

"I'm not talking about the food," he said. "I'm talking about the mixed signals."

"Mixed signals?" It came out sounding like "missed" signals. Not too far off for a person whose mouth wasn't operating properly.

"Yeah. You told me you were in a snit about Dan and the alimony, yet there you two were on Monday morning, looking all chummy. What's going on?"

"Actually, we're getting along much better lately," I said.

He moved closer and put his arm around the back of my shoulders. "How much better?"

Evan was a perceptive person, at least where I was concerned. There was no point in being anything other than candid with him, I realized. He was the one I kept turning to when I needed help. Why not trust him with the truth? I had to talk to someone about it or I'd burst. Weezie had her own nightmare to deal with, so I didn't want to burden her further. Why not bare my soul to my neighbor and friend? Why? Because when you're drunk, you shouldn't bare your soul to anybody except a bartender.

"I like you, Evan," I said. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"Like me how?" He leaned in, as if he was about to kiss me. I pulled away.

He nodded. "Yup. Mixed signals. You like me, but you're still into Traffic Jam, is that it?"

"I'm still into him," I confessed. "When we split up, all I cared about was getting back at him. Now, all I care about is getting him back."

Evan withdrew his arm from around my shoulders, his smile fading. "Wow. Okay. I'm disappointed." He paused, then moved away from me as if I had a contagious disease. "What changed?"

"He changed, Evan. He has a job now."

"Is that what a man has to do to win your heart? Have a job?"

"It helps. He also took a hard look at his life and went out and improved it. I respect that."

"So do I. But what about the alimony? It was the big sticking point for you."

"I won't be paying it much longer. In a month or so, it'll be a nonissue."

Evan looked confused. "What's happening in a month?"

I giggled. "You really wanna hear?" I should have shut my trap right then, but no. The wine had made me stupid.

"Hear what?" he said.

"Well, you know that project you keep asking me about?"

"Yeah."

"It's almost over."

"I'm not following you. How would a financial project relate to your relationship with Dan?"

More giggles. God, this is embarrassing to recount. "See, Dan and I have this cohabitation provision in our divorce agreement."

"Kaitlin and I put one of those in ours."

"Uh-oh. Better be careful." I wagged my finger at him. "Maybe she'll hire Desiree and you'll be out of luck."

"Who? You're not making sense." He picked up the wine bottle, saw that it was empty, and rolled his eyes.

"I am so making sense." I hiccuped. "In our agreement, it says Dan can't live with another woman for ninety days or else the alimony terminates. The project was to find him that woman. And I did it."

"You found him what woman?" He was totally baffled now.

"Leah Purcell. She's a vet and she's really, really in love with Dan. She's been living with him for sixty-two days! And I can prove it! I have my spies!" I kept punctuating each example of my treachery with an exclamation point, as if I expected Evan to pat me on the back for every single one, as if I deserved cheers instead of boos. (For the third time, I was drunk!)

His expression darkened. "Did you actually introduce him to this woman?"

"No, silly. I hired Desiree. She's expensive, but she's the best professional matchmaker in New York. She fixed up my friends Weezie and Nards, and they got married, although Nards is sleeping with the new doctor in his office, so it's not going too well."

Evan got up from the sofa and stood in front of me, his hands on his hips. "Dan doesn't remember about the cohabitation clause, does he?"

"Nope."

"Leah doesn't know anything about it either."

"Leah doesn't know anything about anything. She's too busy repainting
my
apartment."

"So he's living happily with this woman and has no clue that it'll mean the end of his support money?"

"He's not living happily with her. He loves me and I love him, and as soon as I tell him how I feel he'll tell her to move out."

Evan just stared at me for several seconds, as if I had six heads. And who could blame him? I'd never been a cruel person, but what I was admitting to him was unconscionable.

"You think I'm terrible," I said before he could.

"I think—" He stopped to collect himself. "I think that if what you're doing to Dan is your way of showing love, I'm glad I found out now."

"Oh, Evan. Come on. Don't be like that. It's only natural to try to get out of paying alimony. Men have been dreaming up schemes like mine for years. I bet Kaitlin's sitting at home right now, crossing her fingers that you'll violate your agreement."

"Not that it's any of your business, but Kaitlin isn't paying me a dime."

"She isn't?"

"No. I'm supporting myself."

"By selling your paintings?"

"Why not? You keep saying how talented I am."

"You are. It's just that—"

"Just that what? Being an artist won't make me rich? It paid for the meal you didn't hesitate to eat."

"But, Evan, you need more than food money."

"How much do I need?" he demanded. "Or I guess the better question is: How much do you need? Ask yourself: How much money does it take to make you happy?"

I didn't answer. My dinner was coming back up my throat. I was dying to ask if he had any Pepcid in his medicine cabinet but thought better of it.

"Look, I know you grew up poor," he said. "I know your father didn't work. I know how hard your life must have been and how much it distorted your reality. But I'll ask again: How much money does it take to make you happy?"

I shrugged. "Enough to feel secure. We all need a sense of security. Even you."

"Yeah, but mine is in here." He tapped his hand on his chest. "Not in a fancy title and not in a cushy corner office, but right here. It may sound New Agey, but when you believe in yourself, the money flows to you, Melanie. You don't have to scratch and claw for it. You don't have to manipulate people to get it. Maybe someday you'll learn that."

I sat there listening. I mean, I heard what he was saying. But it wasn't getting through. I wasn't letting it, and the wine didn't help.

Convinced that I was a lost cause, he called for Buster to come. "Time to go home, doggie."

"Wait, Evan," I said, panicking. "You're not throwing us out, are you? I value your opinion and I admire your convictions. I just—"

"I'm throwing
you
out," he said, helping me up from the sofa and sort of pushing me toward the door. "I have nothing against Buster."

"Couldn't you try to see things from my perspective?" I said. "I thought Dan had taken advantage of me, and I wanted to correct the injustice. That's the only reason I set him up with Leah."

"Did it ever occur to you that she's partially responsible for his new self-confidence? That it was her love and support that turned him into this person you think you want back?"

"Dan's told me she's had a positive influence on him, and I'm sure he's very grateful to her. But he's been in love with me since we were barely out of college and, deep down, he still is. I saw it on Monday when you stopped by. He was rude to you because he was jealous."

"Maybe he
was
jealous," said Evan, "but it could have been a knee-jerk reaction, an old impulse. It doesn't mean he still loves you."

"It does," I insisted.

"Melanie, listen to me. What if his definition of love changed along with his attitude toward life? What if, in the process of becoming a grown-up, he decided he's ready for a grown-up relationship?"

I didn't answer, because the room was starting to spin. And because I didn't have an answer.

Evan opened his door and motioned me out. "I've got dishes to wash."

"Can we still be friends?" I asked like a fourteen-year-old as I stumbled over the threshold.

"Good night, Melanie." He closed the door and locked it.

"I'll take that as a no?" I said from the other side.

I waited in the hall for some reply—part of me fantasized that the door would swing back open and Evan would be standing there with a forgiving smile—but there was only silence.

"I wish he wasn't so mad at Mommy, Buster," I said as we trudged home. "I'd hate it if he didn't like me anymore. But at least we can concentrate on getting Daddy back, right?"

My dog barked a short, muffled bark. At the time I thought that he'd heard somebody in the hall and was being protective. I realize now that he was being reproachful; he was as disgusted with me as Evan was.

The next morning I called Evan and got his voice mail. I was about to leave a message saying I was sorry, embarrassed, hopeful that we could—No. I realized I had nothing of substance to convey and hung up. I regretted that I'd hurt him, disappointed him, even repulsed him, but I was who I was. Dan may have changed, but I hadn't.

I carried on with my ill-advised campaign. I told my ex that Buster's balance seemed shaky again (like I was one to talk), and he came rushing over. After determining that our dog was healthy, we kept each other company for a while. We found ourselves reminiscing again about the early years of our marriage. I brought up our trip to Bermuda, for example, and how it had rained the entire time we were there. He chimed in with how we'd draped ourselves in the bathroom's shower curtain whenever we'd ventured outside to the restaurant and how we'd gotten drenched anyway. I added how we'd towel dried each other off after every meal and stood next to the electric pants presser to get warm. He remembered how we'd run out of towels and ended up ordering room service for the next four days. I said I thought being stuck in the room was the best part of the vacation. He smiled and said he did too.

At one point, Dan put his hand on my knee as we sat on the sofa and said, "We had great times, didn't we, darlin.'" It wasn't a question.

As for Buster, he pranced around like a contented clown while his parents did all that reminiscing. I hated that I had used him in the service of my love life, but there was no doubt that the more time Dan and I spent together, the closer we were becoming.

Over the weekend, I hoped to run into Evan, just to try to smooth things over between us, but didn't. I did run into Patty, who was glowing—and not because of some new beauty product.

"Have you seen Evan?" I asked her as we chatted in the hall.

"No, but I met a guy on the Internet," she said, looking so happy. "It's only been a month, but it's the real deal."

"Gosh. Congratulations." This was a surprise. "How'd you get beyond the heartache of Jason and the alimony?"

"I just moved on," she said. "I think all those nights of sobbing my guts out helped. You should try it."