Every Other Saturday (31 page)

“Daddy!” Lyric called from the front hallway. “Mia is outside!”

Dave looked up from the counter, where he’d been slicing a banana for Lyric’s oatmeal. It was almost ten on the Saturday after Christmas and they were both still in their pajamas, watching cartoons. Lyric had just gone upstairs to get a couple of her dolls while he made a breakfast. “Are you sure it’s not the little girl from down the street?”

“It’s Mia and Brandon. They’re coming up the sidewalk!” she yelled. Two seconds later, the doorbell rang. Dave wiped a bit of banana on his thin gray pajama pants and headed to the door.

“Good thing I sleep in a t-shirt,” he mumbled as Lyric bounced up and down in the foyer. The Mendel kids stood on the stoop, holding matching paper bags with little snowmen on them.

“Hey guys.” He opened the door. “Hey, Julia.”

She walked from the van with a large red gift bag, smiling at him. She wore a soft gray sweater dress with black boots he’d never seen before. “Sorry to catch you in your pj’s,” she said, not slowing her stride. “I know Hanukkah is over, but we always do Christmas cookies and the kids wanted to include Lyric. Hope you’re not offended.”

“Of course not.” He opened the door wider to invite them in. “Lyric, what do you say?”

“Thanks,” Lyric chimed. “Mia, want to come play Barbies?”

The girls ran toward the living room—which was thankfully clean—and Brandon gave him a high five as he followed the girls, snowman bag in one hand, game console in the other.

Julia’s heeled boots clicked on the tile entry floor as she came in, the sweater dress hugging her curves enticingly. Suddenly Dave felt more than a little exposed in his thin pajamas. She made a half-gesture toward him with the bag, and he couldn’t tell whether she was handing it to him or offering a hug. No way could he do the latter without embarrassing himself, so he took the bag instead, lowering it discreetly to his waist to peer inside. “For me?”

“A little something. Open it later.” She glanced at his lounging attire. “I’m so sorry to intrude. I forget that some people sleep in during the holidays. I was…hoping we could have a quick word.”

His stomach lurched a little. “Everything okay?”

She nodded. “I can just call you later, or—”

“I’ll see you tonight, right?”

Julia looked at the floor, rubbing the pointed toe of her boot along the grout line between tiles. “I’m not sure. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Dave couldn’t puzzle out her expression. He sighed. “Let me run upstairs and throw on clothes.”

Five minutes later, he returned in jeans and a Falcons sweatshirt. He found Julia perched on a barstool in the kitchen, watching the kids play in the living room. “Coffee?” he asked. “Oatmeal? I’d offer you tea but I don’t think I own any.”

“I’m good.” She slid off the barstool. The sweater dress rose a few inches as she did this, revealing more of her black tights and those damn curvy thighs. “I came by to tell you that I quit my job last weekend. I’m not working tonight.”

“I thought you came to deliver Christmas cookies,” he said with a half-smile.

“I wanted to tell you in person.”

“That you don’t need Elizabeth tonight?” Something about her tone made him confused. And too warm. He should’ve picked a different shirt.

“That’s the thing. I wondered, maybe, I know it’s the last date of your experiment and everything…” She was still looking down at the floor, babbling like a crazy person. “But I wondered if we could, like, call an audible.”

He grinned despite his lurching stomach. “Did you just use a football term, Mia Mendel’s Mom?”

“I’ve been studying.” She bit her lip, and then went on in a rush. “Would you want to go to a movie? There’s a dinner theater in Midtown showing
It’s a Wonderful Life
. They’re doing an ugly sweater contest and a fruitcake toss. I thought it would be fun.”

He tried to process what she was saying. “You mean, like…a double date? I think that might be too much to throw at Robyn last minute.” Not to mention he didn’t think he could sit through an evening with Julia and her date. He made himself ask. “Are you going with that Sean guy?”

“Robyn,” Julia said softly, ignoring the question. “So she’s Date Eighteen.”

“Yeah. Don’t be surprised if I end up calling her Batgirl on the blog. I’m running out of original nicknames.” He hoped he didn’t sound as apathetic as he felt. Although he dreaded having to handle the end of his experiment on the blog and the radio, Dave was done with the relentless first date awkwardness. He tried to sound upbeat. “I don’t have an ugly Christmas sweater anyway.”

“Do they make tacky Hanukkah sweaters?” She was almost smiling, but not quite.

“Probably.” He poked at the oatmeal with a spoon. “So what does yours look like? Please tell me it has bells.”

“I don’t have one yet. I thought if we went, I’d just…put something together.”

“Stay away from Pinterest,” he teased. “You’re a talented woman, but last-minute wearable crafts are not your thing.”

She did laugh that time. For an instant, he thought there was nothing he’d like more than to ditch both their dates and do a fruitcake toss with Julia. If only the decision were his to make.

Picking up his unspoken thought, she shrugged. “Maybe next year.”

“Sure,” he said. They were both quiet. In the other room, Mia and Lyric’s Barbie dolls were taking a trip to the mall to see Santa. Great. His mom was going to
love
that.

How was Lyric going to manage without regular Mia playdates? “Wow,” he said. “I just realized tonight is our last night to hang out together. Elizabeth’s going to have her baby… It’s weird. I’m going to miss you, Mia Mendel’s Mom.”

Julia stared at the floor. “Actually, if it’s not an inconvenience, could you have Elizabeth come here tonight? I can call her if that’s easier.”

“What about
It’s a Wonderful Life?
You guys are still going, right?
”

She looked up, face mottled pink with emotion. “Actually, I think I’m going to have a quiet night in with the kids. If that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. Sure.” Disappointment was stupid. What did it matter? “I’ll miss getting to debrief my date with Princess Diana, though.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “I’ll just have to follow your blog like everyone else.”

“You are
not
everyone else,” he said. “You never have been.”

“Are you going out with her again?” she said suddenly. Her blue eyes were round and wet.

“Who?”

“Natasha. Sandy. From the carnival. She’s the fan favorite.”

The question had been on his mind and all over the blogosphere for two weeks, but Julia asking it made his throat tighten. “I haven’t decided anything. But yeah. Maybe.”

She crossed the kitchen floor and hugged him. He had to extract his arms from her sudden embrace to hug her back, tangling his fingers in her dark hair. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, David,” she said into his sweatshirt. “You deserve someone great.”

“So do you,” he whispered. He kissed the top of her head and held her, watching their kids play in the other room.

“Thanks for everything.” She pulled back, blinking as he released her. “Mia, Brandon. Time to go.”

Later that afternoon, Dave went upstairs and noticed the large red gift bag on the foot of his bed, forgotten. It was full of balled-up shimmery paper, with a tissue-wrapped bundle at the bottom, topped with a folded notecard.

D –

It’s been nice getting to know another side of you. Happy Holidays.
Xoxox,

— J

P.S. Try not to get paint on this one.

He pulled out the soft bundle and unrolled it from the tissue paper. Inside was a vintage Ramones t-shirt identical to the one he had, in perfect condition. On closer inspection, he saw the shirt’s white lettering held scrawling autographs from Joey and Dee Dee Ramone, who had both died in the last few years. A collector’s item, worth as much as some of his favorite sports memorabilia. Dave sat on the end of the bed and stared at it, not noticing it was almost time for his date until Lyric called up the stairs.

I need to invent a new holiday.
Julia sunk into the couch and adjusted the wool throw over her legs.
All the ones I have are ruined.

New Year’s Eve. Tomorrow, it would be a year. She was on the couch, watching
When Harry Met Sally,
but even the greatest romantic comedy of all time and a special-ordered box of Mallomars wasn’t making tonight tolerable.

Until Adam’s staggering announcement, the hardest thing about this night had been that babysitters were expensive and hard to come by. All she had wanted then was a break from mommy duty, a dance with her husband, and maybe a glass of champagne. Now she didn’t want to be in a club or at some crazy party. She just wanted her kids, asleep and drooling on the couch next to her while the peach dropped at Underground Atlanta.

And maybe someone to eat popcorn with her.

The movie was almost over. Billy Crystal was running down the streets of New York, looking for Meg Ryan on New Year’s Eve. Julia pulled out her phone and drafted a text to Dave, and then deleted it, just as she had several times in the past week. They hadn’t interacted since she’d stopped by his house Saturday, except for an email he’d sent thanking her for the Ramones shirt. She’d read about his Batgirl date, which sounded anticlimactic compared to his many others. Not much hope for Robyn the ballet teacher, it seemed.

Julia wondered whether he was sitting at home in his Man Cave, watching the festivities before the ball drop in Times Square. Harry had chased Sally and her 1989 hair all the way to the party, her favorite part, but Julia put the TV on mute. She watched Billy and Meg kissing on the screen, took a deep breath, and dialed.

Dave answered on the first ring. “Hey, Julia!” he shouted. The noise of a crowded bar surrounded him. She was an idiot. Of course he was out. “What’s up?”

She panicked, desperately wanting to hang up.

“Julia?” Dave was louder. “Did you butt-dial me?”

“No,” she said. “I was calling to wish you a Happy New Year.”

“What’s that? It’s loud here.”

“Happy New Year,” she said, louder.

“Hang on, babe. Let me get somewhere I can hear you,” Dave shouted. Then to whoever he was with, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

Julia felt a tiny thrill at his calling her “babe,” despite the logical side of her that said he was just feeling celebratory. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you leave the party, or…whatever.”

“It’s fine.” His voice reverberated. “I’m with Max and Lianne. I stepped into the men’s room so I could hear you.”

Julia felt like an idiot. For calling on New Year’s Eve, for assuming Dave was as pathetic as she was, for having a little speech planned that would sound ridiculous in the men’s room of a bar. As though on cue, the noise of the bar flared again and then faded as someone opened the restroom door. All her words were frozen in her throat.

“Julia? You okay?”

“Fine. Calling to wish you a Happy New Year. But I said that already.”

“Thanks,” Dave said. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Home on the couch, watching a movie.”

“You have the kids?”

“No. I just don’t have a life.”

“What time is it? You’re welcome to join us—we’re at Mac Magee’s. There was a pretty long line at the door, but I can probably get you in. The owner is a friend.”

Naturally.
“Thanks, but it’s after ten and I’m in my sweats.”

“That’s too bad,” Dave said. “When I picture you lounging around, it’s always in those super-hot maternity overalls.”

She felt herself redden. He had definitely been drinking, but his suggestiveness was hard to ignore. It was unnerving.

As though reading her mind, Dave said, “We’re okay, right? I don’t want there to be any, um, miscommunication…you’re a good friend—”

“We’re fine.” She couldn’t handle the “just friends” speech one more time. “Really.”

“Okay. I should get back. But you’re welcome to join us. Max and Lianne won’t mind.”

Go,
a voice inside hissed.
Tell him how you feel. Kiss him at midnight and give Sandy a run for her money.

But Julia wasn’t 1989 Meg Ryan. She wasn’t Princess Diana or Wonder Woman. She was the thirty-seven-year-old, non-Jewish mother of two kids, talking to the best friend she’d had in years. A friend who had ruled out romance with her, repeatedly and publicly, and in spite of that was turning into a much-needed male role model for her son. She had too much to lose.

“I can’t,” she said.

His challenging smile was almost visible through the phone. “You said you were home on the couch.”

“I have to get up early, for a…thing.”

The door opened again, the boisterous crowd filling the quiet between them. “Okay. Text me if you change your mind.”

Over the next half hour, she stood up, started for the stairs, and sat down three different times. It was cold and drizzly out. She had already resolved not to leave the house, much less have an ill-advised conversation with Dave.

The decision was made.

Why even debate it?

Because, she realized, making it up the stairs to change clothes on the fourth try, she liked him enough to fight for him.

By the time she navigated the minivan through the jammed streets of downtown Roswell and found parking in a far-flung gravel lot, it was 11:50 and Julia was regretting her decision. Also, she had chosen the wrong shoes.

Her nicest black patent pumps wobbled painfully on the gravel and stuck in the mud as she made her way down to the street, trying to hurry without falling on her face. She ambled up the dark street like a baby giraffe, grateful that—despite the low hum of crowd noise from nearby bars and restaurants—almost no one was around.

As she neared Canton Street, Julia could hear shouting and cheering. A few more steps brought her in view of a restaurant with a rooftop patio, where people huddled under umbrellas, kissing and cheering and singing. She’d missed the countdown. Was Dave kissing someone? She turned onto Canton. More people on restaurant patios, clinging and swaying beneath the warmth of outdoor heaters.

Sporadic fireworks were going off in the distance, and Julia’s hair was plastered to her face in the misting rain. She swiped ineffectually at it, trying to make out Mac Magee’s three blocks down. The sidewalk was crowded there, but several popular restaurants and bars were on that block; so it was hard to tell whether they were waiting to get in, or just migrating between establishments. She thought of Billy Crystal, jogging down the empty streets of New York. She thought of Dave, hand covered in green paint, a mischievous grin on his face.

Julia began to run.

It was an awkward business, partly because she hadn’t run voluntarily since junior high, and partly because the pretty heels meant running on her toes. Still, Julia impressed herself with her stamina, and had made it nearly two blocks when it all went wrong.

She was slowing down to squeeze between a lamppost and the chains surrounding one of the outdoor eating areas, when two drunken patrons half-pushed each other out the door, forcing her to dodge. Her right foot landed at an awkward angle on the edge of the flower bed around the lamppost, and her heel caught in the mud. Unable to pull it out while off-balance, she keeled over toward the street, feeling a painful snap in her right ankle before landing on her plump ass in the rain-drenched street.

There was a collective “oh” from the nearby crowd, several of whom rushed out to help her get up and out of the street.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Julia insisted, hoping if she could just get up and going again, she could still catch Dave at Mac Magee’s. “I just need to…”

“Honey, you are not fine,” said the woman holding her right arm. “Look at your foot.”

Seeing her right foot jutting out at an impossible angle, ankle swelling around it, suddenly Julia felt the pain that shock and adrenaline had been keeping at bay. “Oh, that sucks.” She promptly leaned over and vomited on the woman’s shoes.