Heads or Tails (21 page)

Given their sad history with Julia, my parents’ neglect was benign, even understandable, I’d always insisted. But it was neglect nonetheless. They never commented on my report cards, which was especially shocking considering my mother was a school principal. They rarely came to my school performances or even inquired about anything related to my friends or my interests. Though I couldn’t wait to move away to boarding school, when I came home from school breaks, I was still always excited, which confused me. I understood now, in a way that I just hadn’t before, that I wasn’t eager to be with my parents, but, rather, to see Virginia.

I swooned a little from the realization and I had to steady myself by clasping the table with my free hand. It contradicted everything I’d believed, everything I’d told myself. My whole life I’d been wrong — I
had
forged a parental connection. I
had
had a mother figure. It just wasn’t my mother.

If I was honest with myself, I was hoping to run into him. Looking back, why else would I have bundled myself and GiGi up and voluntarily headed out in the blustery, damp evening fog? But I’d simply insisted to myself that we both needed some fresh air, cold or not. Neither one of us had set foot outdoors since our frantic ER run the evening before. My period was imminent and I felt bloated. Before leaving, I scanned my chin for the dreaded breakouts that sometimes erupted during PMS. But I was clear.

I headed towards Ashbury since the last time we’d bumped into each other he’d been leaving Ashbury Market. GiGi was wearing one of Sarah’s hand-me-down knit hats — red and gold for the Forty-Niners. She kept pulling it sideways off her head and throwing it onto the ground accompanied by a buoyant, “Uh oh!” I picked it up and returned it to her head each time, her hair growing increasingly static-y. Then she switched to “Oops!” and I laughed so loudly that someone driving by turned to look at me.

Trudging up Ashbury, I got sweaty despite the cold and the wind. All traces of sunshine had vanished. Plumped from solid food, GiGi was getting heavier to push in the stroller. I counted parked Mini Coopers to distract myself. By the time we got to the top of Ashbury where it hit Clayton, I’d spotted four.

I continued up towards Carmel, pulled inexplicably towards Abe’s house. I was just so curious. Even before I’d read about him online, he’d intrigued me. He was so different from Jesse, from Frank, from Arlen, from all other men I knew. He was tall, dark and handsome in the most non-cliché way. He emanated something. And whatever that something was felt new and strangely magical to me. I couldn’t help but be intrigued by someone whose only relationship baggage — that I knew of, anyway — seemed to be a chewed pair of shoes.

As we approached his house, my purpose shifted and I began to hope that I wouldn’t run into him after all. Because then I’d have to explain what, exactly, I was doing way up there. We were far beyond the commercial section of Cole Valley so I couldn’t claim to have simply happened upon the street. My arrival atop Carmel was undeniably deliberate and I couldn’t pretend otherwise.
But maybe he’d like that
, I thought absurdly.

“Oops!” GiGi said, tossing her hat onto a perfectly trimmed bush that separated the sidewalk from Abe’s house.

“Ooopsy!” I whispered in response, replacing the hat back on her head.

I studied Abe’s house again as if I could uncover clues to his character, his life. It was elegant but unpretentious. Impeccably maintained but not showy. Except for two motion-sensored lights triggered by me and the stroller, the house was dark. For the first time, I noticed two discreet security cameras pointing to the red front door and the large-paned windows. I would have loved to have seen the inside of that house, to secretly open drawers, to run my fingers along the spines of books. Somehow I just knew that inside that house were tons of books.

As I regarded Abe’s home, imagining what his life was like inside, the thick curtains in the large front window shifted. I gasped, taking an abrupt step backwards and almost falling off the sidewalk.
How am I going to explain that I am standing in front of his house, just staring?
I wondered, again regretting my foolish outing.

But then I saw that it was Truly’s black nose shoving the drapes aside. With a hand over my throat, I exhaled. When the dog spotted us, he whined pleadingly. I gave him a little wave and lifted the brake on GiGi’s stroller. I wanted to get out of there in case Abe was indeed home and Truly’s commotion drew him to the window.

We marched down the hill via Belvedere Street and I silently chastised myself. What, exactly, had I been hoping to find by going to Abe’s house? I dropped my head as I pounded down the hill, feeling ridiculous, like a high schooler casing the quarterback’s house after a game.

“Heyyyyy there.”

I looked up and there was Abe, walking up the hill directly toward me. And just like that, I was thrilled. Like I’d been the lucky last one admitted into an exclusive club, the red velvet rope clicking down behind me.

“Hi,” I said with a sheepishness I couldn’t explain without revealing where I’d just been.

He stopped three feet in front of the stroller. He was wearing dark jeans, a grey V-neck sweater with a white t-shirt underneath. I wondered, bizarrely, if his chest was hairy. I liked hairy chests.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked, seeming far looser than the other times I’d seen him. And he didn’t seem nearly as surprised to see me as I was to see him. It was almost like he’d been looking for me.

“Um, just out for a little nightly constitutional.”
How lame; I sound like I’m sixty-five
, I thought. “You?”

“Eeehhh,” he said, waving his hand. “Blind date.”

At once, I was both inexplicably jealous and insatiably curious. “And?”

“Eeehhh,” he said again.

I couldn’t help but grin, relieved. “Where’d you go?”

“The new wine bar on the corner of Carl. History has shown me that blind dates are hit or miss so I now only meet briefly for coffee or drinks — until the second date.”

“Good plan.”

He shrugged.

“Does it make you miss your old girlfriend?” I asked.
What has gotten into me?

He took a step closer. “Not so much. I guess I’m just really wanting something new and fresh. No history.”

My torso flooded with warmth and I took short, quick breaths. I imagined that he was communicating with subtext, conveying a secret message, a whisper, a hint. An offer. My nerve endings stirred. I stepped towards him and lifted my chin. He was so much taller than I was, his black eyes still seemed very far away.

But then he moved closer too. He bent down and put his lips on mine. I didn’t pull away. His mouth was moist and tasted shockingly stale. A combination of beer and something that smelled like medicine and mucous. My neck craned back uncomfortably. He was so tall. Our bodies felt mismatched. He opened his mouth for a deeper kiss. Paralyzed by panic and disgust, I didn’t move.

Just then, saving me from my life’s most ruinous mistake, GiGi shrieked. “Uh oh!”

I jerked my head back and stepped away.

“So sorry,” Abe said, his eyes still closed. “I must be a little drunk.” He wiped his mouth.

“Oopsy!” GiGi yelled again, leaning over trying to reach the hat she’d tossed onto the concrete.

With trembling hands, I retrieved the hat, hoping that Abe was more than a little drunk. I prayed that in a few hours he’d not remember anything that had just happened. That step I took towards him, the kiss. Instantly, I was desperate to forget it all myself.

“Sorry, too,” I said quickly. “See you.”

I turned awkwardly and powered down the hill, afraid to glance back. If I stopped, I wasn’t sure my legs would keep me upright, they were shaking so badly. I’d never done anything like that — not to Jesse, not to any boyfriend, not even Arlen. When I started to catalog everything I had risked, I felt sick.

I whipped right onto Frederick just as Jesse was pulling into the driveway a few houses up.

“Hi, girls,” he said, rolling down the window.

That deep voice, that kind face.
What had I just done?

“Thought you were training tonight,” I croaked out, hoping he wouldn’t notice my wavering voice. I leaned forward and kissed him, wondering if Abe’s saliva was still on my mouth. Shame knotted my belly and weakened my limbs. I let my curls fall in front of my face to hide my involuntary grimace. I didn’t want Jesse asking what was wrong. I was sure that I’d crack and then explode if he did. And who knew what would result. Flashes of Marigold’s picture flew across my mind. Perfect, radiant Marigold.

“I was,” he said. “But then I thought about getting into swim trunks with this wind, this fog and thought, ‘Puck that.’”

He was using one of the phrases we’d developed as a way to swear without exactly swearing in front of GiGi, our hockey passion aiding us.

“I was on Union Street this afternoon for a meeting,” he continued, “and I walked into this ridiculously trendy kids store. Everything was overpriced, especially the most unnecessary items. But I did find this.” He reached a hand into his briefcase and pulled it out dramatically, magician-style, revealing a bright red stuffed mouse.

“Very cute.” I kept my words clipped. Anything more and I feared I’d unload my new secret, my betrayal. A dullness in my chest meant that I couldn’t fill my lungs completely. I held the toy longer than necessary, hoping that inspecting every last detail — the black stitching, the factory smell — would help distract me from what had just happened with Abe minutes before. To think that we were out on the street, our lips touching, with Jesse driving nearby, where anyone could have seen us. Nausea enveloped me. I handed the toy back to him.

He brought the mouse up to GiGi’s nose, made a loud kissing sound and handed it to her. “I’ve named it.”

“Of course you have.”

“Mousey Tung.”

“Cute.” The back of my throat stung.

“Get it? Red, Mao —”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” I replied with mock impatience.

“Of course, nothing will replace Gavin.”

“Of course.” I was well aware of the concept. I couldn’t replace Julia. Or Marigold. And as I’d discovered moments before, Abe could never replace Jesse.
Never.

“But, still, I couldn’t resist.”

I kissed him again, wondering how many times I’d kiss him before the lingering feeling of Abe’s lips, the memory of my transgression, however brief, disappeared. I desperately wanted to disinfect my mind, to wipe it all away. The way I’d flirted, the flutter I felt whenever Abe laughed at something I’d said or showed interest in the baby, the musty smell of his breath.

We walked into the house together, his arm around my waist. Once inside, he put down his briefcase and lifted GiGi out of the stroller. His affection for her was at once adorable and horrifying. It represented a shift, a definitive shift, from the Jesse I first fell in love with. And despite our long-held pact about being childless, he wanted to keep GiGi — just like Arlen wanted to keep our baby. And just like that frightening time, I’d be forced to wrench the baby away from him.

Even if it were somehow possible to keep her, the whole notion still frightened me. Love, I’d always believed, was that zero-sum game — what was given to one person could not be given in equal part to another. Wouldn’t Jesse inevitably love me less with a whole other person in our lives? Wouldn’t I come to love him less? Could she love both of us just the same?

I felt my cheeks reddened as I realized that I’d been wrong about so many things. About myself. About my husband. What else?

Jorge’s daughter toddled into the Curtis Construction trailer. I was sitting at my desk going through the City Planner’s notes on our next project’s plans when she tapped my knee, handed me a tattered copy of
Blueberries for Sal
and said, “Read.”

LuLu hadn’t visited for a few months. The last time I’d seen her she’d walked around the construction site with a pink rubber pacifier in her mouth. Now she was wearing a miniature backpack and carrying books.

“Ooooh, sorry, Meees Hillary,” Jorge said, coming into the office close behind her and scooping her up.

“Don’t be silly,” I said, reaching my arms out. “Here.” I slapped my thighs and he placed her on my lap. Because of GiGi, she felt both familiar and unfamiliar. The dangly, pudgy legs, her scent were familiar. But she weighed more. Her hair was longer. And she wore tiny gold hoops in her ears.

“Eees okay?”

“Bueno.” I waved Jorge away and began reading out loud. Frank, who’d watched the whole exchange from his desk, raised one eyebrow at me before returning to his own paperwork with a notable grin. When I heightened my voice at the ku-plink, ku-plank, ku-plunk part, he let out a soft whistle.

We finished the book right as Jorge and his wife Marcia returned to the office a few minutes later, tracking saw dust on the floor. She was in her early thirties and gorgeous. Everything about her — her hair color, her skin, her eyes — was the color of honey. Even when she wore simple yoga pants and a t-shirt, she glowed. When I was training for races, I often thought of her on my long runs, hoping that the workouts might be an avenue to achieving that same healthy, youthful radiance. I’d never met Marigold, but Marcia’s luminance reminded me of her.

“Thank you,” she said to me, lifting LuLu out of my lap. Unlike Jorge, she had no accent, though English wasn’t her first language either. I wondered if somehow I could take Spanish lessons from her since my JCC class hadn’t worked out. In the meantime, “No hay problema” was the best I could conjure in reply.

“You’re like the Pied Piper now, I guess,” Frank quipped, crossing the trailer and threading several sheets of paper through the shredder.

“Hardly.”

“Seriously, how long have you had the baby?”

“Mmm, a little more than a month?” Time, it seemed, had lost its meaning since she’d arrived. A month felt like both a minute and an eternity.

“Well, LuLu wouldn’t have approached the Hillary of a month ago. And that Hillary certainly wouldn’t have halted her work to read a kid a story, for Christ’s sake.”