The Breakup Mix (29 page)

On our last stop, I let Dani have the front seat so she could help Alissa find the house. I was tired and Dani was nervous, so it was a good swap for both of us. After a few wrong turns and a trip down a one-way street, Alissa fired Dani from the navigation and turned on the GPS. I was content to gasp and point from the back seat at the houses that dripped money.

Dani snapped, “Well we can’t be too far from it. There’s the damn ocean right there.”

“Begging your pardon, Miss Dani, but there are a helluva lot of houses on said ocean, and I’d rather not unpack at the wrong one,” Alissa barked.

Two minutes later, Alissa slowed near the driveway of a house. “I think that’s it. I recognize it from the pictures.” She looked at her phone. “Aren’t you going to tell me—”

The phone chirped, “You have arrived at your destination. It is on the left.”

Alissa tossed the phone on the dashboard and muttered as she turned into the driveway. “Looks smaller than I’d imagined.”

Smaller? The house looked to be at least two stories with a two-car garage underneath. My heart pounded in my chest as a grin spread across my face. I opened the car door and tilted my face to the afternoon sun. “Hello, lover.”

Alissa grinned. “Tada! What do you think?”

We got out of the car and stared at the perfectly manicured lawn, palm trees, and the house that would be ours for the next five months. I didn’t even want to think about how much this cost, and I’d only seen the back. I grabbed Chubs, attached his leash, and nearly sprinted to the front of the house to see the view.

Once again, Alissa did it up right.

The front of the house was more immaculate than I could ever have pictured on my own. The two-story yellow house with white trim stood proudly with opened arms that curled slightly and ended with glass rooms. Above the front door was a white wooden deck that sat like a crown. Mentally, I called dibs on whatever room those double doors enclosed—even if it was a laundry room, it was mine. An elevated deck surrounded the front of the house with palm trees, sea grass, and a perfect view of the Gulf of Mexico to complete the scene. The evening tide was whipping and rolling, providing just enough surf sounds to make tears flow down my cheeks. It was perfect. While the house didn’t have a veranda, there was a gazebo, and that was good enough for me. I didn’t care if I ever stepped foot in the house at this point—I was content with the yard.

“Chance, can you believe this place?” Dani gaped as she circled the sidewalk. “Every detail is so intricate and meticulous.”

Alissa slid next to me and linked her arm with mine. “Well? What do you think?”

I swallowed hard and whispered, “It’s perfect, Lis.”

She giggled and squealed, “Yay! Welcome home, Chance Bradley.”

I shook my head and laughed. “I cannot believe this is happening. We made it.” I wiped my face. “Can you believe this view?”

She beamed. “Go big or go home, right?”

“I’ve never known you to be any other way, kiddo.”

Dani scampered down the wooden steps that led to the beach. “Chance! Come on!”

I slipped off my shoes and socks, rolled my jeans and ran to catch up with her. I can’t remember a time when I’ve ever felt freer in my life. My long hair whipped in the breeze, the ocean applauded with our arrival as though it had been waiting for us. I giggled then squealed in spite of myself. I sped past Dani who’d stopped to take off her shoes and ran the width of the shore until I was ankle-deep in the ocean water. Alissa was hot on my heels splashing and stomping as she threw back her head and laughed just for the joy of it.

“Is this really happening?” Dani gasped as she tested the water. She stepped into the ocean with us. “It’s colder than I’d imagined.”

“Well, it is nearly January, silly.”

If I’d brought any cares with me to this place, the sea greeted me and took them to its depths. The ocean commanded our attention—the trance of its melody wrapped around me like a grandmother’s hug.

I glanced down the beach and saw Alissa scampering in and out of the waves with her arms out like an airplane. I nudged Dani. “Will you look at her?”

Dani chuckled. “She’s a mess.”

I followed her eyes down the coast and whistled. “Get a load of those houses, man.”

“Oh, I’m looking. This is over the top.” She turned to look at our house and shook her head. “Shall we check out the house?”

I grinned. “Oh, absolutely.” I turned toward Alissa and yelled, “Come on, girl! Let’s go see the house!”

She tilted her arms and circled the plane our way as she screamed, “Isn’t this amazing?”

Thousands of stories from Alissa’s childhood invaded my mind. I envisioned her pretending to be a ten-year-old kid on vacation with her parents—the way it should have been. She was breathless and giddy when she got to us. She let her arms flop to her sides and looked at the house. “I did good,” she said.

“You did good, kid. Race ya! Loser has to cook supper.” We took off running and squealing for the house. Of course, Dani was the sore loser, but I was sucking wind when we reached the boardwalk.

“But wait, there’s more,” Alissa grinned as she stepped up to the outdoor shower and pushed a button. Water sprayed across her feet rinsing away the sand. “Holy shit, that’s cold. Agh! Okay, Dani, your turn.”

Dani slid her feet under the water and gasped. “Holy shit, that’s cold!” She flipped her feet trying to hurry the process. “Chance?”

I took my turn, and suddenly that water wasn’t nearly as funny as it had been when the other two were under it. “Good god, that’s freezing.” They took their turn laughing at me as I danced and shook my fists. “Okay, good enough. Let’s go inside.” I picked up Chubs and wiped the sand off his feet as he licked my hands.

Our wet feet slapped against the boardwalk and wooden steps. Alissa slid the key in the lock and asked, “Are you ready for this?”

I laughed. “I feel like I should be carrying you across the threshold or something.”

Alissa laughed too. “Dani, you go first. In case there are burglars. You can use your mad punching skills.”

“Great, we’re all dead, then,” Dani said.

Alissa swung open the door and we stepped into what would be considered a mud room in the Midwest. Benches lined three walls and towel hooks were spaced evenly around the room. A shelf next to the door held a dozen white towels all rolled to perfection, and a plush rug covered most of the hardwood floors. I pointed at the rug. “Smart.”

Dani looked down. “Can you imagine the scuffs sandy feet would leave on these floors?

I set Chubs down and shortened his leash. I smirked. “I can’t wait until your baby draws a Crayola masterpiece on your walls.”

She smacked my hand. “Stop that.”

Straight ahead, the sunroom opened into the largest kitchen I’ve ever seen. Off to the right was a little sitting room. “What’s that for, morning coffee?” I stuck my head in and saw one of the all-window rooms I’d seen from the beach.

“I’d say that’s exactly what this is. A coffee room/breakfast nook,” Alissa said.

I whispered, “It’s fabulous. God, look at that view.”

“Chance, come look at this!” Dani called from deeper in the house.

Alissa and I fought to be the first one out of the breakfast nook and laughed as we crossed the kitchen, which led into the living room. I gasped and didn’t know where to look first. The high ceilings, the white couches with brown pillows that matched the furniture and floors. “Oh god, Chubs.” I looked down at my dog. “You will not get on those couches, you understand?”

Alissa nudged me. “We’ll put some blankets over them. You know how clumsy I am and how wine affects Dani. Chances are we’ll have to have those professionally cleaned before we leave, anyway.” She winked. “If we ever leave.”

I nodded. “Right? I’m thinking Mama’s home. As much as I love my apartment, I could be persuaded to stay here forever.”

Alissa laughed. “Oh girl, even I can’t afford this place for life. But it’s something to consider.”

Dani was still on the prowl and gasping every thirty seconds at her latest find. She found the library, a study, and an indoor pool which was the surprise behind the other all-glass walls. She grinned and asked, “What’s upstairs?”

We took off for the stairs—I won that time and got to see my room first. I threw open the door to the room that had a balcony which overlooked the ocean. “Dibs! Dibs, dibs, dibs,
mine
!” I threw myself on the king-sized bed and rolled around. “Mine, mine!” I threw out my arms and legs and wiggled like a pig in fresh mud. “Oh my god, I’m in heaven.”

Alissa called down the hallway, “I found my room!”

I sat up and frowned. “You didn’t even see this room, sister!” I jumped off the bed to see what treasure she’d found and gaped at the room she’d claimed. It was twice the size of mine and had a Jacuzzi tub in the corner surrounded by tropical plants and a window that overlooked the ocean. I mumbled, “Well shit the bed. She outdid me again.”

Alissa crawled into the tub and pretended to hold a wine glass. “Oh servant, I need more, please. And could you wash my back?”

I grabbed one of the towels beside the tub and threw it in her face. “Oh you got served, all right.”

Dani yelled, “I don’t know, ladies, I may have both of you beat.”

We stared at each other for a split second then started for the door at the same time as Alissa squealed, “Dammit, Chance, you had a head start!”

I stuck my tongue out. “You shouldn’t have bellied up to the tub,
ma chérie
!”

Dani’s room was pure elegance, just like its occupant. She had a window that overlooked the ocean as well, but the room seemed to be custom made for her. One wall was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with a reading nook on one side of the room. The bed would have taken up a normal room in any of our houses, but it seemed small in the expanse of a room. She grinned. “Check out the closet.”

I stuck my head into the closet that seemed never-ending. “Damn, that’s the size of my room back home!”

She giggled. “I didn’t bring enough clothes to fill a tenth of those hangers.”

I wagged my eyebrows at her. “We need to go shopping.”

Alissa came around the corner and asked, “Did someone say shopping?”

Chapter Thirty-Four

A Thousand Years

Michelle

New Year’s Eve. A time to reflect on the past year and make wishes for a new one. For most people, it’s a time to make a list of things you’re going to change in rapid succession then feel bad about never following through. My changes started four months ago. My wake-up call came a week ago, and my resolutions started the morning I woke up hung-over in Alissa’s house missing my family thinking I’d never have my horrible wasted life back.

I think I’ll remember the night I came home for the rest of my life. Brandon and I walked around the elephant in the room as I picked up my normal routine, scoured my filthy kitchen only to dirty it again with the same boring meal I’d cooked just a week earlier. The mood at the table was lighter than it’d been in a long time, but there seemed to be guillotines hung over everyone’s heads. No one made sudden movements, stupid comments, smart-ass retorts, or brought up touchy subjects. I guess you could say it was fake.

After dinner, clean-up, showers, laundry, and good-night routines, Brandon and I found ourselves in our bedroom standing in opposite corners with the elephant on our bed. I fidgeted and stole glances at him; he stood with his hands in his pockets staring at the bedspread.

He whispered, his voice husky and shaking, “Yellow, sunflowers, Kelly Clarkson, Hawaii, Riverboat Red Wine, cats, reading, have sex.” His eyes never left the bedspread.

I swallowed hard and asked, “What’s all that?”

His gaze cut to meet mine. “Your favorite color, flower, musician, dream trip, beverage of choice, favorite animal, favorite hobby, and favorite thing to do on a rainy day.” He sighed. “How’d I do?”

I bit my cheek to ease the ache in my throat and heart. “Very good.”

He nodded. “Thought so.”

“Why’d you do that?”

He shrugged. “You said in your journal I didn’t know the answers to any of those things. But I do, Michelle.”

“Brandon,” I whispered. Tears poured down my face. “I’m so sorry.”

“I also know that I’m an asshole, okay? I know that. I have to say I didn’t think I was
that
bad—”

I sobbed, “I was mad—”

He cut me off. “No, a lot of what you said is probably true. But, Chelle, not all of it. Okay? Not all of it.” His voice cracked as his chin quivered.

I went to him and knelt. “Brandon, I’m begging you on my knees to forgive me for what I wrote. I didn’t . . . I don’t . . . you’re not . . . Fuck, I can’t even talk.”

He knelt in front of me and put his forehead to mine. “Look at me, baby. I knew you were bat-shit crazy years ago. It’s part of the fun of being married to fifteen different women wrapped up in one body.”

I buried myself in his chest and cried out the memories of all his wrongdoing. With each swipe of my hand, I felt the resentment and bitterness I’d held as my ally wave the white flag of surrender. My husband was not my enemy; I was.

I’d love to say we had fabulous make-up sex all night long and woke up like newly-weds the next day, but we all know that’s not how it works in real life. We held each other ‘til the crying was over then went to bed completely exhausted—him on his side, me on mine. But we held hands. It was a start.

And now, it’s the night of December 31, a day of ending and the dawn of a new beginning. I feel optimistic about the new year, but not because I expect many things to change, but because I know they won’t, and that I have. And I’m okay with that. I’ve got my family, my home, and my new job at the gym. I’ve got the best friends in the world, and while I long to be with them right now eating up the gulf sun and drinking mimosas ‘til noon and fruity drinks ‘til midnight, I know I’d miss my chaotic, hormonal, scream-filled house and all the crazy occupants.

It was Del-Ray who called the cops that night. That’s why Brandon ended up taking her phone and the boys’ iPods. He never intended for “the incident” to go that far. Turns out she panicked when she heard us fighting and thought we were
really
fighting. Brandon told me about it; she blames herself for the whole mess. As much as I’ve tried to tell her that was probably the best thing that could have ever happened to me, she still thinks the whole thing is her fault. It still doesn’t explain why he turned off my phone, but I’m letting that little detail die in the embers of the past. Plus, I love my new smart phone. I think.

I didn’t tell Brandon about the money Alissa gave me. I’m willing to forgive and move forward, but I’m not going to forget that helpless feeling for a while. Brandon’s an insurance salesman, so certainly he of all people can understand the importance of having a private insurance policy . . . just in case. I opened an account in Martin’s name at a bank in Centralia about thirty minutes northeast of Columbia and deposited nine thousand dollars. I kept a thousand for a little “me” money. When I know for sure Brandon’s sincere about our new start and there’s no threat of him cutting me off from my life again, I’ll tell him about it. Just not right now. I opened my journal one more time and began to write.

It’s nearly midnight. The house is quiet since Del Ray is at a friend’s house and the boys are face-down in their new video games from Santa. Brandon fell asleep on the couch watching television an hour ago, and this is my last entry in this journal. I’ve got a special way I want to ring in the new year, and it’s fitting that I do it by myself.

I grabbed my wine glass, my journal, and the grill lighter before I slipped out the back door and into the yard. I stood in front of our makeshift fire pit filled with dead branches and old newspapers I’d collected earlier in the day. I lit the fire and took a sip of wine as the flames danced in the cold night air.

Houses all down the block erupted in cheers as the new year rolled in. I envisioned confetti, kisses, laughter, and awkward drunken hugs. I thought of my friends sitting on the beach watching fireworks explode; each of them wondering exactly how much their life was going to change in the coming year. I thought of Katie curled up in bed still filled with guilt and regret. She’s on my list of things to make right in the coming year, I just can’t do it yet. Being hurt by your husband is something you almost expect from time to time, being betrayed by a best friend is unspeakable.

The fiery dead wood and old news created a nice bed for my journal. I took another drink of wine and gently nudged my journal into the epicenter of the fire. The flames seemed to pause and look at me, giving me one last chance to reach in and grab my sacrifice. I nodded and watched the flames nibble at the edges of my pain until it decided it was delicious and ravaged every word, every memory, every tear-stained page. The fire moaned in delight, or maybe it was the last anguished cry of my misery being consumed by something much more powerful. Forgiveness. Acceptance. Wisdom. Courage. It was easy to be a victim. Too easy. It was easy to blame Brandon for my unhappiness. It was easy to feel trapped and unappreciated. It was easy to be mad. I was tired of easy.

I watched the fire until every last sheet of paper was transformed to ashes, and when it was over, I poured the last part of my wine over the fire to confirm the sacrifice. I slipped back into the house, put my glass in the sink, and went to bed after I kissed Brandon’s sleeping face and whispered, “Happy new year, baby.” He looked so comfortable on the couch, I didn’t have the heart to wake him.

I woke up to the smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee. I reached for Brandon but found cold sheets and an empty pillow. Either he didn’t come to bed last night, or he’s in the kitchen cooking. I looked at the clock and gasped.
9:15! What the hell?
I flew out of bed, threw on my yoga pants and practiced my apologies all the way down the hall.

Martin sat on the couch plunking at the guitar he got for Christmas while Gibson played Xbox. I kissed them on the head and slipped into the kitchen to see the damage. Del Ray and Brandon fluttered through the kitchen, each of them taking their respective breakfast mission very seriously. The look of concentration on their faces, the identical profile and synchronized way they moved while she cooked scrambled eggs and he fried bacon—I had to giggle. They turned to look at me and grinned.

“What’s all this?” I asked.

Brandon stabbed at the bacon a few more times then returned the lid to the frying pan and turned toward me. “Good morning! Happy new year!” He greeted me with a cup of coffee and a kiss. Del Ray hugged me. “Hi, Mom.”

I kissed the top of her head. “You’re cooking breakfast? When did you get home?”

She grinned. “Around nine. Dad’s teaching me to make scrambled eggs. You know. In case there’s a zombie apocalypse.”

I chuckled. “Well, I hear scrambled eggs are kryptonite for zombies, so good on ya, Dad.”

Del Ray tossed me a sarcastic glance then returned to the skillet. She said to Brandon, “I’m almost done. You close?”

Brandon switched off the burners. “Yep, I’m done. Did you start the toast?”

She nodded. “I’ve got eight pieces right now. Is that enough?”

He said, “Oh yeah, that’s plenty. If not, we can make more.” He pointed at me. “More coffee?”

I glanced at my cup. “Sure, I’ll take a warm-up.” He took my cup and pointed to the table. “Have a seat. We’re serving
you
this morning,” he said with a wink.

I looked sideways at him and smiled. “Maybe you should sleep on the couch more often. It does something to you.”

He grinned. “I came to bed right after you. Not that you noticed since your wine put you out cold.”

I giggled. “It’s always done that.”

His gaze met mine, his eyes burning with a life I hadn’t seen in a while. He placed my coffee in front of me and leaned down. “I know, Chelle.”

I felt parts of my body light up with an intensity I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager. I wanted that man naked in my bed immediately—bacon be damned. I stared at my husband and saw my high-school sweetheart, the boy who took my virginity, my heart, and my hand for life staring back at me. In that moment, he wasn’t the father of my children or the paycheck for bills, he was the boy I’d loved my whole life. And he wasn’t looking at me like the mother of his children, the cook, the roommate; he was looking at me like he did from the stage years ago—like, “If there weren’t fifty people on the dance floor between us, I’d have you naked in thirty seconds flat.” My face flushed as it remembered how to flirt. I flipped my hair and slid my hand through it—our signal to each other over the years to meet me in the bedroom in ten minutes. He winked, looked at the clock. “Make it fifteen.”

I grinned. “Deal.”

Breakfast was amazing. Simply amazing. Martin and Brandon talked guitar chords, Gibson chimed in with questions, and Del Ray and I talked about cutting and coloring my hair . . . again. She’s obsessed with making me over.

She said, “Well, look at you. You’ve lost all that weight, and your hair still looks like you just stepped out of 1999. You need a new ‘do to go with your new body.”

I sat back and stared at her. A slow grin slipped across my face as I asked, “New body?”

She chewed her food and mumbled around it, “Yeah, Mom, look at you. You’re hot! But that hair . . . that hair has to change.”

I glanced at Brandon and shrugged. “What do you think?”

“She’s right. You look amazing. Just don’t shave it and dye it purple.”

I chuckled. “No worries there. If it’s okay with you, I’ll make appointments for Del Ray and me tomorrow.”

She sighed. “I don’t want to wait, Mom! Let’s do something today. I’ve been studying haircuts. I think I could do it.”

“No offense, honey, but I’m not going to let you cut my hair.”

Martin asked Brandon, “Dad, is it G, C, and D for that song we played this morning?”

Brandon nodded. “Sounds like the guitar bug has bitten you, bud. It’s all you can talk about.”

“Welcome to my world, Brandon,” I said and winked.

He smiled. “I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole adult life.” He stood and took his plate to the sink, washed his hands, and went to the living room. He grabbed Martin’s guitar and slung the strap over his neck. He tuned a few strings then strummed a few chords. I smiled and started clearing the breakfast table as the sound of acoustic music hummed through the air. I ran a hundred songs through my mind trying to place the tune he was playing but couldn’t nail it down.

Then he started singing.

She’s given me all she ever had.

Sometimes, she makes me mad.

Little things, they turn real bad.

But she loves me, and I’m so glad.

Spellbound, I slowly walked into the living room where Brandon was perched against the back of the couch.

Didn’t get what we wanted out of life.

Expected a sword but got a knife.

A lot of laughter, a lot of strife.

But I’m so glad she’s my wife.

He fingered the strings and built to the chorus.

I’ve made mistakes, more than a few.

You’d ask for ten, I’d offer two.

I’m no fool, and I’m still mad at you.

He stared at me with pleading, apologetic eyes and repeated, “I’m still so mad at you.” Tears poured down my cheeks as he set down the guitar and mumbled, “It’s still a work in progress.”