The Ex (37 page)

She answered the door in the silk robe with hand-painted cherry blossoms I’d gotten her for her birthday.

“You look fancy,” I said, faking a bright smile. Then, I immediately broke down sobbing.

Mom brought me inside and sat me down at the wrap-around counter in the kitchen. She poured a healthy amount of grocery store white Zin into a jumbo wineglass and slid it across the granite. “Tell me what’s up.”

That was the worst part. I couldn’t really tell her what was going on, because it was private. I was trapped in Neil’s hell with him, and I couldn’t even ask for help. So, I told her what I could.

“Neil is an alcoholic. Like, not a functioning one.” I took a gulp of wine, so I didn’t have to look at my mom’s face. I set my glass down. She hadn’t flown into a rage yet, so I continued, “He has been for a really long time. So, I guess maybe he was functioning? He was hiding it from me.”

Mom’s brow crinkled. “Did you know about this before you got married?”

“I did. I knew about it back in January, actually. After his mom died. In London, he took some pills and some drugs, and he drank… I thought he was going to die. He quit shortly after his birthday. As far as I know, he’s only drank once since. But it’s hard, Mom. It’s so hard.”

I could break down now, under this pretext. Everyone knew it was difficult to be someone’s supportive partner when they were going through treatment for an addiction. Maybe it was selfish of me, but in that moment, I was grateful for Neil’s alcoholism. It gave me sufficient cover to cry and get all of my frustration over the total unfairness of his situation out without having to spill about the book.

“Of course it’s hard, honey.” Mom nodded and reached across the counter to squeeze my wrist. “You’re twenty-six, and you’ve taken on an entirely different life. Before you met Neil—” She made a face as she corrected herself. “Before you met him again, you were a totally broke, fully career-minded girl. You didn’t have to worry about living anyone else’s life. You just focused on your own.”

“I’m not living Neil’s life,” I protested cautiously. I didn’t want her to think I was rejecting her advice or comfort, after I’d come here seeking exactly that. “I’m living my life, with him.”

“That’s not how marriage works, Sophie.” Mom held up her hands in gentle, preemptive defense. “I know I’ve never had a serious relationship. At least, not serious enough to move in. But I do know some things. And I know that when two people get married, stuff doesn’t stay separate. Bad stuff, good stuff, it all gets mixed in together. When I say you’re living Neil’s life, he’s living yours, too. I’m not saying you’ve given up who you are to be the little wife. You’re trying to take care of him.”

I stared miserably into my glass. “He’s so sad, Mom. And I don’t know how to help him.”

“There’s a difference between helping him and trying to take something away from him. You can’t recover for him. He has to do that on his own.”

“Oh my god.” I shook my head and laughed despite the awful emotional turmoil that was snotting up my face. I got up and ripped a paper towel off the roll to wipe my nose. “You’re my mom. You’re not supposed to say smart things.”

Mom’s expression changed. The corners of her mouth fell, and her eyebrows met in a sad frown. “I read something online that I wanted to talk to you about.”

I leaned with my back against the refrigerator for support. With all the press nonsense Stephen’s book had been generating, it had really only been a matter of time.

“You know what I’m going to say,” Mom said, our eye contact never flinching.

“It was about Stephen.” I went back to the stool at the counter.

“Is this someone you know?” she asked, and I could tell that she was trying very hard not to appear judgmental of Neil.

“He’s someone Neil knew.” It was hard to know how much to reveal, so I chose only the thing she could have figured out on her own. “Stephen Stern is Valerie’s brother. Neil and Stephen dated, and that’s how Neil met Valerie.”

I really had to applaud Mom for not visibly reacting. There would be so many objections stacking up in her mind. After a few endless seconds, she asked, “Is Neil gay?”

“No. Neil is bisexual.” I hated outing him to Mom, but since she already knew he’d dated a man, the point seemed moot. In an impetuous show of solidarity, I added, “Like me.”

“Oh.” Mom nodded. “But…you’re both straight now, right? You married each other.”

Yeah, and we fuck a whole bunch of other people.
“That’s not really how it works. It’s more like…we’re married to each other, but either of us could have married someone of our gender. It’s… I don’t know. It’s complicated. I’m still trying to figure out stuff about myself. Please, just…don’t listen to what this Stephen douche is saying, okay? He’s just trying to drum up book sales.”

“Well, I think it’s very rude of this Stephen guy to blab about his past lovers in a book then run around giving interviews about them.” She shook her head. “It’s low class.”

“It is…” I agreed cautiously. “You’re not mad at Neil?”

Mom tilted her head and stared at me as though I’d just asked her if she’d voted Republican in the last election. “Why would I be mad at Neil? He’s not the one telling everyone his sexual history on morning shows. Did you know this Stephen person also dated some kind of British politician from their parliament, or whatever they have over there? It’s apparently a huge scandal.”

“I…did not know that.” In terms of coming out, I was a little disappointed that mine wasn’t a bigger deal. Maybe it was because Mom figured that since I was with a guy now, it didn’t matter if I was attracted to girls? Was I supposed to be relieved or insulted?

“Just do me a favor,” Mom said, still radiating concern. “Don’t get swept up in Neil’s dramas to the point that you’re not taking care of what you need for yourself.”

“He doesn’t have that much drama,” I protested, but Mom was already pursing her lips with a knowing nod.

“Let’s see, there’s the adult daughter, the ex-girlfriend, the ex-lover who writes tell-all books, the cancer,” she ticked these off on her fingers dramatically, “the alcoholism, the sweatpants—”

“Oh my god, Mom, he doesn’t even wear sweatpants that often!” I picked up my wine. Rolling the glass between my palms, I thought about all the things I’d learned about Neil in the past seven months. Not a damn one of them had convinced me to not marry him. “He’s had more time than I’ve had to rack up the baggage. And I don’t think I will. Every really hard thing I’ve been through in my life, I’ve been through with him, and he, like, protected me. I think he was spending so much time trying to protect me, he ended up hiding a lot of stuff.”

“Hey. You’re my daughter. You’re not supposed to say smart things,” she said, throwing my words back at me. Her smile was small and sad. “You know you can come to me with anything. We both know that I don’t care for Neil, and he doesn’t like me, either. But I love you, and if he’s going through something, you are, too. I’m not going to judge him. Unless he’s treating you like shit. And I don’t think he’d ever do that.”

Even though our talk made me feel a little better, I didn’t want to go back to the house. We watched a couple of episodes of
Cheers
on Netflix. I laid my head in her lap, like I’d done when I was a kid, and she played with my hair, braiding and unbraiding little bits absently.

“Mom?” I asked, drowsy. I’d have to go soon, or I would fall asleep. I shouldn’t have left Neil alone for as long as I had. He was the one who’d had the traumatizing day, and I should have been with him, just in case he woke up and needed me. But a little decompression time had gone a long way.

“Hmm?” she asked, her attention still divided between me and the TV.

“Don’t go back to Michigan.”

Her hand paused. Then, brightly, as though the thought had never occurred to her, she said, “You know. I think I’ll stay. You need a support system, and Holli is two hours away. I needed a change of pace, anyway. Maybe I’ll meet a guy or something.”

I sat up. “Wow, Mom, look at you.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve already been here for half the year, anyway. And I was going to be stuck in that town forever. Who was I going to meet? I’m tired of being a spinster.” She shrugged. “I didn’t want to mention it until I got a job. I hate sponging off you.”

“You’re not sponging. And, even if you were, it’s not like I can’t afford you. I’m paying you back for college and all my magazine subscriptions in high school,” I pointed out.

“Well, I don’t care. Let me live here rent-free, and maybe in a couple of decades, you’ll have dug me out of the hole your tuition made.” She motioned to the door. “Are you staying or going? Because I’m going to bed.”

She wasn’t. Years of weird hours at the hospital meant that Mom didn’t really sleep much. She was just giving me an out to run back to Neil.

I got my shoes on and headed back to the main house, after I promised Mom that I would look out for crazies. Even with full-time on-site security, she didn’t trust that we weren’t going to get murdered because “we live too close to New York”.

Mom drove me absolutely batshit sometimes. Most of the time. But I’d forgotten what it was like to need her. I’d missed eight years of momly advice because I’d been so insistent on independence.

I slipped back into the house and found Neil still snoring away in bed. I had to laugh; I hadn’t heard him sleep this hard since he’d stopped drinking.

I stripped down and curved my body around his back. Emma always talked about how important it was for a baby to have skin-to-skin contact. Beyond various medical benefits, it apparently soothed them and made them feel more loved. I wondered if it could work on fractured adults.

I held Neil and stroked his hair and willed him to feel every bit of the limitless love I had for him. I’d once thought we were so connected that his hurts were mine. Now, I knew that wasn’t so. I couldn’t try to heal for him anymore. I had to trust that he was fully capable of doing it on his own.

I nuzzled his shoulder and inhaled against his neck. This man, this exciting, impossible man, was a part of my heart, and he’d taken me as a part of his. Though we couldn’t do everything, be everything for each other, we damn sure wouldn’t be alone.

EPILOGUE

By
the end of August, I was back in my life groove. The magazine was doing better than ever; Deja and I were seriously considering an offer from a major media corporation who wanted to buy it. I’d made an effort to reduce my number of hours in the city by hiring a few staff members locally, effectively opening a second office right out of our house, so I could telecommute as much as possible. In fact, we worked out of the expansive room that had, at one time, been our bar. Neil didn’t need it anymore, and the service entrance at the end of the hallway made it an ideal location. The remodel had taken longer than I would have liked, so our contributions to the October issue had been crafted mostly around the kitchen table.

Neil had surprised me by complaining about the arrangement, at first. It had only taken him a few weeks before he’d become a near constant figure in the home office, leaning over my shoulder and making suggestions until I would politely tell him to fuck off. He liked having me at home, but it was clear that he was itching to work.

“Why don’t you try to funnel some of this control freak energy into something more positive?” I suggested during my lunch break one day. I leaned over to take the bite of broccoli he offered me on the end of his fork. I made a disappointed mewl as I chewed. “You’re right. It does get better overnight. I shouldn’t have let you take that.”

He looked at the leftovers I’d claimed, tortellini from our dinner out the night before, and sighed. “I suppose if I suggested a trade…”

“Oh, no. You have the broccoli. I can’t possibly let you give it to me,” I demurred as I took the bowl from him and slid my plate across the table. I should have known better. In a contest between restaurant food and home-cooked Neil food, Neil food always won.

“So,” he said, picking up his fork and digging it into the tortellini. “You want me to find something to keep me out of your hair while you work? Because there
is
the new Lambo I’ve been eyeing—”

“No. I want you to find something that will take the edge off your anxiety. There has to be some kind of project you can get involved with.” I gestured with my fork. “Like, one of the fifty charities you’ve got other people running.”

“Three, Sophie. But you’re right. Sitting back and making one or two decisions a year was acceptable while I was working, but now, I do have more time to devote to worthwhile causes, rather than just throwing money at them.” He considered, and I saw the wheels turning in his head.

The security system panel beside the door chirped, and our housekeeper, Julia, came in bearing a huge QVC box. “It’s your mother’s,” she announced, leaning over to place it on the floor. “I’ll try to remember to remind the UPS man. Again.”

“Thank you, Julia,” he called after her as she disappeared into the pantry. To me, he added, “I’m going for a run this evening, after it cools down some. I’ll take it to her then.”

“No, I’ll take it.” I pushed the remaining broccoli toward him and got up from the table. “I need to stretch my legs before I go back, and I’ve got twenty minutes left.”

The package wasn’t very heavy, so I assumed it was more clothes. I could take the woman to all sorts of expensive boutiques and high-end department stores, and she still ordered Denim & Co.

As I walked down the path toward the house, I saw Mom’s car parked outside the garage. I had time for a cup of coffee, if she had some on.

Who was I kidding? She always had some on.

My family had one of those no-boundaries policies regarding our houses. If the door was unlocked, we just walked right in. But, when I walked in, Mom was nowhere to be seen.

“Mom?” I called out, and she didn’t answer. She was probably on a walk or something. She’d gotten onto a weird health kick all of a sudden. It was pretty cool that she had hobbies now. I’d never thought of her as a hobbies kind of person, but maybe it was because she just never had time before. She’d even taken up knitting.

Since I knew the box held clothing, I jogged up the stairs to her bedroom. I’d just dump it on her bed so she would find it.

The moment the handle clicked open, someone, some
male
someone, shouted. I wish it would have registered before I’d opened the door fully. Then, I wouldn’t have seen my mother and some
guy
scrambling to take cover in rumpled bedding, limbs flashing everywhere. I dropped the box and covered my eyes, shrieking, “Mother!”

The guy yelled, “Ow, ow, my knee!” and I recognized his voice.

Oh. My. God.

“Tony?” I stamped my foot. “Mother, are you fucking our driver?”

“What? This isn’t
Downton Abbey
!” she huffed. She was out of breath.
Oh, sick.
“And you could have knocked!”

“Well, I’m sorry, I didn’t think to myself, ‘better have a care, Sophie, your mum could be getting railed by the chauffeur!’” Wait, why I was doing a British accent? Had Neil become the voice of my conscience or something? I would be so doomed.

“Nobody is getting ‘railed’ by anybody, Ms. Scaife,” Tony said, his Brooklyn-accented voice forceful but apologetic. “I know I’m breaching a lot of protocol here. But I love your mother. She’s a good woman, and I want to be with her. If you can’t employ me anymore, I’ll understand. But I’m not going to stop seeing Becky.”

“I…” I peeked out through my fingers before dropping my hand. They were by no means “decent”, but at least they were fully covered up now.
This explains the knitting.
“I don’t…”

What was I supposed to do? Fire him on the spot? He’d just move into the guesthouse with Mom, anyway, probably. Or maybe Mom would move out. And, as much as she drove me crazy, I really didn’t like the idea of that.

“I’m not going to fire you, Tony. I just…” Ugh, I had never been so uncomfortable in my life.

Well, except for one, eerily similar time.

“It’s just a shock to walk in on your mom in bed with some guy when you don’t even know she’s dating.” God, this really was like some hellish reverse of what had happened to Emma. “Look, I won’t… I’ll just call before I come over, okay?”

I backed slowly from the door. And I don’t know why I said, “Carry on.”

I couldn’t have left that house faster if it were on fire. Outside, I leaned over with my hands on my thighs like I had just been for a long run. All the blood rushed to my head, but there wasn’t enough in my entire body to produce the blush required for this situation.

When I burst through the kitchen door, Neil wasn’t there. I headed to his den, where he lounged on the brown leather sofa, flipping through channels on the television. He sat up when he saw the state I was in. “Sophie?”

“Something…” I gestured in the vague direction of the house. “Something really horrible…”

He moved to get to his feet, probably thinking that my mom had died suddenly or something.

I flapped my hands like I was patting the air. “No, no, it’s not an emergency, it’s…” I gulped down the painful lump in my throat. “It’s my mom. She was…uh…” My stomach churned. “She was in bed with Tony.”

Neil frowned and said, “Who’s Tony?” before comprehension dawned on his face. “Oh,
our
Tony?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” I paced back and forth in front of the coffee table. “He thinks we’re going to fire him. And this, ooh, this is the
worst
part, Neil. He said he
loves
her.” I drew out the L-word like it was the most disgusting thing I’d ever said. Apparently, I’d never gotten over my adolescent jealousy toward my mom’s partners. That was depressing.

The corner of Neil’s mouth twitched, though he tried valiantly to remain serious in the face of my resurgent teen angst. “Why is that the worst part?”

“It isn’t. I know it isn’t.” I sat beside him, leaned my elbows on my knees, and covered my face with my hands. “I’m happy for her. I just wish I hadn’t walked in on her happiness.”

“Totally understandable. I walked in on my parents being happy once. It disturbed me greatly.” He put his arm around me. “If your mom loves Tony, and he loves her, then you don’t want to be the person who interrupts that. Figuratively speaking, of course. You’ve already done that literally.”

I shuddered. “I need to take a full body shower.”

“What you need is to get back to work. And to leave me alone so I can watch the Yankees in peace.” He gestured to the television.

“That’s the second most disgusting thing I’ve heard today,” I groaned. “I don’t mind you being so quasi-American, but why the Yankees?”

“Because it rankles you.” Grinning, he added, “Get back to work.”

I mock stomped my way out of the room. When I got to the office, I found I was the first person back from lunch, something that happened often, since I didn’t have to leave the premises to eat. I grabbed my phone off my desk and pulled up my recent calls. I found Emma’s number and dialed her.

“Hello?”

“It’s Sophie.” I scrunched my hair to the side of my head and scratched my scalp, trying to erase the image of Tony’s bare chest from my mind. “I just wanted to let you know that my karmic debt to you has been repaid.”

* * * *

After
his meeting with Stephen, Neil decided—with his therapist’s blessing—to begin work on a new charity project. He announced it to Emma, Michael, and my mom at family dinner one Sunday.

“It’s a crisis center for victims of sexual assault.”

“Like a women’s center?” Michael asked, glancing up from his plate.

Neil’s eyes darted to Mom, but she was busy cutting her chicken. He looked down at his own plate. “No. A rape crisis center, for anyone who needs it. Men, women, anyone.”

“Wow, Neil, what inspired this?” Mom asked, taking a bite from her fork.

“Personal experience.” Neil looked to Michael. “If I’d had some kind of support network or counseling when I was raped, perhaps I wouldn’t have the issues that I have now.”

Michael didn’t know.
I’d assumed that Emma would have told him. Maybe Neil had asked her not to. Mom definitely hadn’t known.

Slowly setting his glass down, Michael blinked to disguise the wideness of his eyes. “I think this is a great idea.”

It dawned on me that what I was witnessing was an apology from Neil to Michael, about that day in London. Neil had found a way to express remorse and a willingness to make amends for past behavior and to explain what had led to it.

“I’m sorry that you went through something like that,” Mom said. Then, brightening, she added, “But you’re going to make lemonade out of these lemons. That has to feel good.”

“You know, it does.” Neil reached for my hand on the table and stroked his thumb over the back of my fingers. Pride and admiration warred for control of the smile I gave him. He returned the expression with a slow bend of his lips and picked my hand up to kiss it, winking at me.

“Break it up, lovebirds,” Mom said, only half-teasing.

“Mmm.” Emma swallowed and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Speaking of, where’s Tony this evening?”

“He took his ma to Atlantic City for her birthday,” Mom said, with a resigned roll of her eyes. She and Tony’s mother disagreed on whether or not Mom was good enough for him. “He’ll be here next week.”

Olivia squawked, and the playpen rustled.

“Madame fussy butt rises,” Michael laid his napkin beside his plate.

Neil was already on his feet. “No, no. Eat. It’s the only decent meal you’ll get all week.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Emma protested loudly. Neil leaned over the playpen and lifted Olivia out. She babbled happily, her little arms and legs waving with excitement. One struck her grandfather in the face, and his surprised “ow” made her squeal with delight.

While everyone was distracted with Olivia, I took advantage of the moment, studying everyone’s happy faces. Mom, enviously eyeing Neil with the baby, plotting to get a turn. Michael trying not to scarf down his dinner—Emma really was a horrible cook—and making the occasional, subtle exhale of grateful pleasure. Emma, laughing as her father struggled to remove his nose from Olivia’s grasp. Emma’s smile was her father’s.

And Neil, wearing his stupid sweatpants that Mom would definitely complain about later. I’d been so afraid that he would be different after he quit drinking, and he was, but not in the way I’d feared. He was himself, but an enhanced version. His enthusiasm and passion for life had increased tenfold. His enthusiasm and passion for me had gone off the charts. No, every day didn’t feel like falling in love for the first time, but a lot of them did. I was grateful for them all.

Maybe our life would never be “normal”. What the hell was normal, anyway? I sat at a table with my family, my stepdaughter and son-in-law who were the same age as me, and my mother who was younger than my husband. In a week, I would turn twenty-seven, and I ran one of the hippest digital fashion magazines on the internet. And I was a grandma. Talk about being advanced for one’s age.

There’s no such thing as a guaranteed happily ever after, and no indication of what should happen after you ride off into the sunset with your handsome prince. But sitting at the kitchen table with Neil and our family on a Sunday night… It sure felt like happily ever after to me.