A Slight Change of Plan (11 page)

I was a little surprised. Sam had never been one to gush about anything involving human beings. “Well, I am his mother.”

“True. But he usually only gets excited about theoretical things.”

“He obviously got excited over you,” I said.

She blushed. “Well, only after I chased him all over campus and threw myself at him repeatedly. For a brainiac, he’s very dense about things.”

“I know.” I finished my pie and leaned back, then sat up again. I could feel a hot flash coming like a slow-moving train.

“I finally got his attention when I dressed as an elf at a
Lord of the Rings
mixer the CompSci department threw. If it weren’t for Galadriel, I’d be dating a law student right now.”

I was trying to look interested, but was too busy fighting the urge to pull off my shirt and fan myself with a pizza pan. “Really?”

She had finished her pie and was watching me closely. “Are you all right?”

She probably noticed the beads of sweat on my temples. “Hot flash,” I said shortly.

She nodded. “My grandma used to get those all the time,” she said.

Oh, why, thanks so much!

“Are you really dating again?”

I looked at my tea, thinking I’d rather die than put anything hot anywhere near my body. “I’m trying. I’m not exactly sure how it will all turn out.”

“I think it’s great,” she said. “I mean, Sam is the love of my life, but if anything ever happened between us, I’d want to try again, you know, to find another person to share my life with. There are all kinds of ways to love a person. You should never give up on finding love.”

I looked at her in surprise. “That’s a very wise thing to say.” I decided to take a chance. “And a really funny thing has happened. The man who was the love of my life—back in college, I mean—is on the same dating site I am. And he wants to get together.”

Her jaw dropped. “Oh, Kate, how romantic. Did you answer him? Have you seen him?”

“I haven’t decided what to do yet. He broke up with me. I was pretty crushed.”

She leaned forward. “Kate, aren’t you dying to know what he wants to say to you?”

I shrugged. “Yes, I guess, but he can’t say anything to me until I wave back at him.”

“So, do you know what he’s been doing all these years?”

I shook my head. “Just what’s on his dating profile.”

Alisa jumped up. “Let’s Google him,” she said, and ran off.

I stared after her. Google him? Why hadn’t I thought of that?

She was back in the kitchen, laptop open.

“Okay. Spell his name?”

I did, and went around to look over her shoulder. My mouth felt dry. My heart was starting to beat a little faster.

What would the Google gods reveal?

It appeared that Jake Windom was a fairly important guy. He was, for one thing, the CEO of a very successful company, Nesco, with corporate headquarters down on Wall Street. There was mention of his divorce. One bio said that he met his ex-wife at Penn State. It looked like he’d married the woman he left me for. Was I grateful that, at least, he had broken my heart for something akin to true
love, instead of some casual fling? No, I don’t think I felt grateful at all. After all, he had divorced her in the end.

He also had a charity that he was involved with, was on the board of directors of a handful of nonprofit organizations, and had recently bid thirty-five thousand dollars on a Dalí sketch at Sotheby’s.

Alisa sighed. “You have to talk to him, Kate. He’s reached out to you, even though he must know how much he hurt you. Maybe he’s regretted it every single day of his life. Maybe he tried to find you again, right after it happened, to beg you to take him back, but couldn’t. How do you know that he hasn’t been searching for you all these years, just to beg your forgiveness?”

I stared at her. “I know because I don’t live in a Nora Roberts trilogy,” I said. I couldn’t believe I’d found another believer in fairy tales. I was surrounded by happily-ever-after groupies. I needed to change the subject, and fast. “Have any idea what you’ll be doing all summer?”

She closed the laptop and shrugged. “I’d like to get a job somewhere. I know it’s a little late to be applying anywhere. And other than neuroscience, I have very limited job skills.”

I gave up on the tea, got up, and cleared the table. Anything to create a cool breeze. “I’ll be looking for a job as well. Maybe we can tag-team. We’re both pretty much only qualified to do only one thing, so that narrows our options quite a bit, but still.”

“Maybe we should go into business together. We could sell your pies.”

I laughed. “Good idea. Maybe have one of those cupcake shops that are opening up everywhere.”

“Kate’s Cakes,” she offered. “But we’d put a K in ‘Kakes.’ So it would look really cute.”

I wanted to gag a little but didn’t. “I hate to break it to you, Alisa, but the middle-aged widow and the wildly popular cupcake shop only works in cozy romance novels. In real life, it’s a hard, long battle for success that usually ends in failure, and if I fail, I’ll have to start charging you and Sam more rent.” I smiled at her. “Besides, aren’t you going to be doing something brilliant in the next few months?”

She smiled shyly. “I hope it’s brilliant. That’s the only way I’ll get to France.”

“France?” I asked. “What’s with France?”

She stood up and stretched, like a cat. “That’s where I’m going when I finish school. There’s a lab right outside Paris doing amazing stuff, and I’ve already been in touch with the director. I hope to fly over there next year and meet him in person. I can’t wait. I’m going to love living in France.”

I stared at her. “You want to live in France?”

She nodded, beaming.

“And will Sam be going with you? To France?”

She nodded again. The sweat on my body began to dry and I felt suddenly cold.

“You’re going to take my son to France and raise all my grandchildren there?”

Being an MIT graduate, she immediately noticed the sudden change in my tone. She may have also seen my jaw tighten and my eyes narrow. As I watched her, I could see her backpedaling.

“Well, Kate, nothing has been decided. I mean, it’s just an idea I had, that’s all.”

“What would Sam do in France?” I wasn’t letting her off the hook.

She made a face, thinking fast. “Whatever he wanted. There are tons of technology companies over there. With the kind of work he’s doing, he could write his own ticket. But like I said, it’s all in the planning stages right now. Nothing has been decided. We have the next two or even three years to figure it out.”

“Of course,” I said. We stared at each other for a few moments; then she cleared her throat, thanked me for the pie, and mumbled something about unpacking. She practically ran out of the kitchen, laptop clutched to her chest.

I’d spent a lot of time lately planning changes to my life: changing my job, starting to date, buying a new house. It had looked pretty good on paper. But now I was finding out how planning your life really works.

It doesn’t.

The new house was feeling crowded. Not that I minded Sam and Alisa living with me. I welcomed the idea of getting to know my son again, and his girlfriend seemed like someone who would fit nicely into both of our lives. Even though it looked like she was planning to take my baby and shuffle him off to live in France, where I’d only see my future grandchildren once a year unless I wanted to move there myself and live in an attic on the Left Bank.

Until then, there were some things I’d gotten used to that would have to change. Like leaving the bathroom door open, and playing seventies disco music really loud in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep. But those things I could adjust.

I was unemployed. Not at all where I expected to be at my age, which was way past the desirable employment age. Where was an ex–tax lawyer going to find a job that could cover all her living expenses so that she’d be able to leave her 401(k) and other investments intact? Just in case she had to drop everything and move to Paris?

And I was dating again. Why did I live in a society that insisted you find your own mate, when there were so many other places in the world where a name was pulled out of a hat and, bingo, instant marriage? Those who pooh-poohed such arrangements were sadists or extreme optimists, and I couldn’t decide which was more annoying. Tom Smith was a very nice person, but we had a long road ahead that would be fraught with potential disaster. I didn’t want to do all that work and then end up with nothing.

What I wanted was to find Jake and have a beer with him, just like back in college. I wanted to be with somebody who knew my thoughts, finished my sentences, and would rub the exact spot on my left foot, right below the middle toe, that still cramped up at the end of the day. Adam had come close, when things between us were good and full and happy, but Adam never made me feel the way Jake did.

I wandered into the den. All my books were there, in no particular order, but grouped together by author. I scanned the shelves. Sure enough, there was a cupcake romance. I made a face, grabbed one of those Nora Roberts trilogy things, and went out on the deck and read the rest of the afternoon.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

I
t took me about a week to realize that Alisa Patterson was the sweetest girl in the world. She was completely without demands, always asked if she could help around the kitchen, and stayed out of my way. My son, however, my brilliant baby, was a royal pain in the ass.

Part of it was my fault, and I knew that right away. Sam had always been the needy one, and I had been more than happy to play along with him when he was a kid. These days, I’d be called an enabler. Back then, I was a good mommy.

But as an adult, he was really hard to get along with. He went out every morning to go to Columbia, and didn’t return until late afternoon. He and Alisa spent time together before they both came back down around dinnertime, and then the two would go upstairs for the evening. You would think that since I only had real contact with Sam for a few hours a day, there would be no issues.

You would be wrong.

First of all, he left a trail of personal belongings through my house. It began at the front door—a sweater, jacket, or baseball cap. He always managed to drop something on the kitchen counter. It was usually a crumpled bag of half-eaten sandwich or stale bagel. I could understand the connection. Food belonged in the kitchen. But used food belonged in
the garbage, and for some reason he never made it those extra few steps.

Then there would be his backpack. On the stairs. In my mind, the dividing line between their living space, which they were paying for, and mine began on the first step going to the second floor, so technically, the backpack was on his turf, not mine, but I could see it from my turf, and it bothered me. He was going upstairs anyway. Couldn’t he at least bring it to the top of the stairs before dropping it to the floor?

Alisa did not leave anything around. She also did not pick up any of Sam’s stuff. On this, I was torn. Yes, as a modern, independent woman, she should not be picking up after her slob of a boyfriend. But didn’t it bother her? Couldn’t she tell it was bothering me?

I spent the first few days asking him politely to put away his things. He was always apologetic and did it immediately when asked. But if unasked, as I discovered when I decided to stop asking just to see what would happen, he did nothing. By Friday, there were two different baseball caps by the door, two days’ worth of
New York Post
s on the table by the living room, and four pairs of sneakers on the steps going upstairs. I was starting to feel a little frayed.

“Regan,” I asked her Friday at lunch, “was your brother always a complete slob?”

She laughed at me. She was on break from her clinic and dressed in scrubs. I often thought she chose veterinary medicine because it would be a good excuse for her to wear oversize clothes.

“Well, yeah, Mom. It made me crazy. You never even made him make his bed, which both Jeff and I had to do as
soon as we were tall enough to smooth the sheets. I could never understand why he was so special.”

I sighed. “I don’t understand it, either. I had trained you and Jeff so well. I guess I was too tired with Sam. But what should I do now? I mean, I can’t ground him for making a mess like I did when he was eight and tried to re-create Vesuvius erupting in the laundry room.”

She laughed. “That was pretty funny. You were so pissed off at him. There were soapsuds everywhere.”

“Yes, there were. Even your father was ticked off at that one, and he forgave Sam everything.”

“Look, Mom, I know it must be weird for you. I mean, Sam is a grown-up and all that. But it’s still your house. You can set rules, you know.”

“Setting rules is not the issue. Getting Sam to follow them is. How do I get a grown man to do what he doesn’t think is important?”

“Find something that is important to him.”

“Like what?”

She grinned. “Food.”

I’d never thought of that. The way to Sam’s anything was through his stomach.

When I got home, there was a flannel shirt draped over the bannister and an empty Starbucks cup by the sink. I smiled. Then proceeded to make chili with cornbread. Not really early summer food, but one of Sam’s favorites. Around six they came down. I was sitting, eating calmly. Sam reached for a bowl.

“Sam, I’m sorry, but there’s no food for you,” I said.

Alisa, sensing something, grabbed a bowl, filled it with chili, and sat beside me. Sam was standing there, frowning.

“Mom, what are you talking about? There’s plenty of chili.”

“I know,” I said. “But you can’t have any.”

“Why not?” He was sounding annoyed. Good.

“Sam,” I said, pushing my bowl away and turning to look at him, “this is my house. I invited you to live here, and I have no problem with that. I don’t charge you much rent, and I don’t mind cooking for you and Alisa. But it’s my house, and my rules. I’ve asked you half a dozen times to not leave your crap all over the place, but you don’t seem to get the message. So, here’s a new rule. If you come into the house and leave any sign of your presence, like that empty paper cup sitting two feet away from the garbage can over there, you cannot eat any of my food. Got it?”