A Slight Change of Plan (6 page)

“I know. But still. Anyway, I’m going to shop for fab accessories and antiques while I’m here.”

“Good. Remember, strike up conversations with any attractive, age-appropriate men. Unless you’ve met somebody online and you haven’t told me because you hate to admit when I’m right.”

I chewed my lip. The first Christmas that Jake and I were together, he drove up from his home outside Philadelphia
and spent a couple of days with me and my family. Laura was quite taken. In fact, when I told her we had broken up, she was so upset, you would have thought it was
her
heart that was broken.

“Jake Windom waved at me,” I told her.

I could hear her on the line. She actually gasped. “Jake? My Jake?”

“I always kind of thought of him as my Jake,” I said.

“When?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Are you going to meet him?”

“I didn’t wave back.”

Dead silence on the phone. Finally: “What?”

“I didn’t wave back, Laura. What would have been the point?”

“Kate,” she said slowly, “there are so many dating sites out there. You and Jake happen to sign up for the same one? It’s like a sign from God.”

“Ah, Laura, I don’t think God cares about my old boyfriends.”

“No, but he cares about your happiness. This is kismet. You can both start all over.”

“Have you been reading Danielle Steel again?”

“I’m serious, Kate. The two of you were perfect together. Can you really go through the rest of your life wondering?”

Well, she was right there. Jake had been gnawing at the back of my brain ever since I’d seen his picture. “I don’t know. Listen, I’m going shopping now. Maybe I’ll run into a handsome millionaire trolling for old candlesticks.”

“Well, if you do, remember Jake. He was always the one you were meant to be with.”

I made a noise. “Laura, then why aren’t we together right now?”

“Because you didn’t wave back at him, idiot. Think about it.”

I clicked off the phone. Three old men had started playing bocce ball. I watched them for over an hour, sitting there in the sun. They didn’t say much, just grunted, pointed, and laughed together. I didn’t understand the game at all, but it was a joy to watch them. When the game was over, one of them came over and kissed my hand.

When they were gone, I sat there some more. Remembering.

I sometimes surprised myself when I realized that Jake and I were together for only two years. It had seemed, at the time, that we had always been a couple, that our souls had somehow formed this perfect unit ages ago, and when our bodies finally came together, it was a great… “at last.”

It wasn’t just the sex part, either, although that was pretty spectacular. We had both been somewhat experienced when we met, but together we became adventurous. We often ended up in the middle of the floor, because no bed was big enough for our energy and exploration.

We were best friends. We saw the world through the same mind’s eye, wanted the same things, had fought the same battles. We were both ambitious. I wanted the law, he wanted the business world, and we were not willing to take any prisoners along the way. And while we would lie together some nights, talking about going up to the mountains somewhere and creating our own little paradise, we both knew that our real lives were about doing and going and being someone who mattered.

From that first meeting, we were together almost every day. When we were apart, for those few vacations and breaks when we went to our respective homes, there was no sense of “missing,” because our connection was so real and powerful. He would be waiting for me. I never doubted that he would always be waiting for me.

Our friends at college had marveled at us, our closeness, our commitment to each other. In an age of casual sex and fluid relationships, Jake and I were the original power couple. Our apartment became the place for everyone else to gather, for beer and pizza and talk, long into the night.

When we broke up, people treated me as though he had died, like I was a grieving widow rather than a callously dumped girlfriend. It took me a long time to get over him. In fact, there had been no one between Jake and Adam. And when I did meet Adam, I was so lonely and still so sad that I made myself accept his attention, because I realized if I didn’t, I could end up alone for the rest of my life. When Adam proposed, I was so grateful that I wept.

But I always thought of Jake as the man who had been meant for me. It was his name that had been written in the stars, right next to mine. Sitting in the sunlight on a May afternoon on Cape Cod, I wondered if our names were still there, somewhere, together.

I spent a lot of money on Cape Cod. I bought a great old wing chair that barely fit in the back of the minivan, even though I’d taken all the seats out. I bought paintings and quilts, a faded Oriental rug, and lots of what my mother would have called tchotchkes. My main problem was that I didn’t know what I wanted my new home to look like. I
only knew what I didn’t want it to look like—like the widow of a doctor lived there. So while I had spent hours of my life looking through glossy magazines and watching HGTV, I still didn’t have a vision. But I figured I had lots of time.

I closed on the condo as soon as I got back, before I closed on the house. Which meant I needed something called a bridge mortgage. It seems the bank didn’t quite trust me to pay off the condo after I sold the house, even though I had all sorts of signed contracts. I know that I went through the mortgage process the first time with Adam, but I don’t remember it being such a pain in the butt. I wanted to scream and throw things and just wait until I had the check from the sale of the house in my hot little hand, but, even more, I wanted all the condo walls painted a soothing taupe and the hardwood floors refinished dark coffee before I moved in. So when I signed away my old house and followed the movers to my new place, it looked just the way I wanted it to look—except I had almost no furniture. I had saved all the outdoor stuff, so my deck looked great, but inside was pretty empty. I did have the wing chair, covered in ivory silk, and a rug from Cape Cod, and lots and lots of boxes, as well as a queen-size sleigh bed and brand-new mattress. I had kept a very few sentimental pieces, like some of the kids’ things, but that was all stashed in the basement. My home was going to be all new, a fresh start. I popped open champagne, sat alone in my one chair, and looked at my life. Thirty-some years of my home and family, reduced to mountains of brown cardboard and a row of pictures lined up against my new fireplace. The cats had gone into hiding, Boone whined and would not settle down, and I couldn’t figure out which wires went where on the television, so I
went to bed early. By morning, all the animals had found their way to the new bed, so I figured we’d all be fine.

My new condo was three levels. The garage and basement were on the street. From the driveway, you’d go up a half flight of steps to a beautiful brick courtyard where I had already planned for a few tall, colorful planters with lots of flowers, a really cool water feature, and a low stone bench. Then up another half flight to the front door. I really liked the courtyard, and could imagine sitting out there in the evenings with my wine, watching the comings and goings of the neighborhood.

Jeff and Gabe showed up early, brought bagels, and helped me unpack. I kept looking for a sign that something was wrong between them, but they seemed to be their usual selves. Gabe left just before lunch to go to the grocery store, and came back with enough food to fill the fridge and then some. Afterward, we left the boxes and shopped for furniture. Jeff and Gabe brought their van, a long, battered thing Gabe used to haul stuff to the shop. I followed in the minivan. We were going to do some serious shopping.

Maybe I wasn’t sure what I wanted the condo to look like, but Jeff and Gabe had a vision. We power-shopped six stores, including every HomeGoods we could find. We bought pieces off the showroom floor and packed as much as we could in both vehicles, then unpacked and had everything arranged by dinner.

Finally, I said, “This is how you see me living?”

Jeff was smiling happily. “Mom, the place looks great.”

I looked around. Shabby velvet club chairs, faded leather love seat, and chunky black tables. And, because they
were on sale, four fake palm trees. “It looks like the Abercrombie and Fitch store at the mall.”

Gabe clucked. “No, Kate, it doesn’t.”

“That’s because there’s too much light in here,” I said. “Imagine the place in near-darkness.”

Jeff shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Okay. Hollister then.”

Gabe’s face fell. “Well, maybe a little.”

“All I need is a surfboard on the wall,” I said. “And a rack of skinny jeans.”

Jeff was hanging tough. “You’re both crazy. This is shabby-chic-slash-eclectic.”

I shook my head. “This is ‘Do you have this in size triple zero?’ ” I flopped onto one of the chairs. Granted, it was very comfortable. “I’m going to have to start subscribing to all those weird music magazines. And play the Beach Boys in a continuous loop.”

Jeff dove into another box. “We just need to add a few accessories.”

“My God, Jeff, can you possibly say something a little less gay?” Regan came into the room. She had knocked, I’m sure, but had not bothered to wait for anyone to open the door for her. My fault, I knew—I never locked my doors, because all the people I knew were so used to letting themselves in.
Mi casa es su casa
, no matter what
casa
it was. Phil was right behind her, struggling with another palm tree, which I assumed was my housewarming present. I waved tiredly from my chair.

“Hi, baby girl. How do you like the new digs?”

Regan had hugged Gabe and was looking around critically. She was a very pretty girl. She looked more like Laura
than me, thank God, because my face is all strong angles, with a jaw that could be Jay Leno’s second cousin. Regan’s face was soft and gently curved. So was her body, but you could hardly ever tell, because her standard uniform was something big, baggy, and drooping. For a woman with a great shape, she never showed it off. She told me that since she was flat chested, nobody was going to look at her anyway, but would it hurt to flaunt great legs and a nice butt?

“Why does this place look familiar?” she asked.

I stood up to kiss Phil. “Think forty-dollar tank tops.”

“Wow,” she said. “You’re right. Except it’s way too bright. And there are no black shutters. Where’s the checkout?”

Jeff had artfully arranged a wooden bowl, a stack of books, and three oversize chess pieces on the coffee table. “See, this looks better,” he said.

Regan shook her head. “No, not really. And I can’t believe we bought you a palm tree. It already looks like a rain forest in here.”

I waved it aside. “Yours is real, honey, and it’s beautiful. Thank you. We can put it out on the deck. In fact, why don’t we sit out there for a while?”

So we sat in the twilight on old, familiar patio furniture, cast-iron tables, and creaking Adirondack chairs. Gabe went into the kitchen and came back with fruit and cheese, crackers and wine, and we ate and talked, looking out over the woods that were my brand-new backyard. We talked about Sam and his new life. He and Alisa had found a place, and were moving in in a few weeks. We talked about Regan’s wedding, and where she was looking for her dress. Phil complained about his mother, who was already being a royal pain in the ass. No one mentioned our old house. No one
mentioned Adam. No one seemed sad to see me in such a new and different place.

But I was sad. Just a little.

The best thing about my future son-in-law, aside from the fact that he was crazy about Regan and would make a noticeable contribution to the good looks of my grandchildren, was that he could do things. Jeff could arrange furniture and find the perfect shoe to go with any outfit. Gabe cooked like a chef and was pretty good at money advice. Sam could hack into any government database and arrange for a long-range nuclear missile to hit any target I desired. But Phil was good at practical things, like finding the cable box in my new den, and making sure the washing machine was hooked up properly. He laughed at me because I also had a telephone line installed, but I’m still old-fashioned enough to believe that if you have a home, you should have a home phone.

In a week I had pretty much unpacked the important stuff, waved at a few neighbors, and walked to the health club. I hadn’t gone into the health club, but Boone and I passed it at least once a day. I nodded to the golf pro in passing. I even looked at the pool.

Cheryl came by to take me to lunch and check out the place. She stood in the middle of the living room, looked around carefully, then glared at me.

“Why did you let Jeff decorate your house? Have you learned nothing?”

I shrugged. “He seemed so excited. He and Gabe both. And they brought the van, and Gabe always has great wine.… Is it that bad?”

“Kate, it’s gorgeous. Two gay men from the Village? How can it not be? But let’s face it, this room looks nothing like you.”

I looked around sadly. My animals had all adjusted nicely. Boone had claimed a corner of the love seat. Seven perched on top of one of the velvet chairs in a patch of sun. Eight hung out under one of the fake palms, looking for all the world like a gray tiger stalking a gazelle. But try as I might, I did not feel comfortable.

“The den is better,” I told her, leading the way. The den was an alcove right before the master bedroom, with my desk and computer, a wall of empty bookcases waiting to be filled with all my books, a wall-mounted television, and the squishy chair and ottoman that had been in my old kitchen.

“You can’t live in here,” Cheryl said. “You’ve got those beautiful windows overlooking all that green space, and you spend your time in this cubbyhole? Grow a backbone, Kate. Send the stuff back and go to Ethan Allen.”

“I know. I’m going to have to do something. I can put the stuff downstairs, or some of it on the upstairs landing. The good thing about all these extra rooms is that I can buy all sorts of furniture and keep moving it around. Let’s eat.”