She, Myself & I (12 page)

“I don’t think so,” Zack said.

“You don’t think you can tonight?” I asked.

“I don’t think dinner would be a good idea,” Zack said firmly.

“But I thought . . . when you called me so many times, I just assumed . . . I thought that you wanted to get together again,” I said, stumbling over the words.

I’d been so focused on trying to overcome my fear of getting involved with Zack, I hadn’t considered the possibility that he no longer wanted to see me.

“I did . . . but not anymore. I don’t like the way you treated me,” he said.

I was so completely and totally mortified by this succinct rejection that it took me a few beats to get to the point where I could respond.

“I, um . . . don’t know what to say . . . I didn’t mean to be unkind. I’m sorry if I was.”

“Thank you.”

“So . . . do you think we could try again?”

Zack paused again, and my heart stalled.

“No,” Zack said. “I don’t think so. Bye, Paige.”

And then he hung up on me.

“Un-fucking-believable,” I said, and slammed my phone down.

I’d done exactly what Elise had advised me to do—I’d taken a chance on a relationship, put myself out there, and look what happened: complete and total rejection. And humiliation. Okay, maybe it was a little shitty of me not to return his phone calls. Maybe a lot shitty. But how could he not give me a second chance?

“Asshole. Jerk. Creep,” I muttered as I slammed client files around on my desk, for no other reason than that it made me feel better.

“Um, Paige? Is everything okay?” Sue asked.

I looked up and saw my assistant hovering by the door, looking a little nervous. I paused, holding a file in midair, and suddenly realized that I was turning into a scary, crazy woman. Sort of what Soph had been like for the past seven months, but I didn’t have the excuse of being pregnant.

I very calmly set the file down on my desk and smiled at Sue.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Sue asked suspiciously.

“What do you mean? How am I smiling?” I replied.

“Like you’re planning to kill me. What did I do wrong?”

Argh.
I tried to focus on remaining calm and exuding a Zen-like patience.

“Nothing, of course not. Did you need something?” I asked sweetly.

“Yes, here you have to sign these.” Sue darted into my office, dropped a stack of letters on my desk, and then backed away slowly. “And your sister’s on line two.” Sue scampered out of the office as though she were afraid that I might swarm and attack.

I rolled my eyes and punched the line-two button on my phone.

“Hi,” Sophie said. Her voice was thick and heavy.

“Hey. Is everything okay? You sound like you just woke up,” I said.

“Yeah, I was taking a nap. I went to the doctor today, and he said my blood pressure was too high. He’s putting me on bed rest,” Sophie said, and then yawned loudly. “Mom said she’d stay here for a while, since I can only get up for ten minutes every two hours—can you freaking believe that? I have a baby
sitting on my bladder
. I have to pee every ten minutes. What am I supposed to do?”

“Ugh, I don’t know. Maybe use a bedpan?” I suggested.

“Yuck.”

I placed a hand on my flat, as-yet-unfertile belly and realized that if I did decide to go ahead and get pregnant, this was the direction I was heading in. Uncontrollable urination and possible bed rest. And then, after the baby came, there’d be the late-night feedings, the stitches on the most delicate area of my body, the sore nipples, the general fatigue that every new parent is cloaked in. Sophie had Aidan, and apparently Mom was ready to sign on as a nanny. What would I do if I needed help? Sure, my family would probably help out, but most women who go through this have a partner. And, unlike Sophie, I’d have to juggle motherhood with my career.

“I don’t think I can cope with Mom being here full-time. I wanted a bowl of ice cream earlier, and do you know what she did? She brought me some
fucking frozen yogurt,
” Sophie said. Her voice was shrill with outrage. “She actually suggested that I’m putting on too much weight. Can you believe that? I’m growing a child
inside my body,
what does she think, that I’m going to look like a stick-thin model?”

“I’m sure she doesn’t—” I began.

“And then she
confiscated
my secret stash of peanut M&M’s. I don’t know how the
hell
she found them, because I hid them in the freaking garage, but she did, and she actually
threw them away
. I swear, if I could get up, I’d kill her,” Sophie raged on.

“Is she there now?” I asked.

“No. Dad came over and the two of them went off somewhere and left me here alone until Aidan gets home,” she said.

“Don’t you think it’s a little strange that the two of them have been spending so much time together?”

“Tell me about it. Have you talked to Mom lately? She’s all ‘Your father said this’ and ‘Your father thinks that.’ They used to hate each other, it was the natural order of things. Wait!” Sophie gasped.

I nearly had a heart attack. “What? Are you going into labor?”

“Do you think Dad had Mom turned into a Stepford wife?”

“Jesus, Sophie, don’t gasp like that again unless the baby is actually in the birth canal, sticking his or her hand out and waving at you. You scared me to death,” I said.

“Well, what do you think?”

“Do I think Dad had Mom killed and replaced with a robot? No, that’s highly unlikely.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Sophie said. She sounded unconvinced.

“I am,” I said. “So, to change the subject . . . I called Zack today.”

“Really? What did he say?” Sophie suddenly sounded wide-awake.

“That he didn’t want to talk to me, and that he doesn’t want to see me ever again. So much for hanging it all out there and taking a risk on romance.”

Sophie gasped. “No! Are you serious? Why?”

“He’s angry that I didn’t return his phone calls sooner. Which I do understand. But I apologized and asked for a second chance, and he just said no,” I said, feeling a stab of self-pity.

“But . . . he was just asking me about you the other day. I can’t believe he wouldn’t accept your apology. Does he know about your history?”

“You mean about Scott? No!”

“Why not?”

“It’s not exactly a great selling point for me. It makes me sound . . . damaged.”

“That’s ridiculous. You should call him back and explain your history and tell him that’s why you got freaked out and treated him like shit on a stick,” Sophie said judiciously.

“I wouldn’t exactly characterize it that way,” I said.

“Are you going to call him back?”

“Why, so he can just hang up on me again?”

“He
hung up
on you?”

“Practically. It was very clear that he wanted nothing to do with me,” I said.

“Still. I don’t think you should give up on him. He’s a really sweet guy, and I think that if he knew your history, he’d be much more forgiving,” Sophie said. “Maybe you could send him a letter. Or I could tell him, if you want.”

“No! That’s a terrible idea!”

“Which one? The letter or my telling him?” Sophie asked.

“Both! I don’t want you to tell him, that’s ridiculous. I can speak for myself. And what am I going to do, pass him a note like we’re in junior high?”

“Do you remember doing that? You’d write the cute boy in math class a note on a folded piece of paper that says ‘Do you like me? Check box.’ And then there’d be a ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ and ‘maybe’ listed below,” Sophie said, giggling.

“Can you imagine doing that now?” I said, and couldn’t help laughing at how ridiculous it sounded. Had I ever been that young, or that open with my feelings?

“So what are you going to do?” Sophie asked.

“For now, nothing. What else can I do?” I asked. “I have to go, though, I have a pile of work to do.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Wait, Paige?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure it’s not possible for Mom to be an evil robot? Because I swear, she had a really strange look on her face when she was over here earlier,” Sophie said.

I was guessing that the strange expression probably had a lot more to do with what an enormous pain in the ass Sophie was being than anything else.

“Yes. I’m sure she’s not a robot. Good-bye.”

“Okay, bye.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Did you mean it when you said that if I ever wanted to talk about . . . you know, why we divorced . . . we, um, could?” I asked Scott over the phone.

“Talk?” he asked, sounding surprised and a little wary.

“I just want to clear some things up. Try to understand everything better.”

Scott was quiet.

“But every time I tried to talk to you, you shut me out,” he finally said.

“I know. It’s taken me a while to get to the point where I can deal with it,” I said.

“Okay. I’ll come over,” he said.

“When? Now?” I asked, suddenly feeling a surge of panic at the idea. The first step had been reaching out to him, and I’d had to psych myself up for that. I didn’t know if I was ready for the one-on-one encounter yet.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Scott said.

And exactly twenty-one minutes later, there was a knock on the door. I opened it, and Scott was standing there, looking like a Banana Republic model in dark-rinse jeans, a stylishly untucked striped shirt, and a blue cotton blazer that was nipped in at the hips. On his feet, he wore a pair of rounded black oxford shoes, the very kind that I remember him making fun of the college kids for wearing. I looked him up and down.

“I can’t get used to your dressing like this,” I said. “It’s so weird.”

“I know, I was always the dirty-jeans-and-T-shirt kind of a guy in my straight days,” Scott said. This time he moved toward me as if to hug me, and then hesitated when I froze. It was just so bizarre, feeling this awkward around someone I had once thought I knew better than anyone. I put an arm around him and patted him on the back, and he kissed me on the cheek.

“This is strange,” I said, and rested my head on his shoulder for a minute.

“Totally weird,” he agreed, and then we both laughed, and then everything suddenly felt familiar. Even if the clothes and hair were different, the face was still the same: the eyes that were just a smidge too far apart, the long, prominent nose, the wide mouth that smiled easily. It wasn’t a handsome face, but it was kind. I had always loved that about him.

He stepped into the condo, shutting the door behind him. “And it’s so surreal to stand out there in the hallway and knock on the door. I almost reached for my keys when I got here,” Scott said.

“Where are you living now?” I asked.

“I’ve been—we’ve been—renting a house in Hyde Park,” he said shortly, which didn’t explain much, but at the same time said everything.

We walked into the living room, and Scott sat on one of the white sofas.

“Do you want a glass of wine?” I asked.

“Probably more than one. I have to admit, I’m a little nervous,” he said, and then he ran his hand over his head. His hair was cropped so short, I could see the vulnerable whiteness of his scalp underneath.

“Yeah. I know; me, too,” I said, and I poured him a glass of wine from the bottle I’d opened a minute after I got off the phone with him. “But don’t worry, I didn’t ask you over here to yell at you.”

I handed him his glass, and then poured myself one and sat across from him on the love seat. I’d put out a dish of cashews on the coffee table before he arrived, and I slid it toward him. He nodded toward the framed picture of Sophie, Mickey, and me on the side table.

“How’s the kid?” he asked.

“Mick? She’s doing great. She’s graduating this spring and going to medical school next year,” I said.

“No way. I can’t believe it. They’re going to give her a license to practice medicine?” Scott said.

“You should call her, I know she’d love to hear from you,” I said, surprising myself. I hadn’t asked my family to cut off contact with Scott, but I also hadn’t encouraged them to stay in touch. I knew how much Mickey loved Scott, and our divorce had deeply upset her. It suddenly occurred to me how selfish I’d been not to encourage her to continue a relationship with the man who’d been like a big brother to her for so many years.

“Yeah, I should do that. I miss letting her beat me in chess,” he said.

“Yeah, right. She always beat you fair and square,” I said.

“Don’t remind me. And how’s the prom queen?”

“Pregnant, and due in a few weeks,” I said.

“Good for them, but . . . that must be hard for you.”

I shrugged and didn’t answer. Instead I took a sip of my wine and looked at the flickering freesia-scented pillar candle sitting on the low coffee table. The white wax ran down one side and pooled by the base, hardening almost immediately.

“Boy or girl?” Scott asked.

“They’re not finding out. I wish they would, it makes shopping hard, but you know how stubborn Sophie is,” I said.

“It’s a trait that tends to run in your family,” Scott said, and he laughed.

This is bizarre, I thought. Scott sitting again in the living room, teasing me, poking fun at my sisters. It was as though my life had suddenly looped backward.