The Someday Jar (24 page)

Evan stares at me, stunned, his face drained of color.

Stacee scrambles like a rabid animal into her underwear, catching her foot on the lace. She falls forward onto the floor.

I belt out another snort. I can’t stop. I just can’t stop. Tears drip from the corners of my eyes, my cheeks ache, and my hand grasps my belly. It’s then I think of my Someday Jar. I throw my hand in the air, then say in between laughs. “Hang on a second.”

Digging through my purse, I find my jar and dump out a couple of slips. I find the one I need and keep the other in my palm. I face the slip toward Evan.

“
Laugh until tears run down my face
,” he says.

I catch my breath with a smile stretching the width of my face. “Yes. Thank you, Evan.”

“For what?”

“For helping me with my Someday Jar. I know how much
you’ve supported it along the way. Oh wait, you didn’t.” I spin on my heel, head toward the front door, and fling the heavy, expensive door wide open. It smacks hard against the wall, chipping off a piece of paint.

Who gives a fuck?

It’s not my house.

Two hours have passed and my frame of mind has settled to sadness. My head pounds from the storm of emotions as I sit at the coffee shop that Hollis and I frequented. The same table where he insisted on keeping the dent I caused in his truck in place. The same table where only a cup of coffee would suffice for payment. I’ll miss that man.
Hollis. Sweet, sweet Hollis.

I catch my reflection in the window. My eyes are swollen and my hair is frizzed. I look like hell. It’s more than Hollis. Today Evan cheated on me and regardless of the state of our relationship, that always sucks. Staring at myself, I realize I’m alone. No one but myself to feel sorry for me. Kit’s in Maui. Mom and I haven’t spoken since dinner at Ivy House. Wes left. Now Hollis is gone, too.

Right then and there, I realize there’s only one person for me to turn to.

The last slip from my jar.

After a quick shower and twenty minutes scouring through my boxes in Evan’s closet—thankfully, he doesn’t come home—I find what I’m looking for. I hop into my car and follow the familiar side streets until I park underneath the Golden Lantern restaurant’s sign. It’s here I feel the closest to him, the most strength.

My fingers quiver as I dial the number I retrieved and the
phone nearly slips from my palm, but I can do this. I can. I grip the receiver tighter, listening to the line ring while glancing at the childish handwriting on the slip in my lap.

The connection is poor and I’m not sure the number is still good. After a half dozen rings, I’m ready to hang up when a man’s voice answers the phone. A familiar voice.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Dad.”

We talk and cry for two hours, unearthing and burying the pain we’ve each felt over the years. Our perspective about the past is different, but our hurt is the same. We’ve both decided not to waste any more time, wipe the slate clean, start anew.

I tell him about E, kickboxing, scuba, Larry Fitzgerald, and all that I’ve accomplished with the Someday Jar. I tell him about Hollis and Evan. I tell him about my plans. I tell him I love him.

We hang up and with a newfound vitality, I’m ready to take a stand in my life. I hadn’t realized what my future holds until I said it out loud to Dad and, with his words of encouragement, I’m off. I’ve got a lot to do.

It isn’t ten minutes later that my phone chimes with an e-mail. My dad’s itinerary shines on my screen. He’s flying to Phoenix next month.

Fueled with energy by both love from my dad and anger toward Evan, I head toward the office.

Once inside, I scroll through my Rolodex and find the number.

Chett answers on the second ring. “Arizona Department of Real Estate, licensing.”

“Chett. Hey, it’s Lanie.”

“Hey, Lanie, how are you?”

“Great. Listen, I need a favor.”

“Anything.”

“Would you mind faxing me a broker change form?”

“Sure, I’ll send it right now. But why?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” The fax machine rings behind me. “How long does it take to process?”

“Seven days unless you know people.”

“Do I know people?”

“You do.”

“Thanks, Chett. I owe you one.”

“I’ll keep you in mind when I need a kidney transplant or something.”

“Fair enough.”

We hang up and I retrieve my form. After filling out the necessary questions and signing on the dotted line, I fax it back to Chett and leave a copy on Evan’s desk.

The computer warms up and while I’m waiting I decide to make a few calls. First to Larson. He answers on the first ring.

“Larson, it’s Lanie.”

“Lanie, you say? Is this by chance the same Lanie that paraded around the University of Phoenix football field?”

“You saw that?”

“Are you kidding? The entire country saw that. It was an ESPN highlight.”

“Oh, God.”

“Ah, forget about it. Did you have fun?”

“You know, Larson, I had a blast. That’s one reason why I’m calling, to thank you.”

“No problem, I’m glad you enjoyed the day. Besides, you’ve done so much for me the past few months, it’s the least I can do.”

“It’s been my pleasure and I’m not giving up. I’ll find you the perfect home.”

“I have no doubt.”

“That’s sort of the other reason why I’m calling. I wanted to tell you personally that I will no longer be at Evan Carter Realty. Effective today.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Oh, Larson, it’s a long story.” I stop and think, no, it’s not. It’s rather short. “Truth is, Evan was screwing our wedding planner. I caught them this morning.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Lanie, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, but it’s okay. It was a swift kick in my rear. I needed it.”

“What are you going to do? Are you going to get a job at another real estate company?”

“No.” I take a deep breath. I haven’t revealed my plan to anyone yet, except my dad. Only said it out loud once to myself.

“Lanie? You still here?”

“Yes, sorry. I’m here.” After a deep breath, I say, “No, I’m not going to another company because I’m going to start my own. I’m opening Lanie Howard Realty.” Wow. That sounds amazing out loud.

“Good for you. You’ll be a dynamo in the business. Watch out, Phoenix, here she comes.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Listen, when I find the
perfect house, mind if I call you?” I ask, remembering that he never signed a buyer’s broker agreement. He’s not contractually bound to Evan.

“I’ll be waiting by the phone. Take care.”

We hang up and I call a few more of my favorite clients—not to lure them away from Evan, well, sort of—but also to make sure they know the situation. Most of our clients talk entirely with me, meeting with Evan only if they pass each other in the office. I’ve developed a friendship with these people and that’s by far the hardest thing to leave. I’ll miss the weekly updates of bridge game scores, fudge plates at Christmas, and “my grandson did the funniest thing the other day” kind of stories. So more than anything, I don’t want them feeling neglected.

While I’m on the phone, Evan walks in, holding a huge bundle of pink roses. He winks at me and mouths,
I’m sorry
. He sets the bouquet on my desk, wipes his hands on one another, and heads inside his office with an air about him that suggests his escapade was nothing more than a blip on the radar.

I toss the flowers in the trash.

Evan returns a moment later as I hang up the phone. “What’s this?” He waves the broker change form in his hand.

“Exactly what it says. I am no longer affiliated with you or this office.”

“Lanie?” He steps close and with a patronizing tone, says, “What are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

“C’mon, we had a bump in the road, but let’s move on. You don’t want to do this.” He points at the paper.

“A bump?” I scoot back in my chair, distancing myself from him. “You call screwing Stacee a bump in the road? You can’t be serious.”

He throws his hands in the air in surrender. “You’re right. I’m a fool. I’m sorry. Look, I’ve been busy lately, stressed out about work and the house. The thing with Stacee, it just happened. It’s not like I snuck around behind your back.”

“Technically you were behind Stacee’s back.”

“We can work this out. You don’t need to leave.”

“Maybe I don’t need to, but I want to. There’s a difference. A huge difference.” I gather my things and place them in an empty Xerox paper box.

He crumples up the paper and throws it in the trash, frowning as he notices the flowers. “Well, I don’t accept your resignation.”

“Too bad. The Department of Real Estate already has a copy. Here is your ring.” I drop it on the desk.

His tenderness is quickly replaced with irritation. He folds his hands across his chest. “What are you going to do, Lanie? Get a job at Kinko’s?”

“Clearly, you weren’t worried about me earlier. Why start now?”

“This is a big mistake. You can’t leave.”

“Oh, but I can. It just took me a while to figure that out.” With a thrust kick, which I learned last week from Rudy—thank you very much—I swing open the front door.

Even though my future is uncertain and the box I’m carrying is heavier than hell, I’ve never felt lighter on my feet. I’ve never felt more confident. I’ve never felt more alive.

I set my box in the backseat, pull out of the parking spot, and leave Evan Carter Realty behind.

With Evan at the office, it’s a perfect time to gather my belongings from the condo. There really isn’t much, besides clothes, toiletries, and the boxes in the guest bedroom closet. The rest of my life is in storage since it didn’t blend with the decor of the condo. Funny, I never saw that as a sign we were doomed from the start. After a few full armloads of stuff, I’m done.

As I scan the condo, with all my items removed, there really is no visible difference of my presence. Almost like I was never here.

Even though it was surprisingly easy to walk away from the condo, I feel dull when I climb into my car, alone. Where am I going to go tonight? Kit’s on vacation. I can’t bear the thought of a hotel. That seems depressing and somehow gives Evan the upper hand. So, I do what any twenty-seven-year-old dreams of: I go to my mommy’s house.

“Oh, Lanie.” There’s relief in her voice and tears in her eyes as she opens the door and motions me inside. “I’ve called you a million times.”

“I know.”

“Come in, sweetie. Please, please, come in.”

I smile weakly and step into the family room. I’m still upset, but after reconnecting with Dad, aware of the precious time lost with him, I don’t want to do the same with her. Avoiding Mom doesn’t solve anything. I plop on the couch and she sits beside me.

“I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been such a mess since we fought. You haven’t returned my calls.” Tears pour from her eyes. “I feel awful.”

I reach for her hand and say, “Mom, I’m really upset about what you did. You took time away from me, time with my dad that I’ll never get back.”

“I know.” She nods and strokes my hand with hers. “I thought I was doing the right thing, protecting you from his reckless behavior and indifference toward stability. I’m aware now how much I hurt you and for that, I’ll always . . .” Her voice trails off, her shoulders tremble, and she breaks into sobs.

I pull her close for a hug. Soon, I start to cry. She squeezes me tighter. We comfort each other.

We hold one another for a long time and though I’m still mad—probably always will be to some degree—I can’t fault her for doing what she thought was best for me. Even if I disagree. I choose to look on the bright side. My dad is coming to visit. He and I can make up for lost time.

We pull apart and Mom grabs each of my hands in her own.

She notices my empty ring finger. “Heavens. Where’s your ring?”

“Evan and I broke up, Mom.”

“No!” She gasps as if I were pregnant with a serial killer’s child.

“Yep.” I nod.

“You aren’t getting married?”

“Nope.”

“What happened?”

“I caught Evan and Stacee in a compromising position.”

“That sweet wedding planner?”

“The very one.”

Mom frowns. “Honey, maybe you’re jumping to conclusions.”

“The sweet wedding planner was bent over the kitchen counter and my bare-assed fiancé was screwing her. What conclusion should I come up with?”

“Must you be so vulgar?” she scolds, then pats my knee. “Call Evan and tell him you’ve reconsidered. Use the phone in the kitchen.”

“No.” I let out a little laugh. “God, you’re incredible.”

“Lanie, Evan slipped. Is that really such a big deal? Men have needs, you know.”

“Yes, Evan’s needs were to keep me under his thumb and have me do all the work at the company, without the credit, while he had fun on the side. Isn’t that like having your cake and eating it, too?”

“I don’t know—”

“And the other thing, I quit.”

“You didn’t?”

“I did.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She places two fingers inside her wrist, checks her pulse, and counts to herself. After a moment she says, “No worries, I’m fine. Tell me, what are you going to do now?”

“Open my own business,” I say decisively.

“Was this one of your slips?”

“Nope. But the Someday Jar taught me I could do it. I’m going to be my own boss.”

“This world is tough, Lanie. Things don’t always turn out as planned.”

“I know that. I know that as well as anyone.”

“Honey, there are a lot of challenges and uncertainties with a business. Hands on or not, Evan was instrumental in the company. How do you plan to pull this off by yourself?”

“By myself? That’s the least of my worries. I have money saved. I’ve projected my expenses and I can cover my startup costs, utilities, and at least six month’s rent for an office space. In fact, there is a place on Twenty-fourth Street that’d be perfect.”

“Evan is a good man. If you don’t march down to the office and tell him so, you’ll regret it forever. You can’t expect perfection.”

“I don’t expect perfection, Mom. I do expect respect.”

“It’s a minor indiscretion,” she pleads. “I wouldn’t throw him out over this tiny issue. Think of your future. Trust me, Lanie, a solid man—”

“Mom, stop! This is my life,” I say with fire in my words. “Not yours.”

Her shoulders slump in defeat and she purses her lips. “You’re right. I haven’t made the best decisions. Who am I to tell you what to do?”

“It isn’t your fault, or mine, that you fell in love with a man who didn’t sign up for happily ever after.”

She sighs.

“I know what I’m doing.” I rub along her back. “It’s funny; since I caught Evan and Stacee, I’ve felt this relief, like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I feel carefree. Alive. I’m
excited and I have a new sense of direction. Yes, it scares me to death to take on this adventure, deplete my cash savings, and jump into a new business, but I’ve never felt more inspired. This is the very feeling Dad wanted me to find. This is what the Someday Jar is all about. I have no idea what tomorrow may bring, but I’ll tell you what, I’m not going to fret about it, or let negative thoughts scare me away from my future.”

Mom reaches out for me and hugs me close, nearly choking me. “Mom—” I tap her shoulder. “I can’t breathe.”

“Oh, honey.” She swipes away a tear. “You’re much smarter than I am. Much, much smarter.”

“And another thing, I called Dad.”

Her eyes catch mine. “You did?”

“I did.”

“He’s flying here in a couple of weeks.”

“To see you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Lanie. I’m so glad. Distancing you from your dad was beyond incomprehensible. I’ve been a mess these few days, realizing what I’d done. Regardless of my feelings toward him, I had no right to take him away from you.”

“No, you didn’t. But let’s not focus on the past. Let’s focus on the future.” I give her hand a squeeze and say with a wink, “Besides, he asked about you.”

“Me?” Her face lights up.

“Yep.”

“Oh, my.” She laughs and we hug again.

When we part, I ask, “Can I stay here for a little while, just until I get things settled?”

She presses her palm against my cheek. “You stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, and Tuesday is half price at St. Vinny’s. We’ll go shopping.”

Her enthusiasm is hard to resist. “Okay, sounds great.”

“You go upstairs and get yourself squared away. I’ll take some chicken out of the freezer for dinner. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Evan doesn’t call in the evening and I’m thankful for it. I don’t know what we’d say, anyway. Besides, I’ve been too busy to talk. I’ve scheduled a preview of the commercial space for the morning, submitted all my fees online for a broker’s license, and while Skyping, E and I came up with a fancy slogan for my business cards:
Lanie Howard Realty—Making Your Someday . . . today.

Early the following morning, I meet the property manager at the office space on Twenty-fourth. Located within a strip mall, between a Whole Foods and a Chase Bank, it’s a perfect location with lots of foot traffic.

She invites me inside after unlocking the front door and flipping on the lights. “Go ahead, take a look.”

Filled with several desks and chairs, the space is large and bright. Near the front window is a reception area, and hidden under a sheet is a wingback chair, leather couch, and wood coffee table flipped upside down on top of the sofa’s cushions. The ceiling fans look new, the walls are painted a soft silver-sage, and the Berber-style carpet is cream-colored.
Is that ecru or eggshell?

“Something funny?” she asks.

“No, nothing, sorry.”

“Well, what do you think of the place?”

It’s even better than I hoped. But without revealing my
excitement, I saunter toward the glass-walled corner office in the rear.
Lanie Howard
could be etched on the door. My stomach flitters like a thousand butterflies took flight.

“A galley-style lounge area with a refrigerator and round table are opposite the bathroom,” the manager says, pointing in that direction.

“Interesting. Does all the furniture stay?” I ask with a nonchalant tone.

She refers to the listing. “Yes. All furnishings are included.”

“Something to consider, then.” I wonder how long I need to scan the ceiling for leaks or open several of the desk drawers before I can scream,
I’ll take it! I’ll take it right now!

Luckily she puts me out of her misery and says, “It’s a steal at twenty-eight hundred dollars a month, and won’t be on the market long. In fact, I’ve got another showing at—”

“I’ll take it.”

“Wonderful. I brought a lease agreement with me. You’ll want possession when?”

“Right away.”

“Super. I’ll draw up the paperwork.”

“Thank you.”

As she fills in the blanks of the contract, I study the space. With a little elbow grease, a few plants and bright-colored pillows from Ikea—maybe burnt orange?—this place can be perfect. The desks are a bonus and they’ll save me a bundle of money.

“Okay, Ms. Howard. I need your signature here and here.” She points at two separate locations. After quickly reading the standard rental agreement, I sign.

“All right, let’s see what I need to collect from you today.” She punches numbers into her phone’s calculator.

My heart palpitates as I write out the check. Not only for the serious ding to my bank account, but because I’m doing this.
I really am.

“Wonderful,” she says, handing me the keys. “I’ll e-mail you copies of the lease agreement. Anything else before I go?”

“No, thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”

“All right, then.” She heads toward the door. “Good luck to you, Ms. Howard.”

“Thank you.” My hands clamp over the shiny key.

After she leaves I jump up and down and let out a little shriek.

Holy hell, Lanie. You did it!