The Year We Turned Forty (28 page)

At first, she'd flirted with him tentatively on their date, pausing every few minutes to take a work call with an apologetic smile. But as the night wore on, she'd finally relaxed as she sipped her wine, and eventually slipped her phone into her purse, letting it vibrate without answering. And when the bartender announced last call, they'd shared a tequila shot right before she'd blushed furiously and shyly invited him home. He'd practically jumped into the busy street to hail a cab and they'd made out in the backseat, Claire only coming up for air to give the driver directions. Once there, they could barely get inside the house before their clothes were off, then he'd picked her up and carried her into her bedroom, her laughing and directing the way. He figured, to her, it would be just a one-night stand. A busy mom with not much of a dating life—she'd told him that—letting off some steam after having some liquid courage.

The next morning, he was mystified. She wasn't the same woman he'd met at the party or even talked to on their date or the one he'd gone to bed with. The one he'd met at the party was sweet, but very reserved, buttoned up, focused—maybe too much so. But this version of Claire—the one who woke up beside him and let her guard down, who acted frazzled, who forgot who the president was, who'd looked at her phone like it was a foreign object—he liked a lot more. She seemed more real, more human, more like a girl he'd want to get to know better.

And it was the strangest thing: even though they hadn't gotten to know each other as well as he would've liked—Claire always turning the conversation away from serious topics and
thinking he didn't notice—he felt like somehow he knew her, like he'd known her for years.

•  •  •

The front door of her parents' condo opened and Claire jumped at the sound.

“Mom?” Emily called out.

Claire looked at the clock. She'd lost track of time since hanging up with Mason, realizing she'd been sitting at the kitchen table for over an hour. “In here,” Claire answered, a smile crossing her lips. Things between her and Emily were better than ever. Recently, they'd started watching the show
Gilmore Girls
together once a week, Claire drawing hope and inspiration from the fictional mom and daughter who lived in an idyllic town and, despite their problems, always seemed to figure things out. Emily had also been helping to care for her grandmother more and more. Mona even taught her to play cribbage on one of her better days.

When Claire felt enough time had passed after their argument about the letters Emily's father had sent, Claire had carefully broached the subject of the classmate she had bullied and asked again why she had done it. Emily had dissolved into sobs, finally stopping and making Claire promise she wouldn't be upset. Claire had nodded, hoping she could handle whatever was coming.

Slowly, the story spilled out that the girl had made a snide remark to Emily about having a single mom, asking her what she'd done wrong to make her dad leave. When Claire pressed Emily on why she hadn't just told her what the girl had said, her heart dropped when Emily confessed she'd been afraid to tell Claire because she didn't want to hurt her feelings.

Claire was livid, of course. It took all her strength not to phone the girl's parents and tell them what had really happened. That their child didn't deserve that perfect kiss on the head they'd given her. But she didn't, because it was the sadness that dominated. Sadness that Emily had to carry the burden of having only one parent. Of course, Claire said all the right things—that even though that girl had been cruel, it wasn't okay to fight back that way. But inside, guilt overpowered Claire—she could feel it from the buzz in her head to the twitch in her toes.

But then Emily had hugged her, hard, folding her body into Claire. And instantly, the twitching and the buzzing and the anger all fell away. She decided to focus on the positives—Emily's grades were improving and she'd made two new friends that she now hung out with often. Claire had met them both and had been incredibly relieved that they seemed kind and sweet and had normal-colored hair.

Things had been going so smoothly that Claire had almost convinced herself that Emily might never bring up her dad again. But then just last night, there had been a commercial on TV, a father wrapping his arms around his daughter at her high school graduation, and Emily had said sarcastically, in not much more than a whisper,
How sweet for them.
Claire had known she should turn the TV off and talk to Emily about it, that she was testing the waters, wanting to see if Claire had softened her position about her dad's involvement in her life. Claire had opened her mouth to answer, but no words came. She knew she needed to be brave, that she needed to have a discussion about Emily's father, and that her daughter deserved a say about whether or not to let him back into their lives, for better or worse. But instead she told herself it wouldn't matter in three months, she would disappear back to a life where Emily had no idea the letters
existed. So instead, Claire was a coward and said nothing, ignoring the burning in her gut telling her to do otherwise.

“How's Grandma today?” Emily said, dropping her backpack on the floor and grabbing a bag of Lay's potato chips out of the pantry.

“She's sleeping. But she still has zero appetite.”

“I'll try to get her to eat when she wakes up.”

“Thanks. How did you do on your Spanish quiz?”

“I got an A!”

“That's great, Em. I'm proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Do you have homework tonight?”

Emily nodded. “Science and current events.”

“Okay, get started on it. I need to write up an offer and get two listings into the Multiple Listing Service. By then, your grandmother will probably be up.” Claire started walking toward the den.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yeah?” Claire said, turning around.

“I wrote something, and I was wondering if you'd read it.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“It's a letter,” Emily said, stopping to chew a chip. “To my dad.”

Claire quickly readjusted her face from a shocked expression into a smile. “I'd be happy to.” She accepted the two sheets of folded notebook paper from her daughter, wondering whether Lauren Graham's character in
Gilmore Girls
would have done the same.

•  •  •

“So how's it been going with the men in your life?” Claire asked Jessie the following night after their waitress left to get their drinks from the bar.

“Things are so much better with Grant.” Jessie smiled.

“And the other one?” Claire asked.

“Lucas? He's doing awesome!”

“Nope. Not that one. The one you don't like to talk about.”

“He's fine.” Jessie frowned.

“If he's fine, then why do you have that look on your face?”

“Dammit. He's just so great with Lucas.”

“And that's a problem?” Claire laughed, then wished she could pull it back the second she saw the defeated look in Jessie's eyes. “Sorry, I didn't mean to be flippant. I get it. You want him to be terrible. You want him to go away.”

“Do you get it? Because I feel a little weird talking to you about this. It's like you're biased.”

“Why? Because I'm a single mom and my daughter's father has been MIA?” Claire said. “So you think I can't be objective?”

“Sorry, but that's exactly why. Be honest, are you
really
being objective?”

Claire nodded as the server delivered a glass of red wine to her and a dirty martini to Jessie. “Of course. And I'm sorry if I've made you feel otherwise.” Claire knew her own issues were starting to cloud the way she viewed Jessie's.

Jessie took a sip of her drink before continuing. “Okay, here it is. Despite the fact he's clearly a good father, I wish he weren't; every time we meet, I watch him getting closer with Lucas, and it scares the hell out of me.”

Claire's stomach twisted, knowing now was the time she should tell Jessie the truth about how she'd kept Emily and her biological dad apart. How there had been a man, despite his flaws, who wanted to be a father to his daughter and Claire hadn't allowed it. Maybe if Jessie could see the outcome it had on a child later, she might make different choices now, even at
her own expense. Claire had read Emily's letter over and over last night, sobbing as she took in the words. Some of them seemed so young, but others conveyed a wisdom far beyond her years, leaving Claire scared shitless. If she sent it to David as Emily had requested, he might never respond—or even scarier,
maybe he would.

Claire pictured her daughter's loopy cursive handwriting. It was near perfect, as if she'd been trying to show him her best penmanship, trying to impress him.

Dear Dad, Daddy, Father?

What would I have called you? I guess we never got to find out, did we? I'm sorry we don't know each other. I wish we did. More than ever after reading your letters. I was always curious about you. I wondered what you looked like, what your favorite sports team was, what you liked to do for fun. But I knew Mom didn't want to talk about you. I tried, but bringing you up made her sad and I didn't want that. I figured you would've been in my life if you wanted to be. Because you're my dad. But I'm smart (my mom always tells me I'm wise beyond my years) and I know that dads bail sometimes. It happens. So I decided that's what you'd done. That's why Mom was upset. But after reading your letters, I'm more confused than ever. Because it sounds like you wanted to see me. And Mom wouldn't let you. Mom explained that she was doing what she thought was best. But it was MY decision to make. Wasn't it? You're my dad, not hers. I don't know what's going to happen from here, but I want to get to know you. I hope you still feel the same. By the way, I've enclosed my most recent school photo (ignore
the braces!), my favorite sports team is the Dodgers, and I like to go to the mall for fun.

Love, Emily

Claire took a drink of her wine and started to tell Jessie about all the letters when her cell phone interrupted her. When she saw it was her father calling, her heart rate escalated, worrying as she always did when he called. “I have to get this,” she said to Jessie, taking a deep breath before answering.

“Claire?”

“Hi, Dad, everything okay?” Claire said hopefully, telling herself she was imagining the edge she heard in her father's voice.

“It's your mother. We're at the hospital.”

As her father's words sunk in, Claire felt her faith begin to falter. She squeezed the phone in her palm, still not understanding why, even though they'd caught the cancer earlier, her mom's health seemed to be disintegrating faster, along with her resolve. Last time, she hadn't gotten so sick so quickly. This time she was in bed more than she wasn't, unable to eat, and literally shrinking away in front of them. The doctors had tried everything, even suggesting that Claire pick her up some medicinal marijuana. But even while high as a kite, consuming food was a battle for Mona. The doctors had warned Claire that inserting a feeding tube was next, and she knew her mom was going to fight them every step of the way. She'd pleaded with Claire to please not call the doctors and tell them her appetite was virtually nonexistent, that she'd do anything to be at home with her family, not in a sterile hospital with scratchy bed sheets. And so far, Claire and her father had acquiesced, but tonight he'd been forced to take her to the emergency room when he couldn't wake her from her nap.

“What is it?” Jessie asked.

“It's my mom, she's at the hospital. I have to go.”

“I'm coming with you,” Jessie said, grabbing her purse and Claire's hand as they hurried out the door, Claire squeezing it so tightly that Jessie winced, but she still didn't lose her grasp.

Gabriela inched away from Colin on the couch, hoping he'd think she was just adjusting. And in many ways she was.
Adjusting
to the reality she may never have a baby. Or be a bestselling author. Or have a solid marriage.

Even though she was deliberately putting distance between herself and Colin, her recoil from his touch felt involuntary. Gabriela had always considered herself emotionally independent, learning not to need others to fill the void she felt when her mother died. But she'd always had a strong appetite for Colin's touch, slipping her fingers through his or curling up into him in bed, the warmth of his body bringing her comfort. He used to joke that she couldn't keep her hands off him, and in many ways it was true, as if she had to remind herself that he was still there. Her therapist announced years ago her behavior was a by-product of losing her mother so early, but Gabriela believed it was much simpler than that. There was something in the way Colin's skin felt under her fingers, the way his full lips brushed hers when she wasn't expecting it, the way he'd wrap his arm
around her tightly, like he wanted to let the world know she belonged to him. Being possessed by Colin had always brought her comfort.
Until now.
Her relationship with him was spiraling quickly. The worst part? She wasn't sure she wanted to tighten her grip.

“Are you coming to my appointment tomorrow?” Gabriela asked, inching even farther away as she uttered the words, her body already anticipating his answer.

Colin grabbed the remote and paused the TiVo before turning to face her. Gabriela glanced down at her oversized V-neck and yoga pants and thought how often Colin must wonder what happened to the old Gabriela, who wouldn't have been caught dead in a T-shirt. She couldn't blame him, having contemplated the same thing several times herself.

“No, I won't be going. And I don't think you should be either.”