Maybe Matt's Miracle

  “A mistake happens once,” I explain, holding up one finger. “Not dozens of times.” And those are only the ones I know about. “After the first time, it’s a choice, not a mistake.”

  “She just didn’t know how to deal with the situation.”

  “You mean like standing by my side?” I hold up my hands like I want him to answer. But I really don’t. Not at all.

  “I’d like us all to be friends again,” he says. He’s almost pleading. And it would make me laugh if it didn’t make me want to cry.

  “Never gonna happen,” I say. I open the door and motion for him to walk through it. In two seconds, I’ll start to count to ten.

  He brightens for a second. “Hey, Paul was telling me you’re seeing someone.”

  Paul did what? “So?”

  “So, I think that’s great. I’m happy for you.” He claps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes until I stare down at it, contemplating how I’m going to break each of his fingers. He jerks his hand back. “I think you should bring her to the wedding. It’ll be like old times. What do you say?”

  I just glare at him.

  “Well,” he says, smiling as if he’s solved world hunger in one night. “I’ll be sure April sends you an invitation. We’d love for you to be there.”

  The little devil on my shoulder taunts me. “Hey, how did April feel about your fucking her best friend?” I ask. Rumors are fun, when they’re not about you.

  A muscle in his jaw ticks. “That was a mistake.”

  “You make a lot of those, don’t you?” I ask.

  “I’m human,” he says. He hitches his waistband higher.

  He’s a human with no morals or conscience. Can’t say April didn’t get what she deserved with him, though.

  “If you come to the wedding, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that best friend thing to her.” He looks everywhere but at me. I point toward the hallway, and he goes in that direction.

  I don’t say anything more. He waves as he goes out the door, and I slam it behind him. It hits so hard that the walls vibrate. Paul comes out of his room.

  I get another beer from the fridge and repeat my opening procedure, singing “Score!” in a vehement whisper when the top sails into the trash.

  “You okay?” Paul asks.

  “Fine,” I bite out.

  “You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “Fuck you very much.”

  Paul heaves a sigh.

  “How much did you hear?” I ask.

  He winces. “All of it?”

  I go and sit on the couch, not saying anything that’s in my head. Truth be told, I would be tearing shit up if Paul wasn’t here.

  “I can’t believe they want you to come to the wedding.” He snorts.

  “Why did you tell him I’m seeing someone?”

  Paul grins. “Seemed appropriate at the time. Bastard was being all smug, telling me how wonderful his life is.”

  “So you made up an awesome life for me.”

  Paul shrugs. “Didn’t seem like it would hurt.”

  It does fucking hurts. My life might be lonely, but it’s mine. It’s all I’ve got, and when you’ve come close to losing your life like I have, you appreciate every single thing about it.

  “Are you going to the wedding?” Paul asks.

  I shrug. “Don’t know.” I play with the tassels on a pillow, wrapping them around my finger over and over.

  “Maybe it would be good closure,” he says.

  “It’s already closed.”

  “It’s not.”

  I lean toward him. “You want to talk about closure, Paul. Then let’s talk about you and Kelly. Let’s talk about the fact that you’re still fucking your baby mama, even though you’re both fucking other people, too. Let’s talk about closure on that, shall we?”

  Paul presses his lips together. Then he gets up and goes to his room, closing the door softly behind him. He doesn’t punch me, which is what I deserve. He just walks away. I think I hit way too close to home.

  My heart aches for what I just did to him. But it was the only way to get him to drop it.

  Closure. Fuck closure. That wound is still open and festering and painful and raw and so damn irritating that I don’t know what to do with it. Will it ever get better? I don’t see how.

  Sklyar

  I just closed my eyes when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I never did hear back from Phillip after the funeral. He just left. But that’s very much the way he is. He’s there one minute and gone the next. And then gone for a really long time. I take my phone out and see his smiling face on the screen. Do I have to answer it? I mentally steel myself and pick up.

  “Hello?”

  “Skylar, hi,” he says. I can almost see his toothy grin in my mind’s eye, and it makes me cringe. It shouldn’t be that way, should it?

  “So nice of you to finally reply to me,” I toss out.

  I can hear the click of his dress shoes against the pavement. “Sorry about that. I had to get back to work. I’m just leaving the building now.” I hear the slam of a door and imagine him getting into his Mercedes.

  “Working late?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says very softly. He gets quiet for a moment and silence falls over the cell waves.

  “So what’s up with you?” I ask.

  “Big case at work,” he says.

  “Oh, tell me about it.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “We both work for the same firm, Phillip, for God’s sake.”

  “About that,” he says.

  I sit up. Phillip is a managing partner at my firm. He holds my future in his hands.

  “We had a board meeting today to discuss your situation.”

  “Oh, really.” I try not to add a pffft at the end of my comment, and almost succeed, but I feel like someone just jerked the air from me.

  “We decided you need to take some family leave time to get things settled on your end.”

  I sit all the way up and cross my legs criss-cross-applesauce style. “I don’t think that’s your decision to make.”

  “I think it’s in your best interest, Sky,” he says softly. “You need to get settled with the kids, hire a nanny, decide where you’re going to live…”

  “Well, eventually, we’ll live at my apartment. We’re just here temporarily, while the kids adjust.”

  There’s silence on the line.

  “Why don’t you just say what you want to say, Phillip?”

  “I never signed on to be a dad, Sky,” he says.

  “I didn’t exactly sign on to be a mom,” I remind him.

  “Yet you let your father talk you into this harebrained idea.”

  “It’s not an idea. The kids don’t have anyone else.” I pull the phone back and stare down at it for a moment. “Are you breaking up with me? Over the kids.”

  “I’m giving you time to figure things out,” he says.

  “I don’t need time to figure things out.”

  He pauses. “I was going to tell you today, but you were busy with your mother.”

  “You were going to tell me at the funeral?” I screech. “Is that why you came?” I should have known it wasn’t because he cared about me or my family.

  “What are you going to do, Sky?” he finally snaps. “You’re going to raise those children? Those kids who don’t look anything like us? You’re going to parade them around in public? You’re going to take them to the Cape and on vacation and you’re going to be their mom? Why don’t you just hire a nanny, for Christ’s sake? Your father has enough money.”

  I get up and start to pace back and forth across the floor. “I can’t fucking believe this,” I say. “I never took you for someone who gives a shit about race. When did you become this guy?”

  “I’m the same guy I have always been!” he shouts at me. “You’re the one who has changed. I want someone who can work by my side and play by my side and just be by
my side. I don’t want kids between us, particularly if they’re not ours.”

  Silence falls again. I stop in front of the dresser to look into the mirror. There’s a weird sense of peace on my face.

  “It’s not like we ever have sex anymore, anyway. We can’t seem to find the time.” He sounds like a four-year-old.

  It has been a while.

  “We’re just not at the same place,” he says.

  “We’re not talking about proximity,” I spit back.

  “Will you at least consider a nanny?” he asks.

  I don’t even need to think about it. I was raised by a constant parade of nannies, and I will not do that to these kids. I don’t have a single person in my life who can sit with me and tell me stories about my childhood because no one was there. “No,” I bite out.

  “Why not? This isn’t even your responsibility!” he shouts.

  “I may not be their mom, but I’m their aunt. I’m their Aunt Sky, and I’m all they have. They don’t have anyone else, and I know what that feels like. I will not leave them alone. I will be here for them whenever they need me for the rest of my life.”

  To tell the truth, I’ve been kind of brooding about my situation because I couldn’t find my footing, but I have it now. It’s solidly beneath me.

  “I will teach Seth to drive, I will take Mellie to dance lessons, and Joey will do gymnastics.” Okay, I sound like a lunatic now. “They can do or be whatever they want to be. Because they won’t be alone.” I point my finger at nothing and jab into the air with it. “They will never, ever be alone as long as I’m here. Do you understand me? Never!”

  My voice is cracking, and I can’t catch my breath. But I need for him to know how I feel about this. Sometimes I open the door to the girls’ room and just watch them breathe as they sleep. It’s really the only time I’ve been able to get close to them. “I didn’t get to count their fingers and toes when they were born, but I can count them every day when they come home from school. I can be their Aunt Sky, and someday, when I’ve earned their trust and I’m lucky enough for them to love me, maybe, maybe then they’ll want to be my family.”

  I want a family. I want those kids.

  “Sky, think about what you’re doing,” he says. “You’re emotional. You need to sit down and think this through. Don’t do something you’ll regret. Make a list of the pros and cons if you need to.”

  “Pro: they’re amazing.” I start to tick items off on my fingers, even though he can’t see me. “Pro: if they’ll let me love them, I’ll be the happiest woman on the face of the earth. Furthermore, I’m not emotional. I’m perfectly rational.”

  He scoffs. “You don’t sound rational.”

  I hold up another finger. “Pro: you’ve already dumped me, so now I can tell you that you’re really lousy in bed, Phillip. Awful. You’re selfish. If I never have to see your penis again, I’ll be a happy, happy woman. Giddy, in fact.”

  “I’m not bad in bed…”

  “You’re selfish. And I almost never get to come, Phillip. You know this.”

  “I didn’t,” he mumbles.

  “Never.” I grin at myself in the mirror. “My pros are far outweighing my cons. I see orgasms in my future without you, Phillip. Lots of orgasms.”

  He hisses at me. “Con: people will look at you funny for the rest of your life when you parade those kids in public. They’ll never see them at yours. They’ll see them as some poor orphans you adopted. Or, even worse, they’ll assume that you are their mom.”

  “That’s not a con. It doesn’t bother me that they’re biracial. I love the color of their skin, their eyes, and their hair.” Although I do need to learn how to make those little pom-pom knots for the girls. The texture of their hair is a lot different than mine. “I love it because I love them.”

  “You just met them last week!” he yells.

  “But I feel like my heart has known them forever.” The sound of Mellie’s laughter makes me soften. The look of pure surrender on Seth’s face as he takes care of the girls makes me melt. And Joey, when she gets all dirty when she eats, I think it’s adorable. “I love these kids. And I will fight with my dying breath to take care of them. So don’t ever tell me that they’re not good enough for my life. In fact, I think it’s the other way around. I’m not good enough for them.” Finally, a tear tracks down my face. I have a lot to learn, but I can do it. “But I will be.”

  “If your mind is made up,” he clips out.

  “Unequivocally,” I toss back.

  The line goes dead. And it’s only then that I let myself crumble. I rest my palms on the dresser and put my weight on them, biting my lower lip as a sob racks me.

  “Aunt Sky,” I hear from the doorway.

  I look up and swipe my fingertips beneath my eyes. “Seth,” I say. God, I hope he didn’t hear any of that.

  “Are you all right?” he asks quietly. He walks into the room. I look away because I still want to cry.

  Seth reaches out and wraps his arm around me, pulling me against him. He has me in a weird kind of headlock, but it feels nice. He holds me close to him. He’s already inches taller than I am. I force myself not to sob but for a moment. “How much of that did you hear?” I ask as I pull back.

  “I didn’t hear anything about orgasms,” he says with a grin. He swipes a hand over his mouth.

  A chuckle erupts from me. “Well, that’s good.”

  “And I didn’t hear anything at all about Phillip’s junk.” He shudders.

  “Even better.” I look up at him. “I’m sorry you heard all that.”

  “I’m not,” he says, and he suddenly looks like a young adult. “I’m glad I heard it.”

  “Well, I’m not. I’ll try to be quieter next time.”

  He sits down on the edge of my bed. “I’ve been really worried,” he admits.

  I sit down beside him. “Me, too.”

  “But I’m thinking that since we don’t have a mom and you don’t have a family, we can make this work.” He doesn’t look at me, and I sense a little tremor in his voice.

  “I think we can make it work, too.”

  He puts his arm around my shoulders. “I have one question for you.”

  I assume he wants my resume, which is wholly inadequate, particularly since Phillip thinks he just put me on leave. It will be a cold day in hell… “What?” I ask.

  “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to teach me to drive?” He grins down at me.

  I laugh. It feels good to laugh with Seth. “Yeah, I meant it.” I bump his shoulder with mine. “Our groundskeeper taught me.”

  “That’s sad,” he says, his eyes narrowing.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “It kind of is.”

  Matt

  I wake up the next morning knowing that I have to apologize to Paul. I was way out of line last night, and I can’t just let it go. I wait around for him to wake up. He usually goes to the tattoo parlor before I do, but his bedroom door is still closed. He doesn’t have Hayley, his five-year-old daughter, this week. She’s with Kelly, her mom. He sometimes sleeps in when he doesn’t have to get up with her. She rises with the sun, and although it’s a-fucking-dorable to see her padding around in her jammies, a man needs some sleep sometimes. We work really late at the shop, so we don’t always get eight hours.

  Looks like Paul is making up for lost time.

  Logan lives with Emily, Pete lives with Reagan, and Sam went back to college late last night on the bus, so it’s just Paul and me in the apartment now. It seems quiet. Too quiet sometimes. I’m used to the TV blaring because Logan doesn’t know it’s turned up too loud—he’s deaf—and Sam and Pete, the twins, throwing one another all over the furniture. Now it’s just me and Paul, two old guys, and a whole lot of quiet. I don’t think I like it.

  I hear Paul’s door open and then the splash of him going to the bathroom. We’re guys. We don’t have to close the door when there are no girls here. He comes into the kitchen then, his blond hair sticking out in o
ne hundred different directions, and he scratches his belly, his flannel pajama bottoms showing off the tattoo of Kelly’s name. I am well acquainted with it since I put it on him. And it’s a damn fine tattoo, if I do say so myself. Me, I don’t have any women’s names on me anywhere, and I’m pretty sure I never will.

  “’Morning,” Paul mutters, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  “’Morning,” I say back. I open the paper and stare down at it, but I can’t see the words on the page. I can feel Paul’s need to dump his bowl of Honey Graham Oh’s over my head. Hell, I deserve it.

  “Sorry about last night,” I mutter.

  He doesn’t look up from his cereal. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I was an ass.”

  “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “I should have agreed with you. You were right. It’s not done.”

  He talks around a mouthful of food. “If it was done, you wouldn’t have been acting like that dickwad punched you in the gut.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What does she see in him?” he asks.

  “He wasn’t dying?” I guess.

  He finally looks up at me. “No excuse.”

  No, there’s no excuse to cheat.

  “And you were right about me and Kelly.” He keeps eating, not looking up at me.

  “I don’t want to be right about that.”

  “Too bad. I didn’t know you guys knew that we still do that.”

  I shake my head. “Nobody knows but me.”

  “I hope we aren’t too obvious.” He winces.

  “No, I saw you two together when Logan was in the hospital. The way she looks at you…” I watch his face. “And the way you look at her.”

  He finally lifts his gaze. “We just keep falling into bed together. That’s all.” He shrugs. He looks really uncomfortable, and that’s not usually how I think of Paul. “It’s easy. And comfortable.”

  I wouldn’t know what that’s like. I laugh to myself.

  “What?” he asks.

  “You talk about sex with Kelly like it’s your foot sliding into an old shoe.”

  He snuffles.

  “But just like an old shoe, exes can be comfortable but fail to support you the way you need.”