Now my heart was racing all over again, dammit.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said before I could respond. “You’re thinking I’m a cocky son of a bitch. Right?”
Fortified by gin, I said, “Well…kind of, yes.”
“The thing is, I would have asked you out, and not just because you work in TV. I would have asked you out before I knew that, because you’re gorgeous and I like your laugh and like I said, I’m new in town.”
“How new?”
“New enough not to have a girlfriend.”
Yet.
I was sure that wouldn’t last long. The city wasn’t exactly teeming with cute, stylish, witty, straight guys.
But I already had one of those, so I had no choice but to release this one back into the wild.
“Listen,” he said, “if it doesn’t work out with your boyfriend, give me a call.”
“It’ll work out with him,” I assured him with more confidence than I felt.
“Well, if you find yourself casting a sitcom, give me a call.”
I laughed. “Will do.”
But I was sure I wouldn’t.
So sure that the next morning, as Mike lay snoring in my bed, I crept across the room and removed the blue business card from my bag. I tossed it right into the garbage can without a second glance.
After all, Mike was back. My Mike. And I wasn’t interested in anybody but him.
Yet…
seven
The present
Hey Beau, Bet you’re surprised to hear from me. I Googled your name and found your e-mail address and figured I’d drop you a line. Where are you living now? I’ve moved around quite a bit, but now I’m pretty settled in Florida. Anyway, I’d love to know what you’re up to, so please write back. Take care. Mike
And that’s it.
I reread the e-mail at least a dozen times, just to make sure there isn’t something more. Some hidden meaning between the lines. Some clue as to why he suddenly decided to get in touch after all these years.
Unless…
No. It has to be him.
Of course it’s him.
He didn’t sign his last name. He didn’t have to. He knew I’d know who he was the second I saw Happy Nappy. Happy Nappy 64—the year he was born.
So…
Why?
Why is he barging into my life now, after all these years?
Because he Googled me?
Why did he Google me?
Okay, confession time: I Googled him, too.
It’s not as though he’s been on my mind every second for the past decade and a half, but like I said before, he does tend to pop up now and then. I can’t help getting lost in memories sometimes, and I can’t help occasionally wondering where he is, what he’s doing, whether he’s married with children.
Back when we first got the computer, I entered his name in the Google search engine and held my breath until it came up with thousands of hits. His name was too common. I gave up after the first few hundred. But I knew that if I really wanted to get in touch with him, I could have done it. I could have tracked down his parents, or old mutual friends, or hell, I could have hired a private detective.
Not that I would have gone to that extreme.
Still, now that he’s found me…
Now that I know where he is…
I have this sudden, pressing need to know more.
Like, what is he doing in Florida? He never said anything about wanting to move to Florida.
And…
Is he married with children?
But I can’t come right out and ask him that. I can’t write Dear Mike, Thanks for writing. Oh, by the way, are you married with children?
After all, his marital and paternal status doesn’t matter. It can’t matter, because, oh yeah, I’m married with children.
Not that he’s proposing anything in his e-mail other than an innocent e-mail in return. I could write and tell him what I’ve been up to.
But what could that possibly accomplish?
I read the e-mail again, then tear my eyes away, forcing myself to focus elsewhere for a minute. I have to clear my head.
The sun is streaming through the windows. It’s a beautiful summer afternoon. I should take the kids over to the pool. Or the park. Or for ice cream.
But it’s so hot. And the baby is sleeping. And…
And I would rather stay online and write back to Mike.
But that would be wrong.
Wouldn’t it?
I don’t know. I mean, I struck up an e-mail correspondence with Gaile after all these years.
But Gaile and I never took a Happy Nappy together. Gaile never tried to steal me away from the man I loved.
And still love, I remind myself. You still love Mike. Nobody is going to try to steal you away from him now. He’s your husband. You built a life together.
Yeah, and keeping that life running smoothly is my full-time job.
I look around the family room, noticing all the things that need doing. There are a few stray orange Goldfish cracker crumbs on the rug, which the incompetent Melina missed, which I was about to vacuum yesterday before somebody interrupted me. Beside the television is a scattering of kiddie videos and DVDs I was in the midst of matching with their boxes earlier in the week before somebody interrupted me. On the desk is a stack of bills I started paying last night before somebody interrupted me. And after that I decided to settle in and watch a movie before somebody interrupted me, forcing me to TiVo the rest.
TiVo might just be the most revolutionary invention known to man or harried suburban mother. We’ve had it for a year now. It’s nice to be able to hit Pause when the homeroom mother calls you just as CSI: Miami is starting, to remind you that you signed up last fall to bring two dozen homemade cupcakes for snack in the morning. Or you can hit Fast Forward when one of the kids shows up in the room just as some unfortunate soul is getting violently whacked on The Sopranos. Or you can hit Instant Replay when your husband erupts in a deafening sneezing fit just as Alex Trebeck is giving the right answer on Jeopardy.
You
