Why It's Called a Goodbye Read online

Page 12


  I feel bad because I haven’t been up front with Sawyer and Atticus about me and Malcom.

  I open the door to their room, and Sawyer is playing a video game while Atticus plays on his phone. “There’s something I need to tell you two.” Neither of them speak, but they both give me their attention. “I’ve been hanging out with Malcom Murray some. We’re not dating or anything. He’s a friend, but I just want you two to know. In case your father brings him up.”

  Sawyer says, “Yeah, Dad already told us. He asked us if we knew. He said Mac was mean to you in school, and he doesn’t understand why you’d want to be with someone like him.”

  Malcom was never mean to me. We barely even spoke to each other back then. “I’m sorry we’ve brought you two in the middle of this.”

  Atticus puts his controller down and stands, “It’s okay, Mom. I like Coach. He’s nice, but I don’t want him to think he’s our new dad.”

  “Oh, honey, no one will ever replace your father.”

  “I like Coach more than the woman living at Dad’s. She’s whiny and doesn’t know how to do anything. All of our clothes there are dirty,” Atticus complains.

  I don’t know why I’m shocked she’s already moved in, but I’m even more shocked my boys don’t know how to do their own laundry. “Come on boys, your old mom is going to teach you two how to take care of yourselves, that way, when you are older, you’ll be able to impress a girl by charming her with your housekeeping skills.”

  While they grumped and groaned, I taught them life skills. How to use the washer and dryer. How to fold and hang up their own laundry. How to unload and load a dishwasher properly. How to make their bed, and that I expect them to make their beds every morning from now on. How to sweep, vacuum and dust.

  I sat them down and told them that if they’re ever in a relationship, and they find themselves infatuated with someone who isn’t their significant other to tell their person before they act on their feelings. I’m not ready for them to date yet, but I know it’ll be sooner than later. And after I had told them more than they wanted to hear, I asked them what they wanted to do.

  Now we’re out in the backyard, and they are attempting to teach me about football.

  Thanksgiving is this Thursday. I’m at the store today helping Mom and Pops prepare for their annual Black Friday sale. The store is closed on Thanksgiving but opens back up at five in the morning on Friday. The boys and I, along with Mom and Pops, are going to try to man the store. Mom said she gave the girl that works for them an extra day off to be with her family.

  The boys will be staying by the front door greeting patrons and watching for shoplifters. Mom will be at the cash register. Pops will keep the shelves stocked, and I’ll be circling the store to help those who need it.

  Today is Sawyer and Atticus’ last day of school before Thanksgiving break.

  Writing Talent Inc. gave me another book synopsis that I’m going to start next week. They won’t tell me who it's for, only that I’m ghost writing for a well-known author who died, and they haven’t let the public know yet. The story is supposed to be a beach romance between a starlet whose father is a rock god, and a guy who repairs rental houses. She’s escaped the media to live a normal life. I hate to tell Writing Talent that people don’t normally own beach houses they can just go to whenever they want, but I’m going to write it all the same.

  I’m setting up the tool gift set display at the end of aisle four when a woman walks in. She has long legs and long chestnut hair. Large sunglasses mask her eyes. She’s wearing a long sleeve sweater dress that barely covers her backside. Her legs are bare and the heels on her feet look uncomfortable. She must not be from around here because it’s freezing out today. She has to be cold.

  She makes her way up and down the aisles before picking up a small pink bear. At the cash register she sets the bear down and grabs a candy bar. Mom cashes her out and wishes her a Happy Thanksgiving before she exits. I move to the next aisle over to work on the hunting knife display.

  Before long, it's time to pick the boys up from school. While I’m in the pickup line, I text Malcom.

  Me: They boys are going to their dad’s tonight, and they won’t be back until Thanksgiving night. Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?

  Malcom: Elsie and I are heading to Florida on Thanksgiving Day to spend the weekend with my parents.

  Me: Oh.

  Malcom: I’d like to hang out with you tomorrow though, if you can.

  Me: Yeah, sounds good.

  Malcom: Okay then.

  Me: Okay then.

  He hadn’t told me he was going to his parents’ for Thanksgiving, but I guess he did tell me he spends a lot of holidays down there with them. He didn’t invite me to go, not that I could have anyway. I’ll have the boys back Friday.

  They get in the back without fighting. I turn around in my seat as they sit in silence. “Who are you and what have you done with my boys?”

  “You’re weird, Mom,” Sawyer says without looking up from his phone.

  I face the front and mumble, “mmm, hmm.”

  I’m meeting Stephen at a gas station in Prestonsburg. We swung by the house on the way, so they could get their bags, and now we're on the way to him.

  We’ve been sitting at the gas station for thirty minutes. I called Stephen forty-five minutes ago and told him we were already here, and he said he was on his way then. Just one time I’d like for him to not keep me waiting.

  He squeals tires as he turns into the parking lot.

  Kitty is in the passenger seat and even though I wanted to talk to him about her living with him, I’d rather not do it with her around. I just don’t understand why he’s allowed to be with her, but he doesn’t think I should be happy. It’s not fair. Flaunting her in front of me like she’s some prize pig, and I should be jealous.

  I guess I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous. I’m jealous he’s paying her attention when he could never find the time for me. Maybe it's because he only has the boys part time, and it’s easier to give her his time. He never did give me his time though. College had his time for his early twenties, and then residency and then his practice. I never came first. I never even came second.

  I should have been second behind the boys and work after me, but he never saw it that way. It won’t be long before Kitty loses her shine, and he stops noticing her too.

  I’m scared that’s what I am to Malcom. A shiny new toy he can play with and then discard when the next new toy shows up. I know I don’t have a lot to offer, and I certainly do not feel like I’m good enough.

  Before I get too sad, I call Inez. The line rings until it eventually goes to voicemail. I then attempt to call Malcom, but he doesn’t answer either.

  I sulk for the rest of the drive back to my parents’.

  NINETEEN

  I woke up and made a pie. I don’t bake, but I figured since I was going to Malcom’s and he always cooks, I could at least bring dessert. I know normally people make pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving, but I decided to make a blackberry one. I found some frozen berries in Mom’s freezer, and I used her recipe to make a homemade crust. I hope he likes blackberries. I guess there is quite a lot about him I still don’t know. He does seem to enjoy all types of food though.

  The pie is still warm as it sits in the passenger seat while I’m on my way to his house. He didn’t say if Elsie would be here or not. Maybe she’ll be visiting with Angie since he is taking her out of town tomorrow.

  After I park, I grab the pie and make my way toward the steps when I notice a person standing on the part of the porch that faces the lake. A woman is leaning over the railing with a cup of coffee in her hand. She’s oblivious to the fact that I’m standing here with a pie.

  She has long chestnut hair that’s swaying in the breeze. Her sun-kissed skin glistens in the morning sun as it beams from the lake. She looks like a model. Her legs look oddly familiar, and then I realize she was the lady at my parents’ store yesterday
. She’s wearing nothing but the Bearcats sweatshirt Malcom let me borrow the day I was wet from the rain. It doesn’t even cover her ass cheeks, which are hanging out from her barely-there thong.

  I drop the pie. It smashes to the ground, and the warm filling splashes all over the legs of my pants and on my shoes. I shake my legs like dogs do attempting to get some of it off.

  I look up, and she’s watching me. She takes a sip of her coffee and waves at me like we’re best friends. Without sunglasses, I realize she’s the woman in the picture on Elsie’s nightstand.

  She’s Elsie’s mom.

  She’s Roxi Marie.

  What is she doing here, and why is she wearing Malcom’s shirt? He said he hasn’t seen her since last Christmas, and the last time Elsie saw her was briefly one day this past summer at Angie’s for a couple hours.

  But she’s here now, and she looks right at home.

  I feel like an intruder.

  I need to get away from here. I get in my car and leave.

  I check my phone, but Malcom hasn’t called or messaged. Why hadn’t he told me she was here?

  A tear falls down my face, and I wipe it away as another falls from my other eye.

  I let myself get attached to him when I shouldn’t have. I know she broke him, but I know he loves Elsie so much he’d take her back if it meant her mom would stay around. He hasn’t really mentioned what keeps her away. I know she lives in Malibu. I’m not sure if she lives there because of her career, but what kind of mother chooses a career over their child?

  I call Inez.

  “What’s up?” she asks.

  Tears fall faster down my face, like a river escaping a dam, when I hear her voice. I try to calm myself down before I speak, but my mind is tangled up, and the only thing that escapes my lips is a sob.

  “What’s wrong, Adaline?”

  “I uh…I went over to Malcom’s. We were going to have Thanksgiving together today. But…but,” I can’t finish. I can barely see through my tear-soaked eyelashes. I pull over to the side of the road and turn the engine off. “Roxi was at his house. She was…she’s there and mostly naked, and I can’t. I made a damn pie for him. Inez, a pie!”

  “Okay, slow down. It’s kind of hard to tell exactly what you’re talking about, but I can tell you’re upset that Malcom’s ex is at his house?”

  I inhale and exhale before I speak, “She is, and I’ll never compare to her in his eyes. I mean, I’m still freaking married, and who knows when the divorce will be final. I’m bummed. I thought we were really getting somewhere. Now I feel like it’s the end before there ever really was a beginning.”

  “I’m sorry Addy. Maybe it’s not what you think? I wish I could talk more, but I’m actually at work today. I can come over tonight if you want?”

  “That’d be nice, but can I come to you? I think I want to drink, and you know I hate doing that around my parents.”

  “Yeah, but you know you’re an adult now who’s allowed to drink your sorrows away every once in a while.”

  “I know.”

  Malcom: Why aren’t you answering my calls?

  Malcom: Please answer

  Malcom: Let me explain

  Malcom: I didn’t know she was going to show up

  Malcom: Answer please

  Malcom: I’m leaving tonight instead of tomorrow. I’ll be back Sunday.

  Malcom: Okay. I can tell you’re mad. Message me when you’re ready to talk.

  I power off my phone as soon as I walk into Inez’s.

  I picked up some tequila on the way because I know Inez likes it. I felt like shit the next day after I drank it the last time, but I already feel like shit, so it can’t hurt any. I knock and move the fifth of tequila from one arm to the other. The bag of limes is cutting off the circulation to my pinky.

  A lady, who is not Inez, answers the door. She’s my height, so I have a great view of her lovely almond eyes. The bottom half of her head is shaved, and she has her light natural brown hair piled on top of her head in a bun. She’s wearing a plaid flannel shirt that’s tucked in the front of her skinny jeans. “Inez, I think your friend is here,” she says.

  I hand her the alcohol and say, “Hi. I’m Adaline,” and walk past her in search of Inez. I find her standing in her kitchen. I hold up the bag of limes. “I brought limes for dinner and tequila for dessert!” I point behind me. “Is that your chick?”

  The chick makes her way around the counter and stands beside Inez. Inez circles her arm around her shoulders. “Yes, this is Juliet.”

  Juliet grabs Inez’s waist, and I miss being wanted by someone else. They look so cute.

  “Well hello, Juliet. I’m Adaline, Inez’s best friend who didn’t know she was gay and I’m in the midst of a divorce and the guy I’m falling in love with is getting back with his ex. Nice to meet you.”

  “You can call me Jules,” Juliet says.

  Inez laughs. “Addy isn’t normally so self-deprecating. Did you start drinking before you came?”

  “No, but I wanted to.” And I would have if it weren’t for the fact that I’m a mom, and I don’t want my kids to wake up to a news article titled ‘Drunk Driver Leaves Behind Her Two Sons, One Husband, and One Guy Who Didn’t Care Enough For Her To Let Her Know He Didn’t Want Her Like That’.

  Inez puts three shot glasses on the table and pours them full of tequila. All three of us salt our hands.

  Lick. Shot. Lime. Repeat.

  Half the bottle is gone now, and I’m tired of thinking about how messed up my life is at this very moment. I slur out, “So, give me details on how you guys met.”

  Inez answers, “Well, there is a coffee shop down the street from the firm, and one morning I saw this beautiful woman sitting in a chair reading a book. People don’t read as much as they should anymore and that right there, along with her looks, had me hooked. Every morning she’d be sitting in the same chair when I went in to get my morning coffee.”

  Juliet interrupts, “After I waited weeks for her to come over and talk to me, she finally came over and asked me what I was reading. Then she asked me to go for coffee after she got off work that day, but I couldn’t because I had to work. Eventually, our schedules worked out, and we went on our first date.”

  I ask, “What is it you do for a living?”

  “I’m a private investigator,” Juliet replies.

  “Oh, that has to be very interesting!”

  “It can be, but it's mostly digging through people’s garbage. Not as fancy as some might think. I don’t just sit in my car and take pictures.”

  We’re sitting around Inez’s table now. We were going to play cards, but I think we’re all too drunk to remember the rules. I fill up the shot glasses again.

  Salt. Lick. Shot. Lime. Repeat.

  “You know Juliet could look into Stephen if you want,” Inez suggests.

  “No, that’s okay. But I’m beginning to wonder if he has someone following me. He knew I had been hanging out with Malcom, but I don’t know how he knew.”

  Juliet grabs three waters from the kitchen. “Who all have you talked to about Malcom? A lot of the time I find out things from people who loosely know the person I’m investigating,” Juliet offers.

  I think about the people who know about me and Malcom. “The only person I’ve confided in besides family was the therapist I was seeing. They aren’t allowed to tell people things, are they? Doesn’t it go against confidentiality?”

  “But she was seeing Malcom, wasn’t she?” Inez asks.

  “She was, but I didn’t know that. She wouldn’t have told Stephen. Would she have?” Oh my god. How could I have not figured this out. She was livid with him. She knew I was divorcing Stephen. I’m under his insurance still, so I had to write down all his information when I filled out the initial forms. That’s the entire reason I saw her in the first place, but how did she find him?

  Inez, “You know as well as I do that we as women do not think rationally about what we do when our emotions a
re involved.”

  I slump down in my chair and hide my head in my arms on the table. “Why am I the worst?”

  Why had I drunk all that tequila the night before is the question I’ve been asking myself all morning. I finally made it back to my parents’ and discover Mom is making dinner while I lay on the couch. Pops is watching football. Well, he has football on the television, but he’s actually kicked back snoring in his chair. I was attempting to watch it, but tequila and I do not mix, and I’ve already vomited twice this morning.

  Mom gave me a pill that she said, “Would make it all better,” but she wouldn’t tell me what it was. I think it’s finally starting to kick in, but I’m too scared to even think about eating Thanksgiving dinner. After dinner, we’re supposed to go to the store to finish up before the big sale in the morning. I’m hoping mom has more of these miracle pills because I think I’ll need another one by then.

  I can’t wait for the boys to arrive back this evening. I miss them.

  I miss Malcom too. I know I should be an adult and let him explain, but my heart is hurt, and I don’t think I can take it on top of this hangover I’m trying to recover from. I did turn my phone back on, but he hasn’t messaged any since his last text.

  If he’s playing hard to get, then so can I.

  TWENTY

  Atticus and Sawyer made it home late last night. They barely got any sleep at all. I thought it would have been more of a fight getting them up at three-thirty in the morning, but I think they might be as excited as the customers for the sale.

  I’m still attempting to recover from drowning my sorrows the night before last.

  Malcom and I weren’t even dating, but I think I’m taking this harder than I did when I found out Stephen was cheating. I’m beginning to believe what my mom has always said – I really did settle for Stephen. It’s not like I didn’t love him, but maybe I grew to love him because he gave me the boys.