19 You’re Over Me

19

you’re over me

Alexander

It’s Wednesday. I never thought I’d say this, but Dani was right. I didn’t know what it was like to juggle work, the kids, and the household on my own. I’m exhausted once again and ready to swap, but the boys are playing their first game of the season and I’m not missing it. I texted Dani earlier, letting her know I’d get them from school and bring them to the game, and we could just switch there.

Noah is sitting on the bench with a sling on and I still feel terrible, but the boys and I had a good few days. I managed to devise a system at work where I put all my patients back-to-back in the mornings right after I drop off the boys. Kate actually came up with the plan and organized the appointments for me. It’s intense not taking a break for several hours, but by two-thirty, I’m out of there. I go pick up the boys and bring them back to the clinic for a couple of hours. They do their homework while I wrap up patient notes and the clerical business I would normally sprinkle throughout the day .

I miss Jenna and how well we worked together—she could basically read my mind. But Kate is being a superstar and picking up the job quickly. She’s punctual, nice to the clients and staff, bright and professional. She’s also levelheaded. Nothing seems to bother her. Things definitely feel like they’re looking up for me in my transition to part-time single parent, but there’s no question that it was a rocky adjustment.

It’s already the seventh inning and I’m surprised Danielle is not here. She never misses games, but she did mention she had to go to the studio today and check out the new offices.

Finally, in the bottom of the eighth, I see her coming down the ramp toward the baseball field. Her hair is back to dark brown. She seems chipper, not overtly so, but there’s a little bounce in her step.

Once we make eye contact she smiles with a tight, closed mouth, and walks toward me.

“Hey,” she says. “What’s the score?”

“Tied three–three.”

She looks over toward the dugout. “Poor Noah, benched all year.”

I feel bad enough without her pointing it out, but I don’t think she’s being antagonistic. “Yeah, it sucks,” I say, as she sits down next to me.

“He’s being a good sport about it. How were the last few days?”

“They were good. Smooth sailing. They’re itching for summer though. Do we have a plan for that?”

“I don’t see why we would need to change our days, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll come to the house Wednesday mornings and go to the apartment Sunday mornings.”

“I know, but— ”

“I signed them up for camps all summer, Alex. They’ll have one camp every day for most of the summer.”

“Oh, you did that?”

“Of course I did. I’ve always done that. They’ll be busy. It’ll be just like school. They have baseball camp, golf camp, surf camp, and Noah is taking an astronomy class at Glendale Community College on Thursday nights, but that’ll be my day, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Surf camp?”

“Yeah, they both want to learn. It’s good exercise. Maybe I’ll learn too, who knows.”

“Well, okay, then. That makes things easy. I’ve got a good system at work now so I can do drop-off and pickup on my days.”

“Good. So no more Grandma?” she asks with a smirk.

“It was temporary, Dani. Speaking of, why’d you change your hair back?”

“It was fading into an awful, brassy orange color. I looked like Chewbacca,” she says with a laugh.

I laugh with her. Things feel light. The summer conversation is easy. I have the urge to pinch myself because it feels like she and I are getting along, and after so many years of fighting, that sensation is pretty surreal. I want to tell her that her hair looks amazing, but it just doesn’t seem right to say it out loud.

Ethan is up to bat. Both boys are good baseball players, but Ethan usually struggles with hitting.

“Let’s go, E!” Dani yells.

Ethan looks at us as he walks from the batter’s circle to home plate. We’re sitting close to each other. Both of us are smiling. It must feel encouraging to him, because it looks like he shifts into a more poised posture.

“Jeez,” Dani says. “Bottom of the ninth, two outs, and tied up? No pressure. Poor Ethan. He’s so hard on himself about hitting.”

“He’s been practicing a lot though.”

Ethan swings. It’s a strike. Noah stands in the dugout and grasps the fence with his good hand. “Let’s go, E. Eye on the ball!” he yells.

Strike two.

“Bummer,” Dani says. Ethan looks nervous, but he hasn’t given up.

The next pitch comes barreling right down the middle. Ethan swings. It’s a fly ball to right field. For a moment I think it’s going to clear the wall but it hits the foul pole and bounces back to the field.

“Fair ball,” Noah yells. “Run, E!”

Ethan turns first, zips to second, and heads for third while the right fielder heaves the ball across the field. “Down!” the third base coach yells.

“Slide!” Dani screams.

Ethan slides just as the third baseman is jumping for the ball. It’s overthrown. The coach is yelling to Ethan, “Get up! Go! Go! Go!”

He gets up and runs for home plate. It’s going to be close. He dives, and he’s safe, just barely. We are jumping up and down, screaming. Ethan just won the game with an inside-the-park home run. Dani and I head over to the dugout. Everyone is going crazy, hugging and celebrating. Things feel normal. Great, even.

I don’t think I’ve seen Ethan more elated in his life. He can’t stop smiling. Noah is also happier than I’ve seen him in a long time.

Everyone congratulates Ethan. The coach declares him the MVP of the game and the boys start gathering their stuff. Dani is mingling with the other moms. I’m waiting for them to head to the parking lot when I realize I’m going to a different place. I don’t need to wait.

Dani looks up at me from about twenty feet away. I walk over toward her and she says, “It’s gonna be a while. The coach wants to work on something with Ethan and another kid.”

“Okay,” I say. I don’t know what to do with myself.

I go over to the boys and hug and congratulate them again. “I’m going to the apartment, guys,” I say.

“We know,” Noah says. “We’ll see you in a few days.” They’re acting like it’s no big deal. I shouldn’t want them to care, but it feels so strange to leave the baseball field alone…again. They all seem adjusted, but I don’t feel used to this at all.

“Okay, love you guys,” I say and turn to leave. I’m walking by Dani, who is swept up in a conversation with two other moms. “Bye, Dani.”

She looks up, nods, then throws up a half-assed wave, so I wave back and head for my car.

“Alex, wait a sec!” Dani jogs toward me. She reaches into her back pocket and hands me a business card. It’s Valeria’s. My stomach drops. I feel dizzy. Very quietly and calmly, Dani says, “This fell out of the laundry basket. Not at the apartment, okay?” She’s wearing a small, tight smile. Her eyes look almost sympathetic.

I’m speechless. I start fumbling for words. I would feel terrible if I hurt her this way, but I don’t think I did. I have been plenty mad at Dani, but I’ve never been maliciously careless. The weird thing is that she doesn’t seem pissed or sad, it’s like she…feels nothing about it. “Listen, I—” She shakes her head as if to indicate that I don’t need to respond.

I flip the card over and read, Call me, Alex. I had a great time tonight .

Oh my god, this looks so bad. “Dani…nothing—”

“It’s fine,” she says, shaking her head minutely. She’s preoccupied, looking over her shoulder like she wants to get back to her conversation.

She starts to turn toward the moms. “Dani, listen to me.” I grab her arm. She looks down at my hand like I’m a stranger. “I met her at Commerce and G. She’s a friend of Brian’s. I was with him…we all talked at the bar. She gave me her card at the restaurant. It was just friendly.”

An enigmatic Dani is staring at me now. She blinks a couple of times like she’s internally deciphering my thoughts…my lies. “Alex…” she says. She’s stoic. “Not at the apartment, okay? It’s gross, and if for no other reason, it’s confusing to the neighbors. You can afford a hotel.”

I feel so stupid in this moment. Candy must have told her. God, Dani has a way of making me feel like the biggest moron on the planet. “I didn’t sleep with her,” I whisper, but it’s loud enough for the other women to hear. They all turn and look atus.

“I gotta go. I was in the middle of talking to Lisa. I’m being rude. We’ll get separate places eventually, but for now, let’s just have some respect for each other. See you Sunday.” She turns on her heel and walks away. She wasn’t even angry.

I’m standing there with my hands at my sides, stupefied. I must look like an ape. Why isn’t she mad? It’s like she doesn’t even care. Maybe she doesn’t.

Driving to the apartment feels like a dream. I’m running a million scenarios in my head. I wonder what Dani is thinking and I just want to tell her over and over that Valeria and I didn’t sleep together, but why do I feel the need to do that? We’re divorced. It’s none of Dani’s business. I feel bad that she found the card, and that she had to explain things to Candy, but something like this was eventually going to happen.

For a few minutes I walk around the apartment in circles. My hands feel numb. Every thirty seconds I look at my text messages. I’m waiting for something. Dani’s wrath, maybe? Nothing happens.

There’s a welling mass in my chest so I sit on the couch to catch my breath. All the windows and curtains are open…it’s the one benefit of having a second-story apartment. There’s aserene breeze moving across the living room and into the darkbedroom. I haven’t turned on any lights. The ambient lightis disintegrating by the moment. It’s hard to see the detailsof things in the room, but it’s not completely dark. I notice how quiet the street is during this time of day. It’s magic hour, which is actually much shorter than an hour. It’s that twenty minutes after the sun has dipped below the horizon, but before the sky has darkened. The glow left over is fading, but it’s enough to still give the apartment a peaceful contexture. I’m calming down.

What had felt like a witching hour has mollified. The tone in the room is a combination of surrender and exhaustion and the peace one feels in that. I fall asleep with my head resting on theback of the couch.

When I wake an hour later, it’s dark outside, and in the apartment as well. The one outdoor light on the walkway below is giving off a small orange glow that’s just enough to guide my way to the kitchen light switch.

I flip on the lights. It’s nine-thirty. I’m tired, but I know I won’t be able to go back to sleep for a while. It’s still eerily quiet and I’m hungry. These are the moments when loneliness starts to seep in. This is bedtime for the boys. If we were still together, Dani and I would be finishing up dishes, getting the kids situated, reading before heading to bed.

There are four books on the shelf in the apartment. Two John Irvings, A Son of the Circus and, my personal favorite, The Fourth Hand . There’s one long, boring Salman Rushdie, The Ground Beneath Her Feet, which Dani raved about for years but I could never get into it. And then a random historical romance novel, The Bronze Horseman, by Paullina Simons. This one I remembered Dani also sung praises about. I never cracked it, using the excuse that the category was too schmaltzy for me. I mocked her love of romance novels and, internally, I even degraded her as a writer because of it. Looking back now, it seems infantile that I would dismiss an entire genre when I couldn’t even muscle through a Rushdie.

That’s the thing: Dani read every type of book, listened to every kind of music, and appreciated every difference in every human being she came across. I used to wish I was more like her…more receptive and loving. It’s hard to see that in her anymore though. That side of Dani has been replaced by a malevolent dictator. Dictator might be a little harsh, actually. I pick up The Bronze Horseman and set it on the couch-back table to remind myself to give it a go. I need to open myself up to the world more.

After heating up a chicken dish Dani had left in the refrigerator, I take my plate back into the living room, sit down, and start eating. I’m getting used to this weird routine of reheating and eating her old food. I wonder if she knows I’m eating it and not just tossing it out.

It’s too quiet in here. My phone will not link to the Bluetooth player so I get up and walk over to the turntable and LP collection .

Eeny, meeny, miney, mo. I don’t even care, I just don’t want to hear my cynical, sad-boy inner dialogue any longer.

It’s The Velvet Underground Loaded album. I turn it around and look at the songs on the back of the cover. “Sweet Jane. ”

I let out a laugh, remembering an argument I had gotten into with Dani about this song. I take the record out of the cardboard, leaving the sleeve inside. It wasn’t exactly an argument, more like a little glimpse of Dani’s passion, which I now refer toas her bitchiness. But back then it didn’t feel bitchy, self-righteous, or braggy. It was charming.

The song starts and I’m back to twenty years ago.

“Standin’ on a corner

Suitcase in my hand…Oh, sweet Jane.”

We had finished the hardwood floors and paint in the house and were finally moving furniture in. Dani and I had done everything ourselves. We had to. We had thirty-five dollars left in our bank account when we closed on the house. Those days were wild. I think we were still high from the lacquer fumes, because we were unreasonably giddy about spending our first night in the house even though we couldn’t even afford groceries.

It was late and the rooms were cluttered with boxes and furniture in odd places, but we managed to get everything out of the moving truck so we could return it.

“Let’s call it a day,” Dani said, plopping onto the green velour couch my mother had given me in college.

“I feel disgusting,” I said as I sat down next to her.

“I don’t even know where my clothes are.”

“I found some of mine in a box you must have packed, because it was only five of my T-shirts and your wedding dress. You can wear one of my shirts.”

She got up to go take a shower. “Thanks, I will.”

We had gotten married a year and half before we bought the house. Our wedding was small. At the time, it was still hard for Dani and her parents to celebrate anything because of Ben’s death. It sounds sad, considering it was our wedding and it was hard for them to celebrate, but it was enough for me and Dani. The size of our wedding was never an issue. Neither of us are flashy people. We sort of fell into being engaged after a long conversation one night and marriage felt like an easy next step. We picked out the rings together, planned a small wedding at a little outdoor venue in Pasadena, and that was it. I wouldn’t have done it differently and I don’t think she would have either. Well, except for the getting married part, I guess? It’s pretty hard to regret the marriage, though, when it gave us Noah and Ethan.

Almost immediately after the wedding, we started looking for a house. There was a specific street in Los Feliz that we wanted to live on. We would drive up and down it looking for FOR SALE signs until finally there it was…our house. It needed a lot of work and we paid an inordinate amount of money for a Spanish revival that basically needed the entire interior redone, but we loved it.

We spent months sleeping in the garage while we were remodeling. Dani was a trooper and I worked tirelessly to make the house exactly what she wanted.

I had showered, was sitting on the couch in the fume-filled unpacked room. I was too tired to do anything more. I had been swept up in a house design magazine when Dani came sauntering out in one of my T-shirts and nothing else.

I arched my eyebrows .

“Well, I wasn’t gonna put my wedding dress on,” she said with a laugh.

“No, you look adorable in my shirt. I like it.”

She made her way over to a tall, built-in bookshelf where we had stacked her records and the record player. She put on “Sweet Jane.”

“Is this the Cowboy Junkies song redone?” I asked.

She spun around quickly like she had been stung by something. “This?” she said as she started to dance around to the music. She was so sexy with no makeup, wet hair. Her nipples were hard through the thin T-shirt fabric. “This, Alex, is not the Cowboy Junkies,” she said with mock indignation.

“I know it’s not, but it’s their song, right?”

“Oh, Alex, Alex, Alex, you are so wrong. This, my friend, is the original. You don’t know who this is?”

I shrugged.

“Well, you have to guess, then,” she said. “And every time you’re wrong, you have to take off an article of clothing.”

I laughed and looked down at myself. I was wearing a T-shirt and basketball shorts over boxers. I didn’t have too many wrong answers to spare. “Okay,” I said. “But what about you? What do you have to do?”

“Obviously if you get it right, then I will have to strip something off.”

“You mean when I get it right?” I said.

She was still dancing around to the music while I was seated on the couch. “You have a lot of confidence for a guy who thought this was the Cowboy Junkies,” she said.

“I didn’t think it was—”

“Time to guess, Alex. The song will be over soon.”

“The Rolling Stones?”

“Off with your shirt!” she yelled .

I ditched my shirt and then searched my mind. “The Animals?”

“Bye-bye, shorts,” she said cutely with a wave toward me.

I stripped them off quickly. I couldn’t place the voice. My parents were not music people. Dani’s were. She could recognize any artist from their voice even if she hadn’t heard the song.

“Rod Stewart?”

She buckled over, laughing. “Rod Stewart? Are you kidding me?”

“It sounds like him,” I argued.

“Take them off!” she said, pointing to my boxers.

I shimmied out of my boxers and sat buck naked on the couch as she twirled in circles. I was extraordinarily turned-on when she finally looked back at me.

Her mouth fell open. “Oh,” she said.

“How do I even out this playing field?” I asked.

She came toward me and straddled me. We were kissing. I started to pull her shirt up. She whispered near my ear, “Nope. You haven’t guessed the right answer.” She was grinding on me, naked under the shirt. It was torture. “I’ll give you a hint…it’s Lou Reed’s band.”

“The Velvet Underground. Now take this fucking thing off.”

I pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it onto a stack of boxes.

I shake my head now, to get out of the memory that feels almost too good.

I’m standing in the apartment, staring at the wall, feeling lonely. What we’d had was so good. What happened? I realize I hadn’t taken the white sleeve out to see if she had written something on it. Maybe she wrote about that day .

The sleeve sticks to the cardboard like it had been wet at some point. Tears? I take it out and read her writing over and over again, trying to place the memory. It’s not that first night in our house at all…It’s horribly sad.

Song 2: “Sweet Jane”

I’m wondering if you remember our game about this song when we moved into this house. Things have changed a little. All good things though. I’m watching you hold Ethan. He dozes off as you’re feeding him in your arms. He’s just over a year old—beautiful blond curls. Noah is climbing on the back of the couch, wrapping his arms around your neck, choking you, but you don’t care. You’re still smiling as you look up at me. Noah is giggling. It sounds like the music you would hear in heaven. This is the moment that represents exactly what love is to me. You look up and smile again. We found out three days ago that we’re having a girl. I haven’t told you this yet…but I want to name her Jane.

I never knew. Why didn’t I ever read these? A tear streams down my cheek. It feels like a foreign invader. I do the math; Dani miscarried the week after she’d written this. She was nineteen weeks pregnant…almost halfway. We’d heard the heartbeat already three times and had seen the tiny baby on the screen twice. She was far enough along for them to know the sex. Dani had a small baby bump that didn’t go away for several days after the miscarriage. It was hard for me to see, so I can’t even imagine how it felt for her.

She never told me she had thought of names. After it happened, we didn’t talk about it…about her, the baby, or who she might have been. I didn’t want to make it worse for Dani. That day she had been writing at home while the boys were toddling around her feet. I was at the clinic. She said she had felt crampy in the morning, and by the afternoon, she was bleeding.

Her mother came over and took her to the hospital. I met them there. At that time, Irene still acted like a grandmother, but she wasn’t as sympathetic toward Dani’s pain as I thought she should have been. Maybe she was comparing it to losing a child that had already grown into a man. She took the boys back to our house and told me to go in and be with Dani.

The hospital room was dark when I walked in. Dani was lying on her side, facing the window.

“Dani?” I said softly.

She sniffled. I could see her body start to shake. She was crying. When I came around to the other side of the bed, she broke down.

All I could think to do was simply hug her. I lay down next to her on top of the blankets and took her in my arms. She cried. Her body shook. She sobbed. Tears drenched her gown and my shirt. I rocked her back and forth until she fell asleep. We said nothing.