Every Other Saturday (28 page)

When the Black Friday rush had calmed down at the store, Julia called Adam to ask if she could come get the kids a little early. Maybe it was the date with Sean (or, she had to acknowledge, sex with Dave), but Julia didn’t feel the same seething resentment as usual when she headed up the stone stairs leading to Adam’s posh Buckhead apartment.

Perhaps she was turning a corner. Learning to grow and forgive. Being the better person.

Her resolve wavered when Christy opened the door, showing more cleavage than Julia was accustomed to seeing in daylight.

“Well, hello, Julia,” Christy trilled. She turned immediately and screamed, “Adam!” before pasting the broad smile back on and waving Julia in.

“Hello…”
Skank.
“Christy.”

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“No thanks. Just my kids.”

“They’re in their bedrooms.” Adam appeared behind Christy. “Before we call them, Jules, can we have a quick word?”

He opened the door wide and gestured to the white leather couch. Julia hesitated, and then took a seat, glancing at Christy. “What’s up, Adam?”

To her credit, Christy took the hint and traipsed out of the room.

“I ran into Matthew Goldman the other day,” Adam said. “I don’t know if you remember that his firm refers a good bit of business to us.”

Julia shrugged. “I know you played softball together.” Where was he going with this?

“This waitressing thing.” He looked like he smelled something unpleasant. “I thought you were just helping Caroline out. I didn’t know it was a regular thing.”

“How, Adam? How could you not know that I have been working for her every Saturday night for months?”

“I just thought, I don’t know, you were exaggerating. Just wanting me to feel bad.”

“You should feel bad, Adam,” Julia said. “You’re always late with the child support, when you pay it at all. If I’m going to keep the house our children live in, I have to be able to cover the mortgage by the middle of every month.”

“Jules.” The use of her old nickname crawled all over her. “I understand you’re hurt, but you can’t go badmouthing me to my colleagues and painting yourself the victim all the time.”

“Painting myself the victim? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’ve been late maybe twice since the divorce, and never by more than a few days. Just that one time I couldn’t give you the full amount, and I apologized for that. I made up for it, didn’t I?”

“Are you
trying
to make me insane? Because breaking up our family was enough, Adam; you don’t have to torture me on top of it.” She stood to go.

“Wait,” he said. “Sit.”

She didn’t move. “Adam, you have two minutes.”

He looked surprised, but nodded. “Jules, I know I was in the wrong. About our marriage. With Christy. And I’m…I’m sorry.”

Julia had fantasized about this, the day Adam would take responsibility for his actions. In her early fantasies, he also swept her off her feet, kissed her and came back—making their family whole again. She fidgeted, wondering what she would do if he did.

Adam crossed and sat next to her, taking her hands. “Sweetie, let’s call off the dogs. You can’t be bitter forever.”

There were so many responses to this that Julia couldn’t even run through them all in her head. Bitter? Yes. For a long time. It had dissipated in recent weeks, but if it hadn’t, who could blame her? She was almost positive, however, she hadn’t
acted
bitter. She had worked hard at that. For the kids.

Christy reappeared, dressed in tiny athletic shorts and a CrossFit tank top. She floated to the kitchen and pulled various bags of produce out of the fridge. “I’m making a super smoothie. Anyone else want some?”

“Sure,” Adam said absently. He raised an eyebrow at Julia, offering.

This was completely surreal.

“No, thank you.” When they were married, she couldn’t get Adam to touch green vegetables. Ever.

“I understand your anger,” he said, softly, eyes flicking to Christy behind him. “But let’s not sabotage each other with nasty rumors. Matthew Goldman is not exactly a colleague, but he can still impact my reputation in the community. And who knows who else you’ve been talking to. Your boyfriend Dave?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Julia said.

“Oh, come on,” Adam said. “You don’t have to hide it from me. We can be friends.”

This conversation was like trying to build a house with Jell-O. “Adam,” she said slowly and distinctly. “Dave is not my boyfriend. I have no idea what you are talking about. I’m sorry about the Goldmans. They caught me at a bad moment, and I shouldn’t have vented to them. I apologize. But I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“Julia—”

She could tell by his tone he didn’t believe her. She wanted to rip her hair out. “Adam, you are late with the child support. Almost every month. Back-dating them to the beginning of the month doesn’t help. I know you are trying to make it look like you pay on time. And maybe that would fool a judge, if it came to that—”

“Are you suggesting you are going to sue me, Jules?”

The high-powered blender went on in the kitchen and they both stared at each other, waiting until they could talk again. “Sorry!” Christy called.

When it powered down, Julia said, “Of course not. I would never do that.”

“Because that’s what it sounded like. I would welcome the opportunity to clear my name. My lawyer is the best in the city.”

“You mean the lawyer your parents hired for you? Yeah, he’s awesome. Kicked my ass. You must be so proud of how you defeated the mother of your children and how she’s forced to wait tables just to survive.”

“Oops! Forgot the chia seeds!” Christy chirped. The blender’s amazingly loud motor resumed again and stayed on longer this time.

Adam stood. “I have to say I’m disappointed the conversation has gone this way, Jules. I thought you were above this kind of behavior and I was hoping I could convince you to act reasonably. But I can see we’ve left too many gray areas between us. My lawyer warned me, but I thought that letting you keep the store—”

“The store—”

“I thought it would somehow make up for my…” He glanced again at Christy, who elaborately poured a thick green fluid into two coordinating, monogrammed plastic cups. “But I see now we need to get things as clear as possible. I’ll have my attorney draft a letter and get it to you. You’ll have to buy me out if you want to keep the store.”

“Adam, you know damn well I can’t afford—”

“Mommy?” Mia had appeared on the edge of the room. How much had she heard?

“Hey, Mia-Bird.” Julia blinked back tears. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Fine.” Mia jumped into Julia’s outstretched arms. “Brandon had too much screen time. He wouldn’t play Barbies with me.”

Julia willed herself not to even glance at Adam. “That’s okay. Go get your bag and tell Brandon it’s time to go.”

Adam mussed Mia’s hair and took her hand as he stood to escort her out. He accepted the green concoction from Christy on the way, patting her ass affectionately. “I’ll change and come with you,” he said, not glancing back at Julia.

CrossFit? Seriously?

Julia blinked fiercely, staring at the beige apartment carpet and willing herself not to cry. He was going to force her to sell the store, to dismantle the only legacy her father had left behind. He drank green juice and did some insane workout regimen and he slept with that twenty-five-year old ass pressed against him every night. She’d read once that men suffer the most from divorce, but Adam Mendel appeared to be the exception to the rule.

“Here.” Christy thrust a red plastic cup into Julia’s face. The liquid inside was frothy and green, condensation building around the cup’s bottom half. “I thought you could at least take the leftovers.”

# # #

“Do the dreidels have to be centered on the stick?” Dave asked.

It was the first thing either of them had said since he returned from his date fifteen minutes before, found Julia making centerpieces for the Hanukkah Carnival, and sat wordlessly across from her to help.

“No, here, do it like this.” Julia reached across the kitchen table to adjust the little plastic dreidel he was hot-gluing to a stick. Her hand brushed his and sent an electric charge through her body.

“Thanks,” he said. The silence resumed.

She sorted through a pile of glittering blue beads, wishing she knew more about sports. Anything to break the silence, and distract her from her worry about Adam and the store. “Which date was tonight?”

“Fifteen.”

Dave concentrated hard on adjusting a large blue puff ball in the green foam. “Does it matter if you can still see the green?”

Julia shook her head. “We’re going to fill in with tinsel. It will be fine.”

He made a face but said nothing else.

“How was it?” she asked. “Date Fifteen?”

“Fine.”

It felt like a replay of their last conversation. “Do you have a nickname for her yet?” She thought of Sean’s interest in this topic the other night. “Do you think of the name first or do you decide what you’re going to say to them first?”

Dave shrugged, reaching for a handful of beads. “It kind of all comes together at the same time. I’m calling her Jane. As in, Me Tarzan, You Jane.”

Julia smiled. “Let me guess, another symphony girl?”

“Not exactly. English teacher. By the end I felt like an anthropology project.”

“That’s too bad.” She set aside the hot glue and looked at him. As awkward as things were between them, she felt defensive on his behalf. “I know how that feels.”

He glanced at her, shrugged again and looked down. “I don’t have all my thoughts together on it yet.”

Something had to give. They were nearing the end of their arrangement, with just the Hanukkah Carnival and one more shared babysitting night remaining before the end of the year. How to navigate the time that was left? Julia desperately wanted to preserve the friendship they’d found, if nothing else. But every time she saw him, she spiraled between lust, gratitude, and resentment at a blinding pace. He was clearly feeling something similar. It wasn’t like him to be so closed off about his dates. It would all be on the blog anyway, so it must mean he simply didn’t want to talk to
her
about them.

She sighed and reached for another stack of sticks and dreidels. Logic told her Dave Bernstein was the least of her concerns. There were so many other fires to put out: selling the store or fighting with Adam, working for Caroline (if she could even keep doing it without Elizabeth), and figuring out the rest of her life. Aside from the store, she hadn’t worked a real job since Brandon was born.

“What’s on your mind, Mia Mendel’s Mom?” he said, startling her.

“Sorry?”

“You seem deep in thought tonight.”

“Pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?” She smiled wryly at him.

“Fair enough.”

“It looks like I am going to have to sell the store soon, and I have no idea what to do next.” She sighed. Just saying it out loud was a relief. “Plus I’m worried about Hugh and Myra. I promised my dad before he died that I’d take care of them, and now I’m not even sure I can take care of my own family.”

“That is tough. I’m sorry.” Some of the ice between them seemed to melt.

“If it were just me to worry about, maybe this would be for the best. I hate the store sometimes.”

Dave met her gaze for the first time that evening. “Is selling the only option?”

“Adam, my ex, is forcing my hand.” Seeing his questioning look, she added, “It’s complicated—my dad left the store to his daughters
and
our husbands. But…maybe it’s for the best. I don’t know how long I could keep it going anyway.”

“Adam should give up his share of the store. It belongs in your family. He’s not your family anymore.”

She nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s not how it’s written. I think Dad regretted divorcing my mom, and maybe wanted to encourage us to stay married, and all work together on the family business. Either that or he really was the chauvinist bastard Mom always said he was.”

“I don’t know,” Dave said. “Seems like he did a pretty amazing job raising you.”

She flushed and focused hard on wiping stray glue from one of the beads. “Well, I’m the divorced quarter-owner of a failing business with two kids and no marketable skills. I’m not even a good waitress.”

“You’ve got skills.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

“You’re a pig.” She threw one of the small plastic dreidels at him. It bounced off his forehead and landed on the floor a few feet away.

“Ouch!” He stood to retrieve the toy. “Believe it or not, as much as I enjoyed them,
those
aren’t the skills I was referring to.”

Julia rolled her eyes.

“The PTA is way more organized than it was last year. You streamlined the fundraisers and the meetings are shorter, but we’re bringing in more money. You’ve run a business in tough conditions, kept it afloat longer than most people would. You’re loyal and stubborn and tireless and resourceful. And you’re a talented artist. I’ve seen your work.”