Grady
Happy hour with my partner is always the same. I love the guy like a brother, but sometimes I could strangle him. Tonight is one of those nights. I walk in, and there’s Craig to the left of the bar with his wife, Katie, and her sister, the beautiful blond Kira.
I do what I always do when we come here. I get a club soda with lime and help myself to an extra lime wedge from the end of the bar. Then I head over to their table, non-alcoholic drink in hand, to say hello.
It might seem strange to come to a bar when I don’t drink, but it’s not torturous for me in the way it might be for someone else. Sometimes I have a passing whim to drink a beer, but I don’t, because I’ve made this promise to myself. I don’t stop anyone else from enjoying their good time, I just do my thing.
Kira has a look in her eye that I’m all too familiar with from my days in the dating scene. She’s at that perfect age for marriage and babies and I can practically see her ticking off boxes in her head every time we meet. Katie and Craig have made it their mission to set me up, and Katie has decided her younger sister and I would make beautiful babies. Kira is everything that, were I a single guy, might turn my head. She’s comfortable in her own skin, friendly to everyone, and throwing me just enough signals to tell me she’s interested without making herself appear desperate. I know if I asked her out for this weekend, she’d give me her number and tell me to call for next weekend. That’s the type of woman she is.
And suddenly I’m exhausted with this whole thing. The pretense that Kira and I will ever be anything more than friends. Katie’s weird dream of partners married to sisters. Even this bar, which is a laid-back place to spend an evening and serves the most delicious burgers I’ve ever eaten. It’s all great. But it’s not what I want. I want Cassie’s pot roast,
Call of Duty
with my son, the rare laughter of my daughter when I tease her. I’m not like so many of the others here who are trying to escape their domestic prisons. I’ve been watching domestic life through the other side of the chain-link fence, dying to break in, and now that the gate’s been opened, I can’t imagine what in the hell I’m even doing here.
“I’m just saying hello,” I announce to the table. “Good to see you, Katie. Kira.”
“Oh? Not staying?” Katie affects a pout. She’s perfectly polished, a slightly older version of her sister, makeup and hair immaculate, nails manicured, a cloud of perfume surrounding her. Both women are stunning, and for the first time I give some serious thought to Craig’s mental state. If he loves his wife - and I have no reason to think he doesn’t - why is he here, in this bar, with his sister-in-law, for crying out loud, instead of home making love to Katie? They do this every Friday night.
I’d rather be at Cassie’s sneaking glances of her ass in yoga pants. Or making out with her in secret in the kitchen. Or pretending to fix her sink again while her juices coat my tongue. And I realize there’s absolutely no reason not to be.
“Heading to Cassie’s,” I say, and the two women cool, just slightly. Kira’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes anymore when she levels her bright blue gaze at me, and there's a tightness to her mouth that says I've just dropped way down her list.
“Oh? I didn’t realize you two were friendly these days.” Katie’s voice is light, but her unspoken subtext is clear:
Why are you wasting my sister’s time?
But I’m not the one wasting Kira’s time.
“It’s a recent development,” I say, excusing myself and more than satisfied with my decision. “Enjoy your evening, everyone. I’ve got to go.”
December 1997
Grady
“Chloe will never have a grandfather,” Cassie whispers sadly into my neck. “She’ll never even know what that’s like.”
Tonight we had a dramatic scene with Cassie’s parents, who insisted on having dinner with us even though they can’t stand me and all they do is rip her to shreds. Cassie’s alcoholic father first embarrassed her by talking way too loudly, then scared her by zoning out so abruptly we thought he was having some kind of attack. Cassie and her mom argued the whole time. Chloe picked up on the tension and fussed through the whole meal, and neither of Cassie’s parents even acknowledged her, which was the thing that really pissed me off. They were too busy laying into Cass for taking a semester off school to be home with our daughter.
Finally, I was so furious I put down my fork, picked up Chloe’s carrier, and said, “We’re done.” When I took Cassie’s hand in mine, she squeezed it for dear life and allowed me to lead her out of that restaurant and home to the safety of our little apartment.
Bastards, the both of them.
But now we’re in our bed, Chloe’s asleep in her crib, and Cassie has finally stopped crying.
“My dad would’ve loved Chloe,” I reassure her.
“Your dad. Not my dad.”
“Cass…”
She nestles closer, curling into the crook of my arm. “He doesn’t love me, so he can’t love her. How can a person who can’t get their head out of a bottle love anyone?”
“I don’t know, baby.”
“Everything was so good when I was little. My mom was happy, and I had a dad, a real dad who spent time with me and paid attention to me. He used to read me bedtime stories, every single night…” Her voice trails off as the memories well up inside her, the good clawing to the surface, trying to break through all the bad. “But then the drinking got worse and he wasn’t the same. Half the time he was angry, so angry and mean, and the other half of the time he just sat in his chair. It was like a waking coma. You could talk to him and he just… wasn’t there.
“I couldn’t believe my mom never left him. She was so wrapped up in trying to shield us from everything he’d done. He lost his job and people in their social circle started to talk about them. She lost friends and withdrew from all the social events she used to be a part of. He screwed everything up for both of them, and instead of fighting against him she just…” She shrugs against me. “Buried herself right with him. And nothing I ever did was good enough for her - for them. It was like I had to be the best and make up for all his failures, too.”
The thought makes me furious. I was so lucky, so loved by both my parents. Even though I lost my dad too young, he was the best father anyone ever had during the years he was alive. My mother has done the work of two parents ever since, making sure Carl and I have all the love in the world. I can’t imagine how Cassie has come out of her childhood as loving and intact as she has, because she sure as hell doesn’t owe her parents for that. And the way they behave now is just bizarre - insisting on seeing her and then systematically tearing her down every moment she’s with them. It’s no wonder Cassie can’t handle seeing them alone.
“Thank God for Donna,” Cassie whispers.
“Ma’s good.” My mother would do anything for Chloe. She’s as proud of her first grandchild as if she was the one to give birth to her.
“The best,” she sniffles. “She’s carrying the weight of four grandparents, really.”
“Doing a hell of a job of it, too.”
“Yeah. She really is.” Cass shifts against me, and I know she’s letting her head go places it shouldn’t go.
“Baby?” she asks finally.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think he’ll ever… I mean, do you think there’s a chance…”
I know what she’s asking, and it breaks my heart. All these years, and she still holds out hope that he’ll get his shit together. But I don’t believe addicts can change, not really, and Cassie’s dad is in his fifties.
“Probably not, Cass.”
“See, I know that…” she says in a calm voice, but her pain is there, just under the surface. “But then sometimes I think there’s a chance. I still keep thinking I’ll get my father back.”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
“Her either, huh?” she asks, referring to her crazy mother.
“Doubt it, babe.”
Scalding tears trickle down my shoulder and soak my skin. “Fucking unfair.”
“Yeah.”
“Promise me, Grady, that we’ll be the best parents we can be to our kids. Not like mine. The best.”
“I promise.”
“And they’ll always be number one.”
“Always, I swear.” I think of Chloe in her crib, so beautiful and innocent and perfect, and it’s the easiest promise in the world to make.
Cassie
I go to the place I do some of my best thinking - my car - and just sit in the parking lot, trying to empty my head. I haven’t spoken to Grady in two days, although we’ve texted like crazy. After my conversation with Sandra this afternoon I’m desperate to see him again but even more terrified that we’re making a huge mistake.
Part of me wants space to work this out, but I need to see him. I’m so sure that if I just look in his eyes, I’ll be certain. Either she’s wrong, or I am. Something beyond his words will inform me in some way, I’m positive of this. It makes no sense, and my rational brain can’t absorb it, but I believe it with all my heart.
Grady was at happy hour with Craig earlier, when I was with Sandra, so I didn’t call. I suppose I could’ve - he probably would have left and come straight to me if I’d asked, but although I thought about texting him, I didn’t do that, either.
I have no idea how to proceed from here.
I send a frantic e-mail to Dr. Gaul asking if she has any early appointments next week, although she’s probably left the office for the day. Then I send a quick text to Renée, checking in. Finally, I’m about to send a text to Grady when a message chimes through.
-
Pick you guys up tomorrow?
-
Don’t you think that’s a bit weird? For the kids?
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When was the last time you had an oil change?
-
?
-
Drop your car off at the shop. You’re due. I’ll give you guys a ride. Problem solved.
I look up at the little sticker in the top left-hand corner of my windshield, and I realize he’s right. He must’ve noticed when he changed my windshield wiper blades. And although it’s a little thing, and a guy thing, I feel protected again. Cared for. How can that be wrong?
But in the back of my mind, I still hear Sandra. And then another, colder voice joins hers. My mother reminds me of how stupid I was getting pregnant in my freshman year of college. She ridicules Grady’s blue collar family and chastises me about breaking up with Adam, who was exactly the kind of man she would have approved of, if I’d ever let him meet her.
And that line of thinking leads me to my father, his once-handsome face bloated from years of drink, sitting in his chair, silent except for the occasional outburst. Grady was never like that, I remind myself. He was never going to be like that. He was in a band and he drank too much when he was out, but he didn’t need to drink all day to function like my father did. And I didn’t need to make excuses for him the way my mother did. Not once, not even that last night, when he missed Chloe’s very first piano recital after promising he would be there, did I make excuses for him.
-
You there?
I told Grady I forgive him, and I do. I’ve left my anger in the past. But how do I rid myself of this terrible fear?
Cassie
I get myself together and text Grady back, then call the garage and arrange to drop the car off in the morning for an oil change. Hopefully Chloe won’t ask questions or give me any attitude, because she’s usually anxious before a meet and unusually testy today (which is saying something). With a plan set in place, I head home to an empty house. My phone alerts me that I have new messages, and I see that both kids sent me texts while I was driving home.
-
Amanda’s taking me to PYOP. Back 10-ish
. Chloe’s message. Their curfew when they have meets is 10 p.m., and of course she feels the need to test me, although I don’t get bent out of shape about the “-ish” like I think she wants me to. The paint-your-own-pottery place closes at 9:30 p.m., anyway.
-
BK then mall. Home 10.
Caden. And a second message.
Ma don’t worry wearing my retainer.
I’ve got the house to myself. I feed Mr. Tibbles, put a load of clothes in the washer, and start digging in my fridge for something to eat when my phone chirps.
-
Kids home?
It’s Grady, and I’m instantly giddy.
-
Nope. Out till curfew.
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Eat yet?
-
Also no.
-
Sex and pizza?
I laugh out loud. “Sex and pizza” was our old Friday night date, back when Chloe and Caden were small. We ate early with the kids, put them to bed, and then Grady and I ate pizza, tried to watch a movie, had quick sex on the couch, and collapsed for the night by about 9:30.
I love that he just said “sex and pizza” to me. I send a quick reply.
Can we have a lot of pizza?
-
I’m gonna give you SO MUCH PIZZA tonight.
-There in 30.