You Were Meant For Me (25 page)

“I'm not sure.” Jared looked away from Tripp and out the window. Across the street from Lulu's was the kind of grand old house that he'd always loved—three stories, wraparound porch, and a pair of weeping willows out front. Oval leaded-glass windows on the stairwells. He could see them from here. The house was a wreck, though. A disaster. But if he signed on with Tripp, maybe he'd be able to help bring it back. Or hell,
even
live
in it. But in any case, he'd get to be a part of something good, something hopeful, something restorative, important, and maybe even noble. A thought from left field popped into his head: his
mother
would have been proud.

“I know it would mean a big change for you. Huge. You'd have to relocate down here—at least for a year or so. But I'd cover a big chunk of your living costs—give you an apartment rent free; give you a salary too. You don't have to sell your New York place. You could rent it out for a while. See how you liked it.”

“I'm interested. But there are other things I have to consider.”

“Like . . .” Tripp had not moved his elbows from the table.

“Lily. My daughter. She's not even a year old.”

Tripp's look was probing. “I heard something about that.”

“It's a long story. Her mother died; I didn't even know about her. And then when I found out, I took her.”

“That would be tough. If you take the job, you won't have a lot of time for her, especially without her mom in the picture. But I'm sure you can find a great nanny down here.”

“Actually, I know someone. Someone who would be perfect, in fact.” He thought instantly of Miranda, how happy this would make her. But what about him? Could he give up his daughter so easily? Should he?

“You do? That's great!” Tripp leaned over and extended his hand to Jared. “So do we have a deal, buddy?”

Jared laughed. “Not as fast as all that. Let's take a walk, okay? Show me the rest of the town. I want to see more. Show me
everything
.”

Tripp had arranged for Jared to spend the night in Lulu's vacant apartment. It was as eclectic and funky as the space
downstairs—macramé wall hangings, rag rug, two patchwork quilts, one on the double bed and the other hanging on the wall—plus it had the advantage of the restaurant downstairs. There was no air-conditioning, but there was a ceiling fan overhead and another, a heavy old thing that seemed to have been lifted from some 1940s movie, on a table beside the bed. With the two sets of blades whirring, it was like a tropical breeze wafting through the room.

Jared tried to imagine himself in this place; it would be so different from anywhere he'd ever lived. Tripp kept stressing that it didn't have to be permanent. He was right: Jared knew he could easily sublet his apartment and Athena would no doubt handle it for him. But Lily—Lily could not be dispensed with so easily. He'd have to bring her with him. Or leave her behind. And at the moment, both of those choices looked pretty
lousy.

J
ared kept checking his watch on the plane back to New York. So far, he'd been in the air close to two hours; he had another hour of flight time left to go. The week in Gilead had been packed, meeting everyone from the mayor to the guy who ran the Pick 'n' Pay at the outskirts of town. He'd checked out the old school building and the library—perfect for condo conversion—the long defunct poultry-packing plant that would make great artists' studios. He envisioned green space—a park, a playground—as well as a theater and galleries. Maybe even a small museum, though that might be a stretch. Or at least at first. And he could see all of it coming together in some organic kind of community, a place people would want to call home.

The flight attendant came around with bags of pretzels, so he took one and tore it open. Eating helped pass the time; he checked his watch again. Now he was down to forty-five minutes. He shifted in the minuscule seat and crunched another
pretzel. Despite Tripp's pressure, Jared hadn't committed to the job. He was definitely leaning that way, but he still wasn't ready. He had some unfinished business he had to attend to first. And none of it was going to be pretty. First up was Isabel. He'd been dodging her text messages ever since Labor Day weekend.

Just thinking of that phone call put him in a funk; he closed his eyes and kept them closed, a willed simulation of sleep, for the remainder of the flight. But once he was on the ground, he felt ready to take it all on. Back in his apartment, he dropped his bag, riffled through his snail mail, and picked up the phone. It was midafternoon on a Tuesday and Brandon was sure to be at work—a good time to call.

“Finally!” she said when she picked up. “You didn't answer; I was worried.”

“I've been out of town. Louisiana.”

“Louisiana! What were you doing down there?”

“I'll tell you all about it. But first—how are you? How are things with Brandon? He didn't touch you, did he?”

“No, no. It wasn't like that. I cried.
He
cried. We both said we were sorry and that we would try harder.” She paused. “I told him I wouldn't see you anymore. But that was a lie. I can't give you up.”

“I'm glad you're okay,” he said. “Things got out of hand that day. That's part of why I took off.” Jared avoided responding to the second part of what she'd said by telling her about his trip and the job offer.

“Baby, that's great!” she said.

“It could be,” he said. “I'm not one hundred percent committed to it. But I'm leaning that way.”

“I meant great for us! My sister and her husband live right outside New Orleans. I go to visit her three or four times a year. And now that she has twins, I have a reason to go even
more. I could see you when I'm down there; Brandon would never know. He wouldn't even have a
clue
.”

“No.” Jared tried to make his tone as gentle as he could. “Not going to happen.”

“Why not? What are you talking about?”

“We both know why, Isabel. What we've been doing, well, it sucks. Either you leave Brandon and we can see how it goes with us. Or else you stay—and I'm out of the picture. The guy who screws another guy's wife? I just don't want to be that guy anymore.”

“But if I leave him, where will I go? What will I do? I can't support myself. I'd have to move out of the city, completely reinvent my life—”

“Exactly,” he said. “That's just what you'd have to do. And then we could find out whether we have a future together—or not.”

“I can't!” She was agitated and might have been crying; he couldn't tell for sure. “I won't!”

“I understand,” he said. “But then you know this is good-bye, right?”

“You don't mean that!” she said.

“I'm afraid I do.” And with that, he ended the call. He didn't know whether he wanted Isabel to leave her husband or not. But he knew that he was no longer up for the subterfuge.

Next he called Athena and arranged to meet her at Minty's at around six o'clock; he was not officially back in the office until tomorrow, and anyway, he didn't want to have this conversation with any of his coworkers around. He spent the rest of the day unpacking and sorting through his mail, both actual and virtual. At one point, he walked into the room Athena had helped him create for Lily.

Thanks to his housekeeper, the room was immaculate, the
soft pink quilt folded neatly in the crib, the toys and clothes and baby gear neatly organized and put away. It was like a photo shoot, a magazine spread—not a room where a baby actually lived. He left the room and closed the door on the way out.

“So, how was New Orleans?” Athena was already waiting for him at the bar, a glass of wine and a dish of salted peanuts in front of her.

“Not New Orleans,” he corrected. “Gilead. And it was quite a place.” He sat down and began to tell her about Tripp's offer. “I don't know if I'm ready to relocate. But if I do, I'll give you enough lead time to find a replacement.”

“That's not going to be so easy,” she said. “You've got the touch. People like you, Jared. The ladies like you.”

“Sometimes a little too much.” He took a swig from the beer he'd ordered.

“Meaning?” Alert, she put down her glass.

“Isabel Clarke.”

“The little blonde and the windbag husband? You showed them the place on One Hundred Seventeenth Street?”

“I had an affair with her. The windbag found out.” He touched his lip, healed now, but the memory was still there. “It wasn't pretty.”

“If you weren't already telling me you're about to leave, I would fire your ass right now.” She looked grim. “Though since you have a kid to support, I
might
have given you a second chance. Still, what a stupid thing to do! What the hell got into you?”

Jared stared into his beer. He didn't offer an explanation because he didn't have one to give. “Speaking of Lily, I'm not sure it would be the best thing to bring her down there with me.”

“Best thing for her? Or for you?” Athena was sparing him nothing tonight.

“For me, I guess. And ultimately for her. Athena, I can't do it—this dad thing. I didn't know about her, didn't plan for her, and I can't deal with her. It's not like I don't care about her. But I can't raise her. Not now. And not by myself. But I know who could.”

“The subway woman.” Athena picked her glass up again. “Have you asked her?”

“Not yet. But I have a hunch she'll say yes.”

“She might.”

“Might? Are you kidding? She's crazy about Lily. She'd do anything to be with her.”

“Only if she knew it was for keeps. You can't play with this woman's life, Jared. She lost that baby once. She's not going to take a chance on it happening again.”

“It wouldn't.” He finished the beer and signaled to the bartender for another.

“She'd need that in writing. You'd have to give up all parental rights and waive your right to seek them again—ever.”

“Hey, have you been talking to her or something?”

“Of course not. I've never met her. I couldn't even tell you what she looks like.”

“So how do you know what she'd want?”

Athena smiled. “In case you've forgotten, I'm a woman, Jared. And I know what
I
would want.”

Jared took a handful of peanuts and chewed them slowly. He'd miss Athena if he left New York; she was hard on him and wouldn't let him get away with a thing, but he respected her for that.

“As long as we're in full disclosure mode, I've got
something I want to tell you,” she said. When he looked up, she said, “It's about Gabe.”

“You two are tying the knot?” He wasn't actually sure how he felt about this.

“Not yet.” She glanced away, a shy little smile forming on her face. “But we're headed that way. We're going to find a place together and see how that works.”

“Hey, that's great!” He clicked the neck of his beer bottle to her glass. “I'm really happy for you.” And, he realized, he was. Athena was a great catch; he hoped Gabe could see that.

“Thanks.” She fiddled with the stem of her wineglass. “I wasn't sure how you'd take it. I mean, I think you know I always had a thing for you.”

“I do know. And I'm sorry I didn't feel the same way.” There, he'd said it. “But Gabe—Gabe is a good man.”

“So are you, Jared,” she said. “So are you.”

On the way back to his apartment, Jared allowed himself to smoke a cigarette. The first puff felt great—a mini-high—and the second was pretty good too. But by the third, his lungs felt scorched and gross; he ground out the unfinished cigarette under his foot and threw away the pack he'd only just bought. Once at home, he went into Lily's room again. The board books on shelves that Athena and some of his other pals had brought—he'd never even opened them. He didn't really know which toys she liked best or which foods either. And he remembered, with mortification, the night he had left her in this very room by herself. He'd never fully forgiven himself for his act; he probably never would. Lily may have been his biologically, but in every other way that counted, she belonged to Miranda Berenzweig.

T
he next evening, Jared was sitting on Miranda's sofa, willing himself to relax. He had not been here since that night he'd almost stayed over, and the memory was still fresh. And the fact that they had not mentioned it since gave it an even greater power. But how to introduce the subject? Maybe she didn't want it mentioned; maybe she was eager to talk about it but was waiting for him to bring it up.

He looked to her for cues but received none. She offered only iced tea or sparkling water, not wine. Nothing to eat. And she did not sit down. Jared opted for the water. Lily was already asleep; Supah had taken her to a baby music class at the local Y and Miranda said all that stimulation had tired her out. “I can probably get her into the car seat without waking her.” He noticed that when she finally did sit, it was not next to him but on a chair, several feet away. “And even if she wakes up, she'll settle right back down again.”

“Fine.” He was nervous and took a sip of water.

“She ought to sleep the whole way home.”

“Actually, I wasn't planning on bringing her home.”

“What are you talking about?” Miranda put her own untouched water glass down on the table.

“You know the trip I took? To Louisiana? Well, I've been offered a job down there. It's a really exciting opportunity, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to take it. But it's going to demand a big commitment from me, and I thought Lily would be better off staying here with you.” She remained eerily still. “That is, if you want her.”

“Want her? Of course I want her.” Miranda became animated again, getting up from the chair and pacing the room. “But how? On what terms?”

“You could adopt her. She would be yours. She always has been, anyway.”

“This isn't just about the job, then, is it? It's more than that.”

“Way more.” He breathed in and then out again slowly. “I told you: Carrie was a complicated person. A troubled person. Even if she hadn't died, we wouldn't have stayed together. So being hit with this out of the blue—listen, I tried to step up and do the right thing. To claim my baby girl. To raise her. But I can't. I'm not ready and I'm doing a shitty job of it.”

“I wouldn't say that. You're being too hard on yourself.”

“No, I'm not. You don't know the half of it.” And to his own astonishment, he began to cry, hot, copious tears that felt as if they were being wrenched from him. Jesus. When was the last time he'd cried? His mother's funeral? He pressed his fingers to his eyes, as if he could make them stop. He couldn't.

“It's all right.” Miranda was right beside him on the sofa, hand on his arm. “Really, it's all right.”

“You know what I said before? About not knowing the half of it?” She nodded. “I want to tell you what I meant by that. I need to tell you.”

“I'm not sure what you're saying.” She moved away again, leaving an empty expanse of couch cushion between them. “Did you hurt Lily in some way?”

“Not intentionally. It was a sin of omission, not commission.”

“Are you sure you want to share this with me? Because you don't have to, you know. We can leave it right here.”

“I think it's better if you know the whole story.” He used his fingers to wipe what remained of the tears on his face. “And I want you to hear it from me.” Jared then told her about the much-anticipated date, the phone conversation with Olivia, the night in the hotel, the frantic messages the next day, the way he'd been upbraided—by the pediatrician, Supah, and Athena—and his ongoing remorse. “It's the worst thing I've ever done.”

“That was pretty terrible.” She spoke in a low, controlled voice. “Selfish, irresponsible, and, if anything had happened to her, criminal.”

“I know,” he said. “Believe me, I
know
.”

“But nothing serious did happen to her. She was fine, right? She is fine.”

“Totally and completely fine. But it did something to me—kind of like a wake-up call. I'm not ready for her, Miranda. Not ready to be the parent she needs and deserves. At least not full-time. But you—you are.”

Miranda was quiet for a moment before she replied. “Thank you for saying that.”

“And there's one more thing. I owe you an apology for that night I was here before. I shouldn't have kissed you.”

“I kissed you back.” She kept her gaze locked steadily on his. “We both wanted it. There's no one to blame.”

“No.” His respect for her was growing by the second. “I guess there isn't.”

“But what about Lily? Did you mean what you said?”

“Yes,” he said. “I did.”

“What if you change your mind? I don't know if I can trust you.”

“You can. I'm going to call a lawyer and start getting the papers drawn up. We'll have things to work out. I want to contribute to her support. And to see her on a regular basis. Maybe even some kind of joint custody arrangement?”

Miranda paused, and he waited while she thought it over. “I couldn't accept that,” she said finally. “We could talk about visitation rights. But custody? No. I've already had my heart broken once; I won't risk that again. Either she's mine or she isn't.”

Jared looked at her. She was so sure of herself. So steady. And she was right. “All right,” he said at last. “I can understand that. Until it's all hammered out, Lily can stay here with you. It's what you want, isn't it?”

The radiant smile that came to her face made any doubts he might have had evaporate. “More than anything in the world.”