Chapter Thirteen
It had been raining for hours, ever since the previous night. Miraculously it ceased just enough for her to drop Libby at school, and resumed as soon as she walked into work. The sky remained dark and ominous though, and anyone who came into the building after her was drenched. Every now and again the wind slapped angry bursts of rain against the windows of her office. She could see the storm wrecking havoc at the bay down below. This type of weather left her longing for a blanket, hot chocolate and a good book, but she had too much to do to even consider ditching. Officially, Saturday was her day off, but she couldn't remember the last time she wasn't rushed to the office or the theater over some emergency or other. Today was no different. The main fabric supplier for the company was in town just for the day, and it was essential she met with him. Luckily, Libby's school had a weekend program, and so they were willing to have her for the morning. She hoped her future superior would be able to find her a similar program in New York as well.
She looked down at the city that had become her home all those years ago, and sadness washed over her. She'd miss it; her apartment and the theater and the view from her office. It's not that she didn't want to return to New York, because she did, more than anything. But San Francisco had taken her in when she most needed it; it tended to her, put her back together. Libby was born there. It would be devastating to leave it all behind. The feeling was so familiar. This was how she'd felt upon leaving Manhattan. She remembered crying all the way to the West Coast. This time was miles different, though. She wasn't fleeing the past. She was striding towards a future.
As soon as the meeting was adjured, she stuffed the array of documents and fabric samples inside her large tote bag, which some of her colleagues dubbed Mary Poppins Bag, and rushed outside. The cold hit her full force; she snuggled deeper into her coat as she raced towards her car. She still had a couple of hours to kill before she had to pick up Libby, and she meant to use them to get a head start on that cake. As she put the car in gear and carefully made her way home in Saturday traffic, her thoughts drifted to another challenge that lay ahead, one which had nothing to do with Libby's birthday cake.
She had no idea how she was going to break the fact of her engagement to her parents. Unless their flight was delayed or canceled because of the weather (which she would have known by then), she expected they would be landing soon. It had been a while since their last visit, and she was looking forward to spending the weekend with them, but the thought of that imminent conversation gave her the creeps.
Funnily, it was the move to the West Coast that got her closer with her parents. Throughout the time she'd lived in the East Village, she hardly kept in touch with them, as if keeping them out of her life would increase her blooming independence, and even if they disapproved (which she knew they must have), they respected her choices. They'd never hovered, like Mark's mother, so long as they were assured she was alright with the occasional phone call or a visit. However, when she decided to leave Manhattan, their home was her first stop. After all this time, it felt strange to be seeking their approval; strange, but necessary. She assumed it was part of growing up. She could leave her friends without looking back, but not her parents. That seemed wrong, somehow.
They'd kept in close touch ever since. Her parents supported her throughout her divorce, and when she had Libby. Honestly, she didn't know how she would have managed those first months of motherhood without them. Her parents adored Libby. It made her laugh at first, how her father, a senior lecturer of history in a respectable college, made a complete fool of himself just because he thought Libby said something that sounded remotely like grandpa, and her mother was just as bad. As Libby grew older, they spoilt her rotten whenever they came over, bringing her dozens of presents or taking her to the zoo or the beach. She suspected their upcoming visit wouldn't be different, especially given that it was Libby's birthday.
Still, she was wary. Mark was all Libby talked about ever since they returned from New York. She didn't want her parents to stumble over the truth. She owed them more than that. She had to tell them everything before Libby would. She just hoped they'd be more supportive than Mark's mother. She glanced at her engagement ring, as if looking for reassurance, then shook her head dismissively. She was being ridiculous. They'd been there for her through worse times. She knew she could count on their support.
Her phone rang just as she parked in front of her building. It was a moment before she found it in the depths of her bag. Her mother's contact details flashed on the screen. She accepted the call as she locked the car. "One second, Mom," she said curtly, rushing to safety inside the building. The rain had resumed, inevitably. Once inside, she stuck the phone between her ear and her shoulder and headed towards the elevator. "Sorry, Mom. Are you guys here?"
"Just checked in, yes. I thought I'd let you know we arrived safely."
"I'm sorry I couldn't pick you up from the airport, something – "
"Came up, I know," her mother completed fondly. "Are you still at work?"
"No, I just got home." The elevator arrived with a ping. She stepped in as fretfully as ever. It was an ancient, unreliable contraption. She pressed the button for her floor and hoped the conversation wouldn't disconnect. "How was your flight?"
"It's a bloody miracle it wasn't cancelled. It was bumpy. Your father is still recovering." She could hear her father's protest somewhere in the room, and grinned. He would never admit how much he hated flying, so let alone in this weather. She would have to command him for his heroism later. "We both could use a little rest. Perhaps we could meet you two for dinner later?"
"Actually, Mom, I kind of need to talk to you guys alone about something. How about I'll meet you for coffee instead?"
"Is something the matter?" Her mother's tone changed ever so slightly. Being a mother herself, she had become attuned to the sudden shift by now.
"No, everything is great. I just need to tell you something and Dad is always impossible to reign when Libby is around."
Her mother chuckled, knowing her husband all too well. "Alright, darling. He won't like it, but text us when you're on your way and..."
She noticed it as soon as she exited the elevator, struggling to balance bag, phone and keys. Across the hallway there was something – someone – leaning against her door. She halted, momentarily caught off-guard. That was odd; she wasn't expecting anyone. But wait a second... It was a moment before she realized she knew exactly who he was. She blinked as if to make sure she wasn't imagining things, then gasped. Her mother's voice became a blur in her ear.
"Maureen? Are you there?"
"I'll call you back, Mom," she said hurriedly, already disconnecting the call and dropping the phone in her bag without losing a step. The closer she approached her door, the more irregularly her heart was beating. It really was Mark, sitting on her doorstep, his drenched coat thrown against a small suitcase beside him. He stood up as soon as he noticed her rushing towards him, his lips curl in a sly grin as soon as their eyes met.
"Oh my – " She breathed. "What are you – " She reached out to touch his face, ran a hand through his damp hair. "You're here," she said, feeling a fool for stating the obvious.
"I'm here," he nodded. He looked as if he was freezing, but he was smiling nonetheless. She just stared at him incredulously. When they spoke the previous evening, he told her he would spend the weekend at his sister's, all the while knowing that in a few hours... There was certain smugness in his grin now, as if her reaction was just the thing he had aimed at.
"You bastard, you tricked me," she softly chided him, gently poking his chest.
"I can leave if you want," he replied nonchalantly, reaching for his suitcase.
"Don't even think about it." Her bag dropped to the linoleum floor with a thud as she launched herself at him, squealing a little as she threw her arms around his neck. He laughed, as though he hadn't expected the attack, but soon his arms wrapped around her. Only as they stood there, holding each other, she could feel him shiver against her. She pulled away reluctantly and shook her head in dismay. "How long have you been sitting here?"
"Umm, half an hour, I guess?"
"You should have called me," she sulked at him.
"That would have ruined the surprise though, wouldn't it?"
There was this glimmer in his eyes. She figured it was because he couldn't see how bluish his lips looked. She reached for her discarded bag and keys, and unlocked the door. "Well, come on in," she said a bit shyly. She loved her apartment, and it had served them well over the years, and yet she couldn't help but fear he would think it inferior to his more spacious one. He didn't stop to look around though. As soon as she closed the door behind them, he pinned her against it, and leaned down to kiss her just as she was about to stand on tiptoes and do the same.
"Hi," he said, slowly pulling away.
"Hi yourself," she smiled at him, her fears all gone. He was there. Nothing else mattered. But it was time to get practical. He still looked cold. "Let's get you out of these clothes," she said, stirring him down the hall towards her bedroom.
"Easy, girl, I just got here," he quipped.
She threw him a glare from over her shoulder. "You just had to fly here on the coldest day of the year, huh? This way," she pushed her bedroom door open, and he followed her inside. "Libby will be ecstatic to see you." She could already imagine her daughter's reaction. She couldn't come up with a better birthday present if she tried.
"Where is she?"
"At school. We'll go pick her up in a bit." She grabbed a towel and began to gently dry his hair with it. "I can't believe you didn't tell me yesterday."
"I wanted to surprise you."
"Surprise me is one way to put it. Giving me a heart attack is another." He shrugged, unaffected. "How long are you here for?"
"I'm flying back on Monday at noon." She nodded, reaching for the hem of his sweater. He raised his arms, letting her pull it over his head and off. She wrapped the towel around his shoulders. "Mo, I'm okay," he protested softly.
"You're not okay, Mark. You look awful."
"I might be coming down with something," he admitted sheepishly. "I wanted to see you. It seemed silly to cancel because of a cold."
His candor was endearing. Besides, how could she possibly argue with that when there was nothing she'd wanted more than seeing him too?
He took her hand, his fingers brushing against his grandmother's ring. "You're not mad, are you?"
"Why would I be mad?"
"You said your parents were coming this weekend. I don't want to be in the way."
The towel fell noiselessly to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm glad you're here. I honestly don't know what else to do to make that more clear." She dropped a kiss on his lips, then pulled away. He seemed slightly more reassured. "Now go on, get changed. I'll go make you some tea."
Mark's coat was deemed useless, drying in the bathroom, and so she made sure he had on enough layers before they headed back out to get Libby. Her daughter was always tired and cranky at the end of the day, but as soon as she detected Mark in the car, her tiredness was all gone in an instant. Back home, it was as if the three of them had never parted. Mark seemed better as Libby gave him a tour of the apartment, pulling him from room to room and chatting exuberantly. She was thrilled to discover he brought Roger with him. She took him to her room and announced to all her other dolls and stuffed animals that Roger came to visit them from New York City.
Soon afterwards, head still reeling, she was getting ready to meet her parents. She felt uncomfortable about ditching Mark so soon after he'd arrived, but he promised he didn't mind staying with Libby for a couple of hours. Libby herself seemed fine with it. She was too excited to be reunited with her favorite teddy bear; she barely noticed when she left eventually.
The storm abated somewhat by the time she arrived at her parents' hotel. They waited for her in the lobby, and she took them to a small patisserie she and Libby had frequented. After a waitress took their orders, both her parents looked at her expectedly. She grabbed a pack of brown sugar just to keep her fingers busy. Suddenly she wasn't sure where to begin. She wasn't even sure why she was so nervous.
"Well, we're listening. What all this secrecy is about?" asked her father. His smile was tense; it hardly concealed his concern.
"First of all, promise you'll let me finish. I'll tell you everything, but it's kind of hard so let me do it at my own pace. Okay?"
The expression on her mother's face resembled her father's. "Darling, now I'm beginning to worry. What's wrong?"
There was nothing to it, really. She could do this. They were nothing like Mark's mother. She should just say it. "Nothing's wrong. It's just that... I'm engaged."
Her father visibly paled. "What? Maureen – "
"Daddy, you promised," she scowled.
"Richard, let her speak," her mother hissed without taking her eyes off her. She seemed just as rattled, even if she didn't question the meaning of the announcement. They were both holding their tongues, waiting for an explanation.
"When Libby and I were in New York on Christmas I ran into an old friend of mine. I…" She laughed nervously, suddenly embarrassed. She could feel her cheeks grow warm with a sudden blush. "We kind of got back together."
"An old friend? Who – " Her father started again. Her mother's glare shushed him up immediately. The waitress chose that exact moment to return with their drinks. There was tense silence around the table until she was gone.
She watched her mother add milk to her black tea slowly, methodically, as if the routine of it soothed her. For a moment, doubts hit her once more. She wasn't sure how the older woman would react. Her mother adored Mark back then. She had only met him several times, but she kept mentioning his name long after the two of them broke up. She was obviously rooting for them to get back together. But that was years ago. "Don't say anything stupid, okay, Mom?" she asked a bit fretfully, holding her mother's gaze. Her mother nodded once, her eyes filled with unuttered questions. "Do you remember Mark?"
She wasn't sure what she was expecting exactly, but it wasn't this. Her mother's expression was sealed; it gave absolutely nothing away. "Mark? The filmmaker? That cute, shy boy you dumped?"
"The very one," she replied softly, sheepishly, knowing that if they hadn't figured it all out by now, her tone was a dead giveaway. To her dismay, no relief had come from being out with her secret. She looked at her parents. They exchanged looks she was unable to interpret. They said nothing for the longest time, which made her even more nervous. Was that good? Would they make a scene? Surely not so publicly, her mother would never –
To her complete astonishment, her father took his wallet out of an inner pocket of his tweed jacket and handed her mother a crisp twenty dollar bill. Her mother accepted it peacefully, her expression finally breaking into a radiant smile. "Thank you, darling, over a decade later," she told him.
She stared at the two of them, baffled. "What's going on?"
"Let that be a lesson for you," replied her father. "Never underestimate the power of maternal intuition, my dear." His smile seemed slightly more genuine now. Somehow that didn't make her any calmer. Her eyes travelled from him to her mother.
"You placed a bet on us?" she asked incredulously as what she'd just witnessed slowly sank in. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to be amazed or outraged. What the hell?
Her mother nodded solemnly. "The first night you brought him home for dinner. I knew right away. It has taken you longer than I could hope, but I suppose it's better late than never."
Something was seriously wrong with her. She was speechless. For the second time that day. "So… I guess that means that you guys are okay with this? Daddy?"
"Well, that all depends," said her father, his expression enigmatic again.
"On what?"
"On how he treats my little princess."
She should have known. She smiled fondly. "He adores Libby. Libby is crazy about him. Don't worry about it, Daddy."
"Then you two have my blessing." He took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. She squeezed back as relief surged through her. "Will he be moving here with you, then?"
"No, Libby and I are moving back East."
They looked shocked again, but for a whole different reason. "But that means you'll have to give up your job," said her mother; she didn't try to conceal her apprehension.
"Actually no. That's the other thing I needed to tell you. I was offered a job in Manhattan." As their waitress returned with the rest of their order, she told them how her recent promotion had come about, about her new position and responsibilities. When she finished, they both seemed impressed. Neither of them said it, but she could tell they were relieved by the prospect of her returning to the East Coast.
Her mother shook her head in dismay. "I cannot believe you've been keeping this from us for so long!"
"Would you rather hear it over the phone? You would have killed me, Mom, I knew better."
Her father burst into a hearty laughter. He, too, was familiar with the wrath of his wife. "She's right, Liz. You would never have forgiven her."
Her mother rolled her eyes in mock-offense. "Oh, both of you are just – "
"Who has my little princess?" her father interjected. "Have you left her with a babysitter? If we hurry, we might just catch her before bedtime."
"Let it go, Daddy," she laughed. "You can see her tomorrow. Mark has her."
"I thought you just said he lived in New York," said her mother.
"He wanted to be here on her birthday. He arrived this morning."
"In this weather?" her father asked in disbelief.
"Must be true love then," said her mother, a small smile curling on her lips.
She returned home not long afterwards. The apartment was suspiciously quiet. She locked the door and couldn't help but smile as she turned to look at the living room. Mark was lying on the sofa, fast asleep. Libby, also asleep, was sprawled across his chest, wearing a pink pajama and her Piglet-shaped slippers. There were sheets of paper and about a dozen colorful crayons on the coffee table, and a few stuffed animals on the floor. Poor Mark looked exhausted. She wasn't sure if it was the result of an imminent illness, the flight in or her very tiring soon-to-be five-year-old. She slipped out of her coat and shoes and slowly approached the sofa.
Mark woke up with a gasp as she picked Libby up. His eyes were glazed. He looked disoriented and slightly confused.
"Shh… go back to sleep, I'll just get her into bed," she whispered. Before she disappeared in the hallway, though, she could see him sit up and stretch his arms over his head. Libby didn't even stir when she tucked her in, kissed her goodnight and left the room. Mark was waiting for her in the hallway. "You look tired."
"I'm good," he smiled wearily at her. Actually he looked a bit feverish, but she didn't tell him that. He touched her cheek, looking at her with concern. "What's our verdict?"
"They're coming over for dinner tomorrow. Wait and see," she replied mysteriously.
"Maureen, come on, I'm too tired for games."
They stepped into her bedroom. She deliberated, but he looked so genuinely worried that she couldn't bring herself to tease him any further. "Promise you won't laugh, okay?"
"Laugh? Why would I – "
"They placed a bet on us." She was trying with all her might to utter the words as seriously as possible, but the more she thought about it, the more absurd it seemed. Apparently, Mark also thought it funny, because that grimace that suddenly formed on his face was definitely hiding a smile. When that failed, he turned his back on her, suddenly finding his suitcase interesting. She put her hands on her hips and pouted. "Mark Cohen, you promised!"
He burst into laughter and turned to face her. "How much?"
"My dad lost a twenty." That only made him laugh harder. He seemed to be making efforts to keep his voice down. She glared at him. "You'll regret that."
"I don't think so," he said, still laughing.
She flashed a devilish grin at him, and before he knew it, she pushed him onto her bed and climbed on top of him. "I do," she whispered huskily, silencing him with a long-awaited kiss.