Chapter Nineteen

"You can't be serious."

Sighing, she attempted a no-nonsense scowl at her more-friend-than-colleague. "Why are still discussing this?"

"Because you can't randomly mention next to me that you consider getting married without a proper wedding dress and think you can just get away with it."

"Honestly, you make me regret ever mentioning it. No one back in San Francisco even knew I was engaged."

"Maureen, you're a senior costume manager on effing Broadway. Wearing a stellar wedding dress on your wedding is kind of a given."

"My second wedding, and considering how the first one turned out, whether or not I wear a proper dress in this one is the least of my concerns."

She could barely believe she was having this conversation with a colleague, given how closed off she'd been over the years with her colleagues in San Francisco; and as if that wasn't strange enough, this was her assistant, inferior by position and at least five years her junior, which back there would have been unheard of. It felt weird to be confiding in another person like that. Come to think of it, in all her life she'd never really had girl friends, save for a precious few very early on. She'd always seemed to get along better with guys. But from her first day with the company, when Arianna Lopez so brazenly introduced herself, they just clicked, and in the short time they'd been working together, it was like discovering a soulmate. That is until she let it slip she probably wouldn't wear a wedding dress for her upcoming nuptials.

"You will not cheat your fiancé out of seeing you in a wedding dress on his first wedding. I will see to it."

"That almost sounds like a threat."

"Corazon, when I threaten you, you will know. Now, didn't you say you were picking Libby up from school today?"

"Shoot, is it half passed one?"

"Just about," replied Arianna while grabbing her phone and notepad and handing them to her.

"Thank you," she said hurriedly, throwing everything into her bag. "You're the absolute best."

"I know. Flattery won't get you off the hook though. We're getting you a dress!"

Arianna's voice echoed behind her; a few heads actually turned in her direction as she dashed towards the elevators.

It had been about three weeks since she and Libby arrived at Manhattan, and so far it was going well. While taking over Stan's position wasn't seamless, she was surrounded by people who made the process easier by the day. Libby loved her new school, and didn't seem too homesick, which was what she'd feared most. After what happened during her last few days in San Francisco, she was trying to be more attentive to herself, and of course, Mark was there to keep an eye on her, but he really didn't need to. She was beginning to think it really was just stress. Now she felt she was thriving. There was something about Manhattan that filled her with energy. The only thing that bothered her was she hardly got to spend time with Mark, both of them being insanely busy. But she wasn't going to be bitter about it. At least they were in the same city, shared the same apartment, got to wake up next to each other every day. It was more than she could possibly ask for.

It was a gorgeous day, and with the smell of spring still in the air, she felt almost sorry she couldn't walk all the way to Libby's school, but it was over twenty blocks, and she had on three inch heels and carried a heavy bag with paperwork to review. She reemerged from the subway in the nick of time, then tried to make her way through the throng of parents towards the main gate. She pushed her sunglasses on the top of her head to stop her hair from falling into her eyes although the sun above was blazing. Through the glare she noticed Libby's new teacher approaching her.

"Miss Johnson, how lovely to see you."

"Am I late?" she asked fretfully, but the older woman dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand, smiling kindly.

"You're good, she's playing over there with her classmates." She looked at where the teacher was pointing, and indeed, Libby was in the yard, following the dance moves of one of the boys. She wondered if this could be Scott. From about her second day at school, he was all Libby had talked about. She and Mark weren't sure if she was smitten with him or with his dance moves which were, as far as she could tell from a distance, quite impressive.

"How is she doing?"

"Given the short time she's been with us, she's doing amazing. She's a bright little girl, very imaginative. I was just telling your husband the other day – "

It was strange, to hear someone refer to Mark as her husband. She thought she'd better get used to it, but at the moment it barely registered. She was just so relieved to hear how well Libby was adapting. She knew her little girl was tough, but it really did seem as if she'd been with those kids for months, not mere weeks. It was just the confirmation she needed that it was all worth it.

She hated interrupting her daughter when it seemed she was having such fun, but they really needed to get going. She said goodbye to Libby's teacher, and meant to make her presence known. However, in her rush forward, she nearly bumped full force into someone who was rushing in the opposite direction.

"Shit, sorry," she breathed, looking up, and her jaw nearly fell to the floor. Then a slow smile found its way to her lips at the exact moment recognition sparked in his eyes as well. "Benjamin Coffin the Third. The enemy of Avenue A."

"I'll be damned. Miss Maureen Johnson." His tone was reserved. He seemed unsure whether or not to return her smile.

"The one and only." The last time she had seen him was during Mimi's funeral. Her death was kind of unexpected, and caught all of them off-guard. She suffered from a flu which quickly turned into pneumonia. They spent hours by her bedside at the hospital, fearing the worst, but miraculously, she was getting better. She died at home, a week after leaving the hospital. One morning, she just didn't wake up. Roger was devastated, in a way she had never seen him before; not even in the wake of April's suicide. He and Benny got into a nasty fight on the morning of the funeral. Roger refused to let him in. It got physical, and could have been worse, if it wasn't for Collins. And then she left West, and never saw Benny again.

He hadn't changed much. At least not outwardly. He wasn't wearing a suit, but a pale blue polo shirt and dark jeans. She assumed he had kids at the school, and she could tell he'd been wondering the same about her. "Sorry for nearly running you over," she said, grinning crookedly, because she wasn't sure what else to say.

"It's fine. Never in a million years have I thought..." He shook his head in what seemed like disbelief. He seemed unable to find the words as well. "What are you even doing here? You're not a teacher here, are you?"

"No, no. I..." Well, she might as well get this over with. She pointed at Libby in the farthest end of the yard. Finally noticing her, Libby waved enthusiastically back. "That's my daughter over there."

He did a double take, although she wasn't sure why he was surprised. He'd already surmised she wasn't teaching there. Why else would she be near a school? "See that kid she's dancing with?" he asked her, still looking ahead. Libby's attention was already diverted as the kids moved from tap dancing to hip-hop. The boy was good, a natural. His dense dark curls bobbed every which way with each sharp movement. Libby was doing her best to keep up. "That's my youngest, Scott."

It was her turn to gawk at him. No friggin' way. "You're Scott's dad?"

"Wait. That's Libby?"

She couldn't help giggling as realization was dawning, on both of them, apparently. "So you've been getting it too?"

"For almost three weeks now, it's always Libby this and Libby that," he said, shaking his head. "I would listen and think to myself, my God, this kid would grow to be a heartbreaker, and now it makes perfect sense; like mother like daughter." He looked at her with what seemed like awe. "He said she was new in class, is that why I've never seen you here?"

"That, and we probably miss each other on pick up time."

"Is it weird, being back here?"

"It was at first, yeah."

"I can't imagine what it's like. I mean I've obviously travelled the country, but it's hard to picture myself living anywhere else."

"At the time, it felt right." She looked at the kids for a moment. "He's really good."

"Thanks. He takes dance classes in Lincoln Center. That's why he goes to this school, actually; it's closer, and they have a great arts program. We actually live across the park."

"How is Alison?"

Once again, he seemed stunned, as if he wasn't expecting her to use his wife's actual name rather than the stupid nickname Roger had given her after the first and only time Benny brought her to the loft. "She's good. We have our ups and downs, but who doesn't, right?"

"I hear you."

"I know quite a lot about you, actually. I'll have you know our kids talk. A lot."

By that she figured he'd meant your daughter, as she knew virtually nothing about him. "What did you hear?" she asked fretfully.

"Well, let's see. I know that you work in theater, which is hardly surprising, to be honest. I know you moved here from San Francisco. And I know that you're engaged."

"Funny you should mention that," she said, knowing she was about to freak him out even more. "Did Libby happen to mention the name of my fiancé while our kids were gossiping?"

"They're five, Maureen, I don't think they went into that much detail. Why?"

"Funny story. Me and Mark are back together."

He didn't disappoint. "I'm sorry, what?"

"It's why I'm back here. Well, partly. It's a long story."

"You and Mark."

"Yes."

"Mark Cohen, my buddy from college." She nodded, amused by his dumbfounded expression. "Blond hair, blue eyes, glasses? Scarf and camera?"

"Obviously not the same scarf and camera, but yeah, that Mark."

Slowly a sly grin replaced his stunned expression. "What the hell took you so long?" Then he shook his head, chuckling. "Actually, I don't know why I'm surprised. I was told years ago something like this would happen eventually."

"By whom?" she eyed him suspiciously, inevitably thinking of her parents' bet.

"By someone you might remember, actually. Joanne."

Now that she wasn't expecting. "Joanne told you… Why did you even… When..."

"My company hired her several years after we all went our separate ways, and for a while we were forced to work close together. Somewhere along the way we became good friends, and one drunken night… Let's say your name came up. And Mark's."

"Are you still in touch with her?"

"Not so much anymore, unfortunately. She and her partner adopted twins and moved to Connecticut. We text occasionally. Holidays, birthdays. But now I'll have to call her, won't I? She will think it's hilarious."

"I guess I deserve it, after everything I put her through."

"She doesn't resent any of it, Maureen. Joanne is not one to hold a grudge. She speaks about you fondly actually. Personally, I learned that time makes us forget the bad things about people; after a while, we only remember the good."

"Gee, Benny, when have you become such a philosopher?" she teased him; then, thinking of Collins, added more softly, "You know the guys are…"

"I know," he cut her off gently, his expression morose. "A friend told me about Collins, I went to his funeral. And I recently heard that Roger…"

"Last Christmas," she confirmed, heart twitching. Thinking of their absence was still a tough blow.

"How did Mark take it?"

"Oh, you know Mark. He hardly ever talks about that time. A friend of his told me he was a wreck for the longest time, but I'm not supposed to know about it. I think he's healing though. A little every day."

"And now you're here."

"And now I'm here," she could feel herself blushing as she said it. It had only just dawned on her that just as Mark was watching her back now, she was watching his.

"I feel weird to even say this, but it's really good to see you, Maureen."

"I know. It's really good to see you, too." She looked over at the kids, who finally acknowledged their existence, and were racing towards them. "If he's serious about dancing, I might be able to refer you to some people in the business. Have him start properly."

"Thank you. I'll keep it in mind when the time comes."

"I win!" rejoiced Libby as the duo came to a screeching halt in front of them.

"Hey, you two. Were you planning on staying there until dinner?" she teased the kids and gave Libby a hug. She could feel Benny's eyes on her the whole time she was listening to Libby describing their day. She could barely blame him. Her gaze was occasionally turning to him and his son, who looked nothing like him.

"We should get going, we don't want to be late," he said. He rummaged in his briefcase for a moment, then handed her a card. He didn't have to say anything. She took it and nodded, new understanding forming between them as they smiled to each other without saying another word.

"See you tomorrow, Libby!" Scott called over his shoulder as he and Benny disappeared in the direction of Lincoln Center. She shook her head in amazement, as she and Libby headed towards Mark's gallery. When she spoke to him earlier it sounded as if he was having a grueling day. She hoped a surprise visit on their way home would lift his spirits a bit. She couldn't wait to tell him about Benny. Despite their bitter history, it was like he said. She found she didn't remember the bad that had happened. Instead, she felt as if she had just discovered a lost family member. It felt uplifting, almost euphoric. Over seeing Benny. Who would have thought?

Preparing dinner proved to be a challenge that evening, as she and Benny had been texting pretty much all afternoon. It was surreal. They spoke of nothing of real importance, but she could feel their bond getting stronger with each exchange, with each hidden facet of him she had uncovered. She was beginning to reveal the Benny Mark had initially befriended in Brown, and finally, finally, understood what he'd seen in him. She'd never imagined she would find a friend in him of all people upon returning to Manhattan. Then again, she'd never imagined she would see Mark again, let alone become engaged to him. Life was funny that way. She felt the happiest she had been in a while, sort of lightheaded. She could barely stop smiling.

Mark was due back within the hour, so she attempted to surprise him with a proper dinner. Whenever she was working late, he'd always done the same for her, and as he told her he hadn't eaten since breakfast, she thought she'd return the gesture. Libby helped her at first, then got bored with it and disappeared in her room to play. At first she thought to put some music on, but then another text from Benny arrived, and the thought vanished altogether. When the landline rang she picked it up absentmindedly, holding it between her ear and shoulder while still typing a reply on her own phone. "Hello?"

"Cindy, dear? How are you? It's Mom."

She was about to offer an apology to the unfamiliar voice and say she'd got the wrong number, when it suddenly dawned on her who the caller was. She must have had their numbers listed one right after the other, and got them confused while dialing. Her heart was racing, but her mind was set. It was time she'd say a word or two to her future mother-in-law.

She turned off the stove, left her cell phone on the counter, and wandered with the cordless phone into Mark's study. Only then, she took a deep breath, and steeled herself for what was coming.

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong number, Mrs. Cohen," she said with as much calmness as she could muster.

"Then how did you know my..." The older woman's voice trailed off as she seemed to have realized her mistake. She huffed, clearly displeased. "Oh. It's you," she said, her voice becoming cooler with every word she uttered.

She closed her eyes, refusing to let this woman affect her the same way she had affected her son. The sight of Mark on her suite doorstep the night before she and Libby left town was etched into her brain; how drained and defeated he looked, the tears he probably thought she hadn't noticed. She would not be subjected to the same treatment. "Yes," she replied resolutely, "it's me."

There was a pause, as if Mrs. Cohen also needed a moment to pull herself together. Then, "Well, I've obviously dialed the wrong number. Goodb – "

"Wait." For a moment she didn't even realize it was her saying that.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Well, I have something to say to you." If there was a chance of getting away with this conversation unharmed, she had just walked right passed it.

"I'm not interested to listen to you."

"Why? Are you afraid of what I've got to say?" She regretted the words even while uttering them. She wanted to have an adult conversation. Being rude so early on surely wasn't helping her cause. And she had so much more to lose. She took a steadying breath. "Look. I know what you think about me. But you haven't met me in years. Please just hear me out. That's all I'm asking."

"I will not let you manipulate me the way you have manipulated my son."

Well, it seemed playing nice would just not cut it. If nasty was what Mrs. Cohen wanted, nasty was what she would get. Two could play that game. Lucky for her, she was a pro. "First of all, I did not manipulate your son. I did not force him into anything. He's a grown man, it was his choice as well as mine. And second, you have no right – "

"How dare you? I'm his mother! I have every right!"

"Mark is old enough to make his own choices, his own mistakes!"

"Some mistake this is!"

"That's up to him to decide!"

"How can you sleep at night, knowing the damage you've already caused? You're taking my son away from me! You're tearing our family apart!"

"You're the one who won't make it easier on him!" She was hissing more than yelling, somehow aware of Libby just a few doors down. The last thing she wanted was for her daughter to be a witness to this. "Look, it doesn't have to be like this. All I'm asking is a second chance. I don't expect you to like me. Really, I don't. But Mark and I love each other. You may not accept it, but you should at least respect your son's choices. Don't do it for me, do it for him."

There was a pause. For a brief moment she thought it was because Mrs. Cohen was actually considering her plea. Of course, she couldn't have been more wrong. "I made it clear to Mark and I will make it clear to you as well, because obviously my message didn't get through. I will never allow you or that bastard child of yours into this family."

Her jaw dropped as she sank onto the sofa. It wasn't the icy tone that hit her full force, but the words. Mark had never mentioned telling his mother about Libby. Her shock lasted exactly eight seconds before melting into fury. She could stand any insult, but she would not let this woman speak about her little girl like this. "Leave my daughter out of this!"

"Why? Are you afraid of what I've got to say?" Her own words echoed back at her. She could almost hear the vicious grin on the other end, as if Mrs. Cohen realized she'd zeroed in on her one vulnerability. She could barely appreciate the fact she'd finally met her match when the older woman continued her attack. "Mark was reluctant to share the whereabouts of the child's father, which only confirmed my suspicions about you. You haven't changed one bit. Only this time you got punished for it. Now, I don't know what game you think you're playing, but you'd better think twice before you get my son involved. I will never accept you into this family. This wedding will not happen, so long as I can help it."

She had her snipe backfire all ready, when she suddenly realized there was nothing but a dial tone on the other end. She hung up and threw away the phone with a huff. The sting in her eyes was unmistakable. She wiped them angrily, refusing to shed a single tear over this vicious woman. She remained seated for a moment, looking at her hands. They were shaking. She formed her fingers into fists so she wouldn't have to watch.

Pretty soon she was pacing around the small room like a caged animal. The nerve of that woman! She was genuinely trying to be nice! Now it all made sense to her. Mark's shellshocked reaction upon his return from Scarsdale, his evasiveness about what happened, the way he was looking at her own parents as if waiting for them to turn on him. And God, how could he not tell her his mother knew about Libby?

She settled next to the window behind Mark's desk, talking herself into taking deep breaths. In the back of her mind she knew she'd better get a move on – there was still dinner to attend to, and although Libby had remained quiet so far, soon she would need something. "Get it together," she murmured, then felt stupid for doing so. And the tears kept coming; now she didn't even try to wipe them off.

It didn't bother her that Mark had told his mother about Libby because her daughter was the most precious thing in her life and she wasn't going to hide her. Also, knowing Mark, he was probably reluctant to tell his mother about it knowing the reaction it would entail, and he probably let it slip following who knew what provocation. What upset her was how it had caught her unawares, which gave Mrs. Cohen leverage in what was a hopeless situation to begin with.

Her eyes fell on Mark's desk, where papers were scattered in a perfect disarray. She shook her head in dismay, momentarily distracted. It never ceased to amaze her how he still found his way in the midst of this utter mess. Then she paused, and took one step closer. She thought she noticed her name in the top corner of one of the documents. Forehead furrowing in confusion, she reached for it, only to drop it back onto the pile in shock. Her eyes narrowed.

Apparently there were more Mark was not sharing with her.