Chapter 7
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After trailing Portman, who was doing at least seventy-five miles an hour down MacArthur Boulevard, we had pulled up to the deli and I had barely pulled into a spot before the boys jumped out of the car. Thankfully, Fulton was slower, and I had time to grab the sleeve of his leather jacket as he was opening the door. This is still a big no-no though. Tugging, yanking, or disrespecting the leather jacket in any way is a cardinal sin. I got a very dirty look for my lapse in judgment.
"Sorry," I apologize. "I just wanted to ask you how I was doing."
"You're lucky you're my best friend. I would have had to hit you otherwise…what do you mean 'how am I doing?'" he asks.
"Well, I mean, am I playing it cool, do I not sound like I'm a wreck on the inside, things of that nature," I explain.
He laughs, "You're doing fine, Julie. To the casual observer, you do not look like you want to kill him at all."
"I don't want to kill him," I say, and Fulton looks shocked.
"What?"
"I want to slowly roast him over an open fire," I grin, and Fulton laughs so hard he nearly falls out of the car.
"You're so bitter, Julie," he says, still laughing, "I think I like you like this. Come on, let's get in there. We both know how Portman and your sons eat. There will be nothing left."
I nod and follow Fulton out of the car and into Goldberg's Deli. The boys and Portman are already eating, and Goldberg's mother, who is behind the counter, meets Fulton and me with a warm smile. "Hi Fulton, hi Julie," she smiled. "What's your pleasure?"
"Corned beef on rye with mustard, please," Fulton says easily.
"Turkey, lettuce, and tomato on roll," I say.
While we wait for the sandwiches, I watch Mrs. Goldberg on the meat-slicer and Fulton strolls over to the refrigerators with the drinks in them. "Pick your poison, Julie."
"Dr. Pepper," Portman says from his seat before I had a chance to answer.
I look at him. "How did you know that?"
"You always got Dr. Pepper when you got a turkey, lettuce, and tomato when we used to come here," Portman shrugs and turns back to his food.
Fulton looked quite nervous, like this was going to end badly, but he hadn't said anything until that point. "So, uh, Julie," he says uncomfortably, "Dr. Pepper?"
I was tempted to say no, to show Portman I wasn't the same person I was when he left me, to show him he didn't know me as well as he thought, to prove to myself that I wasn't going to say that in the first place and the fact that Portman had known what I wanted to drink was a lucky coincidence, and not years of casual observation finally coming full circle.
I finally decide that I'm getting way too worked up over a soda. "Yeah, Dr. Pepper, Fult, thanks."
Portman grins at me a little, and I stick out my tongue. I regret doing this for two reasons. The first is that it was a tad immature, the second, Portman looks a little hurt. Wait. Reason number two shouldn't bother me. Never mind.
Fulton pays for both our sandwiches, which is nice of him, considering I could have paid for my own, and Jack and Chase pull over chairs for us.
We start off with a conversation about deli-meat, move on to weather, then to cars, and then I start tuning out.
This type of small talk continues for some time, and while I continue eating, I also continue to tune it all out. I don't like the way this is so uncomfortable. I think half the problem is that everyone's avoiding the real juicy questions. You know, questions like, "So, Portman, where have you been for the last twelve or so years?"
I'm not bitter, really I'm not. Yeah, okay, a little.
"Mom," Jack says, bringing me back to reality, "It's 3:00, we're late."
"Oh right. Okay, let's go. Give me all your garbage, I'll throw it away," I say and I collect the paper plates and napkins and head to the front of the deli, where the garbage is while the rest of my party moves towards the door.
I tossed the garbage and had just turned around to head for the door when Mrs. Goldberg says, "Julie, did my eyes deceive me or was that Dean Portman?"
I smile a little and turn around. "Yeah, that's him."
"He doesn't come around much anymore, since you two got divorced," she says thoughtfully.
Divorced? Portman and I had never actually gotten divorced. Not as far as I knew anyway. And if we had gotten divorced I would have known; I would have had to see a lawyer or sign papers or something. None of that ever happened. We were still married. We were just separated and hadn't spoken to each other in twelve years. Nothing dysfunctional about that relationship, right? No, of course not.
But I could easily understand why Mrs. Goldberg thought we were divorced. We weren't together, after all, and I have talked to her in the past about his lack of visits and his child support checks and the birthday cards. I shouldn't let her go on believing we're divorced, but it doesn't really matter at this point.
"No, he doesn't come around much," I smile at Mrs. Goldberg. "He's been very busy."
"He's got some nerve showing up after all this time," she says, nodding. "You show him what's what, Julie."
I giggle a little and say, "Yeah, he does have nerve. I always thought that was attractive." Mrs. Goldberg quirks her eyebrow, and I quickly add, "Don't worry though. If he thinks he's getting off easy, he's got another thing coming."
"That's the spirit, Julie," she grins and says, "Have a good day today."
"I will. Thanks for lunch Mrs. Goldberg. It's just what I needed to handle watching a hockey game and talking to Portman all at the same time," I smile.
"The boys are playing today?"
"Yeah, and we're late, so I better get going!" I say, checking my watch compulsively.
"Wish them good luck for me. Bye Julie!" she says.
"I will. Bye, Mrs. Goldberg," I nod and start outside.
When I get outside, I find Fulton and the kids already in the car and Portman sitting in his own car with the window open. "I'll follow you to the rink," he calls.
I nod and climb into my own car, where Jack and Chase are talking quietly in the back seat and Fulton is sitting with his eyes closed. I nudge him a little bit and grin. "What? Can't stand all this fun?"
He laughs a little bit and says, "Shut up and drive, Julie."
I back out and start back down MacArthur Boulevard, with Portman on my tail. Each time I glance out my mirror, he's maybe five feet behind me. Fulton notices this, and after I glance back for the hundredth time, says, "What's the matter?"
"He tailgates. My sons are never getting in the car with him. Ever," I say.
Fulton laughs and Jack and Chase begin to protest, but I pull into the parking lot of the building where the rink is. They just hop out of the car, grab their bags, and make a beeline for the door. Their coach always wants them there an hour before game time to warm up, and they're fifteen minutes late.
The boys rush off to the locker room, and Fulton, Portman, and I head for the ticket booth, where parents and onlookers are charged six dollars admission. When I was younger and had less money, I thought it seemed like the league was cheap, or that somebody was pocketing the extra cash. Later when I was on the finance committee, I found out that the money made is mostly used to make t-shirts for the teams, get extra rink time, and pay the referees; that kind of thing. I don't mind paying so much anymore.
We found seats in the bleachers. Portman sat on my left, Fulton on my right. I feel like Portman is uncomfortably close, and shift closer to Fulton.
We get through most of the game without talking; the only time Portman really speaks is when he asked me what numbers Jack and Chase were. "17 and 55," I tell him quietly. The rest of the time he seems focused on the game.
Jack scores a goal in second period and the boys' team is up 3-1 going into the locker room at the second intermission. The teams go into the locker rooms and Fulton excuses himself to go get some coffee. The crowd around us begins to stretch and move around, and Portman and I sit in awkward silence.
Portman has never been able to keep his mouth shut. Ever. So I know it's only a matter of time before he starts speaking. So I am hardly surprised when –
"They're pretty good, Julie."
"Jack and Chase? Yeah, they're pretty good."
"You've taught them well."
"Me? Fulton was the one who taught them everything."
"Fulton?"
"Yeah. He's been around since you left. He kept me from becoming an alcoholic, and he's been a good father figure for them," I say rather bitterly.
Portman doesn't say anything right away and almost looks hurt. This pleases me and pains me at the same time. I'm not really a spiteful person; I don't enjoy hurting another person's feelings. He just makes me so angry. Finally, he says, "I want to talk to you about that."
"So talk," I say. "Nobody's stopping you."
"I don't want to talk about it here, Julie."
"Why not?"
"Too many people, too much to talk about."
"Are you kidding me? You don't care what people think."
"No, I don't."
"So what's your problem?"
"I care what you think."
I roll my eyes. "Sure you do. What do you want, Portman?"
"Julie, please, don't be difficult," he says quietly.
"Don't be difficult? Don't be difficult!?" I say indignantly, my voice rising slightly. "You leave me with two little boys to go off gallivanting to who the hell knows where and you've got the balls to tell me not to be difficult?"
"I went back to Chicago," he says calmly. I think he expected this reaction from me. Could there be a different one? I doubt it. And he's never been stupid.
I shrug. "Fine. You went to Chicago. Didn't think to take me and your two sons with you, did you, though?"
"Julie, I have reservations at the Minnesota Club for tomorrow night. I figure you and I can talk one on one, quietly, over a meal," he says, and I can tell he's set against having this conversation here. "Are you in or out?"
"What about Jack and Chase? Don't you think you should explain yourself to them too?"
"I'd like to explain myself to you first."
I sigh a little bit. "Fine. What time?"
"I'll pick you up at seven o'clock."
"Pick me up?"
"Yeah…I do have some manners you know. Maybe you don't remember but I was always a gentleman to you."
"Until you got horny," I mumble and he glares at me. "Then you got all grabby."
"You had a good time."
"You knocked me up."
"I didn't mean for it to happen that way. I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well, I'm not sorry about it. Those two boys are the best part of my life," I say confidently. It's true. My sons are the two best things in my life. I love them more than anyone and I would do anything for them.
"That's not what I meant," he says. "I'm not sorry they're here. I'm just sorry that I didn't give you a better life before they arrived."
Fulton returned with three cups of coffee at that moment, and both Portman and I fell silent. He handed us each a coffee and got two very gruff thank-yous for his efforts. "Well," I hear him mutter, "It's nice when everyone's just so pleasant."
The teams reemerge from the locker rooms and the game goes well. Jack ends with a goal and an assist and Chase with two assists. Their team won the game, 5-3.
After the boys and Portman discuss the game, we all decide to go our separate ways. We'll go home, and Portman will go to wherever he's staying. Portman promises the boys that he'll be around for a while and that they'll talk more, just not today. I am kind of relieved. I really don't want to sit through dinner with Portman today too.
Fulton, Jack, and Chase get into my car, and I remember that I have to tell Fulton about tomorrow. Before Portman goes back to his own car, he comes over to talk to me. "Tomorrow at seven," he says.
"Yeah, seven, got it."
"See ya tomorrow, Julie."
"Bye Portman," I say easily. I notice his head move a little bit before I turn and walk towards my car.
I pull out of the lot and head for Fulton's place; we drop him off at his apartment before heading home. The twins eat some leftovers before going off to play video games, and presumably talk about the day's events. I don't eat much; I'm not very hungry. Instead I call to haunt Fulton and tell him about tomorrow evening. He's supportive, as always. After we hang up, I spend a lot of the evening thinking about this long day with Portman. It's the first day I've spent with him in a long time. It's the first day his sons have spent with him in a long time. I run through the day's events in my heads, analyzing and trying not to over analyze; trying not worry, and trying not to be paranoid, but not really able to help it. I thought about the way he said goodbye.
I think he would have kissed my cheek if I hadn't turned away.