The Breakup Club Part 18

Ow!

I sat down on the rocking chair my mother insisted I needed and sang "Hush Little Baby." Ava shrieked louder. I tried "Old MacDonald." Louder shrieking. Finally I tried a beautiful song called "Hallelujah" from the Shrek soundtrack and she stopped crying for three seconds.

I sang "Born To Run," "Brown Eyed Girl" (even though Ava's eyes were blue), "Stairway To Heaven," "Hava Nagila." (I'm half-Jewish, on my father's side.) She shrieked. And shrieked.

The Barney theme song. "Blue's Clues." "Dora the Explorer."

Shriek. Shriek. Shriek.

Could you develop colic at one year?

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!.

I gently rubbed her belly and walked the length of the apartment. The cries quieted but didn't stop. I sat back down in the rocker and propped her against my chest so that her stomach had some pressure against it. And then I read her the start of chapter five of The Wedding of The Century.

"What did Beau do when he learned that he was going to be a dad for the first time? He immediately signed up for a course on baby rearing. New Baby 101. He learned how to change a diaper. How to burp a baby. How to feed babybottles and solids. Beau Wellington, attorney, activist, heir, learned the skills required to be a hands-on dad because 'that's what taking care of business is all about,' Beau told the New York Times recently. And when tragedy struck, his wife of five years killed in a car accident, Beau was suddenly the widowed father of a three-year-old daughter. Was he nervous about handling parenthood on his own? 'I can never be Jessamin's mother,' Beau told GQ magazine, 'but I can be the best father I can possibly be. I owe my baby that much. I owe my late wife that much. And I owe myself that much.'"

"The words are right, Ava," I whispered in her ear. "But is he full of what's in your diaper? Or is he telling the truth? What do you think?"

"Waaah! Waaaaah!"

Buzz! Buzz!

s.h.i.+t. The front doorbell. It was either the police, arresting me for noise pollution, or a bleary-eyed neighbor. Or Ginger.

I carried a crying Ava to the door and peered through the peephole, begging Ava to shush. It was Ginger. "I'm afraid to open the door," I said. "Then her shrieking will really wake up the building."

She laughed. "Could you use some relief? I'd be happy to hold her for a while, or walk her. Maybe a new face will calm her down."

I'd try anything at this point.

I opened the door, which shushed Ava for exactly seven seconds. The most minute change in air temperature, such as the whoos.h.i.+ng of a door, could affect her. Ginger smiled at me. She wore workout clothes, black yoga pants and a tight white T-s.h.i.+rt. She looked pretty without makeup.

"Why don't you go make us some tea," Ginger said, "and I'll try calming her. I've babysat four nieces and two nephews from infancy. Shoo," she told me, gesturing toward the kitchen.

I couldn't wait to get away from Ava. Sorry, Ava. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I just need a break. I need to be alone in a room without you in it.

In my tiny kitchen, I made two mugs of Lipton and couldn't believe I actually had both milk and sugar. I even had milk and sugar bowls. Jodie had made me a list of Essential Things You Need But Would Never Think of Buying, like a potato peeler. A sugar bowl. Sugareven though I took my coffee and tea black. Jodie had insisted I have her creature comforts on hand just in case she ever came over to pick up Ava.

As the tea steeped, I realized the crying had stopped.

I brought out the tea and a bag of Milano cookies. "You're good," I said, smiling at Ava fast asleep against Ginger's chest, her beautiful little face at peace, her tiny bow mouth slightly open.

Ginger smiled a s.e.xy smile. "No. I'm very good."

O-kay, you can go now. No tea for you. No s.e.xual innuendos.

"I'll just go lay her down in her crib," Ginger said, walking toward Ava's closet. Mission accomplished, she was back. She sat down on the love seat and wrapped her legs beside her. "Mmm, this tea is delicious." She bit into a Milano, patting the seat next to her. "Come sit, Chris. Relax. She's asleep."

I stretched and yawned for good measure. "I'm exhausted. She's been waking up every half hour for two hours. I'd better get my thirty minutes while I have the chance."

She was checking me out. Her eyes were moving over my body, from my faded Princeton T-s.h.i.+rt to my Levi's. Another thing an unsolicited separation was good for: a hard body. Nothing like some heavy lifting to work out your aggressions.

She smiled. "Go ahead. I have tomorrow off, so I'll stay for a couple of hours and take care of her if she cries."

My eyes were drooping. I knew I could probably trust Ginger. But probably negated going into my bedroom and leaving her totally alone with Ava. "Maybe I'll just sack out on the couch," I said.

"Go ahead," she said again. "Consider me on duty."

I smiled at her. "I can't tell you how I much I appreciate this. You're one h.e.l.l of a neighbor."

She winked at me, and I collapsed on the couch across from her.

"I know what you need," she said, suddenly kneeling next to me. I could smell her perfume, a light delicious musk. "A back rub."

A back rub was exactly what I needed. If she came on to me, or pressed those amazing b.r.e.a.s.t.s against my back, it was going to take an extraordinary feat of willpower not to rip her clothes off.

If she comes on to you, shriek in surprise, thereby waking up Ava, thereby putting Ginger back to work. Situation resolved!

The moment her hands crawled under my s.h.i.+rt and pressed into my back, I wanted her.

Don't do it, Chris. Do. Not. Do. It. It would just be s.e.x. I wasn't interested in Ginger that way. I very likely wouldn't be interested in any woman that way.

She pressed harder, ma.s.saging, ma.s.saging, ma.s.saging. "Why don't you take this off?" she said too close to my ear. "I'll be able to cover more ground."

I lifted up my torso enough to pull my s.h.i.+rt over my head. I could feel her admiring my body. And then she did it. She gave one good press, taking out every knot between my shoulders, and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s caressed my back and I turned over and kissed her, hard, hot. Not nicely. As in, Do not mistake this for romance.

She kissed me back, just as hard, just as hot. "I can't tell you how long I've wanted you to do that," she said in a hopeful, sweet voice. Effectively softening other parts of my anatomy. She wanted romance. And s.e.x. But she wanted romance.

"You're a great person, Ginger," I said, sitting up. "But I can't do this. I'm just not anywhere near ready or open for anything."

She nodded. "I can understand that. Your wife left, whatfour months ago? You have a one-year-old daughter you're just getting to know."

Why do you have to be so nice and understanding! Why can't you be a royal b.i.t.c.h who I can use?

"Go to sleep," she told me. "I have no business making out when I'm on duty anyway."

I smiled and squeezed her hand and then fell asleep in two seconds.

"Who the h.e.l.l is she?"

I opened an eye. Was that Jodie's voice?

"I SAID WHO THE f.u.c.k IS SHE?"

That was Jodie's voice. Jodie's yell. I sprang up, exhausted, my eyes not fully opened. Jodie stood over me, furious, shaking, Ava asleep in her arms. What was Jodie doing here? How was she here?

Ah. The emergency key. I hadn't wanted to give Jodie a key to my apartment, but she insisted on it for emergencies, and apparently, a crying baby was an emergency, after all.

Ginger stood in the living room, nervously collecting the dirty tea mugs. She brought them into the kitchen, then reappeared. "I'll just go now." She dashed out, and I heard the apartment door click shut.

"Ava was sick with G.o.d knows what last night, crying for hours, and you had an overnight date?" Jodie snapped, her voice dripping with venom. "You called me because Ava was interrupting your hot night of s.e.x?"

"Jump to conclusions much?" I asked, pulling on my pants, which I could barely remember taking off in the middle of the night. I hated sleeping in pants, and I'd fallen asleep on the couch, my belt buckle pressing into my stomach.

"Oh, I think the evidence speaks for itself," Jodie said. "The only thing missing is the condom wrapper. And I do hope you used one."

I pulled on my T-s.h.i.+rt. "If circ.u.mstantial evidence gets you this ready to convict, it's a good thing you quit your job, Jodie."

"a.s.shole," she snapped.

Ava stirred in her arms, and opened those big blue eyes.

"Hey, sweetie," I said, wiggling her tiny hand. "Feel better this morning?"

Ava gurgled something indecipherable. But her eyes were clear, her cheeks unflushed, and she was one hundred percent fine. Her mother, meanwhile, was the opposite. Her eyes were shooting sparks, her cheeks were red, and she was one-hundred-percent p.i.s.sed off.

"Let me make something clear before you leave," I said. "Ginger is my neighbor. She helped me out last night when Ava was up every twenty minutes all night long. Nothing happened."

Jodie snorted. "Oh right. Like I believe that. I came in to find you in your underwear on the couch, and a woman making coffee in the kitchen. But nothing happened."

"First of all, it's none of your business," I said. "Second of all, who are you to talk? There's a man sleeping in your bed and making coffee every morning."

"That's different," she shot back. "Eye-in and I are living together. We're planning to get married."

The air whooshed out of my lungs. It was the first time she'd said it. And it knocked me down onto my b.u.t.t on the couch.

Married. Jodie was planning to get married. But we're married. We are married. You're my wife. This didn't make sense. Nothing made any f.u.c.king sense!

"Come on, Christopher," she said in her usual half snappish, half sensitive way. "We're living together. Of course we're planning to marry."

I took a deep breath. I couldn't speak. Couldn't find my voice. Or air.

"I don't think you should be having s.e.x during your weekends with Ava," Jodie said, settling Ava in her stroller and strapping her diaper bag onto the push bar. "If I have to get a judge to order it, I will. I'll do whatever I have to, Christopher. Including undoing our arrangement."

b.i.t.c.h! Could she stop me from seeing Ava? Could she stop our weekends? She was the lawyer, not me. "Listen to me clearly," I bit out. "I am not having s.e.x with anyone. That woman is just a hardcase who lives down the hall. I have zero interest in her. In fact, she came on to me last night and I stopped her."

"Well, bully-bully for" Jodie said and then froze.

Ginger was suddenly standing at the far end of the living room, her lower lip quivering as she stared at me. "I forgot my purse," she said, her voice trembling. She didn't look at me as she grabbed it from the love seat and then ran out.

Suddenly the apartment was very quiet. The silence was unbearable.

An hour later, I was still shaking. I called Lucy and told her I could use an emergency meeting of the Breakup Club.

"Me too," she said.

"Oh no, Luce. Don't tell me he made good on his New Year's resolution."

There was silence, which meant she was trying not to cry. Finally she said, "I'll call Miranda and Roxy. See you soon."

An hour later, the four of us sat on my living-room floor, breakfast from the diner balanced on hardcovers on our laps.

"Why are men such potato heads?" Miranda asked, opening all the coffee containers to figure out which ones were black and which were regular. "And let's skip right over Larry, since Lucy doesn't even want his name mentioned, and go straight to you, Christopher. How could you refer to Ginger as a 'hardcase'? That's so beyond mean. Not that I'm calling you a potato head," she added.

I smiled. "It's okay, Miranda. Potato head describes me perfectly."

Lucy sipped her coffee. "Especially because Ginger doesn't sound like a hardcase at all. She sounds like a wonderful person."

"But imagine how threatened Christopher must have felt," Roxy said, poking at her cheese omelet. "His ex-wife was ready to drag him into family court. He said whatever he had to to calm down Jodie."

"Wife. Not ex-wife," I reminded them. "Wife." They stared at me. I ran my hands through my hair and let out a deep breath. "Ex-wife is right. She might as well be." I wrapped my hands around my foam cup of coffee and took a long swallow. "I can't even bear to talk about it anymore. I'll knock on Ginger's door later and try to apologize."

"I'm sure she'll understand," Miranda said. "She sounds like a pretty understanding person."

"I know I said I don't want to talk about Larry," Lucy said, "but what do I call him? Is he my husband? My ex? My soon-to-be-ex-husband?" She flung her toast back onto her plate.

"You can call him Jerk Face," Miranda suggested, rubbing Lucy's shoulder.

"Noa.s.shole Jerk Face," Lucy said. She sipped her coffee. "Let's go back to not talking about him. Hey, since we're all here, how about we touch base on Beau and Bri and their fairy-tale life? I can live vicariously."

We spent the next hour going over where we were. Lucy was almost finished with the first draft, and Miranda was almost finished fact-checking and proofreading for consistency. Roxy had five folders of wedding details; the happy couple and their plans were all over the media, the focus of TV specials and articles about everything from where they were registered to who was designing Bri's gown to how many tiers their wedding cake would be. Roxy also mentioned a beautiful photograph she'd found for the front cover, of Beau and Bri and his five-year-old daughter holding hands and facing away from the camera, walking in the park.

I wanted to know if it was true, this stuff about Beau taking baby-rearing cla.s.ses and being a hands-on dad. This past Friday I'd called Beau's PR people, ostensibly for fact-checking and to see if I could get an interview (Lucy had tried multiple times), but I mostly wanted to know how he was doing it, raising his daughter himself after the death of his wife.

"We have no comment," said the woman who answered the phone. "No, we do have a comment. We're disgusted by the unauthorized biography and the fact that you're capitalizing on their celebrity. Should either of them wish to release a memoir, their potential readers.h.i.+p may be diminished because you've already published an unauthorized bio."

"It's all spin," Lucy told me. "I'm sure he employs nannies around the clock and always has, even when his wife was alive. I just can't verify it. Do you really think he's ever changed a diaper full of s.h.i.+t?"

I stared up at the ceiling for a moment. "Can she do it?" I asked, my voice so low I wasn't sure they could even hear me over the music. "Can Jodie stop me from seeing Ava?"

"I don't think so," Lucy said. "But if she tries, just know you'll be able to stop her from trying to stop you. That's what courts are for."

I leaned back, my appet.i.te and my interest in spending another second talking about Beau and Brianna's perfect life both gone.

"You're a great dad," Miranda said. "No matter how many times you put her left shoe on her right foot, you're a great dad for loving her so much."

"I second that," Lucy said, pouring syrup on her pancakes. "I'm trying to make Amelia understand that just because her dad left doesn't mean he doesn't love her, but she's so mad at him. She won't talk to him. She barely talks to me anymore."

"I didn't want to talk to Jodie for weeks after she left," I said, "but I had to. Otherwise I couldn't see Ava."

"I wish Robbie didn't want to talk to me," Roxy said. "He calls twice a week, every week. He keeps it light, but it would be so much easier on both of us. Talking to each other only makes us miss each other."

"He can't let go, Roxy," Miranda said. "Because if he did, he'd be giving up. He'd be giving up hope. And he's clinging to it. Like I did."

"Maybe we should send Robbie this," Lucy said, taking a women's magazine out of her tote bag. She pointed to a cover blurb. "Brianna's Five Surefire Ways To Get Over Your Ex So You Can Get On With Yourself!"

"Oh, I'd like to hear those," Miranda said.