On Second Thought(66)

“Would you like some coffee?” he asked.

“No, no, I’ll just be a moment. Thank you.”

He glanced at me, and I could see the irritation in his special hetero-something eyes. “So. Ainsley, you’ll have that piece on Labor Day events for me soon?” The reminder that we were at work, in case I forgot.

“You bet.” I would have to start it soon, actually. He left, closing the door behind him.

“Did you see Eric on TV?” Judy asked. “Our hearts are broken! He looked so handsome, though, didn’t he? I don’t know what to do, Ainsley! Please don’t give up on him yet.”

“Judy, believe me, I—”

“You know how he is with stress. He wet the bed when he went to camp the first time! When he was eleven and had his first erection, he was afraid it was cancer. Oh, God. How’s that for irony? Maybe we should’ve taken him to the doctor back then. Maybe we would’ve caught it early.”

“He did catch it early.”

She gripped my hands. “Listen. He’s not going to backpack through Alaska. What if he falls and gets hurt? Who will take care of him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care at this point.” If only that was true.

“Oh, honey! Don’t say that! He’s had a meltdown. You can’t stop loving him! You’re the best thing that ever happened to him. You do still love him, don’t you?”

I pulled my hands free and rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t know, Judy. I mean, of course I do. But this new guy...the one who calls me a corpse and goes on GMA and Jimmy Kimmel...he’s completely different.”

“I know. It’s shock. He loved Nathan like a brother.”

“No, Judy, he barely knew Nathan. Nathan was my brother-in-law, and I barely knew Nathan.”

She looked at me, her face drawn in concern. “Ainsley, honey. You have eleven years with our son. That’s a third of your life. Don’t forget that!”

“I know. But...” My throat closed, my eyes filled. “He’s the one who forgot, Judy. It’s like I’m a stranger he doesn’t care about at all anymore.” I swallowed a sob. “He hasn’t even been over to see Ollie.”

We’d had Ollie for two years. How could a person just ditch his dog like that?

Or his woman?

“He does love you,” Judy said. “You just wait, and you’ll see. Please. This cancer scared him so badly. You know that better than anyone. I think it’s post-traumatic stress, that’s what I think.”

I took a breath and swiped under my eyes with my fingertips. “You could be right.”

“I am. I know it. I’m his mother, and I know.” She kissed my cheek with vigor and looked into my eyes. “Aaron and I love you, sweetheart. We want you to be the mother of our grandchildren. You’re like a daughter to us, you know that. Please, just keep an open mind.”

“Okay.” I hugged her. “I have to get back to work. Talk to you soon.”

“I love you.”

That caused more tears to flood my eyes. “Love you, too,” I whispered.

Judy and Aaron were more like my parents than Candy and Dad. If I lost Eric, I lost them, too. No more annual Broadway shows, no more mani/pedis with Judy where we gossiped and laughed. No more beautiful Hanukkah nights, lighting the candles, Judy exclaiming over the gifts I chose so carefully. No more vacations where the guys played golf and Judy and I had a fruity cocktail on the beach.

No more unconditional love.

I went to the bathroom to make sure my mascara hadn’t smudged. It had, of course. I ran a tissue under my eyes, blew my nose and washed my hands.

When I got back to the desk, there was an email from my boss.

Please refer to page 29 of the employee handbook about personal matters being handled during work hours.

Jonathan Kent, Publisher

Hudson Lifestyle

I typed back, my fingers hammering the keys.

Please refer to the fact that the publisher of Hudson Lifestyle is making me meet with our problematic blogger, so maybe getting some insight from his mother about his current mental state isn’t the worst idea in the world.

Ainsley O’Leary, Features Editor

Hudson Lifestyle

A second later, my computer dinged.

You may have a point. Please try to refrain from crying in the bathroom, however. It’s bad for morale.

Jonathan Kent, Publisher

Hudson Lifestyle

I typed my response, then deleted all the F-bombs, then realized the F-bombs made up the whole email.

Whatever. I had an article on pumpkins to write.





Chapter Sixteen

Kate

When I got home that night, the house smelled fantastic. Ainsley was in full 1950s housewife mode, still wearing blocky little heels, an apron over her cute little flowered dress.

“Wine?” she asked with a smile. “I’m making a roast with mashed potatoes, braised carrots, a little wilted spinach on the side. And there’s coconut pie for dessert.”

“You’re amazing, Ainsley.” I raised my camera—the Canon, not the Nikon—and took her picture.

Ah. There it was, the real deal. She was confused and angry and sad. What Eric was doing was a joke—another idiot being controversial whose fifteen minutes would soon be up.