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“They all are. Even Daryll. He wouldn’t even get on the plane with me, so I had to take the fucking train. That’s like a day to get here.”
“Yes, but you worked the whole time, and you always sleep well on trains.”
“Whatever. Daryll’s out tonight seeing some show, then he’ll be in bed by ten. I won’t sleep until at least midnight, central time. Asshole.” Joan walks out of my door and waves back at me.
I say, “I’m having drinks before, but I’ll be there by seven.”
“With whom are you drinking?” I put my hands on my hip and tilt my head.
“Mikey?”
“Shit. That’s right. Wait.”
“What?”
She shakes her heads quickly. “I forgot he’s coming to the shindig. I’ll see you two at the dog and pony. Gotta nap.”
* * *
My bright flowery dress floats around me as I walk to drinks. My lipstick turning heads as I gaze boldly at strangers. I want to feel sexy, and Tom Ford’s Fucking Fabulous Red 01 does it for me. Why isn’t everything named to make you feel empowered? My hands are clammy from the anticipation of a good time tonight.
I’m going to invest more in the friends I’ve found over the past year. Nanette and Bumble Dean are going strong, and I invited them to the shore in September. Carlos and I have a standing tennis match followed by long tequila-soaked lunches every three weeks. He listens to all I have to say, and in return, I listen.
I hope I’m strong enough to see Mikey and not ask about him. I fling open the door and enter with confidence oozing from my pores.
The door wooshes and all that bravado drains away with my breath. His back is to me, and I’m glued to the spot as if my heels were nailed to the floor. My still fractured heart beats rapidly in my chest. Of course, he’s on his fucking phone.
Goddammit. God fucking dammit. Shit ass muthafucker. Piece of tiny crap. Things that hang off tiny crap on the bottom of shitty shoes. I hate him. I can’t breathe. I could run away, or I could just do this. Acid surging up my throat and my mouth agape, I take deep breaths to recover. I can do this. My hands are shaking from adrenaline overload. My fingers fly over the keyboard in all caps.
TESS: FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK OFF, YOU CONNIVING LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT! FUCK YOU, YOU ARE A FUCKING NUISANCE. FUCK YOU. I hate you—a lot. I’m leaving.
MIKEY: Who dis?
TESS: TELL YOUR FUCKING HUSBAND I HATE HIM.
ARI: Oh, he knows. He can’t stop laughing. Update me later. He can twist in the wind. Sweetie, you can leave if you want. No one will know. He doesn’t know you’re there. But, honey, maybe you face this demon. I’m here for you always. And you should know I learned of this Brady Bunch/Parent Trap episode moments ago, or I would have warned you. Alex is as broken as you are. I promised to stay neutral, but you’re both in so much pain, see if you can release each other or work it out.
TESS: I’ll say hello and leave. I can’t have him sitting here thinking he’s meeting someone who doesn’t show. And I can do this.
ARI: Damn straight, you can. And I’ll deny Mikey sex as penance.
TESS: Thanks. Tell him his blue balls are courtesy of me.
ARI: Love you. I’m home next week. Wed?
TESS: Yes. Love you too. Xox
I compose myself, lift the ladies to torture him a bit, and fix my lipstick. I tap him on his shoulder, and I say loudly, “Mikey fucking parent trapped us.”
He jumps from his stool and whirls around, planting his feet in front of me, his eyes staring into mine. “Holy shit. You’re not Senator Tammy Duckworth.”
He looks good. It’s July in Chicago, but my skin is all goosebumps. Do I hug him or run? Are we friendly or cordial? Are we going to throw down here and fight? I need some direction. And, as always, he senses what I need.
He speaks, “I’m stunned. Did you know I was here?” He kisses me on the cheek, and I feel my skin bloom under his lips.
“No. I thought you were Mikey.”
“Please sit. I should’ve known the senator wouldn’t meet here. He’s an asshole.” We sit, and he slides his drink to me. I shoot it, and he laughs, gesturing for more.
