48 EVIE #2
I bristled, annoyed but not surprised. “Ahem. Yes. Well, that’s exactly right, Bob. How did you guess? I was going to bake cupcakes and make their beds. Put little daisies on their tables. And by the way, I’m pretty sure you told these same jokes last year. And the year before that.”
Kate smirked at me sideways, and Bob rolled his eyes.
Jim deftly opened another beer, popping the cap on the side of the table. “I remember hearing about that when I was first dating Kate. You were leaving to go run around the world with a rock band. And Steve here was all pouty about you leaving for good. Still pining for his old high school flame.”
I looked at Steve. “You were? I didn’t know that! We weren’t even together then.”
Steve shrugged, looking uncharacteristically bashful for a moment. “What can I say? The man speaks the truth.”
“Who was it? The band. Anyone we know?” Jim asked.
Mayluna had started playing stadiums. Everyone in the world knew them. I looked away, just above the horizon, and noticed the evening’s first stars coming out above the silhouetted trees. “Nah, not really.”
“Philly, man. It’s in the blood. Brings you back every time,” Bob said, popping a chip into his mouth from a leftover basket on the table.
Brandi leaned forward, excited. “How is it that I never knew this about you? I honestly, for the life of me, cannot picture this! So did you really meet, like, rock stars and stuff? Did you ever meet Steven Tyler?”
I had, actually, by the way. Met Steven Tyler.
He had kissed me straight on the lips one night backstage.
Though he did this with every woman he saw backstage.
Endearing, I suppose. Or obnoxious. I guess it depended on the person.
And the decade, obviously. Doubt that could happen now. Anyway, I didn’t mention it.
“Aerosmith, that’s a good band,” Bob chimed in.
“It wasn’t really a big deal. Mostly it was just, you know, work.”
“You didn’t like it?”
Bob slapped his knee. “I still think you’re pulling our leg. I can just picture you walking around backstage: ‘Would you like some lemonade, Mr. Tyler?’” Annoyingly, everyone else was chuckling along with him.
Yep, that was me. Suzy Homemaker.
“Miles Davis, now that’s good music,” Steve said. “Smooth like butter.”
Never met him. Though that would have been very cool.
“Coldplay.”
I’d met Chris Martin and the guys way at the beginning while I’d been in London with Carter, having seen them play a little show at Dingwalls and hearing buzz about them from others in the business.
I’d sat at a pub with him while he sipped water and I sipped a beer.
He had a combination of self-effacing charm and complete confidence, along with a buzzing, boyish energy that drew people to him, instantly charming.
Two years later, people would be watching them headline Glastonbury.
I didn’t tell this story either.
“Can never go wrong with the Beatles.”
“Radiohead. Reminds me of college.”
I could tell that story too. But I didn’t.
“U2.” Jim joined in the banter. “I saw them at the stadium. Amazing show.”
Ditto.
“Mayluna,” Kate added.
I looked away.
“Me, I like country, all the way,” said Brandi.
“They’re coming to town soon.” Kate went to the margarita pitcher and, upon finding it empty, opted for a glass of chardonnay.
“Who, U2?” Jim asked. “Really? I’d go see them.”
“No, Mayluna,” Kate added. “Not like I could ever get this one to go with me.” She elbowed her husband in the side. “He likes to be in bed by eleven at the latest.”
“Hey, I never hear you complaining,” he added, winking at her. She reached down and kissed his cheek. If there was a manual on how to do marriage well, Jim and Kate would have written it. They were perfect.
As the banter continued, I swallowed a long sip of tea.
My mouth had gone dry at Kate’s mention of the band.
I looked into the backyard and saw Carter perfectly in my mind’s eye.
Leaning against the fence, fingers looped in his jeans.
A knowing, mischievous grin on his face as he took in the scene, watching me, as if to say, Are you kidding me right now?
Let’s get out of here. I shook my head, biting my lip against the smile that formed there.
While talk turned to baseball season and the upcoming game between the Red Sox and the Pirates, I nodded politely on occasion and threw in a line here and there as I tried to keep from jumping up and breaking loose of the role I played so well.
The previous year, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t go to Kate’s Labor Day picnic anymore.
“Who cares what Bob thinks? You barely like him, anyway.” Steve had stood in the bathroom, wearing boxers and a T-shirt, talking with his toothbrush in his mouth.
He spit the foam into the sink and wiped his mouth on the hand towel.
“And Brandi’s just ... I don’t know. Brandi.
Who gives a crap what they think? They’re obnoxious.
Don’t let it get to you.” We’d just gotten home from Kate and Jim’s, and we were both cranky and tired.
“I’m not going next year, I swear.”
“You say that every year. And I’m sure—”
I groaned. “Can you please not do that? I hate when you do that.”
“Do what?”
I pulled a long pink sleep shirt over my head. “That! Wipe your toothpaste mouth on the towel! It’s gross! And then I dry my face with your gross toothpaste towel. Use a Kleenex,” I barked as I snatched the towel and threw it into the hamper, retrieving a fresh one.
Steve followed me into the bedroom, crossed his arms, and stared at me.
“What?” I folded the covers down on the bed and fluffed the pillows a little too aggressively.
“Are you done?”
I looked up at him. Begrudgingly, I finally gave in, sagging.
“I’m sorry.” He raised his eyebrows. “No, really, I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean to bite at you. It’s just frustrating.
He’s rude and condescending. ‘Bake sales and PTA meetings’?
What is it with him? I don’t even like cupcakes!
He acts like it’s 1950 every time he sees me.
And what’s wrong with those things, anyway? ”
“In all fairness, I think he just mentioned bake sales. And maybe aprons. But nothing about PTA meetings. I think he’s just one of those guys who picks on the cute girls.”
I broke a smile and sat on the bed. “Oh, I know. It’s fine.”
“Seriously, I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal over it. He’s a jerk. Hell, half the time, I forget what you did before the kids. And I never knew what Kate did. Grants or something?”
“Are you being serious? She was in nonprofit management. And she was really good at it!”
“Right. Well, whatever.”
“See, that’s my point! You’ve known Kate since she was eleven, and even you couldn’t remember what she did for a living.
I guess it’s just hard sometimes. I built up this whole career.
And I was proud of it. I love that I can stay home with the kids.
I do. I think it’s one of the best things about my life.
But it’s like the moment you decide to leave your job, poof!
Your entire identity pre-children goes up in smoke.
Everyone looks at you like you sit around watching soap operas all day and baking.
You don’t know how frustrating that can be. ”
“Is that what this is about? Fine, then go back to work if you want to go back to work. I don’t care.”
“I don’t see how I can! You’re at the office till midnight half the time. And now even on the weekends.”
He groaned. “Are we done now? I’m wiped out. And I have a meeting first thing.”
I flipped off the light and lay back on the pillows. “Sure.” Then quietly, I added, “It’s not just about work. It’s about—”
“Oh my god, would you stop? Remind me not to go to Kate’s barbecue next year. Fine. You’re right.” He threw the covers off and grabbed his pillow. “I’m gonna sleep downstairs.”
“Steve, wait, no. I didn’t mean—”
“I have an early morning, anyway.” He snatched his phone from the nightstand and closed the door.
But a year later, there we’d been again.
Life on repeat. Albeit no longer together, a lot had changed since then, but not enough.
Most of the time, I was happy and moving on, or maybe I wasn’t.
I’d been treading water with very little forward movement.
But suddenly it seemed as if everything had started to unravel, time spinning backward instead of forward, making me question everything.