Chapter 20
TWENTY
MELISSA
If I didn’t have two kids and a job, I wouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning.
To be strictly accurate, I’d have gotten up for just long enough to get the carton of chocolate Haagen Dazs out of my freezer and bring it back to bed with me.
A pity party is always better with ice cream, especially when you’ve been dieting.
And after slaying the Haagen Dazs, I’d have gone back to sleep, since I barely got any sleep last night.
It’s hardly surprising, given the way my call with Luke ended.
Not only was I sexually frustrated, I was frustrated with myself.
I’d let myself imagine a fantasy, one in which Luke wanted me again. Despite the way we ended ten years ago.
And despite my new curves and stretch marks.
But it seems I was just a girl he could use to practice his sexy talk, a convenient way to warm up for the girl he was really waiting for.
He even had the audacity to text an apology, claiming a ‘friend’ had shown up.
He must not have known that I’d heard his friend arrive, and heard her say ‘Hi Luke’ in an unmistakably feminine voice.
I didn’t reply to his apology text, or to the message he sent after midnight, asking if I was still awake. I was too disappointed—too broken—to talk to him.
But since I have two kids and a job, I couldn’t wallow in bed.
Instead, I hustled Claire and Liam out of bed and nagged them to brush their teeth and eat their Cheerios.
I even resisted the temptation to eat ice cream for breakfast, since it would have been a bad example for the kids.
Then, after a heavy-handed application of undereye concealer and a slick of lip gloss, I dropped the kids at school and came to work.
Now I’m standing in front of the twelfth graders, trying to teach a calculus lesson.
Unfortunately, the students stopped paying attention as soon as Vanessa Abernathy started knitting.
That’s right: as soon as I started to teach, she pulled a fuzzy ball of yarn and a pair of needles out of her backpack.
The click, click, click of her needles is irritating, but the real distraction is the question of what I’m going to do about it.
I can see eyes flickering between Vanessa and me, and a few people are giggling.
At first, I tried to ignore her, hoping if I didn’t react, she’d give it up.
She’s a slow, awkward knitter, and from what I can see, she’s just started her project.
I’m pretty sure she only took up the hobby to irritate me.
But after ten minutes of clicking, she’s still going strong, and a confrontation seems inevitable.
“Vanessa.”
She pretends not to hear me, so I walk toward her desk.
As I do, I remind myself that she’s just a teenager, and being a teenage girl can be hard.
Maybe her rich parents neglect her emotionally, and she’s starved for attention.
Maybe she’s on a diet, like me, and it’s making her hangry.
Or maybe she’s in love with a boy who doesn’t love her back.
Or maybe she’s just a bratty teenager who gets a kick out of tormenting me.
I reach the back row and stand next to her desk. “Vanessa.”
Finally, she looks up and feigns surprise. “Oh. Good morning, Ms. Lawrence. Did you need something?”
“Please put your knitting away.”
Her perfectly shaped eyebrows draw together. “Is there a rule against knitting in class?”
“There is in my class. The noise is distracting.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ms. Lawrence. I didn’t realize I was distracting you.” She gives me a big smile. “I’ll put it away as soon as I finish this row.”
I grit my teeth. I’d like to insist she stop immediately, but I’m not sure what I’d do if she refuses. If I send her to the principal’s office, Carole Chan will know I can’t control my class, and while that’s true, I’d rather not advertise it.
So I walk back to the front of the room and force myself to continue teaching. By some miracle, Vanessa honors her word and puts her knitting away a few minutes later, and I make it through the lesson without any more interruptions.
As usual, my second class is easier, but I still sigh with relief when I escape Brookline Academy to go pick up Liam. Shortly after we get home, I get a text from Austin, telling me he’s looking forward to seeing me at his hockey game tonight.
As I make Liam a peanut butter sandwich, I consider replying to say I can’t make it. Part of me—the honest part—knows the real reason I agreed to go to the game was because I wanted to see Luke. But after what happened last night, Luke’s the last person I want to see.
I set Liam’s sandwich in front of him along with a glass of milk, then pick up my phone again. It wouldn’t be hard to make an excuse; I could tell Austin that my babysitting arrangements fell through, or that I have the flu.
But one of the resolutions I made when I moved to Somerset was to grow a backbone.
I shouldn’t let my messy feelings for Luke Carlton keep me away from a hockey game.
Hell, maybe what I need is a no-strings fling with Austin Davenport.
It might scratch the itch I’ve been struggling with for the past couple of weeks.
So instead of replying to say I can’t come, I send Austin a message that I’m excited to see him play.
That evening, Sophie’s cousin Grace shows up to babysit wearing a Taylor Swift T-shirt, which earns her Claire’s instant friendship.
Grace has kind brown eyes and a warm smile, and within a few minutes, Liam’s smitten with her too.
I give her a tour of the house and go over the kids’ bedtime routine, and leave feeling confident that my kids are in good hands.
The game’s already started when I get to the arena.
I guess the Thursday night Men’s League doesn’t draw the big crowds, because there’s only one other spectator in the stands, a stylishly dressed young woman hunched over a laptop.
She looks up and smiles as I’m walking past, and I take it as an invitation to join her.
“Hey. I’m Dr. Sloane Reynolds,” she says politely, as I plop myself down next to her.
“Melissa Lawrence,” I reply, forcing myself to return Dr. Sloane’s smile. I find myself wondering if Luke introduces himself as ‘Dr. Luke Carlton’ in social contexts. But maybe Dr. Sloane’s not trying to be obnoxious, she just wants me to know she’s qualified in case there’s a medical emergency.
“Who are you here to watch?”
I open my mouth to say Luke, because for so many years, it was him. Fortunately, I catch myself in time. “Austin Davenport.”
“Austin,” Sloane says, in a tone of voice that tells me she knows him.
Her impeccably plucked eyebrows rise slightly, and I can feel her gaze sweep down my body.
I’m wearing a puffer jacket, brand-new Banana Republic jeans (my pre-divorce pants still don’t fit), and sneakers.
I brushed my hair and put on some mascara, but after all, this is a hockey rink.
But I can tell Sloane doesn’t think I look like Austin’s usual type. She looks like she’s ready for a fashion show, in a tan cashmere coat, skinny jeans, and high-heeled boots. Even though she’s sitting down, I can tell she’s got legs for miles. Hell, they’d probably make a gazelle jealous.
I look down at the ice, trying to find the man I’m here to watch.
Fortunately, the jerseys have names on the back, or I wouldn’t have recognized Austin under all the equipment.
He plays right wing, and he must have played a lot of hockey growing up, because he’s one of the better players on the team.
Almost as good as Luke, who’s playing next to him as the center forward.
When the play stops on an offside call, Austin sees me in the stands. He gives me a wave and a wink, and Sloane notices.
“How long have you been together?” she asks.
“Oh, we’re not together,” I explain quickly. “He just invited me to come watch the game.”
“Oh.” I can tell Sloane’s curious about our relationship, and I can understand why. The fact I’m willing to spend an evening freezing my butt in a stinky arena suggests that if Austin and I aren’t already together, I certainly wish we were.
“Who are you here for?” I ask, hoping to redirect her.
“Luke Carlton.” Her lips curve upward into a little smile. “Do you know him?”
“We’ve met,” I say, fighting to keep my composure. This must be the woman who interrupted our phone conversation last night. The girl Luke was really waiting for.
I’d like to scratch her eyes out.
Instead, I force myself to take slow, deep breaths, and remind myself that I don’t care about Luke Carlton anymore. He and Sloane can ride off into the sunset together, and I won’t even notice. After all, I’m just here to watch Austin.
“Are you okay?” Sloane asks.
I glance up and see she’s looking at me with concern. If I don’t pull myself together, she’ll probably diagnose me with a mini-stroke or a panic attack. Or maybe acute jealousy.
“Yeah, fine.” I look down at her laptop. “What are you working on?”
Her face lights up. “Oh, Luke and I are doing a research project. We’re looking at the best way for doctors to introduce themselves.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah,” she says, with an enthusiastic nod. “See, I could introduce myself as Dr. Reynolds, which sounds really formal, or Dr. Sloane Reynolds, which is a little better. Or I could say I’m Dr. Reynolds, my first name is Sloane.”
“I see.” I don’t really see—I have a hard time believing patients care that much—but there’s no point arguing with Dr. Sloane.
“So we’re doing a trial on the three options. I’m in pediatrics and Luke’s a surgeon, but the research is relevant in both disciplines.”
“It sounds very interesting,” I lie politely.
“What do you do?”
“I’m a mom.” I don’t add that I’m also a math teacher, because it’s only a temporary gig.
“Oh, how nice,” Sloane replies.
Her tone is condescending, but I take the comment at face value. “Yeah, it is.” I glance down at the ice and see that Austin has a breakaway.
“Go Austin!” I scream, standing to clap. He feints to the right, then shoots the puck between the goalie’s legs.
“GOAL!” I yell enthusiastically. As one of the only two spectators in the arena, I’ve attracted the players’ attention. Austin takes off his glove and blows me a kiss, and his teammates look amused. All except Luke, that is, who’s refusing to look at me.
The game resumes, and a few minutes later, Luke gets a breakaway. There’s an opposing defenseman hot on his heels, and I hold my breath as he shoots—and misses. The defenseman collides with Luke, and the two of them hit the boards.
I let out a breath of relief as both players skate away, apparently unharmed.
“I wish Luke would stop playing hockey,” Sloane remarks. “It’s so violent.”
“Yeah, but he loves it. I mean, I imagine he must, or he wouldn’t bother.”
Sloane sighs. “Yeah, but a bad injury could end his career. After so many years of training, it would be tragic.”
“Yeah, but you could say that about NHL players too.”
Sloane’s brow furrows. She’s one of those irritating girls who look cute with a furrowed brow. “What do you mean?”
“Well, NHL players spend years playing hockey to make it to the NHL, and one bad injury could end a career.”
She laughs as though I’ve said something cute. “Yes, but hockey is their career. Luke’s a surgeon.”
It’s clear that she thinks surgeons belong to a higher stratosphere of society than the rest of us. Maybe even higher than NHL players.
“Statistically, he’s probably at higher risk of getting injured in a car crash than playing Men’s League Hockey.” I don’t actually know this, but it seems like something that might be true. When you think about it, it’s amazing that anyone dares to get in a car.
Sloane gives me a patronizing look. “If you’re not in medicine, it’s hard to understand.”
“Yeah, but Luke could wake up one day and realize he hasn’t done anything with his life other than be a surgeon. I think that would be a tragedy too.”
“I guess.” Sloane answers politely. I can tell she doesn’t agree, but she doesn’t think the argument is worth pursuing, and our conversation dies.
When the game ends, Sloane and I go down to meet the players as they walk off the ice.
“Melissa, you made it!” Austin says with a grin. He steps out of the line of players heading for the change room and walks over to me.
“You played really well, Austin.”
His grin broadens. “I scored a goal for you.”
“I saw.” A few feet away, Luke’s talking to Sloane, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.
“I guess I should go change,” Austin says. “I didn’t think this through, but this arena doesn’t have showers. I’d take you for pizza or something, but I’m pretty sweaty and I probably smell—”
“I don’t mind,” I say without thinking.
“Yeah?” Austin’s gaze heats, and I realize I’ve basically told him I like the smell of his sweat.
“Yeah, but I should get home,” I say quickly. “I left the kids with a new babysitter, and I’m a little anxious about it.”
It’s not a great excuse—I’m sure Grace is more than capable of handling my kids—but Austin seems to accept it.
“Sure,” he says. “But can I take you to dinner another time?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Luke and Sloane are still deep in conversation. As I watch, she takes a step closer, bringing her face within inches of Luke’s.
I turn back to Austin. “I could do dinner.”
He looks surprised that I gave in so easily. “This Saturday?”
This Saturday. In two days’ time. But my mother already invited the kids for a sleepover that night, and I don’t have other plans. There’s no reason to say no.
“Saturday’s good.”
“Great. Text me your address and I’ll pick you up. Seven o’clock?”
“Sure.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Austin says with a grin.
“Me too,” I say awkwardly. “Uh. Well. I guess I should let you get changed.”
“I guess,” he says reluctantly. “I’ll see you Saturday, Melissa.”