The Good Life

Chapter SIX



I called Allison when the plane landed so she could head over from the waiting lot to pick me up. All I had on me was my carry-on and large purse/tote so I was able to skip the luggage area and walk right out the door into the beautiful, warm, sunny day.

The passenger pick-up lane was a no-bullshit, hurry-the-f*ck-up kind of place that’s heavily enforced by big bouncer-type security guards. For that reason, there wasn’t any time for squeals and hugs when Allison pulled up. I ran to the back of her minivan and saw the decals on the back glass; a stick-figure family of five, plus one stick-dog and two stick-cats and what looked like a stick-hamster or possibly rat. I popped open the hatchback, threw in my as-big-as-the-airlines-allow carry-on and hopped in the front seat in a matter of about two seconds. She pulled away before I even had my seatbelt on. Then she squealed.

You know that sentimental saying about how you know you have a great friend when you can go months or even years without speaking and as soon as you see each other again it’s like no time has passed at all? That’s Allison and me. There’s never any stiff handshakes or awkward silences between us. There’s no reason for me to pretend around her either. She is not impressed with money or anything that it can buy.

Allison hasn’t changed much since I left. It has been over ten years since I lived in Michigan full-time and, while I felt twenty years older, she never seemed to age a day. With her naturally blonde hair in a messy ponytail (not the fake-messy look that takes an hour to achieve, but the actual I-don’t-give-a-crap ponytail which still managed to look just as good as the premeditated kind), and her hot pink sweatpants and white v-neck t-shirt, she was the same laid back, low-maintenance girl I’d known all my life. In New York, people spend so much time trying to achieve the look of someone who doesn’t care, but in Michigan, and with Allison especially, it’s genuine. She really doesn’t care. And it’s not in an arrogant way, either. She just thinks, or I guess I should say, she knows, there’s more to life than designer jeans.

After spending the better part of a decade trying to keep up with the Joneses, Allison was just what I needed to rehabilitate. I was ready to take a whole glass of her nonchalance and pour it all over me.

“The kids wanted to skip school today,” she said. “Since school’s almost over and they haven’t missed very much this year I said it was okay.” She said it in a whisper, like someone outside the vehicle might overhear and call CPS about the neglectful mom in the minivan who let her kids skip school just to pick someone up at the airport. “They’re so excited to see you. We all are.”

I kind of got that idea by the way the van was bouncing up and down from all of the excited antics going on in the back. The kids – Kayla, 12; Kenzie, 10; and Drew, 9 – all said hi to me and acted excited to see me for a good minute before their “normalness” kicked in. This included yelling, whining, physical abuse, arguing, kicks to the back of my seat and that really annoying game kids play where they repeat everything a person says. Ugh, it’s bad enough with one kid playing, but three at one time was the closest to torture I’d ever known. It was even worse than that Geology class I’d taken at UNC for an Earth Science credit. By the time we made it to Ann Arbor I couldn’t wait to bust out of the van. I was happy be back in their lives full-time, but I was going to have to start with part-time doses.

“We’ll be hanging out in the backyard all day, and we’re gonna grill some steaks and ribs for dinner,” Allison said. “We’d love for you to come over, but I know you’re probably anxious to get settled in.”

“Yeah,” I said, sounding less than enthused as she pulled into the driveway of my childhood home. “I should probably go in and get this part over with.”

She nodded and gave me a sympathetic smile. She totally got me. Hope is a great NYC friend to me, but there’s really nothing like a friend since childhood who knows every version of you. Allison knew the smart me, the silly me, the adventurous me, the married me … and she loved all of them unconditionally. It’s good to have someone who knows every important event in my life, the good and the bad, the triumphs and heartaches, the bad decisions and great times and just … everything

“Call if you change your mind. I’ll come get you,” she said.

“A barbeque sounds good,” I said, truthfully. Caleb and I never cooked on a grill at home. Unless you counted the George Foreman. “Come get me before you start cooking.”

“Great! I’ll see you tonight then. Invite the guys, too, if you want. It can be like a welcome home party!”

I hopped out of the minivan, grabbed my bag from the back and waved goodbye as Allison and her clan pulled away. Then I turned around and looked at the house I grew up in.

After our dinner in Southampton Thursday night, I had gone back to our hotel and called Adam to find out if he’d rented out the third bedroom yet. See, my dad, who had been a science professor at the University of Michigan for like, ever, had seen some research that made him believe he and my mom would live longer, healthier and happier lives if they moved to a warmer climate. At least that was the excuse they’d given to us. It could just be that they wanted to live in the sunshine on the ocean, and I can’t blame them for that. Either way, three years ago my dad gave up his tenure at U of M and transferred to a school in Fort Myers, Florida.

They were very happy there. Dad said the school was a lot more casual than U of M. He taught his classes in Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian print shirts and spent his weekends fishing and golfing. My mom had started yoga classes and met with a group of senior women several times a week to play Just Dance on Xbox Kinect. It’s funny because they are in their fifties and aren’t even old enough to qualify for some senior discounts, but they’re already fully embracing the lifestyle. Maybe that’s just the cycle of life. When you’re younger, you want to be older. When you get around my age, you want to be younger. And apparently when you are their age, you’re in a rush for your AARP membership.

Since the housing market in Michigan had been so crappy lately, and my parents didn’t want to lose a butt load of money by selling their house for dirt cheap, my brother, Adam, agreed to move in and handle the mortgage until the market picked up. Since Adam is a third-year surgical resident with an alarming amount of student loans to pay off, he can’t afford to make the mortgage payments on his own. What’s a guy to do in that situation? Rent out the other two bedrooms. In Ann Arbor, there is always someone looking to rent a room and they were willing to pay a nice amount, too, especially since the house was so close to campus.

I knew that one of his roommates had just graduated and moved out a few weeks ago so this divorce really came at a perfect time. Adam thought it was a great idea for me for move back and, compared to NYC, the rent was cheap enough that I’d be able to cover a whole year’s worth, plus utilities, with my 401k settlement. And I’d still have some left over for a used car.

I intended to get a job to save up enough money to start grad school next fall. Not this fall, but next fall, over a year from now. I’d done my research and gotten some information on the MSW programs at every university within fifty miles of Ann Arbor. And guess what – you’re supposed to apply for those things a year in advance. I missed the deadlines by a long shot. But I didn’t let that get me down. I would just register for some Continuing Education classes in the fall to freshen up my smarts a little. Or not. Whatever. I was trying hard to be carefree about this… kind of an oxymoron, huh?

I walked up the driveway and through the gate of the privacy fence to enter the backyard. Adam had hidden a key under one of the cushions of the patio chairs and I found it easily. I unlocked the French-style patio doors that led to the kitchen a bit apprehensively. I hadn’t been in the house since my parents had moved out because we’d spent the last few Christmases in NYC. I took a look around to see what my brother had done to the place. It was actually kind of impressive for a bunch of guys. The décor was modern and the place looked clean … and empty. I was glad there wasn’t anyone home. I kind of wanted a few minutes to settle in before I was forced into any uncomfortable reunions. No, Adam didn’t make me uncomfortable – he’s my brother. But the other roommate was another story. A long one.

Remember Jake? The Heimlich guy? He was the other roommate. And I should probably let you know that the bubblegum disaster of a first kiss wasn’t the last encounter between us.

During my junior year at UNC I fell hard and fast for a guy named Jim. He was a quiet and enigmatic kind of guy that drove me crazy in a good way. At least I thought it was a good way at the time. I was young and stupid and believed that trust was something a person was given automatically until they broke it, when really it should have been the other way around.

Jim was also a junior at UNC but he was a “local” who lived with his parents and commuted. Once we started dating, he spent the night at my apartment with me probably three or four nights a week. He had space in my closet and a toothbrush in the bathroom. We were practically living together. It was my first adult relationship, and I thought it would last forever.

Looking back, I’ve realized it was lust and not love that made me so crazy about him. Or just plain crazy, period. I felt like I needed him, like I was an addict and he was my methadone. It was unhealthy at best, but I didn’t know any better at the time. I thought all of the drama and fighting was normal. I thought I’d found something spectacular. In my head I had already planned our wedding, named our children and found us a house in Ann Arbor on a cozy cul-de-sac with a swing set and a sandbox in the backyard!

One night, during finals week, we were in my apartment. He was helping me pack for the summer and I was wondering how the heck I was going to live without him for three months and distracting myself by anticipating lots of passionate goodbye sex during the next few days.

Instead, passion came in the form of a pregnant chick nearly tearing my door down demanding to see her boyfriend. Long story short – on the nights he wasn’t with me, he wasn’t sleeping at his parents’ house. He was living with his girlfriend and her parents. She was eight months pregnant. And a senior in high school. And her name was Destiny. Oh, and he wasn’t even a student at UNC. He’d been making up a bunch of lies about his classes and even pretending to do homework. Truth was, he was a high-school dropout who worked as a custodian for the school – and NOT in a Good Will Hunting kind of way.

I was devastated. And I was angry. But even worse, I was embarrassed and ashamed and I felt like it was my fault for trusting someone without question like that. I was young and I didn’t know then how cruel people could be. But I learned. And that was one lesson I wouldn’t need repeated.

A few days later I drove myself home to Michigan in a rental car, and that was the beginning of the summer that will always be referred by me as The Summer of Jake and Roxie.

I got a job as a cocktail waitress at a hip bar that was popular with the college-aged crowd. It was called The Bar, as in Raising the Bar. It was supposed to be a classier version of a college bar. Anyway, Jake, who shared an apartment with my brother at the time, was a bartender there. Every night after my shift, I would sit at the bar to count my money and Jake would pour me a drink or two and then drive me home since my parents had finally given my POS Buick to the POS graveyard.

I would go home after work, cry myself to sleep over Jim’s betrayal, sleep in until past noon, mope around for a few hours and then go to work to start the cycle all over again. I was too depressed to even go shopping! I was making hundreds of dollars a night and wasn’t spending a dime. It was a sad excuse for a life, and I was growing tired of it. I needed something to keep my mind off of my battered ego and wounded heart. And just like having a drink in the morning when you wake up with a hangover eases the pain for a bit, hooking up with another guy after one guy hurts you is a bit of a heart bandage. So one night, when my brother was in Cleveland for the weekend with some of his friends, I got into Jake’s pick-up truck and asked him to take me to his place after work instead of mine.

“Are you fighting with your parents?” he asked curiously.

“No.” Leave it to Jake to need this spelled out for him.

“Did you leave your sheets in the washing machine? I’ve done that before.”

“No, Jake.” I stared straight ahead through the windshield and started to wonder if this was a bad idea. “It’s not that I don’t want to go to my house. It’s that I want to go home with you. Get it?”

“Umm …”

“Oh jeez,” I said, exasperated. “You’re being a buzz kill. Never mind. Just take me home.”

“No. We can go to my place.”

“Forget it.”

He turned to go toward his apartment instead of my house.

“I said forget it. Take me home.”

“I don’t want to,” he said. “You said you wanted to come home with me so that’s where we’re going.”

“It’s pointless now. You’ve ruined the moment.” As he turned onto his street I crossed my arms and stared out the passenger window feeling mortified that this conversation was even happening.

“You can’t blame me for ruining a moment I didn’t even know we were having. Let’s start over. Tell me to take you home with me again.”

He pulled into his apartment complex, found a parking spot and put the truck into park.

“I feel really stupid,” I said. “Can you please just forget this ever happened and take me home? There’s really no way to make the moment sexy again.”

He turned off the ignition. “I can make this sexy again.” He sounded confident, and he had good reason to. With his gorgeous brown eyes, messy-on-purpose dark hair, a body that spent just enough time at the gym without going overboard and a smile that could bring a girl to her knees, he could make anything sexy. But he didn’t know it, which made him even hotter to me.

He looked over at me, and I met his eyes for a second. He knew what I was coming over for and the look in his eyes let me know he was ready and willing to give me exactly what I wanted. That look alone was enough to make the moment sexy again.

“Will you take me home with you?” I asked again, suddenly feeling shy.

Jake got out of the truck and walked over to my side. He opened my door and met my eyes again, then reached across my waist to unbuckle my seat belt without ever looking away. He put his hands on my hips and turned my body towards him.

“I’ve been waiting to get this uniform off you all summer,” he said.

“Then what are you waiting for?” I asked.

Then he kissed me. And he was right. He could make it sexy again. It was a wonder we even made it into his apartment with clothes on. Hooking up with Jake was something I’d been fantasizing about since I was a teenager, and I was ready to get started right in the truck as not to waste any more time.

What happened when we did get upstairs to his apartment turned out to be the hottest night of my entire life up to that point. I woke up in the morning thinking he’d give me some blow-off and blame it on the alcohol but instead it turned out to be the hottest morning of my life. And after a few more hours of sleep and some leftover pizza, we went ahead and made it the hottest afternoon of my life, too.

I intended for it to be a one-time-thing, and that was why I didn’t mention it to anyone. We didn’t really need our coworkers or families trying to interfere. But there’s something about having a secret with someone; it really turns me on. And even though I was still wounded, I needed to have some kind of fun, and he seemed the perfect candidate for a rebound summer fling. I’d known him forever, and I knew for certain he was a good guy and not a total douchebag. I knew my heart was safe with him. I figured if I was going to fall in love with him, I would have already done so sometime in the last fifteen years. That’s why I called him my “safety guy.” The whole point of a safety net was to catch you when you fell. I fell. He caught me. But he wasn’t going to let me fall any further, which was exactly what I needed that summer.

Jake and I were great together. He was so different from Jim. Jim was a tortured soul who suffered from un-medicated bipolar disorder and needed to be babied all the time. He loved to live dangerously, and I liked to take care of him. I liked feeling needed. Jim was also super jealous and loved dramatic fight scenes so it seemed we were always having make-up sex.

Compared to that disaster, Jake was a breath of fresh air. There was no drama or jealousy or arguing (unless it was done on purpose, because let’s face it – make up sex is pretty fun). We just liked being around each other. It was really that simple. And we didn’t need to fight to have good sex. Have you ever worked with someone who you were sleeping with? It’s like eight hours of foreplay. And with him living with my brother, and me living with my parents, we really had to get creative to spend time alone, and that put the hotness factor off the charts. We’d sit at the dining room table and have dinner with my parents just fifteen minutes after he’d had his head up my skirt in the garage, and all we could think about was when we’d be alone again. And while I said that first night was the hottest night, it got even better every time. The Summer of Jake and Roxie – it was the best summer of my life.

We both knew it was just a summer thing. I figured as soon as our families, friends and coworkers found out about us and we were no longer keeping a secret, things wouldn’t be as hot anymore. And once you took the hotness factor out of the equation, what would we have left besides something that would die a slow death in front of the TV and ruin a lifelong friendship? I didn’t want to stick around to find out and watch the best thing that ever happened to me turn into something bad. So even though I could have probably happily spent an entire lifetime in his bed, we cut things off cold turkey at the end of the summer. He said he didn’t think a long-distance relationship would work. I agreed with him. Then I went back to school, met Caleb a few months later and never looked back.

We didn’t leave things on bad terms or anything, but there was really no reason for us to keep in touch. I’d been back home to visit several times since then, but our paths just hadn’t crossed. I did invite him to my wedding because, like I said before, he was practically a member of the family. It would have been a lot weirder to not invite him. But he had other plans that night and couldn’t make it, which was a shame because I really would have liked him to be there. I looked for him the whole night, hoping he’d change his mind and show up. I don’t know why I cared so much. Maybe I was secretly hoping for him to run in all out of breath in typical rom-com style, tell me he loved me and hadn’t stopped thinking about me since last summer, and I shouldn’t marry Caleb. Or maybe it wasn’t a secret hope, but a very conscious one. Either way, it didn’t happen, and it was probably for the best because I might have told him I loved him, too, and ran into his arms and spent the rest of my life in fear of the day his teenage pregnant girlfriend would knock down our door. If anyone could hurt me more than Jim, it was Jake. And what a life that would have been, to be so happy, yet always looking over my shoulder and waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me. Ugh.

“Roxie.”

The sound of his voice behind me caused a stir in my belly like someone had lit a stick of dynamite in there. Or make that two sticks of dynamite. One burned upward toward my heart, the other burned down. It’s funny how a sound can work like a time machine and take a person back to the past.

I stood in the kitchen next to the island, still holding my carry-on bag. He must have come inside the patio doors behind me. Though where he was coming from this early in the day I did not know. I probably didn’t want to know.

I figured I was as prepared for this moment as I’d ever be, and it was best to get it over with as soon as possible. I turned around.

There he was, no longer a punk kid in a baseball cap who looked like he might crush a beer can on his forehead, but a grown up. He had the Adam Levine stubble look going on, and his hair was shorter and no longer had that slept-in look. But there was still enough there for me to tangle my hands in – not that I had any reason to do that and not saying I wanted to – just saying I could.

He had on faded jeans and an un-tucked short-sleeve button-up shirt that hid all of his tattoos except the ones on his forearms. He had a fancy DSLR camera hanging from a thick strap around his neck. Is there something about a guy with a camera that is incredibly hot? And how about tattoos on the underside of the forearm? And how bad of a person was I to be thinking anything was hot just four hours after leaving my marital home?

Just because we hadn’t seen each other or spoken in years didn’t mean I hadn’t kept tabs on him. I was his Facebook friend so I did know a little about what went on in his life. I knew he was still tending bar part-time at The Bar. I knew the owner had tried to make him manager several times but Jake didn’t want to give his whole life to the place because he needed time to pursue a career in photography. He had established a pretty successful company over the last few years doing every kind of portraits imaginable … except weddings. Adam told me it was because he didn’t have the patience for that Bridezilla behavior, and who could blame him? Even the nicest girls turn into some crazy ass bitches on their wedding days. By the way, I know everyone who can afford a good camera is now starting a photography business these days, but let me be clear about one thing – he is legit. His pictures have been published in magazines and websites, and his business page on Facebook has over 3000 fans.

He stood there, his face expressionless. Not angry, not happy, not bored – a complete poker face. I had a feeling he was waiting to see how I would play this. My intention had been to wait on him to make the first move. But somebody was going to have to show their cards before this standoff became uncomfortable for both of us.

What’s it gonna be? I could give him a casual shrug of the shoulder and an “Oh, hi. I forgot you lived here.” I could go one step further into idiocy and say, “Oh, hi. Jake, right?” I could give him the cold shoulder and make sure he never went out of his way to speak to me again. Or, instead of playing games and worrying about what he was thinking, I could do what I’d normally do when I ran into an old friend who had at one time meant a lot to me. I could smile and be happy to see him. So I did.

“Jake! It’s so good to see you!” I said. And I meant it.

He smiled back at me and looked relieved. Wow, that smile, it had gotten better with age. I almost fell right there onto the kitchen floor.

“Roxie,” he said again. “How are ya, Little Girl?” He’d been calling me that since I was actually a little girl. I hadn’t heard him say it in so many years I’d forgotten all about it.

“Um, okay,” I said. What a brilliant conversationalist I was! Of all the things he could possibly say to me, “How are you?” was on top of the list. I’d been on a plane for two hours imagining this very moment, and I thought I had written a line for every comment he could possibly make, but for some reason, the answer to a simple “How are you?” had slipped through the cracks. I was definitely losing my touch. I would never make it in Hollywood.

He took his camera off his neck and set it on the kitchen island – the same kitchen island we’d had sex on one night after work while my parents were sleeping upstairs. I wondered if he ever thought about that night when he was in the kitchen, or if he even remembered. Probably not. I doubted I had made the kind of impact that would have him remembering any part of that summer after all this time. To him, I was just another girl.

“From what I hear it’s probably for the best,” he said. There was a softness to his voice that sounded empathetic. Sympathy would have been humiliating. Smugness would have been aggravating. But empathy I would take.

“I just came by to change before work,” he explained. “I have to work open to close today at The Bar. I usually only go in on Friday and Saturday nights, but they’ve got someone down with mono so I’ll be filling in all week.”

I smiled and nodded. The smile and nod. Works in almost every situation. Except when you’re being interrogated by the police and they ask if you’re guilty.

“I know you don’t have a car here so if you ever need to use my Jeep you can just drop me off at work. And don’t go looking for a car without me, okay? I’ll come with you to make sure you don’t get screwed over.”

That was nice. Some women would have been insulted and gone on a feministic rant over the last comment. But he was right. If anyone was going to be screwed over by a used car salesman, it was me.

“Wow, thanks so much,” I said. “That’s so nice of you.” Like totally. Oh Em Gee, I sounded like some bimbo on an eighties sitcom! What a disgrace.

“Do you need it tonight?” he asked. “We don’t usually keep a lot of groceries around. Adam is hardly ever here, and he eats most of his meals at the cafeteria.” He ran his fingers through his hair – a habit I knew meant he was nervous. “I picked up some mac-n-cheese and Cinnamon Toast Crunch last night. I don’t know if you still like them, but I wanted to make sure you had something to eat if you were here without a car.”

There goes that stick of dynamite making my heart burn. Cinnamon Toast Crunch was not only my favorite cereal but my favorite food period. I didn’t pause to think about it. I didn’t mentally go over any and all possible results of my actions. I just did it. I hugged him. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressed my cheek against his chest and breathed in his familiar smell that was like a mixture of dryer sheets and Tide.

“I still love them,” I said about the foods he’d picked out for me.

He clearly didn’t have any dynamite in his chest because he kind of held his arms out in front of him like he didn’t want to touch me and then patted me on top my head.

I pulled away, embarrassed, and mentally scolded myself for acting before thinking. “Thanks,” I said, “but I’ll be fine. I’m having dinner at Allison’s tonight.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go change and then head out. I’ll see you later.”

It wasn’t my best and brightest moment, but I was glad it was over.

I walked upstairs to the spare bedroom – the bedroom that had been mine for the first twenty-two years of my life – and found it completely empty. That was fine with me. I liked a fresh, clean start. I had ordered a bedroom set online over the weekend that would be delivered this afternoon sometime between noon and four.

I peeked through the blinds at the pool in the backyard. It looked so welcoming. Too bad I didn’t think to pack a swimsuit in my carry-on. I remembered the Good Life List then and pulled it out of my handbag to review my quests. Skinny-dipping in your own pool was not on the list but nude sunbathing was. Maybe I should go ahead and work on my tan and the GLL. I looked at my Blackberry to check the time. It was 11:10. I had fifty minutes before the earliest my furniture would arrive. Those people never showed up in the beginning of the time slot anyway.

I stripped, wrapped myself up in a towel I found in the linen closet and headed downstairs quickly. I knew I needed to hurry before I lost my nerve. There was a privacy fence in the backyard so the only way anyone could see me would be if a neighbor was looking out of an upstairs window, and I figured that was probably unlikely. The kids were at school this time of day and the adults were at work.

I sunbathed in the nude! I did fifteen minutes on my back and fifteen minutes on my belly. I had carried my sundress down with me in case of emergency and kept it within arm’s reach at all times, but I never even reached for it. I felt really proud of myself. Proud and hot! It felt like it was at least ninety degrees out – (Yes, it does get hot in Michigan.).

I checked the time on my phone again. I figured I still had time for a quick swim to cool off. Since the pool was only two steps from my chair I stood up and jumped in. And, in case you were wondering, it felt great! I’d been here less than two hours and already crossed off one quest on the GLL. This was going to be the best summer ever!

I laid back and floated in the pool with my hands behind my head, smugly. Roxie Golightly, living the good life.