Jennifer Greene: Yours, Mine & Ours

She turned the volume off the phone, switched off the light in the kitchen. She wanted a shower, to shake off the dirt of this terrible day. She wanted a glass of something alcoholic, too, but couldn’t work up enough ambition to actually get it.

Feeling boneless-tired, she sank into the blue chair in the living room and leaned forward with her head in her hands.

Most women she knew felt destroyed by a divorce. Maybe she’d been there, too, but she’d tried to see it as an opportunity to build herself into a better woman. A stronger woman. The kind of competent woman who wouldn’t just let bad things happen to her because she wasn’t strong enough to face the facts.

Well. She’d faced some facts this afternoon.

She’d failed to protect her daughter.

The only job in the universe that mattered.

She felt a claw on her ankle, sighed, and lifted Darling to her lap. A heap of purring fur leaped to the top of the chair and then delicately tried to wind herself like a scarf around Amanda’s neck. She loved both pets. Hugely. And they were overdue attention today, but just then, all she wanted was some nice, long, wallowing silence.

Somehow, someway, she had to get up the next morning.

Somehow, someway, she had to find a way to say the right maternal things to Molly.

Somehow, someway, she had to find a way to believe she hadn’t failed in everything that mattered to her.

“Hey. I knocked. But I wasn’t sure if you heard me…and the back door wasn’t locked…”

Her head shot up. The last person she expected to see was Mike, much less standing in the arch of her kitchen, holding a two-inch kitty-cat purse. The purse looked downright funny, hanging from the beefy wrist of a six-foot-two hunk.

More to the point, she’d assumed he’d be comatose by now, after dealing with two four-year-olds for most of the day. For sure he was wearing torn old jeans and a tee that looked as if it lost a wrestling match-it was that wrinkled and ragged. But he wasn’t.

He looked like the Mike she’d fallen in love with. Brash and unbrushed, a smile as natural as sunshine, that easy, earthy way of moving that was so purely male. It wasn’t hard to imagine him fighting down and dirty. It was easy to imagine him cleaned up, in a navy suit and white shirt, fighting to win with a forceful presence, and slow, quiet words. It was just as easy to imagine him being there, through thick and thin, no minor irritation like earthquakes or avalanches keeping him from those he loved.

He was just a bigger-than-life kind of guy. It wasn’t his fault.

But she wasn’t going to be on the list of loved ones he dug through those avalanches for. As often as she remembered the night they made love, she winced every time her heart replayed the messy hurts that showed up the next day.

And faster than pride, she straightened. Possibly she couldn’t find another fake smile today to save her life, but she tried for a normal, pleasant expression. “Aw, Mike, I’m sorry you went to the trouble. You didn’t have to bring over Molly’s purse. We’d have gotten it tomorrow.”

“Yeah, right. I’ve spent one-on-one time with Molly now. Once she realized she’d forgotten something as important as this-” he carefully removed the purse from his wrist and set it on the couch “-I figured there’d be hell to pay for someone. I didn’t want it to be me.”

She still couldn’t smile, but darn it, almost. “Uh-oh. Am I sensing she was a tad difficult this afternoon?”

“Are you kidding? She was perfect. I’m in love with her. She is absolutely honest. Just says everything like it is. That was cool,” he said, as if they were starting another conversation, “about the two jelly beans in the purse.”

“What? Oh. Yes. I told her, one for Teddy, one for her. I figured they’d be a conversation breaker when she first came over-”

“Great thinking, Mom. It really worked. And in the meantime…” From behind his back, he produced a sturdy box with fancy lettering. “I had something to celebrate. Had a bottle of Talisker hidden away for the past couple of years, needed an excuse to bring it out. Share a glass with me?”

“Thanks, Mike, but no. Honestly, I’m half asleep. Just really, really tired-”

“Just one short glass.”

“I’d like to, really, but just not tonight-”

It was like talking to a brick wall. Maybe he didn’t hear her, because he went into her kitchen and returned with two glasses. And maybe he couldn’t see her shaking her head.

“Very short. I promise,” he said genially, not looking at her face, just gathering the box, the glasses, some paper towels for napkins, and then settling-not on the couch or other chairs-but on the ottoman right in front of her. “You hold the glasses, okay? It’ll take me a minute to get this open.”

It was going to take him longer, because Darling leaped off Amanda’s lap and headed for Molly’s room. Princess, on the other hand, decided she’d rather sit on Mike’s lap than hers.

She loved them. But just then she wasn’t up for the cuteness of pets, or Mike this close, or Mike here at all. She’d put on a strong face all day. For Molly, she could do that. But for Mike…she wasn’t sure she could fake anything with Mike.

He didn’t act as if he noticed anything wrong. Just kept talking. “This cat has more fur than a coat. And I thought she was a kitten. You’re turning into a little white pumpkin, aren’t you…? Teddy’s at my parents’. His first overnight. It’s a big deal. He’s been afraid to be away from me at night ever since the divorce. Had nightmares when we’ve tried it. But…out of the blue, he said he wanted to, so I called them up…and they both leaped at the idea. I’ll be glued to a cell phone all night, but hoping it’ll work out okay.”

“Is that what you wanted to celebrate?”

“No, not that. I’m up for celebrating that another time-assuming he makes it all night without my being called to come get him. Okay, here you go…” He’d opened the blue box, produced the bottle and opened it, all without making the purring machine on his lap even budge. He poured equal amounts in two glasses, just filling them halfway, and handed her one, but with a caution.

“Now, this isn’t a drinking drink. It’s a sipping drink. A slow-sip-and-savor drink. The only place this is made is on the Isle of Skye. Aged ten years plus. And there’s no talking or discussion when you take your first slow sip. You just close your eyes and let it happen.”

He wasn’t talking fast; he just kept on talking in that slow, easy way of his. She couldn’t get a word in, much less an objection. She gave up, accepted the glass, and just figured she’d finish the drink quickly and then coax him to go home.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

She lowered the glass at his admonition, saw his grin.

“You don’t drink this without a toast.” He lifted his glass to hers, clinked. “To parents of four-year olds.”

“Good one.” Again she lifted the glass, but before it reached her lips, the scent hit her nose. “Hold on. What is this?”

“Scotland’s most famous single malt.”

“You mean, whiskey?”

He shot her a glower. “When you speak of Talisker, you speak in reverent tone and terms. It’s Scotch whiskey. You’ve never had it?”

“Actually, no. I’m usually a wine girl. Not that I haven’t had a mint julep or Manhattan at a party sometimes, but-”

“Okay. Another toast.” He clinked her glass again. “To virgin Talisker tasters.”

“Mike. You’re acting awfully goofy tonight.”

“Uh-huh. Taste.”

She took a slow, careful sip. Initially the liquid felt soft and smooth on her tongue, interesting, different…but that was before the fire. Flames shot internally straight to the top of her brain. Smoke whooshed out her nose, throat and possibly her ears. Embers drizzled down her esophagus. Tears welled in her eyes. Her entire living room blurred, tilted sideways.