Nicholas Sparks - Two by Two

“You didn’t tell me that you took the training wheels off her bike today. And that by riding her bike, you meant actually riding her bike.”

“Sorry about that,” I said. “I thought you understood.”

“How was I supposed to know what you meant? You weren’t very clear.”

“Are you upset?”

“Yes, I’m upset. Why wouldn’t I be upset?”

“I’m not sure why you would be.”

“Because I wasn’t there. Did it ever cross your mind that I might have liked to have seen London riding her bike for the first time?”

“She’s still just a beginner. She can’t do the turns yet without tipping over.”

“So? The issue is that you went ahead and taught her to ride a bike without me. Why didn’t you wait until I got home?”

“I didn’t think about it.”

She grabbed a dish towel and began drying her hands. “That’s exactly your problem, Russ. You do this every time. Our whole life has always been about what you wanted.”

“That’s not true,” I protested. “And how was I supposed to know you’d even want to watch? You didn’t want the bike in the first place.”

“Of course I wanted London to have a bike! Why would you think that? I’m the one who bought it for her for Christmas.”

I stared at her, thinking, I had to drag you to the store. Did she really not remember it that way? Or was I going crazy?

As I pondered the question, she turned to leave. “Where are you going?” I asked.

“London needs a bath,” she said. “You don’t mind if I spend a little time with my daughter, do you?”

She left the kitchen, her words ricocheting in my mind.

My daughter?

After London went to bed, Vivian and I sat on the couch, the television tuned to the Food Network. Vivian was sipping a glass of wine. I thought again about bringing up the day care issue, but I wasn’t sure whether or not she still angry about the bike riding incident. Her eyes flicked toward me with a quick smile, then back to her magazine. Better than being ignored, I supposed.

“Hey Viv?” I asked.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry you missed watching London’s first bike ride. I really didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

She seemed to consider my words and I watched her shoulders drop slightly.

“It’s all right. I just wish I had been there to see it. I hate that I wasn’t.”

“I understand that. I’ve missed a lot of firsts over the years, too.”

“But you’re not her mom. It’s different for mothers.”

“I guess so,” I said, not completely sure about that. But there was no need to point that out.

“Maybe tomorrow night, you can show me,” she said, her voice soft, and I saw the Vivian that I’d fallen for so many years ago. It was uncanny, how my wife never seemed to age.

“I’m glad your event went off without a hitch. I’ll bet you already have your boss eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“Walter doesn’t eat out of anyone’s hand.”

“How’s next week shaping up?”

“I’ll find out more tomorrow. I might have another overnight on Wednesday.”

“Another fund-raiser?”

“No. This time it’s a trip to D.C. And I know London’s going to be upset again. It makes me feel like an awful mother.”

“You’re not awful. And London knows you love her.”

“But it’s her last summer before kindergarten, and she probably feels like I’ve abandoned her. She needs stability and right now, she’s not getting it.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“I know you are. She told me that she likes spending time with you, but that it’s weird.”

“She said it’s weird for her?”

“You know what she means. She’s just used to me, that’s all. It’s been a big change for her. You know that.”

“I still don’t like the word weird .”

“She’s a child. She doesn’t have a huge vocabulary. No big deal. You ready to hit the bedroom? We can put on the TV and relax.”

“Are you making a pass at me?”

“Maybe.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“How about I finish my glass of wine first.”

I smiled, and later, when our bodies were intertwined, I found myself thinking that as hard as the previous week had been, it ended in an absolutely perfect way.

A few years ago, when feeling nostalgic, I reflected on some of the most meaningful days of my life. I recalled my high school and college graduations, the day I proposed and my wedding day, and of course, the day that London was born. And yet, none of those moments had been surprises, because I’d known they were coming.

I also recalled the memorable firsts of my own life, just as I recalled those firsts with London. My first kiss, the first time I slept with a woman, my first beer, and the first time my dad let me slide behind the wheel of a car. I remembered my first real paycheck and the near reverential feeling I had as I walked through the first home I’d purchased.

And yet, there were other priceless memories, memories that were neither first nor expected, but perfect in their spontaneous joy. Once, when I was a kid, my dad shook me awake in the middle of the night and brought me outside to watch a meteor shower. He’d laid a towel on the grass and as we stared up at the sky, watching trails of white racing across the sky, I sensed in the excited way he would point them out the love he felt for me, but so often had trouble expressing. I remembered the time that Marge and I stayed up all night laughing and giggling as we devoured an entire bag of chocolate chip cookies, the first night I really understood that she and I would always have each other. I thought back to the evening when my mom, after two glasses of wine, spoke about her own childhood in a way that allowed me to see her as the child she once was, someone I could have imagined as a friend.

Those moments have stayed with me forever, partly because of their simplicity, but also because they were revelatory. Nor were they ever quite repeated, and I can’t shake the thought that if I ever tried to replicate them, the original memories would slip through my fingers like sand, lessening the hold I have on them now.

On Monday morning Vivian was out the door at half past seven, carrying with her a duffel bag. “I want to squeeze in a workout if I can,” she said. “I feel like I’m getting softer by the minute.”

London and I followed a few minutes later, dressed in shorts and T-shirts. We were heading to the club for my daughter’s first tennis lesson, and when I saw men dressed in ties on the road beside me, I felt like I’d been kicked out of the only club where I’d ever wanted to be a member. Without work, I felt like I’d lost a major part of my identity, and if I didn’t turn it around, I was going to lose myself entirely.

Time for more cold calls.

As soon as I parked the car, London spotted some girls from the neighborhood and skipped toward them onto the court. I made my way to the bleachers with a pad of paper and typed the words plastic surgeons into the search engine of my phone. Like attorneys, they were an area that Peters avoided-he considered them prima donnas and cheapskates-but my thinking was that doctors had money and the intelligence to understand how advertising could benefit their practice. There were a number of them in the Charlotte area divided among various offices-a good sign-and I began experimenting with a few opening lines, hoping to find just the right combination of words to keep the office manager-or the doctor, if I got that lucky-on the phone long enough to get interested enough to set an appointment.