The Bar and Grill Pt. 03

Visibly pissed, I went and opened the door.

"Merry Christmas," she said, trying to smile. She leaned up to kiss me, but I dodged her efforts.

"Sorry," she said. "It's just that, being Christmas and all-- "

"Merry Christmas," I said. "What do you want?"

She looked around the house. Ernie was on the sofa, his eyes on her but otherwise ignoring her. My pathetic Charley Brown Christmas tree was glowing in the corner, and Christmas music was playing on the stereo. Johnny Mathis singing "O Holy Night."

She looked at me, starting to unzip her jacket. She looked a combination of sad and uncomfortable.

"You didn't call me back," she said.

"No," I said, enjoying her discomfort and making no move to take her jacket. "I didn't."

"I was hoping that-- "

"Where are the girls?" I interrupted.

"With Steve. I had them last night and this morning. Dropped them off with him for the rest of the day."

Her eyes were pleading with me to make this a bit easier. Call me what you will, pussy whipped loser or the Spirit of Christmas Present, but the eyes got to me. I took her coat, threw it over the back of the love seat, and waved her into the living room.

Seated back on the couch, I resumed wrapping presents when she spoke.

"It didn't work, you know," she said. "Me and Steve."

I was tying a ribbon around a stack of Disney DVDs for Alistair, not really in the mood to say anything in response. She needed to get something off her chest, let her do the talking.

See? I didn't go totally soft here.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she said. She was sniffling, the sign that tears weren't far away.

I slid Alistair's presents to the side and looked up at her.

"What do you want me to say?" I said. "I'm sorry for you? You and the girls? I am, okay? I'm sorry your marriage with Steve failed. Again."

"I want you to say you'll give us another chance," she said, the tears now welling up in her eyes.

"I was more than willing to give us a chance," I said. "It was you who never gave us a chance. Instead, you decided to give your ex-husband another chance without really giving us--giving me--a chance. Instead of making yourself happy with me, you decided to toss me away and give him the chance."

"It wasn't like that," she pleaded, the tears now spilling over and streaming down her face.

Emotions swept through me. I really didn't need this on Christmas morning, and it pissed me off that she'd shown up unannounced on this of all mornings to force the issue. On the other hand, I felt for her. She'd made a mash of things, and now she was paying the piper. Most of all, though, I just felt plain tired. I'd been beating myself up for months over the divorce, over her leaving me to go back with Steve and re-make her family.

"Let's be honest here," I said, my frustration coming through. "What we had really wasn't that good. Why the hell would you want to come back to it?"

She looked like I'd slapped her. "What do you mean?" she protested. "We were happy. Everything was great."

"Yeah. Great. So long as I put up with your shit and with the girls' shit. So long as I was always there to give you everything you wanted and needed and stayed out of the picture when you were busy pining for your lost love."

"It wasn't like that," she said, anger flashing in her eyes. "I loved you. I still love you. And-- "

"But not enough to give us a real chance," I argued. "Not enough to put aside your first husband and concentrate on me. Not enough to make your girls actually treat me with a little bit of respect in my own fucking home."

"I told you: They're angry and confused."

"And what did you ever do to help them not be angry and confused? They got to sit here and see you constantly feeling guilty about Steve, constantly apologizing to them for me actually trying to make them listen and behave and do their homework and shit."

"It's not that simple."

"Bullshit," I yelled.

Nina jumped in surprise and a touch of fear. In all our years together, I could count on one hand the times I'd raised my voice. Now, though, my fatigue at her denials was turning to anger.

"Will you listen to yourself?" I pressed. "Your whole goddamned notion of how good we were rests on how good it was around here for you and the girls. Fuck me. You could care less how it was for me."

"That's not true," she said.

"The hell it's not. Tell me one thing about how it was good for me."

My eyes flashed, daring her to come up with something. When she said nothing, I continued.

"You thought so fucking little of me that you decided to move out and back with Steve without giving me the courtesy of even telling me. And now that your little dream turned into a nightmare, now that it didn't come true, you want to come back here and just move back in and act as if nothing's happened. Like I should just suck it up and go back to kissing your ass."

"You didn't even fight me on it," she said, half anger and half sorrow. "Maybe if you'd tried."

"Then nothing would have changed. You'd have still moved back and I'd have felt even shittier about it. No thanks."

"So I wasn't worth fighting over?"

"Not after you went on dates with him while I was babysitting for you. Not then you weren't."

She said nothing, and I let my anger cool as I reached over and slid the jewelry box in front of me.

"Who's that for?" she said, seeing the stamp of Lorenz Jewelers on the box.

I looked at her, then back to the box in front of me. My answer was automatic, and even surprised me a little.

"Someone special," I said.

"Do you love her?"

I picked up the box and flipped it open, looking at the small gold bracelet within.

"Don't really know her yet."

"Do I know her?"

I shook my head.

"So maybe we've still got a chance?"

I shot a look at Nina in response to this.

"I'm just saying," she said. "You maybe haven't found anyone yet. Maybe you'll just, I don't know, consider dating for awhile? Give us a chance at having a real relationship."

I flipped the box shut with a clap and reached for the wrapping paper.

"Please?" Nina whispered.

"No," I said, cutting off a strip of paper big enough to wrap the bracelet in. "There's no chance."

"Can you tell me why?"

I didn't look at her, concentrating on the wrapping.

"Please tell me?"

"You remarried him," I said, trimming the paper and taping it before reaching for the ribbon. "We weren't divorced three weeks and you were remarried. Like you couldn't wait to replace me. Here I am, my whole life falling apart with no one, and there you are. Remarried before the ink dried on the divorce decree."

"But I . . . . We were . . . . You knew what was going on."

"What happened?" I asked. "Why did it fall apart this time? You start cheating again?"

Okay, that was unnecessarily mean. The shock on her face told me she thought so, too. I was tiring of this, though, and wanted to make my feelings plain. In short, maybe if I'm a big enough asshole she'll leave me alone.

Nina settled down, though, knowing she couldn't get through to me if she got pissed or stormed off.

"Well?" I pressed.

"It was real good at first," she said. "The girls were happy. Happier than they'd been in ages. And Steve and I were getting along real well. Not as happy as we were--you and I--but getting back into the groove of things. But as the day of the divorce neared, he started getting angry. He'd snap at little things, be angry for no real reason. Mostly at me, at first, but then at be and the girls."

She stood and walked to the window, looking at the snow blanketing the back yard as she continued. I put the present aside and watched her as she continued.

"I just thought it was nerves at first. You know, like he couldn't wait for the divorce to be over so I'd officially be his again."

She turned and looked at me. "And sure enough, he settled down once the divorce was granted. I was pretty relieved, like maybe everything was behind us and we could get on with our lives."

She looked back out the window now, avoiding my gaze.

"Then he came home about a week later and said we needed to get married. If we were going to really give it a shot again, we needed to be married. He wasn't going to just have me running off like Brenda did. He wanted us officially together. I tried to tell him no, it was too soon, but he insisted. And he told the girls. They were all excited, and so was he. Like they were making the plans without me. So I went along with it. 'What the hell,' I thought. It was, after all, why I'd left you. So I could get married again to Steve."

"So it was his idea that you get remarried so soon?" I said.

She nodded. "And we did. And then it started again, only different this time. It started with our . . . well, in the bedroom. Steve's not like you. You're all wild and excited and rambunctious, like a kid in a candy story every time. Steve's different. Sometimes he's slow and methodical, patient, tender. Other times, he's aggressive and in control."

She looked at me and caught the look on my face.

"Kid in a candy store?" I said.

She smiled. "Trust me," she replied. "That's a compliment. The way you are, I always knew I turned you on. It made me feel pretty and sexy and loved."

"But he's tender and romantic?"

"You're both romantic," she flustered. "Just in different ways. Your's was a mix. There was always tender, but it was mixed in with everything else, you know?"

I didn't, but I didn't really want to hear about it any more, either.

"So anyway," she continued, looking back out the window, "the tender and romantic disappeared altogether. Every time we . . . . He was aggressive. Every time. Quick, to the point. It was angry. When you've been with someone long enough, enough times, you know. And he was angry, using our bedroom to take out that anger on me."

She turned to look at me, then walked back to the couch. She was reliving the re-collapse of her remarriage, and it was visibly taking its toll.

"Then the anger started again, at both me and the girls. When I tried to talk to him about it, he told me to get over it. He wouldn't talk. When he would talk, he'd say things like, 'What's wrong? Leaving me again?' Stuff like that."

Nina brushed some tears from her face.

"Then, about a month ago, while the girls were with my folks, we had it out. And he told me I was a useless cunt. I'd cheated on him and destroyed our marriage. When I told him I was sorry, that we were together again now and I wouldn't do it again, he called me a fucking liar. Said I'd done the same thing to you I'd done to him, so how could he trust me. He'd trusted me once and I'd ruined it. You'd trusted me once and I'd shit all over you. Now I expected him to trust me again, but I hadn't really changed."

She fixed me with her eyes, her face earnest. "That's when I knew I'd been a fool. That's when I really saw how bad I'd treated you and given up my best shot--and the girls' best shot--at a really happy, loving family. Steve and I, we'd never be a loving family again. You, though, you were the one who gave me happiness."

"Bingo, Nina," I snapped. "I gave you happiness. I gave the girls happiness. You could give a shit whether any of you actually gave me any happiness."

"But Tim," she pleaded, "we were so good together. Even you have to admit it."

"Were, Nina," I said. "Past tense. That's over now. Water under the bridge. Don't you see that?"

She shook her head. "No, Tim, not past tense. We can be happy again. All of us. Don't you see? You're not Steve. You can forgive. I've seen it in you. You're patient and caring and loving. You know why I did this, and it wasn't to hurt you. You know that."

"But it did hurt me," I said. "Intentions don't count. Actions count. And you ripped my heart out without a thought."

"But I did think about you. I did hurt. You think I wanted to hurt you?"

I shook my head. "No, you didn't want to hurt me. That wasn't your goal. But you damned well knew when you went back to him that it would hurt me, and it didn't stop you. Hell, if you shoot a machine gun off in a crowd, you may not intend to hit anyone, but you should damned well know that you will, right?"

Just then the buzzer went off on the stove, telling me my sweet peppers were done.

I stood, looking down at her. "Sorry, Nina. You just can't take some things back. Sometimes when you break something, it just stays broken."

I went into the kitchen and took the peppers from the oven. I heard Nina's footsteps following me.

"But you won't even try, Tim? You won't even try to fix it?"

I busied myself pulling antipasto ingredients from the refrigerator and arranging them all on a platter. Prosciuto, capicolla, shavings of Parmigiano Reggiano and Pecorino Romano, marinated olives and mushrooms, meatballs, and sweet peppers. I spoke as I worked.

"Didn't you learn your lesson yet, Nina? You and Steve got divorced and you married me. Then you left me and married Steve. That didn't work out because too much had happened. And now you're looking to come back and remarry me? After all that's now happened in the last six, seven months?"

I looked at her as I placed the finished platter on the counter in front of me.

"That's one merry-go-round I'm not interested in getting back on again, okay?" I said.

Her lips quivered as she held back her tears.

"Please?"

I shook my head.

"Sorry, but I'm not the same Tim you left seven months ago. I'm the new Tim. The Tim that wants someone who puts Tim toward the front of their list."

I got out the huge, fancy ice cream maker to start freezing the pumpkin pie ice cream. (Quick aside, but you really need to close your eyes and just savor the thought of a spicy pumpkin ice cream with chunks of gingersnap crusts. Sounds really, really good, doesn't it? Trust me, it is.)

"I've changed, Nina," I continued as she started crying. "I forgave you a lot while we were married. I was content then with being second fiddle. But I'm not content now. I'm not someone's second fiddle. Not to their children and definitely not to their dreams. Don't get me wrong. I expect the children to come first, but not to the degree they did when we were together. Not to the point where my needs and feelings--my self-respect, for Chrissake--are totally ignored."

I poured the chilled pumpkin custard ice cream base into the machine and flipped it on to churn. That done, I walked back to the living room, standing there as Nina followed me in looking all hang dog.

"I'm sorry," I continued. "I really would like to have given you a better Christmas present here. But you're asking for one present I'm not giving you again."

She nodded through her tears.

"I'm sorry, too," Nina said. "I just wish you'd give me another chance. At least think about it."

"Wishing won't make it so," I said.

Nina bundled back up in her jacket and scarf. She looked tiny and fragile, her eyes red with crying and her lips trembling as she tried to hold her emotions in check.

I wanted to take her into my arms. Swear to God, I forgot everything I'd said over the past half hour and just wanted to comfort her and tell her it would be all right.

She placed her hand on the door knob, then turned to me one last time with hope in her face. I felt the pull, felt my body wanting to go to her, but I remained frozen in place.

"Merry Christmas," she said, and was gone.

TWENTY-SIX

Nicole and Alistair moved in on New Year's Day. It was the easiest day to get her cousins to help with the heavy lifting, and it gave us some time to get her stuff set up before going back to full-time busy the next day.

Shortly after moving in, Nicole and I discussed some changes to the scheduling to make everything easier for everyone. First, while she waitressed two nights a week--she was back to just Tuesdays and Fridays and alternating Saturday nights, cooking the rest of the weekdays--I agreed to pick Alistair up at her mom's house and take care of him until she got home at nine thirty or so. This saved having him staying so late with Gertie and Willie, and it was easier to get him to sleep at an earlier time. Selfishly, as well, I missed having something to do on those nights, and little Alistair was a welcome bundle of energy to feed and take care of and read to. Downside? I got pretty tired of Disney cartoons. I mean really, how many times can someone watch "Aladdin?"

With Nicole and Alistair in the house, I also took to cooking at home again and eating more regularly. Nicole was upset at first because she wanted to pay at least her and Alistair's share of the groceries, but that was impractical. I just took things home from the restaurant to cook and wrote it off as a business expense. (Please don't tell the IRS!) And with the exception of milk, which I rarely drank and Nicole usually bought anyway, Alistair didn't eat enough to really make a difference in costs.

So there we were, like a family in some respects but more like roommates living our own separate lives. On the nights and weekends we were all home together, we all did our own things. I usually watched the same boring shit on television or old movies on DVD while Nicole read to Alistair and, after he was put to bed, stayed in her own room reading.

Gradually, though, things started to change. I'm not really sure when, but it was early March when things got strange.

"Nic?" I said one Saturday after coming in from snow blowing a late snowfall from the driveway.

"Yeah?" she said, barely looking up from the book in her hand. Neither Alistair nor Ernie were there; they were down for their nap together. Ernie hardly slept with me anymore, preferring to snuggle into little Alistair.

"Who's that car outside all the time?"

She froze.

"There's been a car around here a lot lately," I said. "A black Toyota."

She put the book down and got a really scared look.

"How long's this been happening?"

I thought it over. "Three, maybe four times a week for the past month or so."

She didn't say anything, but her jaw was grinding.

"Something wrong? Someone you know?"

"I think it's Randy."

"Who's Randy?"

She turned away before answering. "My ex. The one who used to . . . . I should have told you."

I sat on the sofa next to her. "Might as well tell me now, huh?"

I wasn't angry, but this didn't sound so good. The look on her face when she looked at me was a mixture of fear, embarrassment, and nervous energy.

"I met Randy just before Alistair--my husband Alistair--was murdered. Maybe three months before. I worked with him in the office at TelCof. He's maybe four, five years older. He was always coming on to me, but in a kind of innocent way. Nothing ridiculous, and I always blew it off. I was married, y'know?"

I nodded. Standard workplace games that don't really mean shit unless someone acts on them.

"He always said he'd make me his forever," she continued. "I thought he was joking. The way he said it then, it seemed like a joke. But it wasn't."

She took a deep breath.

"Anyway, then Alistair was . . . he died. And I was really frantic, y'know? Here I was, twenty-two, little baby boy less than six months old, my husband of a few years is found . . . found dead in an alley behind his factory. He was working third shift then. Someone stabbed him, just left him there. They found him a few hours later."

Her face was the emotionless mask I'd seen so many times before, her voice low and steady, like she'd told this story so many times she had it memorized and could get through it without breaking up.

I put my hand on her forearm and gave her a reassuring squeeze. She tensed, her eyes flashed at me, then she bit her lower lip, relaxed, and went back to her tale.

"So at first, Randy was just there. Consoling. Always dropping by my desk to make sure I was doing okay. Then he started dropping by my apartment. I was alone. In Frontier City. Mom and Dad got over a lot, but they couldn't come over all the time. And when they weren't there, he started turning up. He was real good with Alistair. Patient, playing with him. Even changed his diapers a few times."