God must have been terribly busy the next two weeks. Because despite a lot of badgering on my part (I went to mass with my mother, did a couple shifts at the soup kitchen, prayed nightly), He remained irritatingly silent on the subject of Charlie and me. Come on, I pleaded, lifting my eyes to the ceiling in church. Just give me a sign. Aren’t I a decent person? Don’t I deserve some peace of mind? Is this because of the things I did with Tony? I didn’t know he was going to be a priest!
Nothing.
Mia and Coco were no better. They refused to tell me what to do, insisting that I make my own decision. But they never let me feel alone—they met me for coffee or lunch, they invited me to dinner at their houses on Saturday nights, they asked for help with things like painting and shopping for furniture in an effort to keep me busy. My mother asked me a few times about Charlie, but I simply said we’d been too busy to see each other much lately. She knew something was up, but miraculously, didn’t press me. I felt bad about not confiding in her, but Coco and Mia were right—I had to make my own decision.
As for Charlie, he texted me once or twice to let me know he was thinking of me, but for the most part, he kept his distance, which was what I needed.
I spent huge chunks of time asking myself the hard questions. Could I forgive Charlie for lying? Could I trust him? Could I handle coming second in Charlie’s life? Could I deal with an ex-wife who might be resentful and cause trouble? What if Madison disliked me? What if she was jealous of me? What if I disliked her? I knew that wasn’t likely, because in general I adored kids and enjoyed teaching them, but every now and then I did meet a child who was too whiny or entitled or sullen to have fun with.
But I kept picturing that little gap-toothed smile, all those little frog tattoos, the big, delighted blue eyes. She didn’t look whiny or sullen; she looked darling. I wanted to meet her—this little piece of Charlie he cherished so much. I wanted to see them together, wanted to know what he was like as a dad. When I thought about the way he’d been so kind to those two little girls last month, my heart melted. I bet he was so sweet with Madison—which was such a turn-on.
And I missed him. God, how I missed him.
No matter how busy I stayed, no matter where I was or who I was with, a memory of Charlie would surface and I’d be unable to move, speak, breathe.
His calm, hushed voice telling me not to come.
My hair dangling, the ends brushing his chest.
A pink ribbon binding my wrists.
Blue eyes turned copper by the fire.
The pulse of his orgasm inside me.
There were sweet memories too—watching him hang my kitchen shades, skating at Campus Martius, eating pizza and ice cream on the couch, holding hands at the ballet, kissing at Cliff Bell’s. I even missed the way he made fun of my clean floors and organized cupboards.
And the more time that went by, the less I worried about his daughter—the real threat, I realized, wasn’t a seven-year-old girl or even a vindictive ex-wife.
It was fear.
Fear of being in a situation I couldn’t control, a mess I could not clean up, a relationship that wasn’t neat and tidy and safe. But maybe if I wanted to be happy, I had to let go of safe.
Ten days later, I was nearly ready to call him back and tell him I wanted to try.
#
Coco and I sat on the floor at Mia and Lucas’s house the following Friday night, watching Mia put paint samples on the wall of the room that would be the nursery. She wasn’t due until July, and she had no idea if the baby would be a boy or a girl, but she wanted the room painted a soft gray either way. While she worked, I rambled on about Charlie, fretting about my decision to call him back.
“I’m just so terrified.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I feel like this is a critical moment, you know? Like I’m at this serious juncture of my life and one wrong move could just blow the whole thing.”
Coco laughed sympathetically, stretching her long legs out in front of her and crossing her ankles. “I totally get that. This is a big deal.”
“But you don’t want to let fear dictate your decisions, Erin.” Mia stepped back from the wall and eyed the color critically. “I’m not saying you should date a single dad if you don’t want to, but I do think you’ll be sorry if fear is the big reason you let him go.”
“I know,” I said miserably. “I would be. But what about his daughter? What if she hates me?”
“Are you kidding?” Mia glanced at me over her shoulder. “You’re a dance teacher! Seven-year-old girls are your thing!”
“That’s true.” I tilted my head. “Unless she’s a total tomboy.”
“She’ll love you no matter what,” Mia assured me, putting more paint on the wall. “And I have no doubt you’ve got it in you to love that child. You’re so good with kids, better than any of us.”
“If it helps, I was terrified to give Nick another chance too,” offered Coco. “The way he’d broken my heart before hung over my head like this huge black cloud. I remember how I called Mia in a total panic about it. And that was before the pregnancy scare!”
“Speaking of being pregnant.” Mia turned and pointed her paint brush at me. “You think I’m not terrified of becoming a mother? I totally am! What if I suck at it? What if I hate it? What if I get postpartum depression and instead of being thrilled, I’m miserable? Then there’s the actual having the baby.” She dropped the paintbrush onto a piece of plastic wrap. “I’ve done some research. Did you know that some women poop on the table during delivery? Poop!” she yelled, throwing her hands up. “On the table!”
Coco burst out laughing, and even I had to smile. “No,” I admitted. “I didn’t know that.”
“Well, it’s true. And if you think I don’t freak out every single day, multiple times a day, wondering if Lucas is going to see me poop on that table, grunting and pushing and making horrible faces, I assure you—you’re wrong.”
“See, Erin? Maybe you should be glad that Charlie already has a seven-year-old.” Coco grinned at me. “Someone else did all the grunt work.”
Mia looked down her nose at Coco, eyelids half-closed. “That is not funny.”
“Are you really scared of all that?” I asked Mia thoughtfully. Having a baby had always been her dream, and it surprised me that she had anxiety about it now, especially since Lucas was so excited.
“Hell. Yes.” Mia dropped down to the carpet between us. “But I want it. I want it bad enough to overcome all that fear.” She looked sideways at me. “What about you? Do you want Charlie?”
I sighed. “I do. I miss him so much I can’t breathe. I’m miserable without him.” I flopped back onto the carpet and flung an arm over my eyes. “I love him. Plus the sex, you guys. It’s the best thing ever. I can’t describe it.”
Mia patted my leg. “Then I think you should give it a shot, Erin. This is the most passionate I’ve ever seen you get about a guy, in a good way or bad. That tells me something.”
“I am passionate about him.” I put my arm down and stared at the ceiling. “And it’s not just the sex I miss, but his voice, and the way he makes me laugh, and the way he smells and dresses and sleeps. We didn’t see each other all the time, but I always knew there would be a next time, and I’d get giddy with excitement about it. When we’re together, there’s this hum in the air between us I can’t describe. It’s the spark. We have the spark.” I turned my head to look at them. “I’ve always wanted what you have with Lucas, and what you have with Nick. And I feel like I found it.”
“Chemistry,” said Coco softly. “And it’s worth something.”
“Yes. Chemistry.” I stared at the ceiling again, bringing my hands to my forehead in disbelief. “With fucking Charlie Dwyer, the pain in the ass boy next door.”
“Hey, at least he’s not gay,” said Coco.
“Or a priest,” added Mia.
“Very funny.” I sat up. “No, he’s not those things. He may not be perfect, but I do think he loves me.”
“Fuck perfect,” they both said at the same time.
Laughing, I got to my feet. “Exactly. OK, thanks, you guys. I’m going to go call him from home.”
They stood and hugged me goodbye, and I left smiling.
On the way home, I grew even more certain of my decision. If we failed, we failed, but at least I wouldn’t regret not giving Charlie another chance just because I was scared or angry or things weren’t perfect.
My friends were right—fuck perfect.
Nothing and nobody was perfect, not me, not Charlie, not love.
But maybe, just maybe, we could be not-perfect together.