The Husband Diet (A Romantic Comedy) (21 page)

Now? He had no idea how much pain and unhappiness he had caused me during all our years together, but leaving us on the day before Christmas Eve? What the hell was wrong with him? Wasn’t he thinking about his children at all?

“We’ve already had this conversation. You’re supposed to wait until the new year.”

Ira lowered his eyes and sighed. “We open the gifts after dinner tomorrow and then I go.”

“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve; you can’t abandon them on Christmas Eve, you’re going to scar them for life. You
owe
it to Maddy and Warren.”

He only shook his head.

“I can’t. I already don’t know what to tell them.”

I shrugged, feeling numb. “The truth. That you’ve found a slut with a skinny ass and that she’s more important than them.”

“Erica—let’s at least be civil, okay…?”

Civil? For years he’d treated me like I didn’t exist, sighing in frustration at the mere sight of me and now he wanted to be
civil
? I pushed my chin out and straightened my hair. My messy hair that he had always used to put behind my ear. But that was long gone. Gone too were the caresses, the laughs, the evenings we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. That was a long, long time ago. Now we were two total strangers hardly able to look each other in the eye and who couldn’t wait to go our separate ways.

“Are you picking up the kids from your mom’s?” he asked.

I sighed. “Paul’s bringing them back later today.”

He nodded. “Okay. I have to go now,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

* * *

I drove to the supermarket, determined to cook the best meal ever, so that years from now the kids would remember this Christmas for the amazing turkey, sweets and gifts and not because their dad had left them. I would protect them from the pain, the heartache. No, Ira had never been close to the kids, but perhaps this would help them cope with it. Lessen their sense of loss? What did I know?

As I ambled through the bright red-and-white aisles lit like Santa’s sled, through the merry music, the colors, the bright lights, happy snowmen and Santas climbing chimneys and Rudolphs jumping over roofs, I wondered who Julian would be spending his Christmas with.

Chapter 29:

Jingle-Bell Hell

P
aul and I made it back to the house at the exact same time, the kids dancing around me like I was a campfire.

“All right, you two. Go wash up and change.” I forced a laugh as I gave them both a quick peck. Paul took a few bags off me and followed me into the kitchen. “Well? Did you do it? How was he? Tell me!”

“Thanks for picking up the kids,” I said as I put the food away.

Paul waved his hand in the air. “Never mind them. Spill!”

“First things first. I caught Ira and his secretary here the other day.”

Paul’s jaw fell open. “What? Screwing here?”

“No, just packing. Anyway, it’s Maxine.”

Paul gasped, his eyes wide. “Pristine Maxine? No!”

“Yeah. She’s at least twelve years younger. And yes, I slept with Julian. But last night wasn’t our first time.”

Paul hugged me, jumping up and down as if he’d won the lottery. “Oh, my God, Erica—this is amazing!”

I nodded, happiness mixing with misery.
“Ira’s leaving on Christmas Eve. The kids’ll be devastated.”

Paul waved a hand in the air. “They’ll get over it. We both know you’re all better off without him. Forget Ira—you’ve got yourself a real man now. What’s he like in bed? I
have
to know.”

I stopped and placed some ready-made dough on the counter and thought about it. What was Julian like in bed? Hot. Tender. Sexy. Extremely selfless. “It was out of this world,” I gushed.

“Good for you!” Paul whooped. “Is he big?”

“Paul!”

“Oh, get off your high horse. Details!”

I beamed at him. “He’s absolutely perfect.”

Paul punched the air. “Hallelujah! The Amazing Erica’s back!”

She certainly was. And the new Erica went out and bought herself a new bed.

* * *

The next morning, I shopped for gifts, cleaned like mad—even the windows—and baked the best food I could, including cookies and cakes. In only a few hours, the hour of my children’s loss of their innocence, I would take pictures of the kids and their father so they wouldn’t miss him too much. But deep down I knew that he wouldn’t be all that missed. His presence in the house consisted only of his computer and his gazillion shirts and suits hanging in the closet. The wooden model planes hanging in Warren’s room was my effort, just like the fairy wings hanging on the back of Maddy’s bedroom door.

And then I realized it. Ira was leaving
nothing
to his children—no kind memories, no afternoons of laughter. Bupkis.

So it was settled. I was selfishly looking forward to coming up for air after years of apnea.

I bought the biggest tree I could find. Warren and Maddy helped me decorate it with all their artwork and my grandmother’s old decorations and nativity scenes, and when we finally plugged it in, Maddy gasped in awe. Such a cute, “Ohhh,” her big green eyes wide, while Warren grinned sheepishly. He was still a little boy although he tried to be tough sometimes. My heart hurt for them.

Lunch with my entire family on the twenty-fourth was my last obstacle. After that I wouldn’t have to pretend that everything was thumbs-up.
Zias
Maria, Martina and Monica were there every year, beautiful and cheery. God, what I wouldn’t have given to be like one of them. No man in sight (except for maybe Father Frank) and they didn’t have a care in the world.

Lunch went by very festively, contrary to my expectations. My nephews and nieces headed off to play with Warren and Madeleine as my brother Vince helped me make coffee in the kitchen.

Later Judy helped me with the dishes. Mom, as always, kept a strategic distance, lounging on the sofa, my dad massaging her feet. Poor old sod that he was, hopelessly in love with the beauty goddess that had blessed him with her attention and an “I do” so many years ago, making him the proudest, if not the happiest man alive. Good for them. I wondered how they did it.

“So how’s Trey?” I asked, drying my wet hands on my apron. “Are you and Steve splitting up after Christmas too?”

“Shush,” she hissed. “Steve doesn’t know! And what do you mean, ‘too?’”

I went back to my sudsy sink, ignoring her, and she sucked in her breath as she reached a conclusion. The wrong one. “Shut up! You’re finally leaving
Ira
?”

I turned to look at her, and shook my head. “He’s leaving me, tonight after we open the presents,” I managed, wiping my eyes on a tea towel. I wasn’t crying for me. I had Julian to console me and a new life ahead. It was the kids I felt sorry for.

Again she gasped. “He’s leaving
you
? What’s the matter with you? You’re letting a shit like him—I swear, Erica, I don’t recognize you anymore!”

“A little louder please, Marcy hasn’t heard you yet,” I croaked. Judy sat me down. “Honey, this can’t be right. Why would he leave you?”

“I caught him with his secretary.”

“I don’t believe it,” Judy muttered. “Oh, well, his loss, honey. Just make sure he pays you alimony. Now dry your eyes and let’s bring these desserts out, huh? Trey is going to have to work me out like mad to shift these extra calories.” And that was my sister’s entire contribution to my personal tragedy.

* * *

The dreaded Christmas dinner with the four of us was quiet but for Madeleine chatting happily, seating herself—like she used to when she was a toddler and things were very different—on Ira’s leg, giggling shyly and unaware of the tragedy that was about to strike her. I swallowed back the tears as I watched my little angel rest her head on Ira’s chest. The place I had rested against so many times when I was younger. I hated him for not having been able to keep our family together.

If Ira had given me that extra week, I’d have come up with a way to soften the blow. I’d have somehow suggested that this was going to be their last Christmas with both parents. I don’t know what I would’ve done. Whatever it was, I hadn’t done it and now it was too late.

As we sat around the fire, I sensed the moment was dangerously near.
No. Please, not yet,
my eyes pleaded silently with him. But, as always, he wasn’t looking at me.

I jumped up to get my camera. These would be the last pictures of us all together. Ira pulled Maddy and Warren close as I sat next to them, grinning—or rather squinting to keep from crying—into the lens as the auto-shoot clicked, blinding me.

“We’ll frame that one and put it on the mantel,” I said cheerfully, when all I wanted was to hang Ira instead—hang him upside down by his big toes from the highest branch of our Christmas tree, for all to see what a useless piece of shit he was.

Warren kept stealing Ira and me glances as if he knew what was coming.

“Stay until tomorrow morning. You can tell the kids then,” I whispered when I caught him alone in the kitchen, my heart in my mouth, knowing it was imminent. I couldn’t bear it.

Ira stared at me and for a moment he seemed to give in, like someone under hypnosis.

He ran his hands over his face and looked at me. “I’m sorry, Erica. I’ve made up my mind. One more night isn’t going to change anything. I’m sorry. I don’t love you.”

“But it’s not about
us
, you bloody asshole!” I insisted to his back as he turned and left me there.

You can imagine what happened at the stroke of eleven, after Warren and Maddy opened their presents. I won’t even bother putting you through it. Suffice to say that when he sat them down to tell them their parents were splitting up, Maddy started to cry, I mean really bawl, and begged him to stay.

“I can’t,” he answered, biting his lip. Apparently he’d promised Maxine he’d be there by the stroke of midnight. That was his only explanation.

Warren sat quietly, eyeing me, then him. “You’re nothing but an asshole!” he bellowed suddenly, knocking his chair over as he shot to his feet. “We’re soooo much better off without you!” he continued, breathing hard, his face flushed. “So go! You’re nothing but a loser anyway!”

“Warren…” I said, thinking how similar my kid was to me. I was, to be honest and horrible, so proud of him.

“Dead weight!” Warren finished. “We don’t need you! Mom is a perfect mother
and
father!”

Before Ira could react, Warren scooped up Maddy and said, “We’re going to bed. This is the last time I want to see you. Ever again.” And up he went, his sobbing little sister’s legs wrapped around his hips.

Having already packed his clothes, there was nothing left for Ira—or for me—to do or say.

“My lawyer will be in contact with yours,” he said.

“Yep,
ciao
,” I said without looking at him and closed the door after him, catching his heel in my haste to close that chapter.

I tiptoed to the kids’ rooms but they were pretending to be asleep. I wasn’t worried. I could deal with that tomorrow. The important thing was that Ira was gone for good. Everything else would be easy from now on.

I went to the kitchen, poured myself a very large glass of
Inzolia
wine and then sank into a nice warm bubble bath, breathing deeply—deeper than I had in years. And it was pure bliss.

* * *

On Christmas morning, Warren and a sniffling, listless Maddy got up to set the table for me without my having to even ask. It was going to be tough on them, but I knew in the end we were going to be just fine.

After we’d all opened our presents, Paul handed me a big box with a card that read:
Something to look forward to. It’s never too late for anything, sunshine. Merry Christmas. Love, Paul.

I tore at the packaging and gasped at the sight of the pale burgundy chiffon. Elaine Richman’s dress. I hadn’t seen it in years. And even if I had to appreciate the irony of how that dress had marked the beginning and the end of my marriage, that wasn’t why it meant so much to me. It was important because Paul had remembered our youth and our lifelong friendship. And he had recognized that I’d made so many efforts to fit back into a similar dress. I never thought he’d get it back for me. Paul. My best friend. My only friend
. If you didn’t count my lover Julian.

I went into the bathroom and slipped it on. Still a bit too tight on the zipper, but it was a matter of weeks now. I had just entered the Size Sixteen Zone. One more to go and I would be in.

Chapter 30:

New Year’s Revolution

“W
hy on earth would you even consider going back to Italy when your grandparents made so many sacrifices to move all the way here?” my mother asked.

I sighed. Years of dealing with her and still she didn’t understand me. I had to learn to pick my battles with her.

“Because I think my family would be very happy there,” I said simply.

“You can’t run away from your problems, Erica.”

Said by the woman who had always been sheltered from life.

“I’m not leaving my problems behind. Only Ira.” Which was technically the same thing.

“Ask him back.” There she went again, as crazy as the March wind.

“What?”

“Erica, let’s look reality in the face, shall we? A single, working mom hasn’t got it easy nowadays. You need a man next to you.”

Any more platitudes from sharp Marcy and I’d be howling in pain. Besides, I had a man. Sort of. And I was trying to find the guts to ask him to be with me. Could I propose moving to Tuscany to him? But what if I was jumping the gun? Men didn’t like to be rushed and we were both enjoying a gradual, slow relationship where the sex was mind-blowing. But move to another continent with me? Wasn’t that too much of a commitment?

* * *

My three aunts had a different opinion. “It’s a sign,”
Zia
Maria leaned into me as I helped her dice red peppers for tonight’s special, the
caponata
.

“Absolutely,”
Zia
Martina chimed in, lifting her face from the sink she was happily scrubbing away at. “Now she can finally think about her own life with Julian.”

“Will you two stop it?” Said
Zia
Monica as she came into the back kitchen, dropped her bag on a bench and stormed into the pantry. “If she’s not ready, she’s not ready.”

“What’s eating you?” I asked as she wooshed by.

“Monica’s in love,”
Zia
Martina teased and my eyebrows shot up. “Major crush on Father Frank.”

I poured the peppers into the pan with the frying onions and potatoes, ready to add the capers.

"And what about him?”

“He needs time to figure it out,” Martina said. “She’s been miserable for quite a while now.”

Both sisters shrugged. “It’s a big secret. We’re not supposed to know.”

As if love was a shameful thing that needed to be hidden. Boy, did I know a thing or two about that.

* * *

The holidays came and went, but I didn’t have the heart to take the tree and decorations down. All through the house, festive cinnamon-scented candles still burned, there were still candy canes hanging over the mantelpiece, and I made all the kids’ favorite dishes, trying to prolong Christmas for as long as possible. We watched movies and played board games, and many evenings I sat with Maddy making paper dolls.

I cut out a whole cardboard posse of them—blondes, redheads and brunettes, while Maddy drew their dresses and colored them in. She had inherited my mother’s sense of fashion, no doubt. I drew one that was slightly chubbier just to see her reaction, and she looked at me but said nothing. But that doll’s clothes were darker and longer. A bit like mine, funnily enough. It seemed she’d also inherited Marcy’s critical sense.

Maddy asked me only once if her father was coming back, and when I told her that he probably wasn’t, she simply replied, “He’s always at work.” Later, when I was out of her brother’s earshot, I would tell her the usual lies of how her daddy loved her so much, because Maddy deserved no less than a real, loving family. If nothing else, I would give her the illusion of one. There was plenty of time for her to grow up and see the world as it could sometimes be.

Warren seemed to have transformed into a gentleman overnight. No more wars over his homework, no more arguments about his messy room. I daresay due to Ira’s vanishing and overwhelming influence. It was as if suddenly a veil had dropped from before Warren’s eyes and he was seeing me for the first time. He also knew things could only get better, now the house didn’t boom with the disapproval of Ira’s voice in the evenings.

With dinner in the oven, I sat down to read all the Christmas cards we’d received and that the kids had strung above the fireplace in the living room. There were even presents for me which I hadn’t opened. One from my parents, one from Judy and one from Vince (the card was Sandra’s writing). Then I spotted one that made my heart quiver. It was from Julian, and it was enormous. How did it even get there? Warren, surely. He was becoming Julian’s inside trader. I tore the card open. “Merry Christmas, Erica. All your dreams can still come true. Love, Julian.”

Love.
“Love,” I whispered, trying to taste the word on my tongue.

Under the shiny red wrapping paper and a beautiful ribbon with holly and ivy, I found a large book of glossy photographs of Tuscany. I didn’t have this one, which surprised me, because I thought I had them all. I flipped through the pages.
Your dreams can come true. Tuscany. Happiness. Love.

Love? I sat there and thought about it. Could this be a sign? A sign that Tuscany and Julian could happen in the same lifetime? Assuming he really, really did love me with a capital L, if he knew just how important it was for me, would he follow?

Because I
loved
him. Deeply, helplessly, and it couldn’t have happened at a better time. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Because I couldn’t possibly give up my Italian dream. I’d made too many sacrifices for a man before and where had that got me? Exactly.

* * *

“Erica,” came Julian’s deep voice over the phone the next day. “I heard about Ira.” I noticed he didn’t say he was sorry.

“Who told you?” I choked, although I already knew the answer.

“Warren. I wanted to give you a little time.”

I didn’t answer. It figured Warren would go to Julian. This, too, was a sign. They were becoming very close. Was it a good thing? A bad thing? Was I just being paranoid?

“Are you okay?” he asked me gently.

“Sure,” I said, baring my teeth into the phone. “Of course.”

So much for my bravado the past few weeks. Now I was feeling misplaced, like someone had tossed me into the air and told me to flap my wings. But flap my wings I would, even if it would be a long time before I could fly.

Financially I was okay. I was organized. The kids were growing up, and I with them. Eventually I’d catch up with them some day.

“Are you still there?” Julian asked.

“Of course.”

“Then open the door.”

So I did. He was standing there with a large bouquet of orchids.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He hesitated. “Long time no see.”

“I know,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed and said softly, “I don’t even want to think what it must be like for you right now.”

“Do you—want to, uhm, come in?”

Julian stepped over the threshold. “These are for you,” he whispered, giving me a deep kiss. I had to hang on to him just so I wouldn’t fall over. God, I’d missed him. But he’d done the right thing, giving us some time to digest it on our own. But now we had, and I was hungry again. Not for food, but for a new life.

“Hello,” he grinned and I grinned back.

I nodded to his big bag. “What’s in there?”

“A very late Christmas gift for the kids.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you. They’re at soccer and ballet.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at your tango class?”

“Paul’s arm is acting up again. He must have sprained it real bad in the accident. He’s really accident prone.”

Julian looked at me, his grin disappearing, his hand reaching for mine. “Then let me be your partner, Erica.”

Partner. Dance partner... or life partner? “You a tango champion as well?” I quipped.

He grinned. “No, but hey, I can always learn. How about it?”

“Cool,” I grinned and he grinned back.

“Cool.” And then he pulled out a beautiful gold-wrapped and cream-colored box. “For you.”

“Julian—you already gave me a Christmas present, which was lovely, by the way. And I didn’t get you anything. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “I’ve got all that I need.” And then he looked into my eyes, I mean
really
looked into them, and added, “Almost.”

I looked down and unwrapped his gift. A Burberry set of perfume, soaps and shower gel.

“My favorite fragrance—how did you know?”

“I recognized your scent. I’d recognize it anywhere.”

“You’re so romantic,” I smiled. “I love romantic.” And I love you, I almost said.

“Come out to dinner with me. Tonight. I’ll take you anywhere you like.”

“On one condition.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. He learned fast. “Okay...?”

“I’ll come out to dinner with you if you tell me about your new book.”

“Erica, I don’t have a new book...”

“Yes, you do. That young baseball players all over America who are just starting out
need
from you.”

At that he laughed—a hardy, heartfelt laugh. “You never give up, do you?”

“Please? I guarantee you it’ll go through the roof.”

“I don’t have a book in me, sweetheart...”

“Of course you do! Where there’s one, there are many more!”

He laughed, his eyes twinkling. Good. I was getting somewhere.

“So you’ll think about him?” I prodded.

“Him?”

“The young athlete who needs your help.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You’re not saying it just to shut me up?”

“That too,” he said with a grin, and I reached over and kissed him hard.

So I went out on a real date with him rather than just have wild sex. We were waiting to be seated at my favorite Indian restaurant when who do you think we bumped into? Exactly.

“Oh, crap.”

“What’s wrong?” Julian asked, squeezing my hand.

“Ten o’clock, my ex-husband, along with new lover.” It was impossible to even fathom the two words together in the same sentence, let alone see it live, but there they were, hand in hand like two love puppies. Pretty much like Julian and me.

“Oh, blimey,” Julian whispered.

As we watched, Ira took Maxine’s hands to his lips with a coy smile. And now he was smiling at her, with
my
smile, the one he’d used on me years ago. Somewhere between the stomach bypass I’d passed up and tango lessons, I had lost him.

Thank God.

Maxine was young, single, and a bit naïve, seeing as she believed Ira could actually love someone besides himself. Boy, was she in for a reality check. I almost felt sorry for her.

“Did you know?”

“D’you think?” I hissed, pulling Julian back.

“Too late—they’ve already seen us. Chin up, kiddo.” He was right. Maxine gawked at us as Julian (still holding my hand, by the way) followed the waiter to the nicest table. Ira stared, too, then sullenly buried himself into his menu, refusing to acknowledge my presence any longer.

I had to hand it to Julian—our first date and the ex-husband was already in the way, but he was cool and quiet, just happy to be sitting across me, staring into my eyes like the most consummate actor in a hot love scene. Actually, we did look like it wouldn’t be long before we hit the carpet in the throes of passion.

“I want you now, among the samosas and chicken vindaloo,” I said out of the blue.

Julian laughed and Ira threw him one of his killer glances. I couldn’t believe that once upon a time I had loved that man so much, enough to give up my dreams and have his babies. It’s the mistake lots of women make. Husband-wise, not baby-wise. I wouldn’t change Warren and Madeleine for any other kids in the world.

As they (finally) passed us by on their way out, Maxine attempted a hello. Julian and I looked up from the tangle that was our hands and fingers and smiled politely.

Ira wasn’t jealous, I knew. Only annoyed at having his evening ruined by his ex-wife’s happiness. Me, I wouldn’t let him bother me anymore. From now on I’d concentrate on the good stuff. Like the hunk of man sitting opposite me, holding my hands.

To prove a point, he heaped my plate up with a delicious chicken curry and poured me a glass of wine, leaning over to kiss me, “
Bon appétit
,” leaving me stunned. So we really were doing the public display as well? Cool.

He smacked his luscious lips and murmured, “Mmh, raspberry.”

You don’t know how hard it was to drag my lips away from his. Or even close my mouth.

“Just how many women have you had exactly?” I asked. “Less than—what’s his name, that good-looking guy who plays for the Knicks?”

He took a sip of his wine. “That’s basketball, and no, not even close. I’m a monk by comparison.”

“Huh.”

But somehow the image of a monk didn’t quite fit my idea of him. “What about Moira whatsherface, the one who owns the magazines? And all those models I read about?”

He blushed. “That was a long time ago, Erica.”

A long time ago or not, you just can’t sleep with a model and then want to be with me, can you?

“So what’s your next best-seller about?”

Julian rolled his eyes. “You don’t let go, do you?”

“Never. I’m a bloodhound with a big, juicy bone.”

“Actually, I have been thinking about it,” he conceded.

“Great! So tell.”

He shrugged. “I’m still mulling it over.”

I beamed at him. “This is fantastic news. Not only have I slept with a champion; I’ll soon be sleeping with a best-selling author. How gratifying can this be for me? Just one thing...”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t use any of our sex material, huh?”

“That would be a capital sin for a writer.”

“It would also be your last living day.”

Julian laughed.

* * *

As if once wasn’t enough, the very next day I met Maxine again at the supermarket. Go figure—I hadn’t seen her in years and then bam—she was practically everywhere.

“Hi again, Mrs. Lowenstein,” she chirped, oblivious of the pain she was causing me, poor little idiot. “I’m so sorry about your split-up,” she offered. “But the two of you just weren’t working out, right?”