The Leftover Club (16 page)

I glanced over at the table, where Dylan and Olive were now sucking face. “Well, I certainly don’t belong
there
,” I grumbled.

“Maybe not,” he conceded. “But make it because you don’t want to be there. Not because you don’t think you deserve to be.” He wrapped his arm around me and kissed
me loudly and long. “I love you, no matter who you decide to be.”

I looked up at him with a grateful smile.
“Ditto.”

We headed to the stage, where we sang
“
I Got You, Babe”
off-key but sincerely.

Bryan still had his arm around me when we got back to the table. “I think I’m
gonna kidnap our star diva and take her home. Is it okay if Olive catches a ride with you, Dylan?”

Dylan glanced between us before he cuddled Olive closer. “I already thought that was the plan.”

Olive’s brow furrowed a bit as she studied me. “Are you sure, Roni?”

I nodded and clutched Bryan closer. “I think I’ve had a little too much to drink. I’m ready for warm jammies and a bed.”

“Don’t worry, guys. I’ll see to it she gets tucked in,” Bryan assured with a wink their direction before he led me out of the restaurant.

I was quiet as he drove us back to my apartment. Though it was my choice to leave, something gnawed at
my gut as I realized that by morning, Olive would no longer be a Leftover. She would get the guy everyone always wanted and all that came after that. And I was jealous. Not because she could get Dylan, I knew I could have easily joined them.

She was just better equipped to deal with it being one and done than I ever was.

After all these years, after all we had been through, Dylan’s was the face I saw as my fairy tale prince in my happily ever after. A tussle in the sack would never be enough, especially since it seemed that his life would intersect with mine for the foreseeable future thanks to our work.

That had been my fault, too.

I had always been unable to let him go, which was the biggest problem with Olive’s nefarious plan. She wanted me to rip him off of the pedestal so I could move on.

But I didn’t want to move on.

I never had.

Bryan climbed into bed with me and we shared one of Olive’s magical joints. He toasted her with the first hit. “To Olive, who is no longer officially a
Leftover. Looks like it’s just you and me, kid.”

I took a hit and leaned on Bryan’s shoulder. I stared blindly at the old black and white movie we were watching as my gut tightened with all the words left unsaid. Bryan was my best friend, and I had been lying to him for
decades. As my head lifted from my shoulders in a dreamy, cloudy fog, I glanced up at him. “Actually…,” I began, and he looked down at me and waited. The words dragged from my lips. “It’s just you.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

I shrugged helplessly. “I haven’t been a Leftover for quite a while.”

He sat up and muted the TV. “You
slept
with him?  When? Where?”

“The first time,” I began and he cut me off with a shriek.

“
The first time
?! You mean it happened more than once? You scandalous slut! Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”

I knew he wasn’t mad, just surprised. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I was so embarrassed. He was
supposed to be my first. That camping trip to Sequoia. And it just… I don’t know. It felt so good to be wanted, and not just the teasing stuff he used to do when we were kids.”

“Wait,” he said as he sat cross-legged to face me. “Hold up. My brain is melting. What teasing stuff?”

“He was my first kiss,” I admitted and Bryan promptly hit me with one of my little pillows to accentuate every single word that came out of his mouth.

“
Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?! This is major!” he exclaimed. “How could you keep that from me?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t think he meant it. I thought it was another game.” I told him about the incident in 1979, where he had denied kissing me once our peers made fun of him for it.

“Kids are stupid,” he agreed. “But if he kept coming back for more, surely that was proof enough.”

I shook my head. “Look at the girls he dates. None of them look like me. I’m just… I
dunno. A pity date.” I thought back to how I broke down like an idiot that night at the cabin, when he had tried to make it so romantic and perfect. Twenty years later and I was still mortified.

“Is that really what you think?”

I shrugged. “What else is it?”

In a split second, Bryan figured it out. “A question never asked is a question you don’t have to hear the wrong answer to.”
His brow furrowed. “You said he was supposed to be your first. What happened?”

I shuddered. “Let’s just say I chickened out and leave it at that.” He glared at me expectantly until I finally said, “I was afraid, okay? I knew he was going to New York within a few weeks and he’d be gone, just like…,” I trailed off.

“Like your dad?” he supplied. I nodded and he hugged me close.

“I thought if I put the brakes on, it wouldn’t hurt so
bad. I never wanted it to be some one-night-stand, like scratching some itch.” He nodded and I slumped against the pillow. “Like tonight. He would have slept with me because he had the chance to screw two chicks. Name one guy who doesn’t have that fantasy.”

He raised his hand.

“One straight guy,” I amended. “He’s always going to go on to greener pastures, Bry. And that’s not what I want. That’s never been what I want.”

He leaned across the bed. “Ron.
Honey. I want you to think about this for a second. Of all the girls he’s ever screwed, you’re the only one he has ever come back to.”

“That’s not a fair comparison. Our moms are practically sisters, so he’s like a cousin that pops up every ten years. Plus we work together.”

“Because of you,” he added. “You can’t let him go, but he’s not going anywhere. People get married for less. If he wants you and you want him, why can’t you just get together already?”

I reached for the joint. I breathed in deep and exhaled slowly. Finally I said the words I had never admitted out loud.

“Because it ruined my daughter’s life.”

August 8, 1998

I sat at my vanity in front of a large mirror framed with lights, fussing with my short hair to tease it into a more exciting ‘do. But the woman who stared back at me was a shell of who I was mere days before.

Wade and I had been fighting almost nonstop from the reunion. He hated my friends and missed no opportunity to tell me, especially when I hinted that I wanted to spend time with them, to have a little fun of my own.

“You don’t need to have fun,” he told me. “You’re a mother. Your job is here. Your responsibility is to her.”

Despite his wishes, I had met with Bryan several times since the reunion. It started as random coffee dates, but during July, when Wade had been gone for a week on business, he finally convinced me to join him for a night of frivolity at
Eleete.

It was like coming home.

After that, I began to resent Wade for how much he controlled our lives. He got final say on everything from the clothes we wore to the friends we kept. He worried about appearances and keeping the proper company, and considered himself the final authority on such matters.

As I started to push back on some of his standards, things grew even tenser between us. He started to question everything I did and everywhere I went. It was as though he considered me a naughty child that
needed to be disciplined. My own mother had never micromanaged me as much.

When I made it clear that I was going to maintain my friendship with Bryan no matter what he thought about it, his passive aggressive behavior hit a whole new level. I didn’t realize how far he was willing to go to force my hand until I found an open email on our shared computer.

It was from someone he met at his conference, who thanked him for a lovely time and hoped he would be free when they got back to home, because she couldn’t wait to see him again.

I look forward to getting to know you better
, she had written, adding a friendly winky emoticon to underscore her sentiment.

I didn’t find his reply, so he had either not written one or deleted it once he wrote it. Either way, I was livid when he walked in the door that night, late as usual.

He walked into our formal dining room, where I sat in the dark. “Who is Julia Disalvo?” I asked before he could even turn on the light.

He chuckled. “Who wants to know?”

“Your wife,” I gritted between clenched teeth.

He turned on the light, which filled the dark red room with warm light. “She’s a friend,” he said without even a hint of remorse. “You have your friends. I figured I could have mine.”

“So that’s what this is? You want to punish me?”

“
Odd, that. You insist on seeing friends of the opposite sex and I’m supposed to accept these terms with no complaint. I have a friend of the opposite sex, and somehow you consider this a punishment.”

“You know damn well that is what it is. You want me to be jealous, to conform. You flirt with women right in front of me to piss me o
ff enough to fit into some size-2 designer dress.”

“You should want that for you,” he stated coldly. “You should want something better for yourself than what you’ve allowed yourself to become.”

“Oh, you mean like a successful business manager? A mom to a bright, happy child? The wife to a successful businessman?”

“None of those things would have ever happened had you not lost weight initially,
Roni. I tried to show you that when we first met. Excellence is something you pursue, in every aspect of your life. You got the ring on your finger and you simply stopped trying.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Wade.”

“Do I? Look at yourself, Roni. You’re fat. You’re frumpy. You’re awkward. You’re every bit that same sophomore from college that stumbled around my office all those years ago. You haven’t grown up at all.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nice language,” he said as he stalked to the kitchen. “Learn that from your faggot friends, did you?”

I jumped from the table and chased after him. “If I’m so awful, why do you keep me around?
Why not divorce me and marry Julia Disalvo, or Charlotte Ferndale, or any number of women you like to point out are better than me?”

He glared at me from the refrigerator, where he withdrew a bottle of sparkling mineral water. “B
ecause Meghan needs her family, and like it or not you are her mother. There’s no sense in punishing her or ruining her life simply because you’ve temporarily gone off the rails.”

“I just want to hang out with my friends,” I insisted. “I’m not running off to join a cult.”

“You might as well be,” he muttered. “These people are not your friends, Roni. If they were, they would push you to be better.”

“They love me just as I am
.”

“Then their standards are as low as yours,” he declared before he walked from the kitchen. I chased him back out to our formal living room, filled with all the finest furniture money could buy, and only used for social occasions. He retrieved his coat from the hook by the door.

“Where are you going?”

“You need time to think,” he said as he shrugged into his jacket. “About life and what you really want to get from it.”

“You can’t just leave! Why should I be the only one to stay and to fight?”

His eyes were cold as they met mine.
“Because you’re the only one who is fucking it up.”

He slammed out of the house and hadn’t returned since.

We’d had plenty of fights before, but none where he had simply left. And who knew where he was going, especially now that there was another interested woman in the mix.

It took a day or so for me to realize that his leaving served two purposes. Not only was he punishing me, but it forced me to stay home aw
ay from the friends he resented.

That was why I decided to employ Grandma’s sitting services and go out anyway, just to prove he couldn’t manipulate or control me. But no matter how much makeup I applied or how much I fussed with my clothes or my hair, I still saw a loser staring back at me from the mirror.

Had I been wrong to want these things? To maintain friendships from my youth? To hold onto that little sliver of me still left from the perfected image that Wade had worked so hard to develop?

I sighed as I threw my makeup brush on the table. Maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe I was a fool to want anything more than I already had, which was so much more than I ever expected.

I gave up on my appearance and headed downstairs toward the family room, where Meghan packed her backpack happily. Seeing her grandma, my mom, was one of her favorite things in the world. There she got cookies and was able to wear mismatched clothes like a tutu over her pajama bottoms. She was never judged. There was always a hug and a smile from Grandma that said, “You are perfect just the way you are.”

It was a lesson I somehow missed along the way.

“Hi, Mommy,” Meghan smiled that wonderful gap-toothed smile of hers. She had started to lose her baby teeth, and she wore those little gaps with pride. It meant she was going to be a big girl, and no longer a baby. “You look pretty.”

“Thank you,” I said as I sat on the sofa. “So do you.
Ready to go to Grandma’s?”

She nodded, her full hair of dark curls dancing around her face.
I spontaneously pulled her into a strong hug. I loved her so much that I knew I was willing to do anything to keep her happy, even if it meant staying with Wade.

Before we left the house, I called Bryan and told him that I couldn’t go out with him that night. Instead I would use my free night to extend one more olive branch to Wade, to get together, as husband and wife, as man and woman, to see if we could salvage our family.

There was a strange car in the driveway of my mom’s house when I arrived. It was a vintage Mustang convertible in cherry red. Meghan gasped when she saw it. She had an affinity for boy’s toys from the crib, and much rather played with little toy cars than dolls. Nothing delighted her more than watching a car spin down the track she had created. “Mommy, Mommy, look!” she said, pointing at the car. “It looks just like mine!”

I laughed. “It sure does,” I agreed.

We entered the house without knocking and Meghan made a beeline for Grandma’s living room, where she found Grandma, Grandpa Stu and none other than Dylan Fenn, sitting together, visiting.

Dylan’s eyes lit up when he saw her. “Who’s this?”

“This,” my mom announced, “is my beautiful grandbaby, Meghan. Looks just like her mom, doesn’t she?”

It dawned on me that I was Meghan’s age when I met Dylan, so he would likely remember exactly how I looked. He just laughed and nodded. “She sure does.”

Meghan approached shyly, which was uncommon for her. I guessed that Dylan had a way with the ladies, no matter what age. He held out a hand and introduced himself. “Hello, Meghan. I’m Dylan Fenn. An old friend of your mom’s.”

She glanced back at me to confirm and I nodded. She took his hand and shook it firmly. “Meghan Connor,” she said formally. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Grandma was quick to usher Meghan into the kitchen, where a plate of fresh peanut butter cookies waited. They were her fave. Dylan stood to face me. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he grinned. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” I said as I
glanced him over. “Ditto on both counts.”

He laughed. “Thanks. I just came by to drop off Mom’s famous banana bread. She made a thousand loaves, as usual.”

I chuckled. I remembered well overdosing on Bonnie’s famous recipe over the years.

“Do you have a minute, or are you on your way back out?” he asked, looking over my attire which was far too fancy for a night at my mom’s.

“I was leaving, yeah,” I said. “But it was good to see you.”

Those familiar dark eyes were warm as they stared back at me.
“You, too. Let’s get together sometime, okay?”

“Absolutely,” I promised, though I had no intention of doing so. I couldn’t afford yet another liability if I was going to try and save my marriage. I waved goodbye to my stepfather and hugged my mom and Meghan goodbye before I headed back out to my car.

I waited until I got back into the driver’s seat before I called Wade. My plan was simple. I was going to ask him to dinner, and we’d have a respectable date where I would promise that I would do whatever he wanted if he would just come home. Meghan needed him. And that was all that mattered.

But when the phone picked up, it was not Wade on the other end. A woman answered, which was odd, considering it was the direct line to his private hotel suite. “Hello?” she answered.

I didn’t say anything at first, but then, before I could stop myself, I said, “Julia?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Who is this?”

There was a slight muffling sound before Wade’s voice filled the line. “This is Wade Connor.”

“This is
Veronica Connor,” I gritted. “You know. Your wife.”

He sighed. “It’s not what you think,
Roni.”

“Right,” I scoffed. “You won’t let me go to a public place with my friends but you allow a woman in your hotel room?”

“There are several people in my room. We’re attending a function this evening and we decided to meet early.”

“And she just randomly answers the phone?”

“I asked her to,” he answered coolly. I didn’t reply. “What did you want, Roni?”

“I wanted to invite my husband to dinner so that we could work on our marriage.”

“Tonight is out of the question,” he dismissed. “I have prior engagements.”

The streetlight g
lanced off my two-carat diamond ring. “Yeah. I thought I was one of them.”

“
Roni…,” he started.

“Goodbye, Wade.” I disconnected the call, threw the phone onto the passenger side of the car and burst into tears. How did it all go so fucking wrong?

I heard a tap on my window. I turned to see Dylan hunched beside my car. I wiped my tears away and rolled down my window. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lied as I smeared more of my makeup by wiping away the tears.

He wasn’t convinced. I could feel his eyes as they scanned my face. “Want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. “I really should go back inside.”

“I thought you were leaving.”

I couldn’t even face him. Tears cut a path down both cheeks. He said nothing further as he opened my door and pulled me out by the hand. I grabbed my purse, but left my phone, and allowed Dylan to lead me toward his Mustang.

It was like old times. He was in the driver’s seat and I was along for the ride. He blasted his music, that familiar heavy rock sound that he had always loved. He merged onto Interstate 5 going north toward Los Angeles. “Where are we going?”

“I know a place,” he said with that grin that still made my knees tingle.

He took me into Hollywood, to a homey diner known for both its pies and its famous clientele. He told me the stories as we waited for our food, explaining how some of Hollywood’s hippest voices penned their masterpieces right there in that very restaurant.