The New Normal Page 2

  LOL. UR probably right, Carli replied to Lynette before slipping her phone into her pocket and opening the refrigerator door. Her kids were both out with friends (funny how that always seemed to happen during dog-training sessions), and since Carli still found it strange to cook for one, she grabbed a yogurt and some leftover pizza and went upstairs to peek out her bedroom window. The vantage point from there was superior, giving her a full view of whatever might be happening next door. If she were Lynette, she’d probably get out her binoculars. But she wasn’t Lynette. Carli loved the random tidbit of gossip as much as the next person, but going through a divorce had made her a bit more respectful of other people’s privacy. Still, looking out her own window, well, that wasn’t spying exactly. It was just . . . gazing.

  She nudged the curtain aside with her pizza-free hand and observed as a handful of guys wearing baseball hats and sunglasses moved boxes into the house. There was talking and laughter as they worked, leading her to think they were friends rather than just hired movers, and a short time later, when one of them started playing basketball in the space of the driveway not occupied by the van, the rest joined in. The hats stayed on, but the sunglasses and shirts came off, and she reconsidered finding her binoculars.

  “Five guys, all in pretty good shape,” she told her neighbor Erin the next morning.

  “Why didn’t you go introduce yourself?” Erin replied, handing her a perfectly crafted organic, free-trade vanilla latte, compliments of Erin’s state-of-the-art La Spaziale Vivaldi espresso machine. Carli took a grateful sip as Erin sat down on the ivory velvet barstool at her generously proportioned kitchen island. As always, Carli found it difficult to believe their houses shared the same floor plan, because Erin’s place had trendy, newly remodeled everything. Oversize crown molding, plush rugs, burnished gold fixtures. Everyone always said that Erin had the nicest house in the neighborhood, including Erin. She didn’t mind mentioning it. She wasn’t a snob, per se. She didn’t judge anyone for what they had or didn’t have. She just liked really nice stuff and worked hard as a real estate agent to pay for it. She also had a housekeeper, a nanny, a landscaper, and a handy fix-it kind of husband. Carli would like to live Erin’s life for just one day. Or maybe just borrow her staff. Except the husband. She wasn’t currently interested in one of those. She was taking a well-deserved and much-needed testosterone break. Although seeing the shirtless guys from next door had given her a mild thrill. Good to know she wasn’t entirely numb from the waist down.

  “They seemed pretty busy moving stuff inside, and by the time they started playing basketball, I was already in my pajamas,” Carli answered.

  “You’re always in your pajamas,” Erin said, smiling. Her brunette hair was salon shiny and pulled up into a basic ponytail that somehow, on Erin, looked chic and polished. Carli’s wavy, dark hair was also in a ponytail, but hers was more of the I’m cleaning out my garage and didn’t expect to see anyone variety.

  “I put on real clothes when I go to work,” Carli responded, not bothering to take offense. “It’s one of the perks of single life—wearing whatever is the most comfortable—and pajama pants are my jam. My pajama jam.”

  Erin chuckled. “Speaking of work, please tell me you’re going to apply for that on-air job. Or better yet, tell me you’ve already done it.”

  Carli was a part-time receptionist at Channel 7 News in downtown Glenville and had been for the past four years, working ten to three, Monday through Thursday. It was basically the perfect schedule, allowing her to be home when her daughters left for school and then be available again in the late afternoon to attend their various sporting events, get them to their doctor and dental checkups, and treat them to spontaneous trips to the salon for pedicures. She loved that girl time with them, especially since Steve had moved out. It made her feel like they were a team, the three of them. More often than not, they’d go out for ice cream afterward, and the girls would tell her about their day and their friends and their homework. They’d talk about the divorce and how life was different now, the ways it was harder but also the ways it was a little easier. Steve had never been the best when it came to dealing with the emotional component of girls, and Carli often found herself trying to overcompensate for that. She still was, actually. Cue the big, messy dog.

  “I’m not sure about that job,” Carli answered in response to Erin’s question. “I haven’t been in front of the camera since college. Not sure I have what it takes.”

  “But you have a degree in broadcast journalism, right? You are qualified.” Erin’s gaze was direct. She was a no-fear, no-regret kind of person and liked to nudge other people to be the same. And if her nudges didn’t work, she’d sometimes shove.

  “Technically I guess I’m qualified, but honestly, a lot has changed in the industry. And they all see me as the receptionist. Jumping from that to doing on-air segments would be quite a leap.”

  “But the only one stopping you from making that leap is you. Sure, maybe they see you as the receptionist now because that’s what you’ve been doing, but maybe this is a good time to show them there’s more to you than that. Life begins outside your comfort zone, you know. And the pay has got to be better than what you’re getting.”

  Erin never shied away from discussing money and thought all her female friends should be earning more than they were. She also thought they should maintain their own bank accounts and have kept their own names. A brief marriage at nineteen that had lasted just long enough for her derelict musician husband to open up an assortment of credit card accounts and max them out in a matter of months had left Erin with a sizable, and logical, chip on her shoulder when it came to women and their financial independence.

  “The pay would definitely be more, but the hours would suck. I’d have to be at the station by seven o’clock every morning, not to mention the weekend and evening stuff. I’d be doing segment work along with cohosting the new morning program.”

  “Seems like a pretty good opportunity to me. The early mornings might be kind of a drag, but it’s not like your kids need you home to make them breakfast before school.”

  Carli felt a blush steal over her cheeks.

  “Oh my gosh. Tell me you’re not still making them breakfast. They’re in high school.” Erin was smiling again, her tone more amused than accusatory.

  “I like to see them in the mornings,” Carli said, hiding behind her coffee cup. “It starts their day off on the right note.”

  Erin nodded. “Sure. Okay. But do you know what starts the day off on an even better note? Having more money in your bank account. Having a career instead of just a job. They’ll both be off at college soon, and you’re going to need something to do with your time. Something besides cleaning up muddy paw prints from your kitchen floor.”

  From some this might seem like an insult, but Carli had known Erin for a very long time and was quite accustomed to this particular soapbox. She knew it was well intentioned and not personal. Well, it was personal, but in an I just want the best for you kind of way. Not a why can’t you do better kind of way. She knew the difference, because Steve’s advice had always been the latter.

  “I’m too old to start a television career now,” Carli said, staring at the foam in her cup. “I’m forty-two, and since TV age for women is like dog years, I may as well be a hundred.”

  “Ridiculous. You look thirty-five, and besides, wouldn’t it be just a little bit fun to suddenly become a local celebrity and have Steve be all like, ‘Wuuut? I was married to that and I walked away?’”

  Carli smiled at the notion, although she had no illusions she’d become a celebrity even if she did get the job. The new Glenville in the Morning show would air locally at eight o’clock while most people were either rushing to work or rushing to get their kids off to school. She’d be background noise to much of their audience while delivering stories about apple orchards and craft shows—not exactly hard-hitting stuff. Still, she had thought about it, and maybe it wouldn’t be that dumb t
o at least try. But what if she was awful? What if she walked into that audition room and the news director said, “Um, aren’t you our front-desk receptionist? Did you bring us coffee before the next talent shows up?”

  Carli’s degree from Michigan State was literally decades old, and other than a few brief internships, she’d never actually worked in front of the camera. She’d planned to, but a surprise proposal from Steve, followed by an even bigger surprise pregnancy, curtailed her journalism aspirations. She’d gone from college grad with a backpack to tired mom with a diaper bag in the span of a few months, with just a bit of time in the middle to also be a round-bellied bride. Her own mother had cried through most of the wedding ceremony, and Carli hadn’t had the courage to ask if those were tears of joy or sobs of disappointment. Then her mother went and died a few years later, and she still hadn’t asked. She’d never asked her father, either, and since he’d remarried about fifteen minutes after her mother’s funeral and moved to Pebble Beach to play golf with his new bride, she probably never would. Although there were some hints as to his opinion on the matter.

  “It lasted longer than I thought it would, kid. You had a decent run,” her father had replied when she’d emailed him about her divorce. That was the depth and nature of their relationship now—emails, along with the occasional birthday card that never showed up on the right date, and gift baskets from Swiss Colony for Christmas, even for her kids.

  “Why does Grandpa think we like sausage so much?” Tess had asked one year, brandishing a two-pound beef log like a sword.

  “Because he’s firmly entrenched in the patriarchy and lacks insight and imagination,” Mia had replied. She’d been twelve at the time.

  Erin eyed Carli for another moment of speculation, then finally said, “Well, you know I support whatever you decide, but I hope you’re not avoiding this job opportunity just because you’re too scared to try. I think you’d be fabulous as a morning cohost. In fact, I don’t know anyone else who is as chipper as you are at that time of day. It’s annoying as hell, but you could put that cheerful attitude to some good use if you wanted to.”

  Erin’s words were like a rubber band snapping against her skin. Not painful, but not pleasant, either. Because maybe Carli was too scared to try. So much in her life had changed since Steve moved out, and taking on a brand-new challenge could either be the best decision she’d ever made or end up being a massive error in judgment. Like letting the kids talk her into a dog or agreeing to be in charge of the parent/teacher appreciation committee at their school. Or not negotiating a better divorce settlement. The problem was, people didn’t typically know a mistake was a mistake until it was too late.

  “I’ll think about it,” Carli said. “But if I worked every morning, we wouldn’t be able to have coffee as often, and I’d miss your ostentatious, two-thousand-dollar coffeepot. I save at least five bucks a day by getting my lattes from you. It makes up for having just a job.”

  Chapter 2

  Not since college had Ben Chase woken up in a strange bedroom and not instantly recognized his surroundings, but this morning it took him a full five seconds to remember exactly where he was. Oh, that’s right. He was in his own bedroom. In his new house. Today was the first day of the rest of his life and all that crap.

  He stretched and yawned and tried not to think about the fact that right now, across town in his old house, his wife was tangled up in bed with some other guy. Not just any other guy, though. Sophia was in bed with Doug, his business partner. Because his soon-to-be ex-wife was sleeping with his soon-to-be ex–business partner. Four months ago, they’d confronted Ben with the old the heart wants what the heart wants speech and admitted to having had a yearlong affair. They said it was the real thing, and they wanted to be together forever. Quite frankly, Ben couldn’t think of a more just punishment for the two of them. They deserved each other.

  Ben stretched in the other direction, noticing a few aches and sore muscles compliments of his recent encounter with moving boxes. Not that he’d brought much stuff from the other house, but what he had brought had been heavy. A mattress and bed frame, lots of books, his weight bench, and every last not-nailed-down item from the bar he’d just finished building in their basement. He’d have torn up and moved the granite countertops if he could have. Not because he was that petty, but because he and Sophia had spent hours wandering around the granite showroom to pick out just the right piece. He was pretty damn proud of that bar, and of all the other projects he’d completed at that house, but when he learned his wife had adulterated all over it, he decided to move out and leave it all behind.

  He’d spent the last several weeks at his sister’s, brooding and trying to make plans, and now, here he was in a much smaller place, basically starting his life over while staring at the rattan ceiling fan circa 1980 wobbling precariously above his head with an annoying click. He felt like that fan. Spinning and spinning and getting nowhere, covered in dust from the past and making sounds that no one wanted to hear. He was tired of himself and all the shouting going on inside his head.

  It was time to move forward, because his life, like the fan and the rest of this house, just needed some focused, intensive labor and maybe a little bit of TLC. He could’ve afforded a bigger, better place in a more prestigious location, but the distraction of working on an old, outdated house appealed to him, and it would certainly be easier to clean up this mess than the mess that was the rest of his life.

  He eased into an upright position, his feet hitting the scratchy, stained Berber carpet. It crackled beneath the weight of him as he stood, and he was not optimistic about the state of the padding underneath.

  He took a faster-than-ever shower because there was no curtain and he didn’t want to get water all over the bathroom, then dried off with a T-shirt because his towels were somewhere in a box in his living room. He should’ve done some unpacking last night, but his brothers and son had been more interested in shooting hoops, and quite frankly, so had he. It had been good to blow off some steam after spending a few hours packing under the squinting, watchful eye of Sophia, as if she thought he’d take anything she hadn’t agreed to. As if he even wanted to. Somehow, using a unique blend of ass-backward logic that wasn’t logical at all, she’d decided to blame him for her infidelity. She reasoned away her betrayal by telling Ben he hadn’t been there for her, which was absurd, because he was with her all the time. Except for all those times she was apparently with Doug.

  All the muscles in his body clenched when he thought of that guy. The guy who’d been his friend since college. The guy who’d worked diligently by his side for the last ten years as they created and grew a very successful solar panel business. The guy who’d been the best man at his wedding. Ironic, really. Turns out Sophia thought he was the best man for her, too. But that was then, and this was now. The past was the past. Time to move on. Like it or not.

  “How’d you sleep last night?” Ben asked as seventeen-year-old Ethan shuffled into the virtually empty kitchen an hour later, wearing nothing but a pair of navy basketball shorts and looking like he’d slept in a wind tunnel. His dark hair was shaggy and wild and desperately in need of a trim, but Ben had learned to pick his battles with this kid. The last few months had been rough on all of them, and since parenting seemed to be a no-win endeavor in the best of times, Ben decided not to pick at him about the less essential stuff.

  “Okay, I guess,” Ethan answered, his sleepy brown eyes scanning the countertops. “Where’s the coffee maker?”

  Ben bit back a snarky comment about how their coffeepot was still sitting on the counter at that other house, because according to his sister—a family therapist—it was up to Ben to set the tone for how this situation progressed. The kids would take their cues from him, and saying negative things about Sophia or the divorce or the fact that her actions had triggered this whole debacle would put Ethan and Addie in the middle. He didn’t want to pile his stress on top of their own, and so he always tried to put a posi
tive spin on things. He failed sometimes, but he was trying—just as he was in virtually every area of his life right now. That was the best he could offer. He was trying.

  “I don’t have one yet, but I’ve ordered a bunch of stuff that should be delivered in the next day or so. If you think of anything you or Addie might need when you’re over here, just let me know and I’ll get that ordered, too. In the meantime, we’re sort of winging it.”

  Ben had never set up a new household, especially from scratch, and he was heavy on the clueless side about what his son and fourteen-year-old daughter might need. Since Addie was currently away at summer riding camp, her immediate needs were less of an issue, but he’d tried to cover all the basics. Pots, pans, dishes, bedding, towels. A toaster, a coffeepot, toilet paper. Worst-case scenario, he could get by with just those last three items for a couple of days, but he also needed groceries. A toaster didn’t do him much good if there was no bread and no butter.

  “Is there anything to eat?” Ethan asked, opening the avocado-green refrigerator. The door squeaked as it swung wide and bumped against the counter, where a permanent divot had been notched into the butcher-block surface.

  Ben shook his head. “Sorry, dude, but if you throw on a shirt, we can go grab some breakfast.”

  Ethan ran a hand through that mass of hair and only made it look worse. “Can we go to IHOP?”

  Ben chuckled. That would never be his first choice, but it was a small accommodation. The kid needed to eat, and clearly, they were both in need of caffeine. “Sure. I’m ready whenever you are.”

  His son turned to leave but paused for a moment at the doorway, glancing back at Ben. “Um, Dad,” he asked, “are you, you know, thinking about making any changes to this place, or do you plan to leave it the same?”

  Ben thought about toying with him, but it was too early in the day for that, and they were both too hungry for joking. “I intend to gut the whole place and start over from scratch. You okay with that?”