The Life List Read online

  But he doesn’t know that, and he looks so adorable, holding the pink-and-brown-polka-dot bag. I smile at him.

  “Please, just set it on the counter. I’ll get it later.”

  He’s back in a flash, rubbing his hands together. “How about some lunch? I can whip up a delicious omelet … unless you’d rather have—”

  “No!” I snap, followed by rush of guilt. What kind of cold, ungrateful person am I? I touch his arm. “I mean … yes. An omelet is fine, thank you.”

  I remember a line from the movie Terms of Endearment. “Don’t worship me until I’ve earned it.” That proud, independent sentiment always resonated with me. But why? Once again I wonder if the man who raised me left a scar so deep that, as an adult, I can’t accept genuine affection. I was so desperate to “earn” Charles’s approval—and Andrew’s, too—that I sacrificed my true identity. And even then I fell short. It’s different with Herbert. I can finally be myself, and he adores me—the real me. For the first time in my life, I’m in a healthy relationship, just as my mother had hoped.

  Herbert peeks around the kitchen wall, an egg carton in one hand and a stick of butter in the other. He grins at me, a smile as sweet and unassuming as a schoolboy’s. I step forward and take his face in my hands, and stare into his eyes so intensely that his face flushes. Then I lean in and kiss his mouth, long and deep and desperately. My spirit and soul and every drop of blood coursing through my veins cries out, Love him!

  And with all of my being, I beg my heart to obey.

  The spring daffodils fade, leaving a path of daisies in their wake. Summer’s pace slows and I drink in every moment with Austin. I trade my heels and skirts for flip-flops and sundresses, and my three-mile runs become lazy strolls behind a baby buggy. Lucky for me, my daughter’s a happy girl, and with the exception of a few bouts of sneezing, she’s remarkably healthy. When I read and sing and talk to her, she listens, wide-eyed and focused, and I swear I see Sanquita in her curious little face. I’ve started a journal for Austin, pointing out their similarities and recording every detail I remember about the brave, beautiful woman who gave her—and me—life.

  In honor of Austin’s three-month birthday, I breeze down the familiar hallway toward the neonatal unit, my daughter snug against my chest in her Moby Wrap. LaDonna spots us from a distance and leaps from her perch behind the desk.

  “Brett!” She throws her arms around me then peers into the sling. “Oh, my goodness, Austin Elizabeth! We’ve missed you so much!”

  I kiss my baby’s forehead. “We’ve missed you all, too.” I lift Austin from the wrap and LaDonna takes her.

  “Hello, cutie pie,” she says, holding the baby out in front of her. Austin kicks her feet and coos. “Look how big you are!”

  “Eight pounds, one ounce,” I say, grinning. “We just came from Dr. McGlew’s office. She’s a picture of health.”

  LaDonna kisses her forehead. “That’s wonderful.”

  I hold out a plate of cookies and a card, stamped in purple with Austin’s footprint. “We made you some goodies for taking such good care of us all those weeks.”

  “Aw, Brett, thank you. You can put them on the counter. They’ll be gone by the end of the day.” I feel her eyes on me as I place the cookies on the nurses’ station. “Motherhood suits you.”

  “Really? You like these dark circles under my eyes?” I laugh. “Honest to God, LaDonna, I have never been more exhausted in my life. Or more grateful.” I glance down at the wonder I call my child. When she sees me, her face bursts with utter joy, like a blaze of sunshine, and I melt. “I say a prayer of thanks to Sanquita every day. Austin is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “Ever.”

  LaDonna winks at me. “Good for you. Now, come sit down. Maureen and Kathy just left for break. They’ll want to see the baby.”

  “We can’t stay.” I glance at the clock behind her desk. “We’re on dinner duty tonight at Joshua House. But we’ll be back another time.”

  “Well, before you leave, you have to tell me what’s happening. Have you and Dr. Moyer gotten engaged yet?” She raises her eyebrows mischievously. “You know, every nurse up here had a bit of a crush on Hubert.”

  “Herbert,” I correct her. “He was pushing for a small ceremony on August seventh, my mother’s birthday, but it’s too soon. For now, I just want to focus on this little pumpkin.”

  “Good move,” LaDonna says.

  I gaze down at my daughter. “It’ll happen someday, of course. Herbert’s wonderful with Austin. You should see them together.”

  She smiles and pats my hand. “Oh, Brett, I’m thrilled things worked out for you. The baby … your gorgeous beau. Your fairy godmother sure takes good care of you.”

  I think of my mother and Sanquita, and their roles in making my dreams come true. But that’s only part of it …

  “It’s true, I’m incredibly lucky. But fairy godmothers can only do so much. I think we each hold the power to grant our own wishes. We just need to find the courage.”

  She smiles. “Well you’ve done it, girl. Good for you!”

  A sinking feeling comes over me. Would my mother agree with LaDonna? Or am I giving up on the one thing she said I should never compromise on? Do I have the courage, this late in the game, to toss aside the prototypical Mr. Right in hopes of finding Mr. Absolutely Right? Or is that courage at all? Maybe it’s stupidity, or immaturity. Just where is that line between courage and arrogance, between wanting what’s right, and expecting more than we deserve?

  After thirty minutes of gathering supplies, performing a last-minute diaper change, and packing my baby girl into her stroller, we’re finally out the door. What did I possibly do with all the extra time before I became a mother?

  Unlike most July scorchers, today’s sky is overcast, and a gentle breeze tickles my bare arms. As we near Efebina’s Café, I spy Brad sitting under an umbrella table. He stands and greets me with a café con leche and a hug.

  “How’s my big girl?” he asks, lifting Austin from her stroller.

  “Tell Uncle Brad how terrific you are, Austin. Tell him how you smile at your mommy.”

  “Are you a happy girl?” He coos and nuzzles Austin. With his free hand, he pulls an envelope from his pocket. Goal number seventeen.

  “Fall in love,” I mumble.

  “Congratulations, B.B. Two months until September’s deadline and you’re right on track. It’s time to move on and buy that horse and the house. You said Herbert’s game, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Brad shifts closer to me. “Something wrong?”

  “No. Nothing.” I take my drowsy daughter from his arms and tuck her into her stroller. “Go ahead. Open it.”

  His gaze is laser-focused on me. “What is it about this one? You’ve always been raring to go when I offer an envelope. Last time I tried to open this, you wouldn’t let me. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Open it.”

  He cocks his head in a way that tells me he’s not buying it, but he opens the envelope nonetheless. He releases the folded pink page, sets it facedown on the table, and stares directly into my eyes.

  “This is your last chance, B.B.,” he says, gripping my arms. “If you aren’t in love with Herbert, you need to tell me now.”

  My heart stammers. I stare back at him until I can no longer stand it. Four months of doubt and frustration rise to the surface. I plant my elbows on the table and drop my head in my hands. “I’m so screwed up, Brad. I thought I loved Andrew, the most self-absorbed man I’ve ever met. But for some reason I can’t muster any depth of emotion for this great guy who’d do anything for me.” I clutch two fistfuls of hair. “What’s wrong with me, Midar? Am I still looking for someone I have to win over, like Charles?”

  He tousles my hair. “Love is fickle. If we could choose who we fall in love with, do you think I’d choose a woman who lives two thousand miles away?”

  “But Herbert is so good. He loves me
. And he loves my baby. And he wants to marry me. What if I lose him? What if I never find anyone else who loves us the way he does? I could be alone forever, and Austin would be fatherless.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. Your mother wouldn’t have left the goal on your life list if you weren’t able to accomplish it. She knows you’ll meet someone.”

  I groan. “Now you sound as crazy as I do.”

  “I’m serious. It’s occurred to me more than once that she’s engineered some of these events.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, maybe she engineered my relationship with Herbert. Maybe she guided him here to Chicago, into my brother’s department, just so we’d meet and fall in love.”

  “I’m not feeling it.”

  “Why not?”

  He gives me a wan smile. “Because you’re not in love with him.”

  I look away. “But I should be. Maybe if I just try a little harder, give it a little more time …”

  “Love is not an endurance test.”

  “But Herbert thinks we’re meant to be together—and maybe we are.” I sigh and rub my temples. “If only my mom would give me a sign. If only she’d send one huge, unmistakable signal telling me whether or not he’s the one.”

  He stares at the folded letter on the table. “Shall we?”

  The sight of the letter makes my heart leap. “I don’t know. Would that be fair?”

  “I think we can take a quick peek. Who knows? Maybe it’ll shed some light on your feelings.”

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Okay. Go ahead.”

  Brad unfolds the letter and clears his throat.

  “ ‘Dear Brett,

  “ ‘I’m sorry, darling. This is not the man for you. You are not in love. Keep trying, my dear.’ ”

  My mouth falls open and I let out a gasp of relief. “Oh, thank God!” I throw back my head and laugh. “She gave me my sign, Brad! My mother has spoken. I’m free!”

  I feel Brad’s eyes on me. He’s no longer reading. He’s folding the letter and sliding it back into its envelope. And where are his reading glasses? How was he able to read Mother’s message without his glasses? My face falls.

  “Oh, God. You made that up.” I go to snatch the letter from him, but he holds it aloft.

  “It doesn’t matter now. You’ve got your answer.”

  “But he adores Austin. And he thinks we’re going to be a family. He’ll be crushed.”

  “You’d rather wait until he’s on one knee, offering you a diamond ring?”

  My stomach rumbles and I pinch the bridge of my nose. “No. Of course not.” It takes me a minute before I’m able to lift my eyes to his. “I’ve got to break Herbert’s heart, don’t I?”

  “Nobody said love was easy, kid.” He stuffs the pink envelope into his shirt pocket. “We’ll save this for another time,” he says, patting his pocket. “I’ve got a feeling it’ll be worth the wait.”

  My stomach is in knots as I wait for seven o’clock—and Herbert—to arrive. Just as I finish feeding Austin, the phone rings. I jump, hoping it’s Herbert calling to cancel. But instead I hear Catherine’s cool voice. She and Joad must be back from their week in Saint Bart. I put the phone on speaker and prop Austin on my shoulder.

  “Welcome home,” I say, patting Austin’s back. “How was your trip?”

  “Absolute perfection,” she says. “The resort was an all-inclusive, I told you that, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, I think—”

  “I’m telling you, Brett, we’ve never been so spoiled. We were able to choose from three five-star restaurants, all of which were divine. If it weren’t for their state-of-the-art workout facility, I’d have gained ten pounds!” She laughs. “Our every need was met half an hour before we even knew we had it.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” I say cheerfully, but inside I’m smacked with an image of my own all-inclusive—Hotel Herbert, asking if I need anything, wondering if there’s anything he can do for me.

  “It was. In fact, it was one of the best resorts we’ve visited, and we’ve stayed in some pretty spectacular places. You and Herbert really should go sometime. You’d have to be insane not to fall in love with this place.”

  A cramp seizes my stomach. I’m insane to break up with Herbert! Any normal person could love him.

  Suddenly my mind shifts back to a time nearly thirteen years ago, when my mother and I were in Puerto Vallarta. She took me to the Mexican port town to celebrate my graduation from Northwestern. It was the first time either of us had stayed at an all-inclusive resort. And just like Catherine’s experience, Grand Palladium Vallarta was a glimpse of heaven. A full-service day spa, three infinity pools, and more gourmet meals and umbrella drinks than we could possibly consume. But by the third day, I was desperate to escape. I felt horrible for not loving the manufactured paradise. It must have cost my mother a fortune.

  She’d be devastated if she knew what an ungrateful daughter she’d raised.

  But that afternoon, when the pool attendant asked us for the tenth time if we wanted another drink, or a dry towel, or a spritz of cool water, my mother shook her head. Ever the clairvoyant, I could swear she read my mind.

  “Gracias, Fernando, but we don’t need a thing. No need to check on us again.”

  She smiled graciously until he was out of earshot, then she turned to me. “I’m sorry, darling, but I’m going loco in this paradise.”

  To this day, I’m not sure whether she was being truthful, or if she claimed to be going crazy for my sake. Regardless, I nearly fell off my chaise laughing.

  We ran up to our room then, giggling as we threw on sundresses and sandals. We took a rickety old bus to Viejo Vallarta—old town—and haggled with area vendors at the mercado. Later we stumbled upon a local joint. A mariachi band, dressed in silver-studded suits and sombreros, played on a dusty wooden platform. My mother and I sat at the bar drinking cerveza, yelling out with the band and the local patrons at each interlude. It was the best night of our trip.

  The doorbell rings and my heart skips a beat. “Sorry, Catherine, Herbert’s here. Glad you’re back. Give Joad my love.”

  I walk to the door with Austin in my arms, grateful for the beautiful memory stirred by Catherine’s call. Is it possible there are two types of people, those who adore all-inclusive resorts and those who find them stifling? And maybe, just maybe, those of us who consider 24/7 pampering oppressive aren’t ungrateful fools, after all.

  I wait until Austin is asleep. When I tiptoe back into the living room, I see Herbert on the sofa, sipping a glass of Chardonnay and perusing one of my novels. My chest clamps. He looks up and smiles when he sees me.

  “Mission accomplished?”

  I cross my fingers. “So far, so good.”

  I sit down beside him and check out what he’s reading. Of all my wonderful books, he’s selected James Joyce’s Ulysses, arguably the most difficult read in English literature. “That was mandatory reading for me back at Loyola Academy,” I say. “God, I hated—”

  “It’s been years since I’ve read this,” he interrupts. “I’d love to read it again. May I borrow it?”

  “Keep it,” I say.

  I lift the book from his hands and place it on the coffee table. As if this were his cue, he leans in to kiss me. With the desperate longing that this time my breath will catch and I’ll feel a flutter of butterflies in my stomach, I let him.

  It doesn’t. And I don’t.

  I draw back. Like ripping off a bandage, I let loose the words in one quick swoop. “Herbert I can’t keep seeing you.”

  He lowers his face to mine. “What?”

  Tears well in my eyes and I cover my trembling mouth. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You’re a wonderful man. The best guy I’ve ever dated. But …”

  “You don’t love me.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  “I’m not sure,” I say
softly. “And I can’t risk your happiness, or mine, waiting to find out.”

  “You are not risking …” He stops midsentence and lifts his head to the ceiling, biting his lip.

  I turn away and squeeze shut my eyes. What the hell am I doing? This man loves me. I should jump up now, laugh and tell him this was all a joke. But I’m cemented to the sofa and my mouth is sealed shut.

  Finally, he pulls himself to his feet. He stares down at me, and I can actually see his face shift from sadness to anger. He’s suddenly strong … stronger than I’ve ever seen him.

  “What the hell are you looking for, Brett? Another asshole, like your last boyfriend? Really? What is it you want?”

  My heart quickens. My God, Herbert has balls, after all. I’ve never even heard him swear before … and I kind of like it. Maybe I was too hasty … Perhaps this would work if …

  No. I’ve made my decision. I can’t unbake this cake.

  “I … I don’t know.” How can I tell him that I’m looking for something so special, when it happens I won’t have to wonder whether I’ve found it?

  “You need to think about this, Brett, because you’re making a huge mistake. Deep inside, you know it. I won’t be available forever. You need to figure this out before it’s too late.”

  His words suck the air from my lungs. What if he really is the one, and I find out too late? I watch, stupefied, as he crosses the room and drags his Burberry coat from the closet. With one hand on the doorknob, he turns around and searches out my tear-soaked face.

  “I truly loved you, Brett. And Austin, too. Give her a good-bye hug for me, will you?” With that, he steps out the door and pulls it shut behind him.

  I burst into tears. What the hell have I done? Did I just let the man of my dreams—my beautiful Burberry man—walk away? I curl up in the chair next to the front window and gaze out at the dusty sky, as if searching for an answer, hidden somewhere out there in the dark abyss. Is my mother watching over me right now? What is she trying to tell me? I sit there until two A.M., second-guessing my decision and waiting to hear my mother’s words, “There will be another sky, my love.”