This Was Not the Plan Read online

  “You look beautiful, my dear,” my father says, beaming.

  “Thanks, Dad. Buck’s showering. He’ll be down in a few.”

  “He did such a wonderful job with the hydrangeas.”

  Zadie grins. “He’s got a green thumb for sure.”

  “He has a gift.”

  I turn away from them, resisting the urge to gag.

  Ives reenters, looking at his watch. “Dinner is ready, sir,” he says to my father. “Shall we?”

  “Let’s. I’m starved.”

  Ives wheels my father into the house, Shelley and Madison in tow. Zadie practically shoves me through the French doors behind them.

  “Whoa, Tiger,” I growl at her. “What happened to ‘ladies first’?”

  “Nope.” She puts a firm hand on my shoulder. “You’re staying where I can see you. No sneaking off until you’ve at least sat through dinner. It’s only polite.”

  “I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Good. Because Dad made sure to serve all your favorites.”

  • • •

  The dining room table seats sixteen, but there’s only six of us tonight. Ives wheels my father up to the head of the table. Shelley tucks a napkin into the collar of his shirt and takes a seat to his left. Zadie and Buck sit next to her, leaving Madison to sit next to me.

  “Please start,” Shelley says, with the authoritarian air of a hostess.

  I do a quick scan of her left hand: several expensive-looking rings, but none on the all-important finger. I wonder how long they’ve been together. My father was married when he had the affair with my mother, but that was thirty-five years ago. He could have been married five times over since then and I wouldn’t know the difference.

  It occurs to me how little I know about him. I always followed his career in the press, but I couldn’t tell you the first thing about his personal life. The way Mom told it, my father didn’t have a personal life. He was interested in one thing and one thing only, and that was making money. “He didn’t know how to have fun,” she told me once, after too much wine. “He didn’t know how to live.” Looking around this place, though, I can’t help but wonder: Did Mom have it wrong? There’s a swimming pool, a tennis court, a Ping-Pong table, a billiards room. There’s a well-appointed library, the shelves of which are stuffed with books. And of course there’s the ocean, a mere hundred yards from the front door. It’s possible it’s all for show. Or maybe, just maybe, the guy’s changed.

  Shelley’s staring at me, I can feel it. I look up. She gives me a tender-eyed smile, the kind generally reserved for three-legged basset hounds and thirty-five-year-old widowers. I smile back, embarrassed. She obviously knows my life story; I don’t even know her last name.

  “I’ve heard so much about you, Charlie,” she says. If she was close enough to take my hand, she would.

  “Thank you for dinner,” I mumble, unable to think of anything else to say.

  “Zadie told me you love oysters. And I have all sorts of things for Caleb, too, whenever he’s feeling up to it. I didn’t know what he likes to eat, so I just got lots of everything.” She laughs nervously.

  “That’s kind of you, but I’m not sure how long we’ll be staying.”

  “Shelley used to be a nurse,” Zadie says, as though this explains everything. “She takes such good care of Dad. He’s really lucky to have her around.”

  Shelley blushes. She fingers a diamond heart pendant that has nestled itself between her generous breasts. A gift, I have to assume, from my father. Her nails are painted in the same orangey pink as her lips. “I’m the lucky one,” she says, and beams at my father.

  You certainly are, I think, glancing around the gigantic dining room. I knew my father did well for himself, but this spectacular oceanfront property tells me just how well. I don’t know where Shelley came from, but I’m going to hazard a guess it’s not nearly as luxurious as this.

  “Any man would die happy after just one night with Shelley,” my father declares. “And what’s it been now, Toots? Eleven months we’ve been together?”

  “A year next week.”

  “A year! We need to celebrate. I’m one lucky man.” He raises his champagne glass, and everyone else follows suit.

  “To family,” my father says, and nods solemnly.

  “Here, here.” Buck stands up, and the two men clink glasses. Buck, I notice, has cleaned up rather nicely. His button-down shirt is tucked neatly into his jeans. His long hair is tied back in a ponytail and for once, he’s actually bothered to shave. He’s slimmer, too, and tanner. At six foot two, he dwarfs my sister, but they fit together nicely. As he sits back down, her head slips easily onto his shoulder. His arm falls around the back of her chair. They’re a handsome couple, I have to admit. Handsome and happy.

  Buck seems at ease around my father, which surprises me. As the dinner progresses, he listens intently to my father’s stories about Wall Street in the eighties. He asks reasonably articulate questions about mergers and acquisitions. For his part, my father, who was once referred to as “the ultimate ball buster in the boardroom” by the New York Post, laughs easily at Buck’s jokes and even appears engaged when Buck launches into a ten-minute-long seminar on how to properly prune a hedge. If he’s disappointed by his daughter’s choice of spouse, he doesn’t show it. Likewise, if Buck’s repulsed by my father’s decadent lifestyle, his Dolly Parton-esque girlfriend, or his deep-seated commitment to the Libertarian Party, he’s smart enough not to let on. From one outsider’s perspective, Buck, my father, Zadie, and Shelley are one big happy family.

  “They’re cute together,” Madison says to me, nodding at Buck as he steals a kiss from Zadie. “He worships the ground she walks on.”

  “He better.”

  “He does. I can tell.” Madison takes a sip of her wine. “What about you?” she says after a second. “You dating anyone?”

  I cough a little. No one’s dared ask me that—at least, not in such blunt a fashion. Usually they dance around the topic, asking instead if I’ve been “getting out” or “meeting new people.” No one wants to be the guy who tramples on the memory of my dead wife.

  “That’s kind of a personal question.”

  “Just making conversation.”

  “What about you? That guy you were playing tennis with—is he your boyfriend?”

  She frowns, confused. “Oh, Sven? Tall, blond guy? Amazing body?”

  “His name is actually Sven?”

  “He’s Swedish. He’s, like, a really big-deal model over there.”

  “Of course he is.”

  She shakes her head. “He’s just a friend. He’s giving me free tennis lessons. He mostly teaches bored housewives who pay him a gazillion dollars a lesson because he looks so great with his shirt off. One of them lets him live in her pool house. It’s a pretty sweet gig, if you can handle getting hit on forty times a day. Which Sven definitely can.”

  “Nice work if you can get it.”

  “If you’re interested, I can introduce you. He’s always telling me he needs another instructor to help out. July and August are his busy months. Maybe it would be fun for you while you’re in between jobs.”

  “What makes you think I’m between jobs?”

  “I hear you were captain of your high school tennis team,” she says, ignoring my question.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “From your dad.” I can tell she’s enjoyed catching me off guard. “He’s very proud of that, you know.”

  “That was a long time ago. About eighteen years and twenty-five pounds, to be exact.”

  Madison looks me up and down. “I bet you can still play. I hear it’s like riding a bike. I wish I’d learned earlier. I’m not sure I’ll ever get the hang of topspin.”

  “You’re just learning now?”

  She chuckles. “Yes, I’m just learning now. I didn’t exactly grow up in a place where people have tennis courts in their backyards.”
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  “Neither did I,” I say, annoyed. “I learned to play on a crappy court at the local community college.”

  “Hey, it’s not a competition,” she says. A bemused smile flits across her lips. “Listen, you want a competition, let’s play tomorrow. You’ll have to give me a spread, though. I’m a girl, after all.”

  “Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t play anymore.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever.” I look away from her, but I can feel her staring intently at the back of my neck. Zadie, who seems to have sensed the mounting tension between Madison and me, glares at me from across the table.

  “Jeff will be disappointed to hear that,” Madison says, sounding wistful. “He talks about how good you were all the time. He’s really into tennis, you know. Still goes to the US Open, even in his condition.”

  “Impressing my father is not exactly a life goal of mine.”

  “Ah. So it’s a coincidence, then?”

  “What is?”

  “That you went to the same law school he did?” She says this like it’s nothing, like she’s asking how I take my coffee.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap at her. “Look, you don’t know me. You don’t know the first thing about me.”

  “Charlie!” Zadie barks from across the table. “What’s gotten into you?”

  I glance up. Everyone is staring at me. Buck looks embarrassed. Zadie looks pissed. Shelley looks perplexed, like she can’t begin to fathom where such anger is coming from. My father, well, he just looks sad.

  “What?” I bark back at Zadie, crossing my arms defensively against my chest. “You didn’t hear what she said to me.”

  “I just suggested he could teach tennis with Sven,” Madison appeals to the table. “I was only trying to help.”

  “I don’t need your help. And I don’t need a job, either, FYI. I accepted a new position an hour ago.”

  “You did?” Zadie stares at me incredulously. “Already?”

  “That’s great, Charlie.” Shelley gives me an indulgent smile, like I’ve just announced that I’m becoming a Boy Scout. “Good job.”

  “With who?” my father says. “You’re not going back to Hardwick, are you?”

  “No, I’m not,” I say, surprised to hear him admit that he knows where I work.

  “Good. Fred Kellerman is a dickhead if I ever saw one.”

  “Actually,” I say frostily, “Fred is starting a new firm, and he asked me to work for him. I’m going to be his partner.”

  “Ah,” he says, and tucks into his lobster.

  I sit for a minute in stunned silence, expecting him to apologize or at least back-pedal a little. Instead, he chews. His bottom lip hangs open as he does it, like a door that doesn’t quite hang right on the frame.

  “For the record, Fred is not a dickhead. He’s been a mentor to me.”

  My father shoves a giant piece of lobster claw in his mouth. “He’s a great lawyer, I’ll give him that,” he says after a loud swallow. “If I was going to learn how to litigate from anyone, it’d be him. But he’s a dickhead. I went up against him once, back when I was still practicing. He didn’t think twice about re-trading us at the last minute. He’s an Indian giver.”

  “Oh my God.” I glare at Zadie, who refuses to make eye contact, “I can’t decide what’s more offensive: you insulting a man I just told you was my mentor, or the fact that you actually just used the phrase ‘Indian giver.’ ”

  “He offered us a settlement and then took it back.”

  “I know what it means.”

  “I just call it like I see it. That’s all. I’m too old to pussyfoot around. If I don’t like someone, I say so. And I don’t like Fred Kellerman.”

  “Can’t we drop this?” Zadie pleads. “Can’t we talk about something else?”

  “What, and pretend we’re having a normal family dinner?” I say. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “We don’t have to pretend anything,” Madison says crisply. “But we can try to behave like civilized adults.”

  “No one asked for your opinion,” I hiss at her. “This isn’t your family, so why don’t you just butt out?”

  “Actually, this is my family. Jeff—your dad—is about to propose to Shelley—my mom. We’re going to be stepsiblings, you idiot.”

  My mouth drops open. Before I can speak, Shelley lets out a pig-like shriek. “You’re going to propose to me, baby?” She leaps up and throws her body onto my father, covering his face in kisses. “Oh my God, are you really?”

  “That’s great,” Buck says, raising his champagne glass. “Mazel tov.”

  “When was this supposed to happen?” Zadie says, looking slightly crestfallen. Clearly she’s not loving the idea of her father stealing her engagement thunder. “You never said anything, Dad.”

  My father shrugs from beneath Shelley. His mouth flops open and closed, fishlike, but no words come out.

  “Jeff?” Shelley says, pulling herself up. “It’s true, right? You’re proposing, right?” She searches his face, desperate for answers.

  “I helped him pick out the ring,” Madison insists. “Tell them, Jeff.”

  “You let her help you pick out the ring?” Zadie asks, pointing a finger at Madison. “What about me? Why wouldn’t you ask me? And when exactly are you getting married? I thought you were okay with us getting married here at your house. But if you have your own wedding to plan—”

  “Wait—what?” I push my chair back from the table. “You’re getting married here? No way. That’s so not cool, Zadie.”

  “It’s hard for Dad to get around and I want him to be there,” Zadie declares. “Anyway, why do you care where I get married? It’s my wedding.”

  “Well, for starters, I never want to set foot in this house again. Not to mention the fact that Mira and I got married in the Hamptons, so it doesn’t exactly bring back the best memories for me. You seriously couldn’t find a more neutral venue?”

  “Your wedding was in Sag Harbor!” Zadie shouts. “That’s a totally difference place!”

  “It’s still the Hamptons!” I shout back.

  “SHUT UP, YOU TWO,” my father booms. “SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN.”

  Stunned, Zadie and I both fall back into our seats. Madison, Buck, and Shelley all stare at their hands, as though embarrassed to be caught in the middle of our family drama. The dining room is so quiet that I can hear the banging of pots in the kitchen and the far-off sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

  “That’s better,” my father says in a normal tone of voice. “Now, look. I’m going to talk for a few minutes and you’re going to listen. And after I’m done, you can scream at each other all you like, or you can scream at me, or you can get up and walk out and that will be that. All I’m asking for is two minutes of your time. Fair?”

  Like petulant teenagers, we nod our heads.

  “Good,” he says. “All right. So first of all, Charlie, I want you to know that I understand how hard this must be for you. I have a ways to go in proving myself to you, and I know that we may never get to the point where you are comfortable visiting my house. When I offered to host Zadie’s wedding, I worried how you would respond to it. The last thing I want to do is have you feel like I’m just strolling into your life after thirty-five years and trying to pretend that I’m the father that we both know I wasn’t. I can’t make up for the time I wasn’t there for you. Trust me, if there’s one thing I know, that’s it. And I’m not trying to. I’m simply trying, as best I can, to be the best possible father I can be with the years I still have left.”

  He looks at me, hoping, I suppose, for some kind of reaction.

  Keep your mouth shut, I tell myself. I stare straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact. Pretend you’re in court, listening to opposing arguments. Don’t let him see you react. It’s better to let him sweat.

  After an uncomfortable second, my father clears his throat and keeps talking. “Over the past five years, Zadie and I hav
e managed to build a relationship. I’m grateful every day that she’s allowed me to be a part of her life. It’s meant more to me than you could ever imagine. When she and Buck told me they were going to get married at City Hall because they couldn’t afford anything more than that, I told them I’d pay for them to get married in any fashion they wanted. It’s what any father would do for his daughter. But Buck and Zadie said no. They just weren’t comfortable having me foot the bill.

  “Now, as you can see, the past few years have not been kind to me. I have Parkinson’s disease, Charlie. It’s hard for me to get around. So I suggested an entirely self-serving solution: Get married here, and soon. That way I don’t have to get in a car, and Zadie and Buck get a free venue. And, given Buck’s green thumb, I’ve gotten a whole new garden out of the deal. That’s what, in my business, we call a win-win.

  “Now, it’s true, I would also like to marry Shelley. I don’t have much time left, and what time I do have, I’d like to spend with her. I asked Madison to help pick out a ring because I figured she’d know her mom’s taste better than anyone. I wasn’t going to pop the question until after Zadie and Buck’s wedding, because I wanted this to be their special time. They were kind enough to have a short engagement at my request, so I figured the least I could do was let them enjoy the few weeks of engagement they do get to have.”

  Here my father stops and gestures for Shelley to hand him a glass of water. He sputters a little when he takes a sip, and for the first time, I realize how weak he truly is. Despite everything, I feel a sudden urge to reach out and hug him.

  “So that’s it,” he says. He sniffs a little; his eyes, I notice, are watering. Shelley and Zadie, too, are fighting back tears. Even Buck has his hand over his heart, like he’s been touched deeply by my father’s words. “That’s all I’ve got. I may not have gone about any of this in the right way, Charlie, but I’m trying. I really am.”