Page 46 of Charm City Rocks
Aaron sets his iPad on the table. “You hear Justin and Shin-Soo got into Yale and Penn?”
She did; their mothers told her, and Robyn wishes there were boxes you could tick on college applications next to the words “Good Kid,” because Caleb is such a good kid. She wants him to get into Stanford for all the obvious reasons. She also wants him to get in because she knows that he wants to get in. She’s caught him looking at the school’s website a hundred times, the way she imagines other moms catch their sons sneaking onto the Victoria’s Secret homepage. Parenthood was easier when he was little. She could just tell him what to do and what to want. Now she’s expected to stand by and watch as he wanders toward something she knows he’ll regret.
“Is he up yet?” Aaron asks.
“Yes,” she says. “He said he’ll help you and Billy move Billy’s stuff in.”
Aaron laughs and shakes his head. “Who’s that you got moving in above the garage, Aaron?” he says, changing his voice to sound like someone else. “Oh, that guy? Just the wife’s baby daddy. No big deal.”
“We’re too old to saybaby daddy.”
“We are, aren’t we?” says Aaron. “When did that happen? It’s a good expression.” He stands now and does some halfhearted arm stretches, preparing himself for a rare bit of manual labor. “Well, at least we don’t have to move that goddamn piano. That thing would kill us all.”
Robyn enjoys the ridiculous image of it: Billy, Aaron, and her beanpole of a son hoisting a piano. Just then, the wood floor beneath her feet shakes, and a moving truck rumbles up the driveway. Calvert Piano Movers, Inc.
Aaron calls up the stairs. “Cay! It’s go time, buddy! Rock and roll!”
Outside, three giant men hop out of the truck. A few seconds later, Billy’s old Mercedes pulls up beside them towing a U-Haul trailer. Robyn goes to the fridge for the Gatorades she bought for everyone.
“Um, Rob?” says Aaron.
She chose orange Gatorade because it’s Caleb’s favorite. Maybe she’ll order some pizza later. “Hmm?” she asks.
“You know all that stuff about Billy meeting Margot Hammer a few weeks ago?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
Aaron leans close to the glass. “She’s…um. I’m pretty sure she’s standing in our driveway.”
Chapter29
Turns out Billydidsay what Margot thought he said last night. He’s moving. Today. Right now, in fact. There’s nothing weird about that. People move. It’swherehe’s moving that she still doesn’t fully understand.
They’re in his car, which is towing a small U-Haul trailer. His Mercedes reminds Margot so much of her mom and dad’s ancient Volvo station wagon that she feels like she’s traveled back in time as Billy weaves his way across the city through narrow, potholed streets. She thinks of her first drum kit sliding around in the back on their way home from the thrift store. Her mom let her hold the sticks, which she used to smack away at the back of the driver’s seat. Her dad smiled in the rearview mirror. “Don’t know if you know what you’re doing, Margie, but that sounds pretty good to me.”
The leather interior of Billy’s car—the Champagne Supernova—is faded, cracked in spots like an old couch. The floormats are as thick as carpet, and the whole vehicle smells like Billy. She noticed it when he opened the door for her earlier—a big whiff of him—and she’s annoyed with herself for letting it turn her brain to fog. Having sex this morning probably contributed to that, too.
Margot again imagines her daughter’s voice in her head.Last nightandthis morning? Shit, Mum. Get it.
They woke in their underwear. Billy put on some music and climbed back into bed beside her. He ran his fingertip up and down the drumstick tattoo on her left arm while he went on about the tricks to making the espresso machine work. Something about holding a lever and not putting in too much milk. She hardly listened because it felt so good to be touched like that, like the nerves on the surface of her skin were connected to every other nerve in her body. Eventually she pulled him on top of her.
“Oh, yeah, okay then,” he said.
They stop at a red light. Two teenage boys step into the intersection with squeegees. One sprays blue liquid on the windshield while the other wipes, smiling at Margot.
“Hey, guys,” says Billy through his open window. “Careful. It’s a classic.”
“We gotcha, man.”
He gives them a few dollars and they hustle off to the next car.
“So,whereare we going again?” she asks. “Where does…shelive?”
“A neighborhood called Roland Park. Not quite the burbs, but close. Nice place.”
No amount of Billy-scented European leather, no number of morning-time orgasms, could make her dimwitted enough to not find this strange. “So, she’s…your son’s mom?”
“Mm-hm. Robyn. You’ll like her. Wound a little tight, but she’s great.”
