I worked backstage on a production of “The Nutcracker” that was performed at the Tacoma, Washington school, where my daughter attends kindergarten. Since the company used the school’s theater, they invited the kindergarten ballet class to play Mother Ginger’s children.
What an opportunity; I was excited. But now that it happened, it was chaos: 5-year-old girls who were way past bedtime, had backstage collapses, looted my daughter’s fruit snacks. Luckily someone thought of putting on ‘Frozen’.
The little ballerinas gathered around the TV, some sneezing and coughing through their masks. My daughter, Cassie, was glued to the screen. You could tell she was the only child who hadn’t seen it. We postponed it for a while because she is sensitive to movies and sometimes gets nightmares.
But desperate times called for desperate measures. Ross, her father, came too. He couldn’t get in because he didn’t have his vaccination card, so there we were like complete strangers in the gym; the man I met in Nashville, full of sarcasm. The man who cried with me when, a month after dating, we were unexpectedly pregnant. The man who stroked my hair in the delivery room. The man who showed our daughter her first sunset. The man who lost his job when his company was sold. The man who tried his best, but just couldn’t love me, I guess.
Now, we share this daughter. She is a little leader. She stays calm and strong and positive. But she’s also hilarious. And nice. And flexible. She likes to be the boss. And good for her.
Ross was talking about football with some other dads. And I was watching “Frozen” with Cassie. Sometimes I wish Ross and I could have made it work, but we were both too stubborn. We both wanted to be in charge. I’m hot (moderate) and he’s cold. I thought I could melt it. I think so, for a while. But he is stable and responsible. Somehow, the combination made our hair. And I wouldn’t change that. When she asks why we’re not married, I say I think her father and I met because she was meant to be born.
After what seemed like an eternity, the crew told the girls to line up for their grand entrance. Ross walked backstage with Cassie so I could watch from the audience. It was so exciting and cute to watch them jump out of the giant peppermint and do their little dance. Cass was so tall and delicate and graceful.
Of course they all forgot the moves and a little boy just stood in the middle of the stage, stunned, when a girl tried to walk off stage to her mother.
The public ate it. After that, Cassie would go home with Ross. I also planned to drive home, but I felt restless, full of adrenaline, knowing that Jay, my music agent, was still nearby, his hotel room only six minutes away. I couldn’t pass up the chance to be held again. I told him I would meet him at the hotel bar.
We’ve been doing this for two years since Ross and I broke up. Somewhere in the togetherness of our work we had fallen in love. It’s been highs and lows, between the pandemic (because who needs cops when there’s no concerts?) and his mood and mine. We’ve been kind of a hot gang. But the highlights were magical.
He had me booked to open for Pat Benatar and Andrew McMahon at some of the first drive-in shows this country ever had. He had believed in me, a single mother, and in my music. Or maybe he just wanted to have sex with me. And well, I didn’t mind that either.
But I can’t help but wonder, if Jay hadn’t come with me when I was so lonely, would Ross and I have been able to make it work? The thought torments me. But maybe we were broken long before that.
The weekends with Jay, locked up in hotels and dining in nice restaurants, were wonderful. Being a broke single mom is no small feat. And there was more. We would talk. Every day. Pretty much all day. I would tell him everything. He knows Cassie. He makes her laugh because he is a big kid himself. But then, inevitably, it flakes off and disappears. Sometimes for a weekend. Sometimes a month. And all magic turns into warfare. I don’t even talk to my friends about him anymore. They don’t want to hear it.
But the weekend before the performance of “The Nutcracker” we were in a good mood. I earn an income from three jobs and only have Friday off, so he came Thursday night, when Cass went to see her father. And Jay and I spent every hour in bed making love and watching Christmas movies. He wanted to come to The Nutcracker, but I was worried about Ross.
We’d already said goodbye, but I couldn’t pass up the chance for another round, knowing it could be a long time before I see him again (our pattern is to break up after every weekend we spend together) .
“Can I have a French 75?” I asked the bartender.
I wrapped my arms around Jay’s neck and practically sat on his lap.
“Good drink,” said a sloshing stranger nearby. ‘My mother’s favorite. Named after a cannon in the war.”
Jay and I looked back. It was fun, talking to strangers in a bar. With the way the world is now, it seemed like something from another time.
“Oh my goodness. What war?”
“I don’t remember,” he said.
We spoke to a mother nearby who judged a volleyball tournament that weekend. Then another man walked up with these weird bubble things sticking out of his bag.
“What are those?” I asked, the alcohol made me unabashedly social.
“Those are butt mats, for walking.”
“Oh, smart,” I said.
Jay was quiet. He becomes more shy in public. But he is never shy with me.
“My girlfriend and I are going for a walk tomorrow. Mount Rainier. Have you two ever been?’
“No, but it looks beautiful,” I said.
“Your sweater is just fantastic,” he said.
I was wearing my ugly Christmas sweater from the year before. A giant sloth in a Santa hat graced the front. I forgot I was wearing it.
“Where did you get it?” he asked.
“Target in Puyallup.”
“Oh, maybe we’ll go there tomorrow,” he said. “We’re having an ugly Christmas. And that’s just perfect!”
“You know what?” I said and pulled it away. ‘It is yours. I’ve worn it too much already.”
“What? Are you serious? Oh, I couldn’t.”
“Take it. It’s my good Christmas deed. I’m an elf.”
“Wow. What can I give you back? A drink? I have to give you something.”
“No, we’re good,” I said. “Really. Pay in advance. Don’t make it awkward.”
“Do you like chocolate?”
“Sure, but we really need to have sex now,” I said, gesturing to Jay.
The bartender looked stunned.
The man with the bum mats leaned forward and whispered, “Oh, wait. Are you two – kinky?”
“Uh.” We have laughed. Were we?
“My girlfriend and I are madly in love -“, he said.
Was he suggesting a group sex thing?
“I went to Castle today to surprise her,” he said, referring to the sex shop chain. “I think I might have the perfect thing for you.”
He reached into his bag, pulled out a giant roll of what looked like purple duct tape, and said, “Here.”
“What is this?” asked Jay.
“Sex tape,” the man said, grinning.
I blushed. “Sex tape?” The bartender rolled her eyes and walked away.
‘Yes, it is popular in Sweden. You can tie each other up. Tape each other’s mouths shut. Blindfold each other.”
“Wow, okay,” I said. “Thanks. We’re going to try it.”
He gave us his number. I doubted we would ever text.
Back in the room, we took off each other’s clothes, and then Jay tried to film me. But I was itching and broke out right away.
“Sorry my Apologies!” I said drunk and laughing.
I taped his arms together and then tied them to his feet because we didn’t have scissors; he looked like a stuffed baby. We were cracking. Soon he was mummifying me and rolling me over like a burrito. And then we gave up and fell on the mess of tape. He lowered his head and kissed me.
“I don’t want you to go,” I said.
“I know.”
“Can we please make another trip like this soon?”
“Yes,” he said.
Two weeks later he was gone and we didn’t speak. He says he wants a chance to have children. And I can’t get past a hotel bed. Sex tape might be fun, but it’s not what we need. What we really need, Santa (if you’re reading this), is some relationship glue.