Page 7 of Single-Minded
“That’s a no,” I say.
“What happened?” she asks. Weirdly, my first instinct is to tell her I’ll call her later, so we can talk in private, but instead I decide to let it rip. Because, really, why shouldn’t I?
“Breaking news: Michael is gay, he slept with a born-again basketball player named Bobby Cavale, FOX Sports thinks I’m a man, and now we’re on our way to Connecticut to lie to his bosses. Also, I dropped my wedding ring in an airplane toilet. After this, I’ll need a lobotomy and advice on how to forge Michael’s handwriting for the suicide note. Not in that order.”
Michael does a double take on that one.
“Oh yeah, and we’re getting a divorce. That’s about it,” I say. “What’s new with you?”
“Holy hell. How are you holding up?” Sam asks me. “That lying, cheating jackass. I’ll bet you want to wring his neck. I mean, I knew he was probably gay, or bi, but I never thought he’d act on it.” I looked over at Michael, who was staring tersely ahead as he drove us to Connecticut.
“Jesus, you too? What tipped you off?”
“Britney, Madonna, Gaga. Not to mention his total obsession with boy bands—One Direction, R5, After Romeo, 5 Seconds of Summer. I mean, I love Michael’s taste in music. But it’s not exactly the playlist of a straight man. More like an eleven-year-old girl.”
“Yep, that’s a big red flag.” I sigh, humiliated by my cluelessness. “Listen, I’m shocked, devastated, furious, heartbroken, trying not to think about it right now, or I’ll curl into a ball. Which I can’t do because I’m on my way to fib to Michael’s bosses about how I’m totally cool with him screwing some college player.”
“You’re a saint. He has no idea how lucky he is that you’re doing this for him.”
“True!” I say into the phone, turning to glare at Michael. “He hasno ideahow freaking lucky he is that I’m doing this for him.” My call waiting beeps. “Crap, Sam—my mother is on the other line.”
“See? And you thought this day couldn’t get any worse,” she says.
“Would you please do me a huge favor? “I ask. “Would you please call everybody and let them know what’s going on?”
“Sure, sweetie, call me when you get back,” she says. “Love you.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Love you too, Sam.”
I click over to the other line.
“Hello, Mother,” I say. “How have you been?” Michael shoots me a look of pity.
“Michael’s father called us this morning,” she says tersely. “Have you spoken with an attorney?” Always her first solution to any problem. Professional habit, I guess.
“No, I haven’t. I’ve only known about this for a few hours,” I say. “And some of those were on a plane.”
“Where are you going?” she asks. “Are you coming here?” Because this day isn’t bad enough already.
“No, I’m going to ESPN headquarters to try to save Michael’s job,” I say.
“I’m writing up a contractual agreement for you. Before you talk to anybody at ESPN, you need to get Michael to sign it.”
“I think you may be getting ahead of yourself, Mother. What exactly will this agreement say?” I ask. Michael shoots me a look of panic.
“It’s an agreement releasing you from paying any alimony should Michael lose his job. I’m sending you a list of attorneys, and I want you to start making calls as soon as we get off the phone.”
“Mother, I’m in the car with Michael. I’m having the worst shock of my life. It’s not exactly the best time to start calling divorce attorneys. I’m not asking him to sign anything right now.” I sigh.
“I’ll sign it,” Michael interjects.
“Don’t be an idiot,” I say to him. “You don’t even know what it says.”
“I’m e-mailing it to you,” she says. “Stop at a print shop before you set one foot inside the ESPN building and sign three copies of that document,” instructs my mother.
“I have to go,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”
“It may seem terrible now, but this public humiliation will be forgotten and the media will move on to something else.”
