And yet, that earth-shattering sex on my desk at work wasn’t polite or appropriate…
Still, I’m the one who drove the final nail in the coffin that held our relationship when I suggested that we continue a clandestine affair. What was I thinking? Why couldn’t I have revelled in the moment? Just shut up, snuggled in, and waited for round two? God, what I wouldn’t give to rewind to that moment and erase those words. They’d been born of uncertainty. I don’t need to track down my therapist from high school to know that. It was my,admittedly awful, way of protecting myself from future heartbreak. And by uttering those words, I broke my own heart and Simon’s as well.
Claudia curls deeper into my lap, not minding the sheen of cookie crumbs that coat her soft fur. Maybe I’ll sneak her out with my luggage. I’m clearly destined to be a lonely, crazy old cat lady, so I might as well start now.
The only antidote to loneliness is Simon, but I know that contacting him would be futile. Cruel, even. I treated him like a yo-yo, running in his direction one minute and begging for escape the next. No one deserves that, especially not Simon.
What I need is to let him move on. And let myself move on. Ugh. We were together for less than a month and this breakup is proving to be much harder than any other I’ve endured.
I shove a thumbprint cookie in my mouth and decide to call Molly to wish her a Happy Thanksgiving. She’s at her dad’s today, and sometimes, I think she almost gets lost in the mix of half-siblings and step-siblings, so maybe I can cheer her up a bit. And then, she can cheer me up. Sounds like a plan. I’m about to place the call when my door swings open and the unmistakable scent of Chanel permeates the room.
“She lives!” my mother crows. “Darling, don’t you think it’s a little juvenile to stay in bed until noon? You’re a little old for these middle school antics, no?”
Patrice Madigan doesn’t wait for a reply; she simply scoops Claudia up (despite the cat’s angry hiss) and surveys the room, her hawkeyes landing on my makeshift cookie tray. “Cookies for breakfast? What a great idea, Elaine. If you can’t land a man, you may as well give up and feed your loneliness.”
“Mother! A few cookies a few times a year won’t kill me.”
My uncharacteristic self-defense is met with a look of derision. “I’m sure that’s exactly what those people said before they had to hire a crane to lift them from their homes. ‘Just one cookie. What could it hurt?’ Oh, Elaine, your father and I tried so hard. We sent you to those camps, that counselor, and still you curl up in bed with a cat and a platter of calories. Darling, you weren’t born with genetics on your side. You and your brother both inherited that thick build from your father’s mother’s side. It works for Everett, but not for you. But do you even try? Clearly,” she picks up the offending tray, which is littered with crumbs and a particularly tasty-looking peanut butter blossom, “you do not.”
And with that, my mother leaves.
Without hesitation, I press a few buttons on my phone and wait.
“Hey, E. What’s up?”
“My mother is a merciless hag. She hasn’t been this nasty since I was 17. She stole my cookies, and I have two hours to make my fat ass presentable enough to endure an evening of strained conversation. I’m not in a good place, Molls. Make me laugh.”
“I will. Right after I get over the fact that your fat ass is still too tiny for my skinny jeans…”
DINNER IS EVERY BITas tense as I predicted it would be. My mom is worse than she’s been in years. Thankfully, she’s temporarily abandoned her two favorite topics: my weight and age. Instead, she turns her venom on Victoria, who isn’t even here to defend herself, though, really, there isn’t much to defend.
“I simply cannot believe you divorced Victoria.”
“You can’t stand her,” Ev states plainly.
“That’s entirely irrelevant, Everett. I’ve been at the center of a scandal, and I didn’t even know it. At times like these, you must think of other people, dear. Your actions were selfish, pure and simple.”
Ev and I stare at our mother with disbelief, even though she’s completely serious, and we both know it.
“You’re delusional, mother. There was no scandal. Just a run-of-the-mill divorce. And I assure you, your name wasn’t mentioned.”
“Still. You should have alerted us. I do hate to be blindsided by these things, you know.”
And just as I’m about to write down today’s date as the first time in ever that my mother and I have agreed on anything, she continues, and the universe rights itself. “I’ve already approved the holiday cards, and they’re due to be mailed next week. Now, we’ll need to fix the picture, and I’ll have to draft a new letter, and Carlo will not be pleased, and he’s simply the best photographer, and I do so hate to cause him stress.”
“So sorry my divorce couldn’t wait until January, Mother,” Everett offers, without an ounce of contrition as he butters a roll.
My mother just glares.
Mrs. Carlisle brings in the main course and talk turns to everyone’s holiday travel plans.
“Your father and I are leaving for our Mediterranean cruise on the 21st, and we’ll be gone for a month. And then, of course, we’re off to Florida until spring, so do come down to visit. Perhaps we can all have Easter dinner together.”
“You’re leaving on the 21st?” I must have misheard her. And, no, we’re not super close, but we always have dinner on my birthday.
“Yes, darling. I just said that. Please try to keep up.” She spears a broccoli floret and holds her fork in mid-air as she pauses. “Oh, yes. Of course. That’s your birthday. The big three-five. Better not to celebrate this year, don’t you think? Still, we’ll send flowers, of course. Edward, make sure Marilyn orders flowers for Elaine’s birthday. Text her now, so you won’t forget. Edward?”
At the repeated mention of his name, my dad’s head perks up, and he sputters, “Yes, you’re right, Patrice. The news of Everett’s divorce really is unsettling.”
