Amanda, the hipster, wore red-framed glasses and studied me without a smile. Her dark hair was piled on the crown of her head in a messy bun, and she was wearing the least slutty outfit of the group. I made a mental note to steer clear of her. I didn’t like the way she was looking at me. People who took themselves that seriously were dangerous. She was the territorial type, I could tell. Probably considered herself Bad Mommy’s best friend. Charlotte and Natalie were sisters. Their eyes briefly bounced over to where I was standing, and they offered a halfhearted wave as Bad Mommy told me their names then went back to their conversation, which seemed to be about one of their husbands.
“Natalie caught her husband cheating,” Bad Mommy said quietly. “That’s probably what we’re going to be talking about all night.”
She didn’t say it in a judgmental way, it was more matter-of-fact, and I liked that she included me in something so private. I smiled appreciatively, eyeing the necklace that hung in the hollow of her clavicle. It was a small, blue stone on a silver chain. My eyes almost popped out of my head. She saw me looking and reached up to touch it.
“A gift,” she said. “From Darius. I was planning on having a similar stone set into a watch for him for our anniversary. I ordered it but I think it got lost in the mail.”
My stomach somersaulted. I thought of the little velvet box tucked away safe in the kitchen drawer. I wanted to touch it, look at it again now that I knew its intent.
I looked at Bad Mommy, feeling suddenly lighter than I had all night. She looked nice. She was wearing a black strapless jumper and red flats. I noticed the tattoos for the first time and frowned. What type of example was that for Mercy? People scribbling all over their skin. The last person she introduced me to was Gail. Being the friendliest of the bunch, she immediately hugged me, asked who I voted for in the last election, said she was kidding, and hugged me again. I didn’t think she was kidding. She walked me over to the martini shaker everyone was worshipping and asked if she could pour me a drink.
“I’ll just have one at the restaurant,” I said. “I don’t want to drink and drive.”
“We had to cancel our reservation.” Bad Mommy frowned. “Darius is tied up at the office, so we’re just going to hang here for the night.” I saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes then it was gone.
“We ordered sushi!” Gail said, changing the subject. “You do eat sushi, don’t you?” she asked.
I nodded my head and smiled. I hated sushi.
I let Gail make me a drink, while Bad Mommy brought Mercy into the kitchen to say goodnight.
“I can put her to bed if you want to hang out here,” I said. I knew I was probably overstepping a line, but I desperately wanted to hold her.
“I read three stories before putting little girls to bed,” I told Mercy. “I bet you don’t like that many stories.”
She held out her arms to me and my insides thrilled.
Bad Mommy looked unsure.
“You take a break. You need it,” I told her. I smiled reassuringly. “I’ll get you when our stories are done and you can come kiss her goodnight.”
That seemed to relax her. She glanced past me into the kitchen where the girls had started playing a drinking game then reluctantly relinquished her hold on Mercy, who jumped enthusiastically into my arms.
“Okay,” I said. “You have to show me where your bedroom is.” She squirmed to get down and then ran ahead of me down the hall. I followed her to the last door on the left and paused in the doorway while she ran straight for the bookcase.
It was marvelous. That was the only word I could think of for the little room she’d created for Mercy.
“Mercy. This is the best bedroom I’ve ever seen,” I told her. I stepped inside, sinking into the plush carpet. It looked like crayons had been stuck to the ceiling and then melted down the walls. The four posts of Mercy’s bed were lollipops, and there were stuffed animals perched on every available surface. Before I had time to really look around, Mercy was pushing me toward the bed, three books in her hand. I smiled, wishing I’d seen her count out the books. When we were snuggled next to each other, I put my arm around her and picked up Goodnight, Stinky Face. Was this what it would have been like? I’d decorated the nursery the week I’d found out I was pregnant, chose bedding with teddy bears on it, and bought a mobile of the planets to hang above the crib. When I lost my daughter I packed it all up and dropped it off at the Goodwill. All my dreams stuffed into a box with cans of chicken noodle soup on the outside. Mercy’s eyelids started drooping halfway through Goodnight Moon. I didn’t want her to go to sleep, I wanted to stay here with her and read all of the books on her bookshelf. I stayed and read her the third book even though she was fast asleep beside me. I always kept my promises. Then I lifted the covers to her chin, kissed her softly on the cheek, and padded out of the room.
When I walked back into the kitchen, everyone stopped what they were doing to look at me. I glanced down at my pants to make sure I hadn’t gotten my red early. That happened once in high school and it was still painful to think about.
“She fell asleep,” I said. “Before I finished the second book.” Gail saluted me with a shot glass of Fireball, and everyone cheered. I grinned despite myself.
Bad Mommy’s hair had come undone and was hanging in waves around her face. She pushed back from the counter where she’d been standing with Amanda and came over to put an arm around my shoulders. She handed me a shot glass and held her own above her head.
“To Fig, the baby whisperer,” she said.
“To Fig,” everyone repeated. And there was the pouring of cinnamon flavored fire down my throat, and a spasm of coughing, as everyone laughed like it was the best thing in the world to let alcohol hurt you this badly.
“That’s terrible,” I said, handing back my shot glass. I pressed the back of my hand to my lips, waiting for the burning to stop.
“Did you guys hear that?” Bad Mommy said. “Fig says she wants another!”
There was more cheering, more pouring, more coughing. My eyes were watering and I was feeling warm around the collar when Darius arrived with the sushi. I straightened up as soon as I saw him, tucking my hair behind my ears.
Bad Mommy wrapped her arms around his waist and reached up on her tiptoes to kiss the underside of his chin. Darius, whose hands were filled with plastic bags of takeout, leaned down for a proper kiss.
“Fig,” he said, picking me out of the group. “You came. What do you think about this group? They’re complete nutcases.”
I felt heat crawl up my neck at being called out in front of everyone. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just one I was unused to. When last had a man who looked like Darius Avery ever taken the time to tease me?
“They’re getting me drunk,” I said. “I’ve never been drunk.” Everyone turned to look at me. It was like I had just announced that I’d never had an orgasm.
“What? Fig, are you serious?” Casey, the bragging mom started pouring me another shot.
Darius set the bags on the counter, and then took the shot that was being offered to me. Tilting his head back, he poured it down his throat while all of the women looked on. I felt warm all over that he’d wanted something that had been meant for me. When he set his glass down he looked at Bad Mommy and asked, “Where’s my moon?”
“Asleep. Fig put her down. Isn’t that amazing?”
I wouldn’t exactly call putting a child to bed amazing, but I glowed under the attention.
“What did you do?” he asked, wide-eyed. “Care to share your secrets?”
“Mercy hates sleeping,” Bad Mommy explained. “It’s a fight every single night to get her down. Everyone in this room has tried and failed.” The group started nodding all at once. I wondered why she hadn’t told me this in the first place? Maybe she was testing me, or maybe she had a sense of my bond with Mercy.
“Oh,” was all I could think of to say. I was soaring inside. “I didn’t do anything. She just went right down.” What
I wanted to say was that Mercy and I shared a connection, and if anyone could get her to sleep it was me. I’d been robbed, after all. It should be me who was putting her to bed every night. That was probably why they had such a hard time with it. But, you couldn’t just tell people that outright, not yet anyway.
I made myself a plate of the tiny, colorful rolls of fish everyone was oohing and ahhing over, and went to sit at the table. The only available seat was next to Amanda, who seemed to scoot away when I slid in next to her.
“So, Fig,” she said. “What brings you to our neighborhood?”
“I needed a change of scenery,” I said, pushing the sushi around my plate with the chopsticks someone had handed me. “Life felt really stale, you know? I was really depressed, so I decided to do something about it.”
Everyone around the table who heard me nodded in unison, like they’d all been there before.
A little crease appeared between Amanda’s brows. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. Then she raised her martini glass, and I quickly lifted mine to match, and she said, “Cheers to new beginnings.”
We clinked glasses and I sort of liked her more after that. Cheers to new beginnings. Maybe I was too hard on women. Society trained us to believe they have ulterior motives. George had always thought people had ulterior motives for liking me. Once there’d been a lady from the salon I hit it off with while both of our heads were under the dryer. We’d talked about our love of eighties music, late night cereal, and the babies we’d been waiting on for ten plus years. When I was getting ready to leave, she’d handed me a slip of paper with her name and phone number on it, and told me to text her so we could have coffee. Vivi, it said above her number. I’d gone home excited and told George, who was parked in front of the television with a beer. I didn’t have any girlfriends, and this seemed like an answer to a hope I’d been holding on to since moving to Washington. Vivi and Fig shopping, Vivi and Fig eating lunch at an outside cafe with their sunglasses on, Vivi and Fig exchanging Christmas cards and throwing each other baby showers when the time came.
“She just gave you her phone number?” George asked without looking up from the game. “She’s probably a lesbian and wants you to lick her cooch.”
I’d not saved her number. I’d laid it gently in the trash with a sinking feeling in my stomach. I was a loner, I told myself. I had George—we had each other—and that was enough. Plus, George was probably right: she had just gotten a pixie cut. If that didn’t scream lesbo then I didn’t know what did.
But, here I was, surrounded by a table of women who cheered and raised their glasses when I put Mercy to sleep. Maybe having girlfriends was exactly what I needed. The tribe I’d been looking for. I would stop judging them, stop looking for ulterior motives when they were kind to me. Bad Mommy included. She didn’t know about this thing with Mercy after all, and how could she? We were both victims in this thing called life. I looked over to where she was chatting with Gail, the friendly one, and felt immense gratitude toward her. She was a kind person, and she was doing the best she could with Mercy. I’d found my sweet girl after all this time, and she had been the one to keep her safe for me.
Jolene looked up from her conversation and smiled at me, and I smiled back. Everything was becoming so clear to me now, like a wrinkled shirt being ironed out. It looked one way before, and now it looked another. I ate my first piece of sushi and I liked it. Amazing what new perspective could do. At some point during the night, it became apparent to me that everyone was drunker than I was. I wandered outside for some air to find Darius already there, sitting on a garden chair sipping his drink. He was disheveled, the top buttons of his shirt undone and his hair standing on end.
“Look at you hiding,” I said. “Too many women?”
“There can never be too many women,” he smiled, tiredly.
I suddenly felt sorry for him. He worked all day listening to people, having their burdens thrown on his back, only to come home to a house full of obnoxious, drunken housewives. Poor guy. He probably just wanted a quiet date night with his wife or to sit in front of the TV.
“What are you drinking?” I asked, eyeing his almost empty glass. “I’ll get you another.”
“You’re going to get me a drink in my own house?” He leaned back in his chair to look up at me, and I shrugged.
“Sure, why not?”
When he laughed he laughed deep in the back of his throat. Can you call a laugh cynical?
“Gin and tonic.”
I took his glass and walked back inside. No one noticed me as I made his drink; they were spread out all over the living room furniture. Every few seconds there would be an explosion of laughter and I would flinch, wondering how it was that Mercy wasn’t waking up. I dropped a slice of lime into the glass, and when I looked up Jolene was watching me.
I think I’ll go with the cancer thing again, I thought, stepping through the back door. It added just enough vulnerability.
I had a headache when I woke up. The kind that clawed behind your eyes making you wince every time you heard even the smallest noise. I pulled my laptop into bed with me and settled down to search the web, typing in things like: brain tumor and aneurysm. When I was satisfied I had a run-of-the-mill hangover, I cautiously climbed out of bed and padded to the kitchen to make some tea. It felt very grown-up and chic to have a hangover. Kim Kardashian probably had one every night of the week. To get a proper understanding of how to act during this time, I searched the hashtag hungover on Instagram. I found that most girls with a hangover wore their hair in topknots. I knotted my hair on top of my head and studied myself in the mirror. It was more of a little turd than a topknot—I’d have to grow it out. I slipped on a pair of sunglasses to block out the light and headed to the market in my sweats. Saturday was market day for Jolene and Mercy. Unless it was raining, they walked the four blocks to the Whole Foods, stopping at the yogurt shop for a treat on the way. That was the thing about Jolene: she had lots of rituals. I liked to consider myself spontaneous. Why, even buying this house was a spur of the moment decision. And it had been the right one. Spontaneity was a good quality for a mother to have, showed the little ones that life was a series of unplanned events and to just go with the flow. I did not walk to the market. I drove the four blocks and parked in the expectant mother spot in the front. I was just in time to see Jolene and Mercy walking up the block: Jolene pushing the stroller and Mercy skipping beside her, the remnants of her yogurt smeared across her face. I hurried inside, grabbing a cart and throwing things in to make it look like I’d been there awhile. Truth be told, I really hated Whole Foods aka whole paycheck. They could sell gorilla phlegm and people would load up their carts with it so long as it was packaged as “organic.” All of the Lululemon bitches and their coconut water could go to hell. I was there for one reason and one reason only: Mercy Moon. And while I was there I was going to go on a diet. That’s right. I loaded my cart with kale and radishes—because I liked the way they looked—and coconut water, and then hung out in the cereal aisle, giving them time to get in the store and move around. I heard my name as I was reading the nutritional facts on a box of overpriced Wheaties.
“Fig! Hi Fig.”
I composed my face into a look of surprise and turned. I was still wearing my sunglasses, but I made sure to pull them off so Mercy could see the sincerity in my eyes.
“Hi pretty girl,” I said, winking at her. I smiled at Jolene as I dropped the Wheaties into my cart.
“I’ve got a hangover,” I whispered to her. She raised her eyebrows and nodded like she knew what I meant. I opened my mouth to say something else when I saw Darius walking down the aisle toward us. My mouth suddenly felt dry.
“Well, well, well, Fig is a Whole Paycheck junkie too.” He grinned, kissing Jolene on her temple.
“Not really…” I stuttered. Then, “Yes, actually. I love it here.”
He glanced in my cart. “Looks like you have everything down except the Lululemon pants.”
I opened and closed my mouth, my heart pounding furiously. Then I started to laugh. I hadn’t laughed like that in a long time, and it felt good. We were practically the same person. Mocking the over-exuberant efforts of society, calling out the followers who mistakenly thought they were leaders.
“They’re from Target,” I said. “It’s practically the same thing.”
“Yes, for sure,” he said. “What was I thinking?”
“Don’t listen to him,” Jolene said, giving him a playful shove on the chest. “He likes to poke fun at the organic Lululemon lifestyle, but he kisses all over it at night.” I noticed that her pants had the familiar flared half loop logo. Tacky, Jolene, real tacky to talk about your sex life in aisle five.
“Well, since we’re paying three times the price for an organic, grass fed, extra antioxidant lifestyle, I don’t see why we shouldn’t do the same for pants. Your ass looks pretty good in them, baby.”
He had me until that last part. My face fell, and I looked away quickly before they could see. Mercy, who was crawling through his legs, let out a wail of unhappiness and said she was hungry. Our attention was diverted, and the happy family said their goodbyes to me and exited the cereal aisle together. But not before they asked me over for dinner. I told them I’d check my planner when I got home and give them a ring. Then as an afterthought, I asked for their phone number. Jolene said her phone was dead, and to my delight, Darius asked for mine and sent me a quick text so I’d be able to contact them if I needed anything. I finished my shopping, all the while my insides were buzzing so loudly I could barely hear my own thoughts. He’d asked for my number … buzz buzz. Mine … buzz buzz. He had a woman who looked like Jolene and he saw me—I mean, really saw me … buzz buzz buzz.
I added more diet food to my cart, and then at the last minute, I took a trip to the beauty aisle and chose three different kinds of facemasks and a vegan lip gloss. I’d forgotten to take care of myself. That’s what happened when you were sad. All it took was one person to really see you and suddenly you could spring to life. When I got home, I hummed “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins, as I packed my groceries away. Then I went online and ordered a treadmill and Lululemon pants. I texted Darius that night to thank him for being so kind to me and to ask for Jolene’s number. He texted back right away, sending me her information and letting me know that dinner would be served at 5:30 on Friday.
Bad Mommy Page 4
