The Good Life

by Susan Kietzman

“I just told you what I thought it was.”

  “It’s a luxury facility,” said Ann. “For massages, facials, pedicures, general body toning.”

  “You won’t lose weight while you’re there, will you?” asked Eileen.

  “It’s not a fat farm, Mother,” said Ann, grabbing one of her pads with ANN’S LIST printed on the top and jotting down some of the clothing she planned on packing. “It’s a spa.”

  “Because you certainly can’t afford to lose more weight.”

  “Thank you,” said Ann. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Why are you so thin, anyway?” asked Eileen. “You used to have some meat on you.”

  “I lost that meat years ago,” said Ann.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s good to be thin. It’s healthy.”

  “You don’t look particularly healthy to me,” said Eileen, looking out the kitchen window at Ann’s kitchen window.

  “I’m very healthy,” said Ann.

  “You look, actually, honey, a little like a bag of bones.”

  Ann sipped her shake. “Why are we discussing this?”

  “Because I don’t like to see you wasting away into nothing.”

  “I’m a good distance from nothing,” said Ann.

  “Not from where I’m standing,” said Eileen, standing.

  “Well, you’re standing in the nineteen-fifties,” said Ann. “You have no idea what attractive, fashionable women are today.”

  “Bags of bones, I guess,” said Eileen.

  “That’s your opinion.”

  “Hold on,” said Eileen. “I’m coming over.” She put down the receiver, grabbed her cable-knit sweater from the hall closet, and wrapped it around her shoulders. She told Selma she was going to the big house, then walked as quickly as she could up the path. Before Ann registered what was happening, her mother was at her back door. Ann sighed loudly and looked at her watch as Eileen walked in and shut the door behind her.

  “I’ve got a lot of things to do today, Mother,” said Ann, finishing her drink. “We’re not turning this discussion into a marathon coffee-drinking session.”

  “Who said we were?” asked Eileen. “Maybe I’ve got a lot of things to do, too.” Ann looked at her mother. “I just think it’s ridiculous to talk on the phone when you could be talking face to face,” said Eileen, shrugging off her sweater and draping it over the back of a kitchen chair. “Now, what is the situation with Nate and Lauren?”

  “The situation?”

  “Do you have someone staying with them, or do they stay on their own?”

  “They’re sixteen and fifteen, Mother,” said Ann. “They can stay on their own. Plus, Emma said she is willing to work this Saturday. She can cook for them—although they’ll probably eat takeout all weekend as usual—and clean up after them Monday morning.”

  “Why not send them down to our house?” asked Eileen, arms akimbo.

  Ann looked at her mother with raised eyebrows. The notion that teenagers would prefer to stay with their grandparents rather than on their own was pure fantasy. “They’re fine here,” said Ann, fighting the urge to smile at her mother’s suggestion.

  “I know they’ll be fine,” said Eileen, sitting in the same chair that held her sweater. “There’s a difference between fine and well cared for.”

  Ann walked her empty mug to the sink. “They’ll be fine here,” she repeated over her shoulder. “They’re comfortable in their own surroundings.”

  “Fine,” said Eileen. “I’m happy to stay here.”

  “Mother,” said Ann, turning and facing her, “why are you doing this? I’ve already talked about it with the kids and they’re content with the plan. You don’t need to get involved.”

  “I am involved,” said Eileen, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m their grandmother.”

  “It’s a little early in the day for drama,” said Ann, getting a bottle of water from the fridge.

  “I’m not being dramatic,” said Eileen, chin out and stomach in.

  “You’re always dramatic,” said Ann.

  Eileen stood—dramatically, thought Ann. “We can discuss this,” said Eileen, putting on her sweater, “when you’re in a better mood.”

  “I’m in a fabulous mood,” said Ann, raising her voice. Without another word, Eileen opened the back door and walked out. “Have a nice day!” Ann yelled at her mother retreating down the path.

  “Can you imagine that?” Ann asked Sally as they got out of Ann’s car and walked toward Nordstrom. Ann hit the LOCK button on her key fob, and then pushed it again, reassured only by the second toot of the horn that her car was secure.

  “You are a saint,” Sally said to Ann. “I mean, do you know anyone who could put up with living with her parents for—how long is it now?”

  “Seven weeks,” said Ann, dropping her keys into her purse and grabbing a bottle of water. “A very long seven weeks. And I swear to God, Sally, it’s so much harder than I thought.”

  “You poor thing,” said Sally, putting her hand on Ann’s shoulder.

  “She won’t leave me alone, for God’s sake,” said Ann, cracking the seal on the water bottle while Sally pulled open the large glass door to the mall. “I don’t have a minute to myself. She just walks in my back door whenever she’s got a free moment, several times a day.” Sally shook her head sympathetically. “I have never needed a vacation more,” said Ann. “At this point, if Mike cancels on me, I’m going alone.”

  “Good girl,” said Sally.

  They scurried into the women’s department, Ann in the lead by the usual step.

  Sally pinballed from rack to rack, trying to match Ann’s frenetic shopping pace, searching for the perfect outfit for herself or an adorable shirt or sleek pair of pants Ann would find worthy of adding to her own stack of possibles. Oh Ann, Sally might casually say, this would look just darling on you. Ann would then look up from her avid hunt and do one of two things: shake her head and quickly return to business or smile and approach Sally. Sally flipped through the size two skirts and found nothing Ann did not already have or would find attractive enough for a second glance.

  “Sally, come here,” called Ann from several circular chrome racks away. “Look at this skirt. It’s so cute.” Sally walked through the maze of clothing to where Ann was standing. “I tried to find it in my size,” said Ann, “but had no luck. Try this on. It’s perfect for you.”

  Sally took the skirt from Ann and looked at the inside label. “It’s a four,” she said.

  “That’s right,” said Ann.

  “I’m a six,” said Sally, looking at the skirt instead of at Ann.

  “Oh my,” said Ann, “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting.”

  “I’m working at it,” said Sally, who couldn’t imagine eating any more fruits and vegetables than she already did.

  “That’s the important thing,” said Ann, taking the skirt back from Sally. “We never want to lose sight of our goals.”

  “Right,” said Sally with false enthusiasm. “I’m actually starting to like balsamic vinaigrette.”

  “Excellent,” said Ann, patting her on the back. “You’ll be shopping side by side with me in no time.” Sally returned to the area she had been browsing in before Ann beckoned her. When she wore the same size as Ann, they would always shop together. Sure, sometimes Jesse and Paula would come along, but they, by their size, would shop away from Ann and Sally, the size twos. When she wore the same size as Ann, people in town would take notice. Some people had already told her she looked like Ann, as she had almost the same color hair cut in almost the same style, and she made a point of tucking in her shirts and wearing a belt. A belt, Ann once told her, was a constant reminder of waist size.

  They walked out of Nordstrom and into the mall just after one o’clock. Ann had bought two pairs of light wool slacks, two blazers, and three pairs of shoes. Sally, unable to seriously consider a size six purchase after her pep talk from Ann, was empty-handed and, regrettab
ly, hungry. She followed Ann past several restaurants, including Bohemian Bliss, her favorite. “Are you hungry?” asked Ann, turning her head to look back at Sally.

  “Not really,” Sally lied.

  “Great,” said Ann, reaching into her enormous black patent leather purse like a magician into a hat and producing two protein bars. “Eat one of these to tide you over and we’ll continue to shop while all the amateurs stop for lunch.” Sally forced a laugh as she took the peanut butter bar from Ann. She ate it in four bites, finishing the last one as they reached Neiman Marcus. “Another?” asked Ann.

  “I’m full,” said Sally, patting her stomach for conviction. “That hit the spot.”

  “Didn’t it, though? I find them so satisfying,” said Ann, again reaching into her bag, this time for her half-empty bottle of water. “I am so dehydrated, though. These malls are incredibly dry.”

  “I know,” said Sally, who was suddenly thirsty for a Diet Coke. If she had been at home, she would have simply descended her basement stairs, as she did most afternoons, and reached into the spare refrigerator, where she kept an extra gallon of milk and a variety of pop and bottled juices. Here, Sally pressed on. Ann, she knew, thought anything but water, coffee, and alcohol was for teenagers.

  An hour later they had gone through most of the department stores and $2,000 of the Baronses’ fortune. They strolled out of Macy’s and back into the mall, Ann announcing her dire need for a large latte. They walked to Java Hut in the food court, next to Mrs. Fields Cookies. As they waited in line, Sally’s eyes wandered over to the brightly lit glass cases of treats. Behind them, a hair-netted woman was removing a large tray of what looked like white chocolate macadamias from the oven. Sally was so hungry she would have paid twenty dollars for just one of those warm cookies. “Go ahead,” said Ann, following Sally’s gaze. “You’ve been good today.”

  “Oh no,” said Sally, flustered, “I’m fine. The cookies, they just remind me of my childhood. I hardly ever eat them now; they’re just loaded with fat.”

  “Too true,” said Ann, stepping forward in line. Large lattes in hand, Ann followed by Sally sat down on a vacant bench. After Ann rubbed hand sanitizer onto her hands and squirted some into Sally’s, she took her first sip. “Where to next?”

  “I don’t care,” said Sally, who honestly didn’t. What she wanted most at this point was to go home and make a tuna melt.

  “Well, I’ve got everything I need,” said Ann, “but I’m worried about you. You haven’t bought a thing.”

  “That’s okay,” said Sally, brightening at the prospect of leaving. “Some days you find things and some days you don’t.”

  Ann sipped her coffee drink. “I always seem to be able to find something,” she said. “I’ve got that fashion show coming up at the end of the month, so I’m motivated. I wouldn’t want to be caught in something everyone’s seen.”

  “Don’t they give you the clothes for the show?” asked Sally, still sensitive about not being asked to participate.

  “Well, yes,” said Ann, “but Marge Simon told me they’re doing furs this year. Well, you know that; you were with me that day. But I’m thinking about wearing my own clothes underneath. I’ve got several combinations that haven’t been out in public yet.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Sally. “You never know who’s been wearing those fashion show clothes.”

  “Last year,” said Ann, “they put me in a blouse that smelled like it had been through gym class.” Sally chuckled. She would be happy to wear a smelly fashion-show blouse, if only Marge would ask her. Being a local celebrity, Ann was asked every year. But so were ordinary people, like school principals and real estate agents. Sally made a mental note to call Marge after the show to congratulate her on a job well done. Maybe Marge would sign her up for the following year. Wouldn’t Paula and Jesse just die to know she and Ann would be doing the fashion show together?

  “Are you ready to go?” asked Ann, standing.

  “Absolutely,” said Sally, popping up from the bench and grabbing four of Ann’s six bags. If they didn’t have too much traffic, she could be eating that tuna melt in just over an hour.

  Eileen knocked on the back door just after Ann had returned downstairs from organizing her purchases in her closet. “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Ann, walking to the door and opening it.

  “I’ve got it all figured out,” said Eileen, brushing past Ann and taking off her sweater. “I checked with Selma and she’s fine with my staying here.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Ann, standing by the open door, one hand still on the handle.

  “Close the door, honey,” said Eileen, hanging her sweater on the back of a kitchen chair. “I’m talking about this weekend, of course. I can stay here this weekend with Nate and Lauren.”

  “We’ve been through this,” said Ann, closing the door. “They don’t need you to stay here.”

  “I understand that,” said Eileen, “but it would make me feel better.”

  Ann walked to the fridge to get a bottle of water. “This isn’t about making you feel better.”

  “I know,” said Eileen. “It’s about making you feel better. And I hope a weekend in San Francisco will do that for you. But I don’t want my grandchildren coming home to an empty house.”

  “We’ve got a very sophisticated alarm system,” said Ann.

  “I don’t care about your alarm system,” said Eileen, waving her hand in the air as if she were coaxing a housefly to move on. “I’m talking about making them dinner and keeping them company.”

  “They don’t care about that,” said Ann. “They’ll be grateful, in fact, for not having company.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Eileen.

  Ann took a sip of her water and counted to five, as Mike had instructed her. “They like to be alone.”

  “Let’s ask them,” said Eileen. “Let’s ask them what they want to do. If they don’t want me here, I’ll back away.”

  “That sounds good to me,” said Ann, knowing her children would loudly protest having their grandmother hovering over them for the weekend.

  Eileen put on her sweater. “I’ll come over after dinner and talk to them,” she said. “Don’t say anything about it until I arrive.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” said Ann, “trust me.”

  Nate and Lauren sat at opposite ends of the kitchen table eating a large pizza. Nate’s half had cheese and pepperoni, and Lauren’s half had peppers, onions, mushrooms, sausage, and black olives. The bagged iceberg lettuce, red cabbage, and shaved carrot salad Ann had insisted Lauren order along with the pizza had been emptied into a wood salad bowl and was untouched. Ann looked at her watch; Mike wouldn’t be home for another hour. She picked up the phone and called her mother.

  “They’re almost done,” she said into the receiver. “You can come over anytime.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Lauren.

  “Your grandmother.”

  “Why is she coming over?” asked Lauren, taking another slice from the pie sitting between her and Nate.

  “She wants to talk to you,” said Ann, hanging up the phone.

  “Ooooh,” said Nate with a mouth full of pizza. “Lauren’s in trouble.”

  “I’m not in trouble,” Lauren snapped back.

  “She wants to talk to you, too, Nate,” said Ann, wiping the island top with a sponge. Lauren stuck her tongue out at her brother.

  “What’d I do?” asked Nate, taking his last slice from the pie. Pizza was the one food he ate consistently and without complaint. And while Ann knew it wasn’t the most nutritious option, it was better than a fast-food burger and fries.

  “I don’t know, Nate,” said Ann. “What have you done?”

  “Nothing,” said Nate, jerking his bangs out of his eyes. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” said Ann. Less than a minute later, Eileen came in the back door. “My God, Mother,” said Ann. “You must have been wai
ting by the door with your sweater on.”

  “Something like that,” said Eileen, taking off her sweater and draping it over her arm.

  “Hi, Gran,” said Lauren. “Are we in trouble?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Eileen, “unless there’s something I don’t know about.” Nate figured he could devote an entire website to all the things his grandmother and mother didn’t know about. “Hello, Nate,” said Eileen. “How’s your pizza?”

  “Good,” said Nate. “Lauren, are you going to eat that piece?”

  “Yes,” she said, even though she was beginning to feel full.

  “Did you have pizza, too?” Eileen asked Ann.

  “I’m going away in two days,” said Ann. “Why would I be stuffing my face with grease-laden, calorie-packed pizza?”

  Lauren looked at the half-eaten piece in her hand and then at Nate. “Go ahead,” she said. “You can have it.” Nate scraped off the black olives and shoved half of the piece into his mouth.

  “Okay,” said Eileen, joining her grandchildren at the table, “this is why I’m here.”

  Nate and Lauren both looked at her. “I want to stay with you this weekend.”

  Shit, thought Nate. He had already made preliminary plans for a party at his house Saturday night. Jenny was spreading the word to her friends, while Josh was rounding up the boys.

  “I will not get in your way,” continued Eileen. “If you want to have friends here, that’s fine. I expect you to introduce them to me, and then I’ll disappear into the den. Lauren, if you want to go somewhere, I’ll drive you.”

  Lauren smiled. Maybe her grandmother would let her drive. Even though she had had her permit for six months, her mother was always in too much of a hurry to relinquish the steering wheel.

  “I’ll cook your meals, whatever you want, within reason.” Nate thought about his grandmother’s roast beef and mashed potatoes.

  “What’s in it for you?” asked Nate, leaning back in his chair.

  “I get to spend time with you,” said Eileen.

  “Why would you want to do that?” asked Nate skeptically.