Lady Parts

by Loren

  If he had a wife, she couldn’t know the depths of his lies. She had told him they had time to talk about his past but why had he waited? This didn’t seem like the kind of thing he needed a special moment to admit, considering she had already aired out her marriage’s dirty laundry. This was something more than what she could brush under the rug. This was bigger than a lie by omission. This was a lie in who he was at a fundamental level.

  Had he ever said he was single?

  She tried to breathe, calm herself. There was no reason to think Laura was anything to him. Her justifications unraveled as the woman pressed against Liam and kissed his cheek. He closed his eyes and turned into the kiss. Gene wasn’t close enough to see their expressions, but to anyone looking, it looked like a lover’s embrace.

  It wasn’t.

  He couldn’t.

  Liam leaned down to kiss her forehead, her cheek, and finally her lips. Gene grabbed the door frame struggling to stay upright despite her obvious shortage of breath.

  Laura smiled up at Liam, and as if feeling Gene’s gaze, she waved in Gene’s direction. She should have felt shame or embarrassment, but she didn’t. She turned and stood tall, brazen in her audacity to stare. Liam turned to see who Laura could be waving at and seeing Gene, his eyes widened. She didn’t want to believe it. Barely twenty-four hours after being with her, he was kissing another woman. Not just another woman, his wife. Gene was a home wrecker, and she hadn’t even known it. It was too painful to keep looking. She straightened and pulled herself together, raising a hand in acknowledgment before stepping back into her house and closing the door. The look on Liam’s face was seared on the inside of her eyelids.

  His wide eyes and mouth open in shock. He looked caught. Guilty.

  He was not the man she thought he was. He was not her man at all.

  She could feel her heart tightening, and she stumbled to sit on the bottom stair, holding her chest. “What’s happening to me?” she said aloud.

  Your heart is breaking.

  She hadn’t even felt that when her divorce with Arnold was finalized. She was upset because she was embarrassed and felt like a failure but at the core, she had been relieved to get out of the marriage. This—the gut wrenching, heart palpitating, nauseating sense of regret and disbelief—was new to her and she wished she could have lived one more moment ignorant to this kind of suffering.

  Hyperventilating wouldn’t help, so she forced herself to breathe deeply.

  In through the nose, out through the mouth. She could imagine Ginger coaching her.

  He wouldn’t be breaking any more of her. He had already taken too much, more than she thought she had to give.

  Determined, she stood and went to her cleaning supply closet. The house needed a good wipe down. It would be the perfect thing to take her mind off the undeniable reuniting that was happening next door. It was like she could feel their presence through the walls. It wouldn’t last for long. Knowing him, as soon as Laura left, he would be banging on her door.

  It wouldn’t matter.

  Whatever he had to say, she wouldn’t listen.

  He had just proven he was a liar. What truth could a liar give?

  She grabbed a bucket and loaded it with bottles of cleaners. It only took a moment to load her iPhone into the speaker dock and turn on a random breakup playlist that had the description, “the best cure for a broken heart.”

  “Perfect,” she said tapping it.

  She bobbed her head as “Cry Me A River” began to play. She wasn’t thinking about it anymore. Three hours later, she had vacuumed every room, mopped the kitchen, cleaned her bathroom, dusted the fans, and changed the air conditioning vents. She was exhausted when someone knocked at her door.

  “Just a minute,” she yelled out, thinking it was the Jehovah Witnesses. They had been coming around her neighborhood more often.

  She opened the door saying, “Thanks but no thanks—” The words died on her tongue.

  “Gene,” Liam said as a tentative greeting.

  “Liam,” she said, leaning back with her arms crossed over her chest. “Done with your wife?”

  “Please,” he said with his hands together as if he was praying. “Let me explain.”

  “Okay,” she said to his obvious surprise. “Go ahead.” He hadn’t been expecting that, but she wanted to hear what he had to say. What could he say when it seemed so clear? “I want to hear just how much BS you’ll come up with. So, go ahead. How can you explain your WIFE visiting you and that very passionate display of affection I saw earlier?” she said, resting her hand on her jutting hip.

  “I tried to tell you,” he said looking haunted, pained as if that made up for the devastation she felt right then. “That night when the shop’s pipe burst. I was going to tell you at the picnic.” His eyes were pleading with her to remember. She remembered, and it hurt even more because it sounded like he was saying this was her fault. None of this was on her. She had already blamed herself once for not trusting. She wouldn’t blame herself for something she couldn’t have known. Gene crossed her arms in front of her instead of responding and eventually he continued. “We’ve been separated for some time. It’s the reason I came here. I thought some space would help but it didn’t, and she came here to talk because she got my divorce papers in the mail.”

  “So, she came to celebrate? Tell me how glad she was that you no longer wanted to spend the rest of your life with her?” It sounded stupid to her, and she hoped it sounded just as stupid to him. “And request? As in the divorce isn’t even final?” As a divorced woman she knew it took a couple months for the signed papers to take effect.

  “No. She just wanted to talk... hash some things out, and she brought me a box of things from our old house.”

  “Well that’s nice of her,” Gene said sarcastically. She noticed how he hadn’t answered the last question.

  “It wasn’t what it looked like,” he said weakly in a last-ditch effort to sway her.

  “Oh, I’m sure. It never is.” She couldn’t help remembering the last time a man said that to her. That one time she found Arnold’s secretary bent over her desk. That wasn’t what it looked like either.

  Liam sighed and hung his head.

  “You done?”

  He sighed her name.

  “Are you done?” Gene asked again, and in his silence, she continued. “Okay. Great. Well, thanks for telling me that. Have a nice day, Liam.”

  She started to close the door.

  “Gene. Please,” he said as if he was in pain.

  “Please? Please what?” she snarled. How dare he act like that was her doing, like he wasn’t breaking her heart with every second he stood on her front porch?

  “Please don’t do this.”

  “Do what?” She threw her hands in the air. “Do what? I didn’t do this. You did this! You did this to us!” She didn’t have anything with him. Not anymore. “You did this to yourself,” she hissed.

  He hung his head, and the acceptance of defeat made her stomach turn. “Have a good night, Liam,” she said and closed the door before he could respond.

  Her eyes stung, and she tilted her head back furiously blinking. “You better not cry,” she said aloud. The stinging continued with the tightening her chest, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, unwilling to give in. She’d given enough tears over the years to men. “I said no tears!” The businesslike voice kept the wetness from sliding down her cheeks but the pressure didn’t relent. She hated Liam for making her feel this way. A knock sounded out the door, and she yanked it open. “What?!”

  “I see someone has their panties in a bunch,” an older woman said with a smile.

  “Granny Deb?”

  “The one and only,” she said smiling, her skin creased deeply from smiling too many years. “Did you think I’d be that pitiful looking man who was on your porch a moment ago?” Granny Deb didn’t miss much. “Don’t worry. He went that way,” she said, pointing behind her with her thumb.

  �
�Good,” Gene said scowling. “Please. Come in.” Granny Deb stepped into the house, her long skirt swishing around her ankles. “Where’s Grandpa John?”

  “He’s gone to get our bags,” Granny Deb said, stepping forward to hug Gene tightly. Against her best efforts, Gene felt a tear fall from her eyes at the familiar warmth.

  “What was that for?” Gene said still holding on, needing the comfort.

  “You look like you needed that,” she said, only letting go when Gene stepped back.

  15

  Having Granny Deb around was a lot like Gene’s childhood summers all over again. Her parents had shipped her and her brother off every year a week after school ended until they could make plans of their own. It wasn’t that her parents didn’t want her around, more that they didn’t want anything holding them back from the travel they wanted to do. Her memories of her parents were vague. They were around and gone at the same time. She remembered them spending too much time at events and at the club. Her parents were too focused on appearances, and maintaining their wealth as much as they flaunted it, to truly parent her and Greg.

  She had to give them some points though. Instead of letting her and Greg fend for themselves or get into trouble, they sent them to their grandparents. Greg preferred to spend time with their mom’s parents who were richer than God and had halls of their mansion for each person who visited. Greg, the playboy, liked to attend all the parties their parents held. He didn’t mind being dressed up and paraded around to show how well he was raised. Gene, on the other hand, couldn’t tolerate it. The haughtiness and the way she was to be so pristine and clean—she hated it. She hated having so much money when she knew people downtown were homeless and hungry. She hated everyone calling her Genevieve and she hated being compared to Greg.

  She preferred to be with her dad’s parents, who despite having wealth were more down to earth. She remembered finger painting with Granny Deb, dancing to vinyl records on the back porch, and running through sunflower fields. That was the way she remembered summer. Learning how to knit and dreaming up matching tattoo design they could get when Gene got older.

  Granny Deb around was like a ray of sunshine, and in the wake of so much negativity, Gene needed it.

  “We’ll only be here a night,” Granny Deb said, sitting beside her granddad on the couch.

  “What? You only just got here,” Gene said pouting. Even though she didn’t appreciate the pop-up visit, now that Granny Deb was here, Gene didn’t want her to go.

  “I know, but we were only passing through,” Granny Deb said.

  “Debby booked us a fishing tour,” Grandpa John said with a small smile. Gene liked how he could make anything seem like it had mischief or there was an inside joke under everything he said.

  “Can you reschedule it?” Gene asked.

  “Oh no honey,” Granny Deb said leaning forward. The living room was so small that all their knees were almost touching. “We couldn’t impose like that. One day is good enough. After the tour, we’re going on a cruise to the Bahamas.”

  “Dang, Grandma. Do you guys ever stop?” Gene said, impressed and saddened.

  “What? Because I’m old I have to be stationary?” She crossed her legs. “I’m old, not dead. As long as I can move and I have your grandpa, I’m good.”

  “Well, let me take you guys to dinner while I have you,” Gene said standing.

  “Will you be going in that?” she asked sincerely.

  Gene looked down at herself, realizing for the first time she was in sweats, covered in dust streaks and bleach stains. “No. Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll be ready,” she said, running upstairs.

  “Take your time, hon,” Granny Deb said, relaxing on the couch and pulling a big ball of yarn from her purse. “We don’t mind waiting.”

  Gene heard the clicking of needles as she ran upstairs to shower and change her clothes.

  “Ready!”

  Granny Deb put the beginnings of a yellow sock in her purse and stood. Grandpa John, who had been sketching a bird, handed his notepad to Granny Deb to put in her bag and they walked to Gene’s car.

  “Got a taste for anything in particular?”

  “No,” Granny Deb said cheerfully.

  “Is there any place we can get a good pupusa? I miss those,” Grandpa John said.

  “I’m going to assume that’s some kind of Hispanic dish. The closest we can get to that is Las Marias.”

  “Then let’s go there.”

  Gene drove, and Granny Deb regaled her with a story about them doing a condom demonstration on a crowded bus in Nicaragua. With Grandpa John cutting in to describe language misinterpretations and Gene laughing so hard, she was glad when they parked the car, safe and unharmed.

  Las Marias was a Honduran restaurant decorated with sombreros, masks on the wall, and Spanish music playing from the speakers.

  “Can I help you?” a short woman asked.

  “Three please.”

  “Right this way,” she said, leading them to a booth.

  “I wish your brother were here,” Granny Deb said, sliding next to Grandpa John across from Gene.

  “You know Greg would come if he could,” Gene said instead of saying, “I don’t.”

  Greg was currently out of the country upholding their parent’s legacy, meeting businessmen and setting up Swedish bank accounts. The last time Gene spoke to him, he seemed to be enjoying the life that disgusted her.

  “We did just drop in,” Grandpa John said, and Granny Deb shrugged.

  “So. I told you guys, you’re welcome to come by anytime. My house is your house. I’m always glad to see you, even if it’s only for a hot second.”

  “Even if we hadn’t just popped in, I don’t think Gene would have invited him,” Granny Deb said cutting right to the point.

  It was no secret Gene and Greg didn’t have the best relationship. He could be so serious sometimes. Gene could remember feeling misunderstood by her him and her parents. He was like the perfect child and Gene struggled to measure up in comparison to the perfect son. “You’re right. I want you all to myself.” She tried to make it sound like a joke.

  They laughed and quieted to look over the menu. Once certain of what they wanted, Granny Deb set her menu aside. “So, tell me about your business.”

  “It’s going good,” she said generically. There was only so much she would tell.

  “It seems very successful from what I read online.”

  “You believe everything you read on the internet,” Gene joked, and Grandpa John snorted.

  “I’m serious. Tell me about it.”

  She felt safe enough to gush without guarding her words. She didn’t have anything to fear when they were around. “It’s great. I like being my own boss, and my employees are amazing. The clientele is nice,” she said.

  The clients weren’t all nice. Some of them were lying, conniving, sexy fiends intent on taking your heart just to break it. “Then why are you frowning?”

  She hadn’t meant to, and she hadn’t meant to think about Liam.

  She didn’t want to mention him so she said the first thing that came to mind. “I’ve been having some financial issues.” If it had been anyone else, she would have never admitted it, but Granny Deb got to her.

  “Why didn’t you call me? How much do you need?”

  Gene grimaced. They were retired, she wouldn’t take their social security checks even though they could afford it. “Because I’m a grown woman and a business owner. I can’t ask for help every time there’s a crisis.” She was tired of everyone coddling her. First Liam, now her grandparents.

  “Well, what type of crisis are we talking about?” Granny Deb said. “How much do you need?”

  “More than I’m willing to ask for,” Gene mumbled and shrugged. “Gran. It’s nothing. Really.”

  “I don’t believe you. Did you call your parents?”

  Just the thought of calling them made her cringe. She wouldn’t call them for anything. She wasn’t su
re she would call even if she were dying. They had made their feelings about her and her business very clear when she divorced Arnold, and since then, they hadn’t spoken outside the mandatory holiday greetings – which came in the form of postcards. They were more proud of her when she was a trophy wife than they were now that she was financially, or as much as she could be, independent.

  “They’re busy,” Gene said instead of saying, “You know I didn’t.” Their relationship was no secret.

  “Not too busy for you,” Granny Deb said still being optimistic.

  “They’re on a cruise boat right now going God knows where right now,” Gene said with a straight face. “Like I said, they’re busy.”

  “Well as a parent I know I’m never too busy for my children,” she said, putting her hands in her lap.

  Gene reached over, trying to calm the situation. “That’s because there’s no one like you.” Gene used to wish every night as a child that Granny Deb was her mom.

  Granny Deb smiled. With everything smoothed over, Gene asked Grandpa John to tell her about his newest painting series. It was enough to keep the conversation light throughout dinner.

  Grandpa John insisted on paying for dinner, and Gene argued at first but eventually consented on the condition that she buy them beer for their fishing trip.

  “Well, I’m going to bed,” Grandpa John said when they got home, and Granny Deb agreed. It was late.

  “See you tomorrow morning,” Gene said, following them upstairs. “What time will you be leaving?”

  “I don’t know. Probably around five,” Granny Deb said. “You know the fish bite in the morning.”

  “That’s around the time I get up for work,” Gene said more to herself.

  “Then maybe we’ll see you before we go. If not, don’t worry, we’ll call an Uber.”

  “Well look at you! All up to date on the tech and stuff.”

  Granny Deb giggled. “The kids teach me things. Want to see my stank face?” Gene snorted as Granny Deb contorted her face into a scowl and leaned back. Her hands moved in the air similar to a gangster and even though she was serious, Gene found the whole thing really cute.