Not Your Everyday Housewife

by Mary Campisi

  “I’ve just been too busy to cook, and, you know, it’s kind of nice to have a break. It’s always fun when you don’t have to do it, but coming up with menus for seven days a week loses its appeal mighty fast.”

  “So, you’re cooked out and you’re never going to cook again?”

  “No, it’s not that. I will do it again. Eventually.”

  “Eventually,” Janie murmured. “That’s an interesting word, but what does it really mean?”

  “It means just what it says. Sooner or later, whatever it is you’re talking about will happen.”

  “Hmmm.” Janie fixed her gray eyes on Cyn. “So, what about you and Dad? Are you eventually going to tell us you’re getting a divorce?”

  ***

  Enough was enough.

  If she didn’t want to be with him anymore then just get the friggin’ divorce. Why keep stringing the poor guy along, letting him hope?

  Kiki pulled on her sweats and kicked her feet into flip flops. Her room was a sty but so what? He rarely came in and the few times he did, he didn’t even notice. She would’ve though. Witch patrol even knew how to zero in on the crumpled tank tops stuffed behind the dresser.

  Kiki kicked a wad of clothing against the wall and clomped over the remaining sweats and underwear as she worked her way to the dresser.

  She lifted a chunk of hair and surveyed the tip of her right ear. The small stud sparkled. So what if she forbade it, she wasn’t here right now, was she? She’d deserted them, run off to that quarter million dollar condo with cry baby Janie. So what? Who cared?

  Kiki smoothed her hair back over her shoulders and stared in the mirror. Wonder what she’d say if she knew about the butterfly tattoo Kiki planned on getting for her eighteenth birthday? Too bad, she couldn’t say anything. Kiki smiled into the mirror, tilted her head just so. Her father told her last night that when she did that, she looked just like her mother. God, no. Kiki squinted and studied the image staring back at her.

  Where did she look like her mother? The eyes? Okay, maybe they were almost the same shape and color, but so what? The cleft in Kiki’s chin was much smaller, the dimples on the sides of her cheeks, more pronounced. And anybody could pluck their eyebrows into an arch, couldn’t they? All right, they did share the same hair color but Janie said their mother had dyed it. Fine. Now they shared nothing in common.

  Kiki turned away from the mirror. Brad would be here in forty-five minutes to take her to the movies but she didn’t feel like it. All he really wanted to do was park behind Fresh Mart and push her for sex. Not that she hadn’t been thinking about it for awhile either, or she wouldn’t have bought the condoms, but this whole thing with her parents, and seeing that woman climbing all over her father, the two of them sucking face, in a bar for Chrissake, had her all screwed up.

  And if Brad couldn’t respect that, then screw him, too.

  Kiki picked up her jacket and headed for the living room where she knew her father would be sitting in his recliner, mindlessly flipping through channels. Did he ever watch a complete show or was he just passing time until it was okay to go to bed?

  “Dad?” She peeked in the living room and, sure enough, the damned remote was glued to his left hand. “Brad and I are going to the movies tonight. Okay?”

  He looked up and smiled. He was still a handsome man, for a father and an older guy. She almost wanted to yell, Get up out of that chair and go back to that bar, find Rita and screw her. That’ll show your wife!

  But of course, that was totally ridiculous and it would prove nothing. Her father had the bad misfortune to really love her mother.

  “Sure. Just knock on my door when you get in so I know you’re home.”

  “Okay.” She checked her watch and slid onto the sofa. “I have a little while before Brad gets here. The pot roast was really good tonight.”

  He gave her a wry look. “Because you haven’t eaten meat for four months?”

  Kiki shook her head and smiled. “No, really. It was good.”

  “Thanks. Not the same as your mother’s though.”

  “It was just as good as hers, Dad.” She left us, remember?

  “She puts something in hers, maybe sage, that gives the meat a little boost.”

  “Hmmm.” She didn’t want to stay and work it out with you, or me, did she?

  “She’s a great cook, and a baker, too. What I wouldn’t do for a piece of her chocolate fudge cake right now.”

  “I’ll make it for you,” Kiki blurted out. Anything to stop the Cynthia Cintar mantra.

  This announcement made her father laugh. “Thanks, honey, but we both know you’re culinary-challenged.” He sighed and said, “Nobody can make that cake like your mother.”

  “Stop it! She left us!” Her eyes stung and her throat clogged. She swiped both hands across her face and said, “I don’t know why you keep talking about her like she’s a saint.”

  “She’s a good person, Kiki. It was my fault.”

  “Bullshit. She lied to us.”

  “And then she told me the truth. I didn’t give her the same courtesy, and that’s what destroys relationships.” He hesitated, then added, “And families.”

  Kiki willed the tears to stay behind her eyes but they fell anyway. “She took her bank account and left us for that fancy condo, and she took cry baby with her.” She sniffed and swiped at her face. “How many times has she called to talk to me, huh? Three? Four?”

  “Six that I know of, but I’m sure there were more. And you refused her calls.”

  “So, that doesn’t mean she should stop calling.” God, she sounded like such an immature idiot.

  “You can’t treat somebody that way, even if it’s a parent and expect them to just stand there and take it. Everybody has their breaking point.”

  “So, what? Now you’re saying she’s written me off, that I’m not her daughter anymore?”

  “No, but I think you’ll have to go to her.”

  “She’s the one who left.”

  “You deserted her a long time ago, Kiki. For the past few years your mother hasn’t been able to do anything right in your eyes. If she said it was raining outside, you’d say it was dry and sunny, even if you’d just come in and were soaked. A person can only take that for so long.”

  “So, you’re saying it’s too late.”

  “No, I’m saying you need to talk to her.”

  “All she cares about now is her money and Janie.”

  “Call her, Kiki,” he said softly.

  “And what about you,” she said, between tears. “Why don’t you call her?”

  “I can’t. All I can do is wait.”

  Chapter 30

  Cyn parked her car in the driveway and turned off the ignition. She stared at the tan and brick colonial where she’d lived for sixteen years. A film of white still blanketed the roof’s dark shingles, leeching onto the siding and front steps in sporadic, lazy intervals. Clumps of curled Kale leaves lay shriveled in deep terra cotta pots near the front door, in stoic honor of Cyn’s absence.

  She wouldn’t be sitting in the driveway with her green bean casserole on the seat beside her if her oldest daughter hadn’t called yesterday. When was the last time Kiki had asked her for anything? It was an odd, desperately angry yet pleading conversation, with Kiki spewing out bits and pieces of half intelligible phrases, but the emotion thrummed hard and fast beneath the words. Need.

  So, Cyn had agreed to join the girls and their father for Thanksgiving dinner. Janie had asked to spend the night with her father so she could help get everything ready. Once Cyn dropped Janie off, she spent the next hour fumbling through her closet, throwing outfits on the bed, and finally settling on a lavender sweater, (normal size), gray cashmere slacks and her new pearls.

  But now as she gathered her purse and the casserole, she wished she’d left her hair natural. Would Sam notice? Of course he would, engineers always noticed the details. It was the big picture they usually missed.

  And what was the
big picture?

  Cyn shoved open the car door and stepped into the brisk late afternoon air. She’d made it five steps when the front door flew open and Janie hurled herself outside. “Here, let me help you.” She grabbed the casserole and leaned up to give Cyn a peck on the cheek.

  “What, no sweats?” Cyn laughed, eyeing her daughter’s black slacks and pink turtleneck. She’d even pulled her hair up in a high ponytail with a pink ribbon.

  Janie grinned. “This is a special occasion. Besides, I’m saving the sweats for after I stuff myself. You look pretty fancy yourself.”

  “Thank you.” Cyn ran a hand through her hair, wishing again for her own color.

  “Wait until you smell the house,” Janie said over her shoulder. “I’m dying to dig into the pumpkin pies.”

  Janie was right. The smell of turkey and pumpkin teased her nostrils the minute she stepped over the threshold. A million questions bounced through her head as she slid out of her coat and followed Janie into the kitchen. Had Sam tackled homemade stuffing too or was it Stouffer’s? And the gravy? Did he remember to strain it? Had he used the Betty Crocker Basics cookbook his mother gave them for their wedding?

  The first thing she encountered as she entered the kitchen was her husband’s behind. He was bent over the oven, basting the turkey.

  “Hi,” Kiki said from her position at the counter where she sat peeling potatoes. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.” Cyn wanted to fold her oldest daughter in her arms and tell her just how much she missed her but the hands off expression on Kiki’s face kept Cyn away.

  Sam closed the oven and turned toward her. “Hi, Cyn. Happy Thanksgiving.” He stood there, glasses fogged from the oven, looking handsome and vulnerable, obviously trying to decide what to do.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Sam.” It seemed natural to go to him, lean up and kiss him on the cheek. His aftershave tickled her nose and brought back memories of them together. In bed. Cyn cleared her throat and moved several feet away, presumably to inspect the pistachio salad on the counter.

  “This looks good. Who made it?”

  “Shea,” Sam said.

  “Shea made this?” Cyn wanted to ask why but clamped her mouth shut. She hadn’t seen Shea or Derry since they’d made an impromptu visit to her condo a week ago. Shea had called twice and Derry three times but Cyn erased the messages.

  It was so much easier that way.

  Wasn’t it?

  “Derry made the pumpkin pies,” Kiki said, sliding her a glance.

  “Derry?” Cyn lifted the aluminum foil on one of the pie plates. Even Cyn had never made crust this golden. And look at the rolls. “Derry made these, too?”

  “She did,” Sam said. “I guess the hours in the kitchen with her friend Tula Rae paid off.”

  “I guess,” Cyn murmured, tucking the foil gently around the pie plate. “Why did they do this?”

  “They didn’t want us to eat Chef Boyardee for Thanksgiving,” Kiki said.

  “Why wouldn’t they do this?” Janie asked. “Aren’t they your friends?”

  “Yes, of course they are.”

  “Well, they were just being friends,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Guilt pricked Cyn. She should’ve called them back, but she’d been so busy systematically demolishing her old life that she hadn’t wanted to risk it.

  Sam handed her a glass of Chablis and asked, “Did you know Shea kicked Richard out?”

  “No, she didn’t,” Cyn said, “they got back together.”

  “Not as of this morning when she brought over the pistachio salad.”

  “You’re kidding? She kicked him out?” Maybe that’s why Shea called her, for help. And she’d erased the messages.

  “I guess she’d had it.” He sipped his wine and dropped tidbits as though he were discussing a character on All My Children.

  “Richard is the father of Tanya Madison’s baby,” Janie said.

  “Janie, how do you know such a thing?” Cyn set her wineglass on the counter and stared at her youngest daughter.

  Janie shrugged and said, “Shea told us. She’s selling her house, too, and making her kids go to a cheaper school.”

  Kiki snorted. “Spoiled brats. They always thought they were better than everybody just because they got to go to Georgetown.”

  “And guess what else?” Janie’s face lit up as she relayed more information. “Shea’s quitting her job.”

  “What?” Her youngest daughter clearly relished watching her mother’s growing confusion.

  “And she’s moving away,” Janie paused for effect, then added, “to Ogunquit.”

  “Sam?” Cyn turned to him, and asked in a small voice, “Is this true?”

  He nodded, and from the disjointed recesses of her mind, she noticed he needed a haircut. After so many years, some things imbedded themselves on a person’s memory and would not be erased.

  “I don’t understand…”

  “How could you?” Kiki said from behind her. “You haven’t been here.”

  “Kiki.” Sam’s voice held a firm no-nonsense tone.

  “It’s okay,” Cyn said and turned toward her oldest daughter. “You’re right, Kiki, I haven’t been here. But I’m only ten minutes or a phone call away.”

  Kiki shrugged and threw another potato into the colander. “If you didn’t know about Shea, then I bet you don’t know about Derry either.”

  “What about Derry? Is she okay?”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  “What?”

  Kiki smiled at her mother’s response. “That’s right. Pregnant. Knocked up.”

  “Kiki. Enough.” Sam threw her a warning look.

  Kiki ignored him and picked up another potato. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re not around. You miss out on everything and then, heck, you’re no good to anybody.”

  The rest of the afternoon was a disaster. Kiki fell into her sullen, non-talkative mode and only spat out catty remarks. Janie burned the dinner rolls and spilled half the gravy boat on the white tablecloth. Even with the help of the Orange Blossom Maid-for-You mixer, Kiki’s mashed potatoes lumped together and Sam forgot to add eggs to the stuffing which made it drier than sawdust. And he wouldn’t stop apologizing for the mishaps, as though her decision to stay with him was based on the grade of the meal.

  Kiki ran to her room as soon as she shoved the last dish in the cupboard with a hurried, “See you later.”

  Sam wiped off the drain board and stored it under the sink. He’d refused to let Cyn do more than find Tupperware for the leftovers. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it, to have no household responsibilities, to be a spectator rather than a constant participant in daily duties?

  “This whole thing has been pretty rough on Kiki.”

  “I’d like to talk to her, Sam.”

  His kind, gray eyes settled on her. “I can’t guarantee she’ll talk to you. She may not even be civil.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you sure you want to subject yourself to that?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay.” His voice gentled and he reached out to clasp her hand quickly before releasing it. “Good luck.”

  Cyn made her way up the stairs and down the hall to Kiki’s room, careful to avoid glancing into the master bedroom as she passed it. When she reached Kiki’s room, she knocked softly.

  “Go away,” came a muffled noise from inside.

  “Kiki, I need to talk to you.”

  “Go away. You don’t want to be here, so go!”

  Cyn jiggled the door, surprised to find it unlocked. Globs of light shone from the orange and pink lava lamp on the bedside stand. She inched her way into the room, stepping on wads of clothing and jumbled heaps of shoes and belts until she reached the bed. She knelt down next to her daughter and whispered, “Kiki, can we talk? Please?”

  “You said it all when you walked out on Dad and me,” she mumbled against her pillow.

  “No,
no I didn’t. I love you, honey, and this has nothing to do with you.”

  Kiki turned her head toward Cyn and asked, “What about Dad? Do you love him, too?”

  “I’ll always love your father.”

  “Just not enough to live with him?”

  “I don’t know, Kiki. We have a lot to work out.” Cyn laid a hand on the bed next to Kiki’s arm. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you and be part of your life.”

  “Right.”

  “Why does it have to be so hard between us?” Cyn tried to keep her voice even but the pain of her daughter’s rejection filled her lungs. “Why can’t you let me in? Please?” Cyn didn’t realize her face was wet until her daughter reached up and swiped at a stray tear.

  “No matter what I did, it never seemed to be good enough for you,” Kiki said, her voice breaking. “So, it was just easier to stop trying.”

  Cyn reached out and smoothed Kiki’s hair from her face. Her fingers traced the new stud in her daughter’s right ear but she made no comment other than, “Oh, Kiki, I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m smart, I know that, but everybody thinks I’m some prodigy who’s never going to make a mistake and who has to be so good all the time. Jesus, sometimes I just do things because I’m tired of acting the part.”

  “Like having sex with Brad?”

  “What?”

  “Janie told me about the condoms in your underwear drawer, remember?”

  “We didn’t have sex.”

  Cyn sucked in a deep breath and said, “If we’re going to start over, we have to be honest with each other. I’d rather have the truth, no matter how bad.”

  “I didn’t have sex with him,” she said again.

  So, the condoms were for a friend? Cyn kept her mouth shut and waited.

  “I was thinking about it,” Kiki admitted, “and then this thing with Dad and that woman happened and it totally grossed me out.”

  “I see.” It was still hard to think of Sam with another woman.

  “So, I’m not ready for that right now. I’ve got enough to deal with.”

  “Good.” Cyn looked at her daughter, framed by the orange-pink glow of the lava lamp and saw the neediness in the young girl-woman.