by Shey Stahl
Option two it is.
“So, Kit,” I begin.
“It’s Kip. With a p on the end. Not Kit.”
“Yeah, right. I’m not good with names. I was wondering is there a Mrs. Kip?”
I’m thinking the question is innocent enough, but it earns me a narrowed-eye glare from Kip and a pretty forceful elbow from Madison.
Ah, I’ve touch on a sore subject. Score one for me.
“Sara and I are newly divorced.”
Divorced? I mentally laugh and can’t help but wonder if maybe his ex-wife left his ass so she could find a man with a manly name like Stone or Colt or even better… Ridley.
“So, Ridley, why is it this is the first game we’ve seen you at?”
God, he’s a dick.
You know what thought keeps crossing my mind? Not only is he a dick, but I’d like to pull my dick out right now and slap it right on his forehead. Maybe then he’d shut the fuck up.
“I own a custom home building business, and it keeps me really busy. Seven days a week is my usual work week.”
Kip stares at me like I’m crazy. “Yeah, but I can’t imagine you couldn’t get a little time away once a week to come and watch your son play? Right? I mean if it was important to you, wouldn’t you just make the time?”
I want to jab his eyeballs out.
I sit there for what seems like forever but is probably just a few seconds completely stunned by what this asshole just said. Is he really calling me out right here in front of my wife and kids? Of course he is. He knows this is a competition and he’s decided to play to win.
I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head in disbelief. Did this tool talk my wife into a divorce?
Madison won’t even look at me. “Yeah well, I can see how someone like yourself would think that,” I say with a good amount of sarcasm laced in my voice, “but when I say I own a custom home building company, I mean I build custom homes myself. From the ground up. The entire process. I don’t have a bunch of guys working for me doing all the work. It’s me and my partner putting out a product we take a lot of pride in. I love what I do, but yeah, sometimes it takes me away from my family whether I want that or not.” I stare at Madison as she looks over at me finally. “There’s nothing more important to me than my family and because of that, I will do anything to make sure they’re taken care of even if it means sacrificing my time.”
Take that, fuck face.
Kip shakes his head and stares at me with a smirk on his face. “Yeah, but it’s not just your time you’re sacrificing, is it? I mean sure, you’re putting in a lot of hours but in the end, isn’t the family you say you’re working so hard for the ones you’re actually sacrificing?”
“Kip,” Madison growls, shocked by what he’s saying. “That’s enough!”
Can I knock his teeth in yet? Come on, you’re thinking it too, aren’t you?
“Listen, you piece of—” I go to stand because option one just came back into play when Madison grabs my forearm and squeezes to get my attention. I glance over and see her pleading eyes locked on mine. She’s silently begging me not to do something that will cause a scene. And then her eyes dart to the kids, and Callan’s stare locked on me. I relax beside her.
She’s right. I can’t make a scene in front of him despite me desperately wanting to.
Just then two young girls show up at our table carrying two large pizzas and breadsticks. I never understood the need for breadsticks when you order pizza. Isn’t the crust basically a bread stick? Just seems like overkill to me. Anyway, I decide to let this shit go for the moment and try to enjoy the free food because if asshole thinks I’m paying for this shit, he’s fucking delusional.
Glancing around the restaurant, I notice it’s nice. As much as I don’t want to admit it, Kip has a pretty good thing going here. All the tables are filled and the customers look happy.
Well, all but one. When I look over to Callan, he’s just staring down at his pizza picking at it like it’s some sort of science experiment. This wouldn’t bother me so much if one, pizza wasn’t one of his favorite foods and two, I can see Kip’s son beside him elbowing him like he’s trying to get him to do something he doesn’t want to do. This is also the friend of the kid who kicked his magazine out of his hand on Tuesday. He probably thinks I don’t remember that, but I do.
“Hey, bud.” I tap my knuckles to the table to get Callan’s attention. “Is everything okay with your pizza?”
“Um, yeah.” He pushes his plate away from him. “I’m not hungry.”
Madison turns to face Callan. “Are you feeling okay, honey? Pizza is usually your favorite.”
Callan turns a little red with embarrassment from his mom babying him and nods. “I’m fine. Can I go play the video games?”
I reach inside my pocket for quarters. “Yeah, here’s some money.”
Callan takes off, and the kid jumps up to go with him when my leg has a cramp. I straighten it out and send Kip Jr. straight to the floor.
“Easy there, buddy,” I say, helping him up. See? Nice guy sometimes. “You gotta watch where you’re walking.”
The kid glares a look similar to his father because he knows I tripped him, but nobody else in this place does.
Madison jumps up from her chair and starts looking around frantically.
Grabbing her hand to get her attention, I look up at her, “What’s the matter?
“Noah. He’s gone. He was right here and now he’s gone.”
I know what you’re thinking. We’re in a restaurant; there’s only one entrance, and he’s only three so he couldn’t get too far, but that’s where you’re wrong.
Noah’s a fucking ninja.
I’m not even kidding. It’s like he’s an escape savant.
Ten minutes later we find him with another family eating pizza with them.
“We weren’t sure what to do, so we gave him a slice of pizza,” they say, handing Wolverine and his pizza back to us.
I look at him, and then the nice couple and back to Noah in my arms. “You’re so weird.”
I'm not sure what’s weirder, them feeding him or Noah being completely comfortable with another family.
“I like them,” he says as I take him back to our table and hand him to Madison.
“Where was he?” she asks, checking him out and looking for scratches.
“With another family. Turns out, he wants a new family too.”
Okay, not my best line but damn it, Kit pissed me off.
“God, you can be such an asshole sometimes!” Madison says when we’re outside, keeping her voice down so the boys can’t hear us.
I hit a nerve, didn’t I?
“I’m just curious here.” I lean back against her car, my arms crossed over my chest. “When you said, and quote me here because I remember the words exactly, Kip said you’d react this way… what exactly were you referring to?”
“I just talked to him about it briefly,” she admits, her words shaking when she sees how pissed off I am about this.
Have you ever seen those movies where they stick an unsuspecting person in with a bull, and they have to try and escape with their lives?
That’s what today felt like. Gang up on Ridley because he works all the time. Well, fuck that. “So what, you complain to him about me and how fucking awful your life is? Does he let you cry on his shoulder so you’ll spread your legs for him?”
“Screw you, Ridley.” And then she starts to walk away from me.
I grab her by the arm. “No, really, I’m curious. Is that what this is? He’s your shoulder to cry on when I’m not around which evidently is never?”
“No, it’s not like that. But if we’re being honest, he does listen to me, which is more than I can say for you. All you do is work and sleep.”
“Not true,” I say, wanting to kick the side of her car like a child trying to get his point across. “This week I’ve watched a toddler kill a cat, had my balls skinned, chased four mice, put a goddamn nail
When I glance up, her face hardens, a flood of anger flushing her cheeks. I want to take back what I said, but then again, I spoke the truth. Maybe a little harsher than I needed.
I’ve heard people say divorce is ugly. I’ve heard them say it gets really bad before you come to an agreement. Is this the ugly? Us blaming and accusing and avoiding the real issues to place the blame on anyone but ourselves.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Madison manages to keep her voice even when she says, “Just because you suddenly decided you care, doesn’t mean shit. I’m not going to apologize for him looking out for me. You’re the one who’s never around, and I’m forced to go to these games and do all of this myself.”
“You keep saying that, but you’re forgetting why I’ve done all this. I work this hard for you and the boys, so you can have nice things and drive around town in an eighty-thousand-dollar SUV,” I spit out through gritted teeth, moving away from her.
I know what you’re thinking. I’m an asshole. Please for the love of God see that it’s not just me here though.
There is a pang of guilt that hits me because I don’t want to say these things to her. I don’t. But I am, and part of me doesn’t know why.
Am I finally seeing what I’ve been missing all along?
Two weeks go by. Two fucking weeks and Madison still won’t talk to me after our lunch with Kip. Which I think is completely fucking ridiculous because I was only defending myself.
Put yourself in my position here. Did I act like an asshole?
If you said yes, piss off.
I can’t say Madison and I don’t talk because there’s discussion about the kids, but nothing about us. And I’m sleeping on the couch again.
It’s awful, the sleeping on the couch, and while I can see where I may have overreacted the other day, I’m down to something like forty days before this nightmare is final and it’s game time.
“Hey, you never told me what happened on your date?”
“What date? After meeting Kip, she told me she didn’t want to go on a date with me.”
Brantley snorts. “What kind of name is Kip?” This is why we’re friends. And then he adds, confirming why he’s my best friend, “It’d be cooler if his name was Kit.”
“I’m dying here, man,” I tell Brantley as we look through paperwork on Friday morning in the office. We’re searching for a permit Kennedy had in here and guess what? She’s late. You know my feelings about people being late. “I need some ideas, fast.”
“You have plenty of time.”
“No, I don’t. I have like four weeks left. This calls for drastic measures.”
Brantley’s deep in thought for about five minutes and then grins. I’m not sure I like this grin. Look at him. He looks like the Joker. “Couples therapy.”
“What?”
“You know… they have that hotel up in Sedona? The resort that specializes in couple’s therapy. Haven’t you seen their commercials on TV?”
“Apparently we watch different shows.”
“The resort looks fucking amazing if you ask me, but they do like couples counseling or some shit like that where they help you remember why you fell in love. Maybe take her there.”
He has a point. A good one. Since my date night didn’t work, maybe this would? If I could get her away from everything and everyone, there’s a chance.
The door to our office opens, and Kennedy finally walks in around nine that morning when she starts at eight. I’m just about to demand she tell me why she’s late when I notice her appearance.
Remember when you were little and you’d ride your bike with no shoes and your toes looked like you grated them?
Well, if you didn’t do that, good for you, but picture doing that and your toes would look similar to Kennedy’s chin, elbows, and knees. Or my balls after having them waxed. I assure you it’s similar. Just believe me.
I focus on Kennedy and what she’s wearing. Why she wore a dress looking like this is beyond me.
“Jesus, what happened to you?”
She whines and gingerly sits done as if moving around hurts. “Well, you know that boyfriend I have?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Jason?”
“No. His name is Jacob.”
Clearly you know by now, I’m not good with names. Anyway, focus, Kennedy is telling us something.
“That piece of shit.” Digging inside her purse, she pulls out an Elsa Band-Aid and sticks it to her knee. “Well apparently, he has a drug problem, which if we’re being honest, I knew about.” Both Brantley and I nod because we met this dude once and if you’ve ever seen someone high on meth, it’s easy to spot. “Anyhow”—Kennedy shakes her head and sits down, staring at her skinned elbows—“we were out on a date last night, right? And he gets pulled over. So what does he do? He pushes me out of the car while it’s moving and then leads the police on a car chase down I-10. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”
Brantley laughs, shaking his head. “Oh, I heard about it. It was on the news this morning. I just didn’t realize it was you who tuck and rolled off the interstate.”
“Yes, it was me. And I clearly didn’t tuck. I rolled, but tucking escaped me.”
I blink, trying to process what she said. And here Madison thinks she has it bad. At least I didn’t throw her from a moving car. I thought about it a time or two, but I wouldn’t actually do it. “What an asshole,” I say, trying to be a compassionate boss. It’s really hard, but I do care that she’s still alive. Finding good office staff is a lot harder than you think.
Kennedy reaches for an ice pack she brought with her, propping her legs up on her desk. Did I mention she’s wearing a dress? I turn my head but Brantley, he doesn’t. Are you surprised?
Me either.
“In his defense, it was actually pretty nice of him to throw me out of the car,” Kennedy says, “when you think about it. If I had stayed, I would have been an accessory or some shit like that.”
I’m more focused on the fact that she was fifty minutes late. I don’t do late, remember? “Is that why you were late?”
“Well no, I slept in, but I was up a little late.”
This kind of pisses me off and she knows it. “Oh, stop, I’m kidding. I didn’t oversleep. I had to stop by the police station and they weren’t open until eight.” She motions to my phone. “I sent you a text message.”
She did? I hadn’t even realized my phone was in my office, plus I hadn’t checked it since leaving the house.
“What were you guys talking about when I came in?” Kennedy asks, motioning between us.
“Nothing.” I push a stack of paper toward her. “Can you find the permits for the Peterson house? You lost them.”
“I did not. They’re on your desk,” she grumbles, standing up and limping toward the coffee pot. “They’re probably next to your cell phone you don’t check.”
I still might look for a new office manager. This one’s getting lippy.
“Ridley’s taking his wife to couples counseling,” Brantley says, ratting me out.
What a fuck face. So much for him keeping secrets. I guess they only apply to his life.
Up until now, I hadn’t told Kennedy about Madison filing for divorce, though I’m sure she’s come to some assumptions lately.
“That’s sweet. At least you try. I just want to date a guy who has a job and doesn’t use my rent money to buy crack.”
I look back at her over my shoulder as I head to my office. “You really need to break up with that guy.”
I find the permits on my desk where she said they were next to my phone. No missed calls from Madison, like I was hoping there would be, but Kennedy’s right. She sent me a message saying she’d be late.
I guess I��ll let her lateness slide this one time.
“Why are you wearing a dress today when you look like that?” I ask, handing the permits to Brantley so we can place the order for the flooring.
“Going to my sister’s wedding tonight.” And then she holds up two lipsticks. “What shade of lipstick clearly states, I’m only attending this wedding for the drugs and the best man?”
I laugh and point to the hot pink lipstick. “I take it you’re not close with your sister?”
“Fuck no. She’s a whore.”
Brantley perks up. “Like really a whore?”
“No, not really, B.” She points in his face. “Stay away from her. She’s getting married. Pretty sure she’s only sucked one cock her entire life. And that’s just sad. But anyway, you stay far away from her wedding.” And then she looks at me. “I just don’t like her. She used to steal my Barbies.”
I know why I hired Kennedy. We’re a lot alike.
SINCE MADISON HASN’T kicked me out entirely—just to the couch—when I get home from work that night, I don’t bother telling her I’ve already booked our trip for tonight and arranged for Brantley to watch the boys. He’ll be here in an hour.
I know what you’re thinking. One, how could you book it without talking to her, and two, why in the fuck would you have Brantley watch your kids?
He’s actually great with kids as long as women aren’t around.
“You look amazing today,” I say when I see Madison in the kitchen cutting up chicken nuggets for the boys.
Gag me. Just fucking wrap a noose around my neck at this point. Who is this guy? I’d like to punch myself and ask if I’m getting my balls back for Christmas.
“Shut up,” she mumbles, looking out to the backyard where the boys are playing with each other. Noah’s on the swings while Callan has a book in one hand and he’s pushing him with the other. At least they’re playing together.
“How about we go away for the weekend?” I push the brochure toward her, sliding it across the granite countertop between us.
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