“Where to now?”
“I’m starving.” He jumped off his seat. “How about French toast?”
Kassie chose not to raise the issue of the mugs in the sink, and Mike seemed to ignore them as well when he loaded them in the dishwasher. She got out the ingredients for the French toast; he bumped into her as he opened the cabinets to discover an abundance of dishes, glassware, and pots and pans.
“I never realized we had so many intriguing kitchen things. Look at this glass bowl. It’s amazing.” He held it up to the light. A rainbow bounced off the wall. “Wow! That’s cool.”
“We bought it a long time ago at that quaint little shop on the Cape, in Dennisport, I think.”
“Oh, yeah. Was that before or after we made love on the beach?”
“Which time?”
While Mike heated the griddle, Kassie whipped up the egg-and- milk mixture. He approached her from behind and held her hand as she stirred.
“Would you . . . um . . . get me the vanilla?” She swallowed hard.
“And where would I find that?” He pinched her rear as she directed him to the nearby spice cabinet.
Ten minutes later, as she carried dinner to the table, she paused, noticing Mike had positioned the chairs and placemats side-by-side.
“Hope you don’t mind?”
“French toast was a great idea. How come?”
“I’ve been craving it all afternoon. Maybe it’s the vanilla.” Mike leaned into her space. “Say ah . . .” He fed her a piece off his plate.
“Don’t know if it’s on your diet, but we’ll figure it out.” Kassie tried to maintain boundaries.
“When’s that appointment with the nutritionist? The anal one,” Mike said.
“Renal, not anal.” They laughed. “Thursday morning. Good timing. We’ll be able to plan your menu and shop before you go back to work Monday.”
“You still going to come with me?”
“Yes, Mike. I’m divorcing you, not deserting you. I’ll help you through this, however I can.”
When they finished eating, as Kassie brought the dishes to the sink, Mike rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. Bad Kassie was about to suggest he stack the plates in a different way, her way, when she corked her comments. She’d rearrange them in the morning.
“Well, this was some evening,” she said, leaning against a cabinet next to the sink with a dish towel in her hand. “Now, I have to get ready for work. I’m gonna head upstairs, if you don’t mind.”
Mike lowered his head and shook it.
A short while later after transferring a couple of suits, shirts, and lingerie from the master bedroom to hers, Kassie slipped into a short, red, silk nightgown. While brushing her teeth, she looked at her dilated eyes in the mirror, not surprised she still felt a buzz. Despite all that had gone down that night, she felt relieved and in a happy place. Divorce, on. Yes! She pumped her fist.
When she returned to the bedroom, Mike stood in the doorway with one arm leaning on the door jamb, reminding her of John Travolta without the disco music. She must’ve forgotten to close the door. But then why would she have closed it, this was her house, too.
“Hello, beautiful lady in red.” His hand slipped as he stumbled into the room.
Kassie caught her profile in the mirror above the bureau. One strap on her nightgown had slipped down her arm past her breast. She started to lift it back in place.
“Let me help you with that.”
“Now this is when I’d like to have a cigarette,” Mike said as he caressed Kassie starting above her knee and moving to her waist.
“You know you need to stop that.” She rolled toward him. He kissed the tip of her nose.
“This was great. You were great. This bed is great. Who knew? Maybe if we’d gotten rid of the waterbed—”
“Don’t start with the what ifs. It’ll drive you, and me, crazy. This changes nothing, Mike. I’ve heard it’s not unusual for couples going through a divorce to become lovers again. True, I had forgotten—”
“Forgotten what? How good we were together? Are we lovers again?”
“Just for one night.”
“You mean I can stay?”
“Yes, but next time I’m on top.”
Yet there was no next time. They both crashed. Kassie slept better than she had in days. But morning came too soon without the need of an alarm clock. She opened one eye as Topher pounced on the bed and then lifted the other eye as he licked her face with his sandpaper tongue. He stretched out almost like a child between them and rolled on his back.
“Topher. Oh, Topher.” Kassie whispered as she rubbed his tummy, musing more about his namesake than him. What have I done?
The reality of the events of the night before slept undisturbed on the other side of Topher and was strewn around the room. Mike’s jockey shorts were stacked inside his slacks, like nesting dolls. She cringed remembering how she’d unzipped his pants and exposed him in one swift motion. His shirt hung on the bathroom door handle. Had she done that? Mike more likely. Wiggling her toes, they curled around something silky. She reached under the sheets and fished out her nightgown. What did I do?
With all their clothing accounted for, Kassie hopped in the shower, amping up the hot water as high as her skin could tolerate. Thinking about the entirety of the day before, she debated whether a cold shower would’ve been more in order.
In that moment, she balanced herself against the tiles and declared a no-sex day. Not with her husband. Not with her lover. But it’s Wednesday, hump day, she argued. You are Bad Kassie, so for you today must be abstinence-Wednesday, she chastised. “Or maybe I’ll become a nun. That would solve everything.” Except my sex drive.
Kassie let loose an audible sigh of relief when she returned to the bedroom and found Topher alone in the bed. A strong coffee smell drifted its way upstairs. Damn. She hoped Mike had retreated to his bedroom, instead she’d have to face him before she left for work.
Delaying the inevitable, she shooed Topher off the bed and pulled the comforter over the rumpled sheets and fluffed the pillows. She’d change the sheets later.
Before heading downstairs, she saw her reflection in the mirror. “Just five words,” she said in a voice only Topher could hear. “Remember the end game.” She counted them on her fingers. “Oh . . . and focus.”
Was that bacon she smelled? She hoped not, certain that salt-cured meats were an absolute no-no for Mike.
“Do you have time for breakfast?”
“I don’t think bacon is on any approved list for you.”
“I know that. It’s for you, not me.”
Kassie’s right leg quivered, and her left eyelid twitched. What was happening? Last night he helped her cook, tried to clean the kitchen, invited himself into her bed when she had no wits about her, and now he made her breakfast.
“This all smells . . . um . . . too good.”
“Here, sit.” Mike pulled out the chair for her where a glass of cranberry juice greeted her.
In short order, he delivered two eggs over easy, with bacon, and whole wheat toast on her good, rose-patterned china handed down from her grandmother. A steeping cup of English Breakfast tea arrived in his favorite Nantucket mug. When she picked up her fork, she realized it was her best flatware, used only on holidays and special occasions.
“This is lovely, Mike, but you didn’t have to do all this,” she said as she placed the white cloth napkin on her lap.
“Yes, I did. I’m grateful to you. For last night. I wasn’t sure I could do it twice.”
Twice? She only remembered once. Kassie took a bite, unsure if she’d be able to swallow.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, putting his plate of eggs and toast on the placemat opposite her.
“It was a mistake, Mike. All of it a mistake,” she interrupted as her eyes met his. “Well, most of it.” She lifted her tea, looking away.
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean for you to receive the divorce pa
pers yesterday, right after you found out you have Stage Four CKD for God’s sake. What would you take me for if I’d done that?”
“I know.”
“And sleeping with you. That should’ve never happened. It was great if I remember. My mind’s a fuzz ball.” She waved her hands as if to clear the air.
“Mine isn’t.”
“But I should’ve said no. It’s not fair to you. False hopes, and all that.”
“I know. But—”
“But what?”
“I’ve been thinking. There’s no reason to rush into divorce, right? You’re not planning on moving out of the house this minute, are you?”
“To be honest, Mike, your kidneys screwed up my plans royally.”
“Now see, that’s one thing I can thank them for.”
Kassie nodded and tried to eat but put down her fork.
“Listen, I’ve heard some couples continue to live together as they’re going through a divorce if their home can accommodate them separately.” She looked around the kitchen. “We could share common areas, and even a meal or two together,” she said, picking up her fork and waving it across her plate.
“I’d be open to that.”
“But our bedrooms are off-limits, you hear?”
“I could live with that.” As Mike winked at her, Kassie was unaware he also crossed his fingers under the table. “What about the family room?”
35
P.S. I Love You
Glory be, thank God it’s Monday. Kassie handed Mike his travel mug and hustled him out the door.
“You look good, Mike. A week’s vacation did wonders.”
“Like old times.” He grinned and leaned toward her as if to kiss her goodbye.
“Have a great day,” she said, stepping back out of his reach.
“You, too.”
After closing the door, she leaned her back up against it. Impossible. Within the hour, Mike and Chris would meet face-to-face, and only Chris would be the wiser. There’d be no reason for him to spill the beans or for Mike to suspect anything.
Confident their secret was safe, Kassie clicked on the local NBC affiliate for coverage of the Boston marathon. With her office on the race route, she had the day off. She’d have time to relax and catch up on things she’d put off over the last insane ten days. Like yoga, which would help manage her high anxiety. And grocery shopping somewhere other than the Stop & Shop where she’d lost her cookies. Were employees there still buzzing about her? If she wore a hat and sunglasses, maybe no one would recognize her.
Or perhaps she’d send flowers with a note: I’m sorry I stunk up your store, but my life was in the toilet. Hope the fragrance of these flowers helps eliminate the stench and the memories. Sincerely, Bad Kassie O’Callaghan. She laughed. It’d been a week since the ordeal, and she figured the statute of limitations for an effective apology had more than likely passed. Proper etiquette was never her strong suit, living up to her nickname.
When she returned home after her errands and a quick half chicken Caesar salad at Panera Bread, she cruised from room to room opening windows. Topher was on her heels.
She poured an oversized glass of pinot grigio, took the letter she’d picked up from her mother’s attorney, and sank into the chaise lounge that still resided in the master bedroom, now Mike’s bedroom.
Finally. Peace and quiet. Time to reflect on a week that had gone terribly wrong from the get-go.
Sipping her wine, she scanned the master bedroom. Had she’d left anything behind she’d want to grab before Mike locked her out of there as he did his life. Under the circumstances, she supposed Mike would have a right to be pissed if he caught her lounging in what was now his territory, even though it was her chair. They’d agreed the master bedroom was his safe space, but that was only after she slept with him.
That wasn’t the case last Monday night after he’d been released from Boston Clinic. Mike freaked when she’d decided to sleep in the spare room.
“My day wasn’t bad enough? You pull this shit?” Mike scowled and slammed the bedroom door so hard the full-length mirror hanging on it shattered.
Since then she’d transferred the entire contents of her bureau and walk-in closet to three bureaus and two closets in the spare bedrooms. She claimed the larger one, with the thirty-two-inch Samsung television on the wall and adjacent full-sized bathroom, as her main refuge and designated the smaller one for overflow.
“You have so much shit, Kassie,” Mike railed at her each day while she moved her gear and purged. But he didn’t stand in her way. For that she was grateful.
She justified the whole process of reorganizing her wardrobe and accessories as both cathartic and philanthropic.
“I filled three super-sized plastic bags with my fat suits,” Kassie bragged to Chris on the phone the night before. “You know the ones you can’t imagine ever having a use for again?”
“The suits or the bags?”
“The bags.” She giggled.
“Seriously, KO, it’s been, what, six days?” Chris fussed. “I miss you.”
After the night she’d slept with Mike, she’d convinced Chris it would be wise for them to take a breather for a week or two, using the fact that he was starting to work with Mike as an excuse. They both needed to keep their druthers about them.
“Chill. Remember they say patience is a virtue,” Kassie said, twirling her hair around her index finger.
“I don’t feel very virtuous. I think I left it in San Francisco.”
“Listen, love of my life,” she said, trying to pick up his spirits, “I purged with a purpose. You’d be proud of me. And relieved. Less room I’ll take up in the apartment,” she whispered in case the walls had ears. She’d left Mike downstairs watching 60 Minutes.
Each night in the week that followed the Easter weekend fiasco, Kassie crawled into a bed she hadn’t expected to be in, let alone, alone. She’d made a promise to herself and to Chris—there was nothing that would stop the divorce from proceeding. Mike’s illness added gates she’d need to hurdle, but she was committed and up to the challenge. Roar!
As she sat there resting her head on the back of the chaise, she closed her eyes and felt Topher’s twenty-pound, toasty frame curl around the inside bend of her right leg. She adjusted her body, crossing her ankles, giving him as much room as he needed. She stroked his thick yellow-orange coat. His purring filled the room.
Despite the serene surroundings, Kassie’s stomach churned knowing that morning her lover had met her husband. At that very moment Chris and Mike could be sitting across from each other at the conference table solving the problems of the world. Would they form the bond co-workers do? Would she end up as the odd man out?
She reached for the multi-colored afghan her mother had made for her when she was in first grade. Damn it. She’d moved it to her new bedroom. Topher climbed onto her lap as she emptied the glass of wine.
I should’ve brought the bottle.
Kassie had carried her mother’s letter around in her purse for three days waiting for the right time, or the right mindset, to read it.
“It must be a doozy,” she’d said to her mother’s attorney. “She didn’t want you to give it to me until she was dead a whole year? You think there’s a winning lottery ticket inside? Is there an expiration date for collecting a big payout?” She shook the letter willing its contents to shift around. No such luck.
But she’d postponed the inevitable long enough, and her glass was empty. No more excuses.
“Here goes nothing, Topher,” she said as she unfolded the letter handwritten in perfect script on ecru vellum with what looked like black fountain pen.
My dearest Kassandra,
If you’re reading this letter, it means I’m dancing with your father in the Wonderland Ballroom also known as heaven. I hope you’ll forgive me for what I have to tell you. I believe as gentle as the wind that blows across my grave, the truths that were buried with me, when shared, will set you free.
&nbs
p; I hope you won’t mind my taking a page from your play-book, providing a list of the wrongs I’ve done, all of which I was too weak in mind and spirit to confess to you face-to-face.
I know as your mother, I violated your trust, but I cross my heart and pray in time you will forgive me these transgressions:
For dying a slow death, which robbed you of time to live the life you so deserved. You were there for me day after day even though I sensed you would’ve rather been somewhere else. At least you could’ve told me his name.
For abandoning you, and not recognizing your inner pain as a child and an adult, because I was too consumed with relieving my own. If only we were given a second chance at forgiveness. Could this letter serve as such? That’ll be up to you, my sweet.
For being selfish, and not teaching you to put your needs first, at least sometimes. You were always like your father, a good, nurturing person.
For marrying what’s his name and bringing him into our home. I will never forgive myself for exposing you to the physical and emotional harm you witnessed and endured. On my knees I beg you not to allow those memories, or nightmares, to define who you are now or who you will become. That was my cross to bear that I’ve taken to my grave. Don’t let it be yours.
For making a wretched deal with Mike. I believed in my heart if I stayed silent about his lies, he’d keep quiet about mine. The place and time for ending that silence is here and now.
Kassie put the letter face down on Topher’s back, clamping her lips together, her teeth almost biting through her gums. Her heart pumped as if she was climbing a steep hill with a fifty-pound backpack. If Topher noticed, he didn’t budge; neither did she. She read on.
When you went to Italy all alone, Mike asked me to redecorate his office. You can understand, can’t you, I was grateful for the opportunity to take my mind off my disease? While cleaning out his old credenza, I found a box full of letters from New Mexico which, as any good mother would do, I read. So I confronted him. He gave me his word he wasn’t having a long-distance affair. Their connection was a child they’d had, out of wedlock, and given up for adoption long before he’d married you. He claimed he supported her for a few years after her husband’s death, for which she was thankful. Hence the letters.
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