by Lena North
“Mom, we’re not stupid. We see it every time.”
“Wh –”
“Jeez, Mom. The ridiculously colorful shirts he’s suddenly wearing? The cologne? Him staying out later than usual and going on more business trips? The phone calls he has to walk out of the room to take?”
I stared at him, slowly understanding what he was saying.
The blonde girl wasn’t the first one, and my kids had seen it every time it happened. And I hadn’t.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked quietly.
He reared back and stared at me.
“You didn’t know?”
I shook my head mutely.
“Shit. Mom, I don’t know for sure, I could be wr –”
“I walked in on him and his latest,” I said. “You’re not wrong.”
“Shit,” he repeated.
“Yeah.”
We sat in silence for a while and then he leaned his head on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I thought you knew, and so did Annie. You always seemed happier when he was away, so we just figured you’d made a deal or something.”
I blinked. My kids thought I was that much of a wuss?
“I didn’t know, Johnny.”
“That makes him a dick,” he muttered.
Maybe it did, but it made him a dick to me, not to his kids. Stewart had always been a good father.
“Your father isn’t a bad man,” I said, searching frantically for words to say that would soften the whole thing for my son.
“I know, Mom,” he muttered. “He’s a great dad actually, but he’s a pretty shitty husband.”
“Yeah,” I said because what else was there to say?
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
Shit. Okay, here came the part which was hard to explain.
“There was a little altercation in the office today…” I started, paused, and barged on, “I might have said some things in front of the management team, um… and everyone else.”
His mouth fell open.
“I behaved badly, Johnny, and no – I’m not going to tell you what I said, neither to him nor her.”
“She works with you guys?” he gasped.
“Where do you think I walked in on them?” I asked laconically and regretted the words immediately.
He didn’t need to know that about his father, and I had no right to tell him these things. He was mature, and a good kid, but he didn’t deserve that.
“I’m sorry,” I said before he could voice the displeasure that were clear on his face. “I shouldn’t have said that. What’s between your father and me is not something you should have to worry about, honey.”
“He’s a dick,” he muttered.
“No, baby, he isn’t. Life is just difficult sometimes, and I’ve made mistakes too,” I murmured, but when his eyes widened I quickly added, “Not those kind of mistakes, Johnny, but I’m also to blame.”
“I call bullshit,” he said.
I searched his eyes, trying to gauge how he really was taking everything, and there was both anger and hurt, but he seemed surprisingly calm.
“Maybe it is, but maybe it isn’t… I don’t know what to say to make this right, Johnny.”
“What will you do?”
“I need to go away for a while, baby. We’re too upset, both your father and I, and staying isn’t going to…” I swallowed and put an arm around his shoulders. “I thought I would go to Aunt Jennifer’s house. You could come with me? Or maybe you want to go to your grandmother for a while, we could –”
“No, Mom,” he interrupted. “I have a few more weeks in high school, and I want to be with my friends.”
“Sweetie –”
“This isn’t news to me, remember. I’ve known for years what he was doing and it isn’t right, but he’s still my dad. We’ll be fine,” he said.
“I don’t have to leave Chicago, baby. I could stay with Maddie,” I said, torn between leaving the ugliness that was my marriage and the need to make sure my boy was taken care of.
We both jolted when my phone suddenly rang.
“Hello,” I said calmly to Stewart, awkwardly aware that Johnny was sitting next to me and could hear every word.
“I am on my way home, and when I get there we will talk about your behavior, Angelica,” he barked.
“No,” I said. “I am leaving for a while, Stewart. Discussing when we are as upset as we are right now won’t lead to anything good.”
“You’d better be there when I get home,” he growled.
I blinked at his weird threat and closed the call without saying anything. My mind was blank as I turned to my son, but he started talking before I got a word out.
“You’re right, fighting won’t solve anything right now. You should go to Colorado for a while, Mom. I’ll be fine here with Dad,” my beautiful, wonderful boy said calmly.
“Johnny,” I whispered, so proud of him and thoroughly ashamed of myself for what I was about to do. “Promise me you’ll tell me if you’re not okay, baby. I’ll come home immediately, or you could come to Colorado.”
“I promise, Mom. Don’t worry, it’s only a few weeks.”
My phone rang again, and we both saw it was Stewart.
“You should leave before he gets here, Mom,” my son said as he pulled me to my feet and into his arms.
“I love you,” I breathed into his hair as we hugged, and my eyes filled with tears.
“Love you too,” he murmured. “You’re the best.”
“You’re the bestest,” I replied hoarsely.
Then I got into the car and drove off.
My tears might have started because I felt like a crappy mom for leaving my son behind like that, but they quickly shifted into tears of fury. I didn’t stop crying until I was on the interstate, heading west toward a small town in the mountains where I had no roots, no friends, and only an old, rickety house to hold on to.
Chapter Three
Boudreaux’s Butt Paste
There’s nothing like spending fifteen hours in your car on a road that seems to stretch out until the end of the world when you’re trying to work off anger.
I cursed my way through Illinois, Iowa and far into Nebraska. The woman at a gas station outside Lincoln stared at me as I stomped over to grab a couple of bottles of water and a bag of chips, tossing it on the counter.
“Will that be all?” she asked calmly.
“Filled up my car,” I scowled and twitched my head toward the black monstrosity standing outside.
“Okay,” she murmured.
She punched in my purchases quickly, and I felt bad for her. I knew I behaved like a mad woman but I couldn’t make the fury pumping through me subside, and a small hissing sound made its way up my throat before I could stop it.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asked cautiously.
At first, I said nothing and just stared at her. She met my gaze calmly but there was kindness in her eyes, and it chipped through the outer layers of my anger.
“I found my husband in the office, doing a girl half his age,” I said hoarsely, and her eyes widened. “He told me it’s because I wear granny panties.”
Her eyes widened even further, and her eyes flitted downward, but then they flew to my face.
“Shit, girl,” she said, and her face hardened. “You should probably cut his dick off,” she added calmly.
I blinked.
“That’s what I’d do,” she said, stretched over to the side and picked a huge bag of Hershey kisses off the shelf. “On the house,” she added as she slapped it down next to my items.
I looked at the bag of chocolate, and back at the woman again. She was grinning, but beneath her smile I sensed anger. For me? For her, perhaps, or just for betrayed women in general. I smiled back at her, recognizing an unlikely soulmate in this woman behind the counter at a gas station in the middle of nowhere.
“Thanks,” I said and lean
ed forward. “I told everyone in the office that his butt is hairy and that his sexytimes suck,” I whispered.
She started laughing as she bagged my things, and snorted, “That’s even better.”
“Yeah,” I sighed, and twitched my head toward the bag in my hand and added, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she grinned, but her face slowly grew serious. “You should probably check your bank accounts. My cousin’s ex cleaned her out completely, and she had hundreds of dollars in her account. All of it gone.”
Shit. I hadn’t thought about that, but really? Stewart wouldn’t do something like that, would he?
I’d managed our finances since we started living together and he wouldn’t even know how to log on to our bank, but he could find out easily. I had kept our financial life separate because it was easier to reconcile statements and such if I did, and had only created a few common accounts for household expenses, the kids, and our mortgages.
“Do you have Wi-Fi?” I asked slowly.
“Sure,” she replied. “It’s not public, but I’ll get you the password.
I got my laptop from the car and sat down on a small rickety chair next to the counter. The woman leaned against the wall and fanned herself with a magazine, not even trying to pretend she wasn’t curious. We chatted while I sent orders to the bank to take away all Stewart’s access from my accounts and funds. Her husband knew the danger his genitals were in if he didn’t toe the line, so he did, she told me with a grin, although the look in her eyes made me wonder if her joke about wielding knives wasn’t as much a joke as it was a promise. I wondered what Stewart would have done if I’d threatened him with our custom made Japanese knives. Called the police probably.
Wanting to be fair, I instructed the bank to revoke all my access to his accounts too. Then I sent an email to Stewart, informing him of what I’d done, and asked him to transfer his share of the household and mortgage expenses to our joint account, monthly.
The phone rang immediately. I stared at it, winked at the woman next to me, and put him on loudspeaker.
“What the –” his voice echoed.
“Hey there, Stewart,” I chirped. “I’m at a gas station in Nebraska with my girl…” I paused to look at the name tag my new friend had on her chest, and added, “Shaneesha.”
“What?” he asked, sounding totally confused, which was understandable.
Shaneesha was not a common name in our circle of acquaintances, something I on the spot decided to change.
“Boudreaux’s butt paste,” Shaneesha called out, and when there was a stunned silence both from my sad excuse of a husband and me, she added affably, “Nair does a great cream too if you want to fly under the radar.”
I put my hand over my mouth and clamped my jaws together. Hard.
“What?” Steward asked angrily.
“Man, there’s no need to snap at me. My girl here, she tells me you’re having hair issues. I’m just trying to be helpful, that’s all,” she drawled, and when there was an outdrawn silence, she went on, “Laser works best, although it’ll cost’ya. My cousin, you know, he had –”
“Angelica,” Stewart snapped, apparently not in the least interested in hearing about some unknown relative of Shaneesha’s. Or his hair issues.
“Yes,” I snapped back.
“Don’t be like this,” he muttered.
“How many,” I growled because the hilarity of Shaneesha’s involvement had subsided quickly, and the fury was back.
“What?”
“How. Many.” I repeated, and shouted, “Our kids know, for Christ’s sake, Stewart. Johnny told me that they knew every time it happened. I didn’t have to tell him anything because they KNOW. I might be an idiot, but they’re not.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Now I’ll go to Colorado, and you can go to hell.”
Then I ended the call and closed my eyes.
A strong hand squeezed my shoulder, and my eyes met Shaneesha’s.
“You’ll be fine, girl,” she said quietly.
Her brown eyes were kind, and they carried a strength I wasn’t sure I had in me.
“You will,” she insisted and squeezed my shoulder again. “Women like us, we’re strong, you hear?”
“Yeah,” I sighed after a while. “Is there even such a thing as Boudreaux’s butt paste?” I asked, and she grinned at me.
“Sure there is, girl,” she said. “Used it on both my boys for their diaper rashes.”
We both started laughing, I grabbed my bag, and with a smile at my new friend, I got back in my car and continued driving.
Somewhere around the Colorado-Nebraska border the anger had quieted down, and I was mostly tired, but I kept pushing forward, wanting to get to my poop-colored house in the mountains.
***
I was scraping paint off the boards on my back porch, and since no one was around, I was cursing, profusely and loudly. A squirrel kept barking, and after a while, I realized that the animal did it every time I growled out a curse.
“Shut up!” I muttered.
There was another string of chirps, and I could have sworn the friggin’ animal was laughing at me.
“Go to hell,” I shouted.
“Oopsie,” someone said, and I didn’t think it was the squirrel.
I assumed it was my neighbor, Louise.
Since I came back, she’d been popping in frequently, asking me if I wanted to come to yoga class, have drinks with her friends, go for a walk with her and the dogs. I’d declined everything with the excuse that I wanted to work on the house.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I muttered under my breath.
“I’m sorry, are you busy?” she said, and I realized she’d been closer than I thought and she had heard me.
“No, Louise,” I said, straightened and saw that she was standing next to me, and her gorgeous black dogs were sitting there too. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”
“It’s okay,” she said, and to my surprise, she didn’t sound like her usual super happy self. “It’s clear that something has happened, and I understand that you don’t want to talk about it, but you should.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she insisted, “You should.”
“Yeah, but I can’t, Louise, because I’m so incredibly pissed off and if I start talking about it I’m afraid my head will explode,” I heard myself saying.
She looked at me for a while.
“Okay,” she said with a soft smile. “Fair enough. When you feel like venting, let us know. We’ll bring vodka.”
Us? Vodka?
I watched her walking through a small gate into her own garden. She had been sweet, and I had been pretty ungrateful. I knew she meant well, and she was right. I would have to talk about it eventually. I was about to call out to her, bracing for the pity I knew I’d see in her eyes, when a ping from my phone interrupted me.
“Have put you on paid leave for now. If you don’t want to come back we’ll give you the severance package from the day you left. Call when you can, but take your time. Take care, Angelica.”
It was from Jonas. My boss had made it possible for me to think about my future without having to worry about money, health insurance, or anything else. I swallowed and was about to text my gratitude back to him when the phone rang.
Stewart, I registered with a sigh, although I’d changed his contact details, so it said “the fuckwad”. I knew that was incredibly juvenile of me, but it made me smile, although admittedly not in a happy way.
“Yes,” I said.
“Angelica, don’t be like that,” he said patiently as if I was a small child.
The anger came back again immediately, thumping in my ears and giving me a bitter taste in my mouth.
“What?” I asked quietly.
“You will have to come home and organize John’s graduation party,” he said and added condescendingly, “You can’t disown your childre
n just because you’re in a tiff.”
I was in a tiff? Really? His comment was also way out of line because he knew well what Johnny had asked for.
“March 14th,” I said in a voice that shook a little but to my pride still sounded at least somewhat normal.
“What?”
“Remember that day, Stewart?” I asked reasonably. “That was the day I booked Johnny’s ticket to Spain. I’m sure I informed you of it.”
“But –”
“Or else you might remember one week earlier, which would be March 7th?” I asked. “That’s when Johnny came to us and asked if we would forgo his graduation party and presents, and instead send him to an eight-week summer camp in Spain,” I informed him of something I was perfectly sure he knew.
“Yes, but –”
“We both agreed.”
“We should still organize something,” he said doggedly.
“No, we shouldn’t,” I said firmly. “We agreed that it was a very mature request, that we would honor his wishes and not spoil him by having a huge thing as well as the camp. I have booked a table at the Campagnola for the family.” Then I added acidly, “At his request.”
“Wh –”
“Because, Stewart, I might not talk to you, but I talk to my kids.”
He was silent for a long time, and I stood there, waiting and unwilling to let him off the hook by saying something that cut through the tension.
“How long are you going to be in Colorado?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly calm. “We need to talk.”
“I’ll come to Chicago for the graduation, we can talk then.”
“You’re coming home?”
What the hell? Did he honestly think I’d miss my boy’s graduation because of his indiscretions?
“Do you even talk to your son?” I asked.
“He’s angry,” Stewart muttered.
Well shit. I hadn’t informed my husband of my plans because I’d assumed Johnny told his father, but that had been stupid of me. Of course I couldn’t rely on our son to pass messages between us. I could have kicked myself for putting him in a position which he didn’t deserve.
“I’m sorry, Stewart,” I started and barged on immediately when I heard how he was about to say something. “I should have informed you. I will send you my itinerary, and my parents’ travel plans, via email. I’ll be staying with Maddie, but I don’t leave until late in the evening the day after graduation, so we’ll have time to talk.”
