The Man She Married

by Cathy Lamb

  “No.” A blast of rain hit the windows. The timing was almost funny.

  “I’m exhausted from the drive.” She stood in my family room and slowly turned around, those critical blue eyes taking everything in. “I’m going to be honest with you, Natalie. Someone has to do it. This is not the right place. Not the right neighborhood. This is not a home, Natalie. Why, this is almost a shack.”

  I sank into the couch. I had to. I can endure my Mother Monster only while sitting. Our apartment wasn’t a shack. It was actually starting to grow on me. It was small and cozy, and I’d continued to decorate it. “I think it would be best if you weren’t insulting, Mom.”

  “I’m not being insulting.” She sat on the edge of Zack’s leather chair, her knees and ankles tight together, as if she were afraid bugs would jump from our carpets up her legs and into her crotch. “I’m being truthful. This is a dangerous neighborhood. Beneath you. Beneath our family ancestry line.”

  Our family ancestry line? “It is not beneath our family, Mom.”

  “All I can say is that I’m glad I have my gun in my purse.” She patted it.

  I had noticed her designer purse. It cost at least a thousand dollars.

  “I hope the safety is on.”

  “No. It’s not. A lady must be ready to shoot, especially in this neighborhood.”

  “Please put the safety on.”

  “Don’t nag. You know my daddy taught me how to shoot, starting when I was eight years old.” She mimed shooting.

  “I know, Mother, you’ve told me a zillion times.” The sky outside darkened as the rain poured.

  “It’s unfortunate that Zack cannot provide better for you. You’re living my life when I lived with your father, and this saddens me. This makes me very angry. I did not raise you to live my life of poverty, the life of deprivation, that I endured with your father.”

  I was instantly filled with rage. “You did not live a life of deprivation with us, Mom. Dad worked six days a week and he provided. He would come home and make dinner and sing me to sleep at night.”

  “I’m sorry if I didn’t sing to you, Natalie.” Her eyes flashed. I’d hit a nerve.

  “If we lived a life of poverty, Mom, why didn’t you work? If it was a life of poverty, why did you leave me there? Our home was fine, the land was beautiful, but it wasn’t enough for you.”

  She threw her manicured hands up. “You were a child. All you needed were shorts and sneakers. You did not need what I needed. I want what’s best for you, and this neighborhood is not anywhere near the best. It’s like you’ve gone backward, Natalie. You’re poor again, as we were when you were a child.”

  “I was not poor as a child, but it would have been nice if you had sent child support for the child you gave birth to. That would be me.”

  “Please, Natalie. Let’s not get into past history. We disagree, let it go.”

  And there was Mother Manipulator. Whenever I said something she didn’t want to hear, she would shut the conversation down, change the topic with a dismissive wave of her hand, make a critical comment to me about something else, minimize what I was saying with a dose of condescension, tell me how I felt was wrong, or dispute the truth. She would never accept responsibility, admit she had done something hurtful, or make any effort to see my point of view. Hard to get along with people like that.

  “I don’t understand what happened with Zack and why he had to sell your home.”

  “It’s not your business, Mom, and I don’t want to discuss it.”

  “Men provide.” She tapped her sapphire necklace.

  And there was that tone. Patronizing. Superior. “Stop, Mom. Now.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She pointed at me. “I’d like some coffee. Always offer a beverage to your guests, Natalie. Black. One tablespoon cream. Half a teaspoon of sugar, no more. A thick mug, preferably white, not a thin mug.”

  “I know how you like your coffee.” I wobbled to the kitchen. “I’m already wiped out from your visit, Mom.”

  “Don’t be rude.” She followed me to the kitchen. “Do you have tea biscuits? A lady should always have those around for a nibble. I’ll take a glass of ice water. Three cubes.”

  Would I live through this? Maybe I should go back to my coma. Unbelievably I heard thunder crash in the distance, and ten seconds later saw a flash of lightning.

  She shook her finger at me. “Don’t marry a farmer. Dell is getting so persnickety.”

  I endured my mother’s talk about Dell and his “persnicketi-ness,” life on the ranch, their upcoming cruise, her neighbors who didn’t like her, Glenda who especially didn’t like her, but she was always so “cheerful. It’s so annoying.”

  Cheerful people are annoying to my mother.

  “I don’t like the allowance thingy.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Natalie. It’s offensive. I brought you up better than that.”

  “Dad brought me up, Mom.” The rage boiled again. Why do I let her do this to me? Why do I even let her in the door?

  “Nonsense. I was always there for you.” She touched her sapphire earrings.

  “No, Mom. You weren’t. You were hardly there at all.”

  “How is your father, by the way?”

  “Dad is doing very well.”

  “And?”

  “And what?” More thunder. More lightning.

  “Is he seeing anyone?”

  “I don’t talk about him with you, Mom. You know that. You can call him yourself and ask.”

  “I don’t think so. It’s hard for him to hear my voice.”

  I laughed out loud. “Not for the reason you think.”

  “Between you and me, he’s never gotten over me leaving him.”

  “I have heard you say that a hundred times. Mom, once again, he was over you leaving him years before you ever walked out the door.”

  She sucked in her breath. “That is not true.”

  I said, in all seriousness, “It is.”

  She made a humph sound.

  She missed him, I knew it.

  My mother yammered on. She never once asked me how I was doing. She did say to me, “Are you getting some white hairs? I can’t tell. Don’t let your hair go white, or you’ll lose Zack. But, perhaps, that would be preferable, if he can’t provide you with a better life.”

  That was it for me. I stood up. “Okay, Mom. That’s it. I have to go and so do you. I’m not going to tolerate you criticizing my husband, and I have a therapy appointment.” I did not have a therapy appointment. I’d been to two that morning. But if she stayed any longer I would have to go see a therapist who specialized in how to stay sane with insane mothers.

  She muttered to me, “Your manners are appalling,” when she hugged me good-bye, then said, “You still need to put on some weight, Natalie. Too thin. Men do not like thin. They like curves.” She pointed to her curves, two of which were enhanced through implants. “I am naturally busty. By the way, I have a gift for you.” She handed me a box. “Open it after I leave.”

  There was something in her eyes when she cupped my face with her hands, then kissed both my cheeks and hugged me close. Could it be kindness? “Bye, darling. I’ll come by again soon.”

  Affection! What a surprise. “Good-bye, Mom.”

  A few minutes later, the skies cleared. I laughed.

  * * *

  After she left, I opened the box. Inside was a necklace with a heart-shaped locket. It was not cheap, I could tell by the box. There were a few diamonds on one side of the heart.

  Inside she had engraved, “I love you, Natalie. Love, Your Mother.”

  I had to lie down for three hours after she left.

  Do other people have mothers like this? Critical. Selfish. Concerned about social status and other shallow trivia. Then they throw something deeply kind your way, like an emotional curve ball, and you don’t know what to do with the whipsaw of emotions.

  I was not impressed by the co
st of the jewelry. That she had thought to give me a heart, and tell me that she loved me, that was what made me catch my breath.

  * * *

  The next day, Saturday, the Moonshine and Milky Way Maverick Girls knocked at my door. I was making jewelry at the kitchen table.

  “Surprise! Spa day, Maverick Lady,” Justine told me.

  “And we’re getting our hair done. Look at my hair.” Chick pulled her thick red waves away from her head. “I need it cut and I need it dyed so I don’t resemble an estrogen-infused rooster.”

  “We’re getting manicures and pedicures, too, for the fingers and the toesies,” Justine said.

  I about clicked my heels together. “Really?” My voice squeaked.

  “Really!” the Maverick Girls said.

  I raced off to my bedroom to get dressed. I pulled on my army-green jeans and a blue cotton shirt with a lace ruffle and dumped a few of my homemade crystal and rock necklaces over my head. I shoved my feet into my red boots. I was ready!

  “Love you, Natalie. Have a great time.” Zack smiled and hugged me.

  I kissed him, hugged him, and sailed on out, almost giggling. “I think I’ll feel like a new woman when this is over.”

  “We all will,” Chick said. “I look like I’ve been brushing my hair with a hammer.”

  * * *

  I stared at my face in the long mirror at the spa.

  Better. So much better.

  Chick and Justine put their faces next to mine, all sorts of hair products on the counter in front of us. We’d started with massages. We progressed to our manicures and pedicures. I chose pink with white daisies for my ring fingers. Next came lunch of salads and French bread and coffee and chocolates.

  Then we had our hair cut and highlighted. I am not biased when I say this: Justine and Chick looked gorgeous. Justine’s dark hair was thick and shiny, as were Chick’s red waves.

  “My face doesn’t look so ghastly,” I said.

  “My face, magically, isn’t so fat,” Chick said. “I don’t look like an exhausted mommy. My God. Braxton wanted to have sex twice last night. Wait ’til he sees me now.”

  “Did you say yes or no?” I asked.

  She turned to me. “Are you kidding? I said yes. I’m not going to turn down a twofer. I’ve got a lot of backed-up orgasms that need to come out.”

  “Backed-up orgasms?” Justine said. “What a way to put it. Although I completely understand what you mean. Maybe you should get a vibrator. I call my vibrator Jed.”

  “That’s a surprise,” I drawled. “I never would have guessed that.”

  “Braxton is a man with a high sex drive,” Chick shared, “and I meet those needs like a tractor meets the needs of our land.”

  My. I loved my hair now. It was blond with gold highlights, as it had been before I’d checked out of life and into my Coma Coffin. My stylist, Kelly, had cut off about four inches so the curls were lighter, curlier. The spot that the surgeons shaved was covered up better now.

  “I talked to Jed the other day, Justine,” Chick said.

  “You did?” Justine’s face lit up. “What did he say?”

  “We talked about the Ducks and the Beavers and football.”

  “What? Football? I don’t care. Did he say anything about me?”

  “I didn’t tell him that you’re madly in love with him and start to salivate when you think of him. I have kept the Moonshine and Milky Way Maverick Girls promise all these long and stupid years.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I told him that you’re dating someone named Lawrence.”

  “Lawrence?” Justine’s brow furrowed. “Who dates men named Lawrence?”

  “You do. I lied to my own brother for you.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Did invisible Lawrence make Jed ragingly jealous mad?” I asked.

  “I think he did,” Chick said. “Just like he was when you were married to Marco, the Needle Penis Husband.”

  “This could be your time, Justine.” I tried to be gentle. “You’re not attached, he isn’t, either.”

  She stared down at the counter.

  “Let that guilt go,” Chick said. “Like you would let go of lice.”

  “You’re ashamed of something you shouldn’t be ashamed of,” I said.

  “It’s this grief inside of me,” she choked out. “This loss.”

  We gave her a hug. “But you don’t have to be lost from Jed anymore,” I said.

  “I’d snag him,” Chick said. “Snag and drag.”

  “Make some reindeer antlers again like we did when we were seven,” I said. “Draw him a picture of Rudolph with straight teeth to seal the deal and re-ask him to marry you. Maybe this time he’ll say yes and you won’t have to stomp on his foot and kick him in the shin.”

  “I could wear a red Santa negligee and the antler hat,” Justine mused.

  “That would work,” I said.

  We put on our makeup and had more champagne. “To the Moonshine and Milky Way Maverick Girls,” I said.

  “To us!” We clinked our glasses.

  “And mostly to you, Natalie,” Chick said. “You’ve got that brain back.”

  “Yes,” Justine said. “To you, friend.”

  “And,” Chick yelled—I don’t know why she yelled, but she did—“to the Moonshine and Milky Way Maverick Girls’ upcoming Naked Bike Ride!”

  We clinked our glasses to that one, too.

  Gall. Was I, an accountant, even though I’m a bad accountant currently, really going to do that? “Naked. On a bike. At night. In a parade.”

  “You’re doing it,” Justine told me. “You are so doing it, Natalie. Don’t you dare back out.”

  “Can’t back out now, girl,” Chick said. “We’re getting our wild and crazy back one step at a time.”

  “Or,” Justine said, “one naked bike ride at a time.”

  * * *

  Afterward we went to a bar and had too much to drink. They had karaoke. Justine, Chick, and I love karaoke. We sang. We busted loose. We danced. People cheered. Chick fell off the stage. Justine turned around and wiggled her butt at the audience. I sang a solo with as much passion as I could while holding two wineglasses, one in each hand.

  Zack had to come and get us. He dropped Justine and Chick off at Justine’s place downtown. Justine warbled on and on in front of her high-rise apartment complex, trying to hit that high C. I laughed so hard I sounded as if I was shrieking. Chick trailed along, her legs crossed. “Too much laughing, Justine,” she protested. “Stop singing, dang it all. Stop now or I’m going to wet my pants.”

  Chick has never had a good bladder.

  Justine threw her arms out and sang full force, super high-pitched. She held one note a long time. People turned to stare. A few clapped. I cracked up, and so did Zack.

  Poor Chick.

  She crossed those legs tight, but it didn’t work because she was laughing too hard. Seeing a puddle on the sidewalk at Chick’s feet had Zack and me crying with laughter.

  I love the Moonshine and Milky Way Maverick Girls. They are true friends, through the laughter and through the tears.

  Chapter 13

  Justine became pregnant our senior year of high school.

  The father was her boyfriend at the time, Taye. Justine still loved Jed. But it seemed hopeless to her. It was hopeless. She was seventeen, Jed was twenty-four. That relationship was not going to happen. It wasn’t even in Jed’s head. He saw Justine as a teenager, barely past childhood, like a little sister, and he was not remotely interested.

  So Justine momentarily tried to let go of Jed and started dating Taye.

  Taye was a nice young man. He treated Justine well. They were both loud, outgoing, perfectly matched. We all ran around together, and Justine and Taye’s hormones got the best of them . . . and the birth control did not.

  When Justine found out she was pregnant, she was holding a pee stick over a toilet at my house with a plus sign. She was terrified, her face like wh
ite oatmeal. Chick and I were terrified for her.

  “Oh, my God.” She sank onto the toilet and cried like I’d never heard her cry. The next week was worse. She stayed home from school and threw up most of the day, morning sickness and stress kicking in. Her parents thought she had the flu. I went over and climbed in bed with her as she choked on her sobs.

  Justine told Taye. Taye did not tell his family. His mother believed herself to be a devoutly religious and pious person and did not approve of Justine. She called Justine, to her face, “a disgrace,” because she and Taye were brought home after curfew by Chief Knight when they snuck out to the lake one Saturday night to drink beer.

  She disapproved of the relationship because the Knights did not attend a Christian church, and she thought that Justine was “corrupting my God-fearing, Christian son. When it is time, he will look for a God-fearing Christian wife, not you, Justine!”

  Justine said to her, with remarkable maturity, “No, you are the disgrace, Maeve. You go to church every week. You teach Sunday school. And yet you are the most judgmental, unkind woman I have ever met. How do the two mesh together? How can you call yourself a Christian? Aren’t you a walking, talking hypocrite?”

  St. Peter must have caught Maeve’s tongue and given it a twist, because she didn’t know what to say. No one talked to her like that, especially her husband, who drank himself into a stupor each night after dinner so he could drown out her nagging.

  Justine skipped school and took a bus to a clinic in a town four hours away. She said that as soon as she put her feet in the stirrups she became nauseated and sick and started to cry. The doctor was very kind and waited. Justine ran out of the clinic, buttoning her pants up on the way out.

  Justine told Taye what happened. Taye, also seventeen, told Justine they should get married. “Let’s do it, Justine,” he said eagerly. “We can still go to school and party at the lake while we raise the kid. I’ve taken care of goats and horses and puppies and kittens my whole life. It can’t be that much harder to take care of a baby. They’re tiny. We can do it. Plus, I love you, Justine, I do.”