by Erin Duffy
“Who is she?” Antonia asked.
“I have no idea,” I said. “But I’ve seen her around. She has a little girl, I think. She has a purple stroller. I’ve never seen another one like it, so she’s hard to forget.”
“Why don’t you say hello?”
“Why would I do that?” I asked.
“Because that’s how you’re going to make friends here and stop thinking that the whole world hates you. Come on. Be a grown-up. Go talk to her.”
“You make it sound like I’m trying to pick her up.”
“You are. As a friend. Go.”
“Fine,” I said. I had no idea why, other than to say that I felt like I wanted to get better control of my situation instead of sitting around complaining that I had none. I’d just told Owen I was sorry. Now I was going to talk to the stranger with the purple stroller in a bar. Today was a day of many firsts. I took a sip of wine and stepped toward her. “Hi,” I said, giving the friendly little wave I imagined I’d give to an actual mom friend if I ever made one. “I’m Claire. I’ve seen you around town a few times, and once at the library. I think our kids are about the same age. I just wanted to introduce myself.”
“Oh,” she said with a smirk that was not an appropriate response to my friendly little mom wave. “I think you have me confused with someone else,” she said.
“Really? Don’t you have a purple stroller?” I asked. I’d assumed anyone who pushed a purple Bugaboo around town was cheerful and friendly and oozed rainbow sprinkles and unicorns. Perhaps I was mistaken.
“I don’t think so,” she said. She was lying. She was lying to me about the color of her stroller. Why would she do that?
“Oh. Okay, well, then I guess the next time I see you at CVS I won’t point out that you actually do have a purple stroller, and that you are who I think you are, and we can pretend that we never had this conversation, for reasons that I don’t understand in the slightest, and I don’t think I want to,” I said. I was bitchy, but I didn’t care. I was tired of the mean women in this town kicking me around. So what if my husband left me? So what if I didn’t monogram everything in my house or dress my son like Prince George? That didn’t mean I didn’t have anything in common with the other women here. We were all middle-aged women trapped in suburbia. We should be supportive of each other. Why was no one else seeing that except me?
“Good idea,” she answered, because she was done pretending to be polite, too.
“Okay. FYI, if you want to go unnoticed, get a black stroller like everyone else. That purple thing is ridiculous. Anyways, it was nice not meeting you.”
I returned to Antonia and before I could say a word the hostess approached and led us through the small room, which was crowded enough, but there were more than a few two-tops available and even one booth, so it seemed like Dee Dee was making herself out to be more important than she actually was. Shocking.
The waiter placed two rustic menus in front of us, though calling it a menu seemed like a bit of a stretch. It was more like a list of five or six things, printed on recycled paper that was supposed to look hip. He filled our water glasses from a carafe, placed a lone roll on each of our bread plates, and disappeared while Antonia and I examined the menu. I quickly snapped a photo of our table and sent it to my mother. I had no idea if she was buying any of this, but for some reason, sending pictures of myself outside of the house felt like sufficient proof that I was moving on.
“What’s her name?” Antonia asked as she adjusted her bag on the back of her chair.
“Whose name?” I asked.
“The woman you knew from town?”
“I have no idea. That woman pretended she didn’t recognize me. I know she did. She totally knows who I am. She just doesn’t want to say hello to me because every horrible girl from high school that you wished you’d never see again once high school was over apparently lives in this town. They probably have monthly meetings and a secret password.”
“Why would she pretend to not know you?” Antonia asked, thinking that I was being paranoid, which was totally not true. If you thought the whole world hated you, and they actually did, that made you self-aware, not paranoid.
“Because she’s a mean mommy. That’s why. She’s probably friends with Dee Dee, and therefore is prohibited from speaking to me, and instead of ignoring that mandate and acting like a normal person, she’s obeying it and acting like a teenager. This is what I am dealing with, Antonia. I can’t even get strangers to be nice to me. It’s like Lord of the Flies in this town.”
“Maybe you have her confused with someone else,” Antonia suggested, which was adorable.
“Her stroller is purple. Like My Little Pony purple. Trust me, no one has her confused with anyone else.”
“That’s how you recognize people these days?”
“Yes. And now is really not the time for more judgment.”
“If she pretended she didn’t recognize you when she really did, then she’s not worth knowing anyway.”
“That’s how I feel about every woman here! That’s why I’ll never make any real friends. I’m a pariah. I’m tainted in scandal, and gossip, and at odds with the homecoming queen. No one wants to align themselves with me. I’m a made-for-TV movie, Antonia.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is,” I said. “Owen said we could reevaluate in a year or two. Maybe I only have to tough this out for a year and then we will be in a better place and he’ll let me move one town over or something. I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s too depressing.”
“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
“Dee Dee told Owen about this place the day I met her. She said he’d love it, you know, because she knows him and what he likes. I guess that goes for restaurants and for underwear, too.”
“What? Then why are we here?” Antonia asked. “Claire, you need to stop fixating on her.”
“You know what really gets me? When we met I remember thinking that I wanted her to like me. I remember thinking that I wanted to make sure that she knew I wasn’t threatened by her, that I was fine with her being there, that she didn’t need to treat me like I was radioactive. I thought maybe if I was friendly enough, she’d help me acclimate to the town. But then the waffle thing happened and it became pretty clear that she wasn’t interested in helping me acclimate. She was interested in ruining my life, and that makes it kind of hard to forget her. Plus, she was our Realtor. How stupid am I to allow Owen’s ex-girlfriend to be our Realtor? I mean, would you have ever done that?”
“No,” Antonia admitted. “But I don’t trust anyone.”
“She helped us buy our house, Antonia. She helped me pick out the home in which she’d eat the waffles and drink the champagne and have the affair that broke up my marriage that ruined my life that killed the cat that ate the mouse that lived in the house that stupid Claire bought. Mother Goose should rewrite her nursery rhymes for me.”
“Who cares if you remember meeting her or you don’t? None of it is important.”
“If we had stayed in Chicago this would never have happened. I think about that all the time. If he hadn’t moved here, Dee Dee wouldn’t have come back into his life and he wouldn’t have cheated on me with her and none of this would be happening. We’d still be married and I’d still be happy and you and I would still be going to spin together instead of sitting in this restaurant talking about purple strollers and slutty Realtors.”
“I hate to say this, Claire, but eventually he probably would’ve met someone else in Chicago. If he was going to cheat he was going to cheat.”
“I don’t know. He said they had history. Maybe there’s something to that. Maybe he would never have cheated with anyone else except her.”
“Can we change the topic?” Antonia asked. “Thinking like this is counterproductive. He cheated. He’s scum. He’s gone.”
“You’re right,” I said. Before we could change the topic, my phone buzzed and I immedi
ately grabbed it. Whenever Owen had Bo, I kept my phone in front of me, in case he needed me in an emergency. I checked the caller ID. It was Lissy.
Are you interested in having a drink later?
I quickly wrote her back: At dinner right now. Welcome to come over around 9:00 if you’re free.
She replied: See you then.
I turned my attention back to Antonia. “I’m sorry about that. Lissy wanted to know if I was around. I told her to come by the house around nine o’clock for a drink. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay. I like her. She’s an interesting person. I don’t know anyone like her.”
“I think she might be part bat,” I teased.
“She might be, but I don’t mind it. She doesn’t care about Dee Dee. She wants to be friends with you, and she’s not a mean mommy. So see, not everyone in this town is evil. You just need to seek out the good ones.”
“Agreed,” I said. I liked that Antonia and Lissy had gotten along so seamlessly. I felt like I had a posse. A misfit posse, but a posse nonetheless.
“What are you going to get?” Antonia asked. “Dinner is on me. If you don’t eat, I’m going to be insulted. The pasta looks good. I think I might get that.”
I didn’t need to read the menu, as I knew what I was having before I stepped foot in this place. I waved politely to the waiter.
“I’ll have the bucatini, please,” Antonia said. “And we’ll have a bottle of the Santa Barbara Pinot Noir.”
“Excellent choice, and for you?” he asked.
“I’ll have the pig,” I said. “I hear you have a wonderful pig, and I’d like for you to bring me its head and its tail. Hell, bring me the feet, too,” I said. “I want the pig, the whole pig, and nothing but the pig.” Antonia eyed me strangely, which was understandable, since in the course of our thirty-year friendship, I’d never ordered pig feet, or tail, even once. Hard to believe that was possible, I know.
I relaxed into my leather chair, and took a sip of my ice water, which didn’t have any ice in it, because places like this charged extra for it. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s for two,” he said.
“What’s for two?” I asked.
“The pig.”
“You have a mandatory two-person minimum to eat the pig? Are you kidding?” I asked. “What about the hooves? Can I just have the feet?” I didn’t really want the pig feet, but I didn’t like being denied what I heard was an outrageous dining experience, just because I didn’t have a husband to eat pig with, or because my friend wanted pasta. So shoot me.
“No. You can’t have just the feet. You can only order the whole pig, and it’s very labor intensive for the chef. It’s also a lot of food. We don’t like to be wasteful. The meal is for two people. I’m sorry.”
“This is unacceptable,” I said. Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh went my blood as my heart pumped faster once again, indicating the onset of yet another manic episode. “Food should not be reserved for people in pairs. How can you even say that to me? We are in the midst of the most politically correct era in our entire history, and frankly, I find that policy offensive. It discriminates against single people who are willing to pay just as much as married people for an entire pig if they choose to do so. Maybe I can eat the whole pig all by myself, did you ever think of that?”
“I’m sure you can,” he said. I didn’t like that, either.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Did you just make a fat joke?” I asked, which was absurd, because if anything I was too thin at the moment, and I knew it.
“No. Wait, what’s happening?” he asked, his eyes pleading for Antonia to help.
“I won’t have pasta, okay?” Antonia said, placing her hand gently on my arm. “Let’s get the pig for two. No problem. I’m in.”
“What about the nose? Can I just eat the snout? How many people are supposed to share that?” I asked. “Pig schnoz, yum. Can you pair a nice red with it?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” Antonia said to the waiter, who had stopped writing on his tiny little pad, and instead was holding his pen above it, waiting for Antonia to take control. “We will have the pig. Thank you.” He nodded, and shrugged, and walked back to the kitchen, and I figured as long as I gave him a nice big tip, I wouldn’t have to actually say I was sorry.
“You could have just asked me if I would share it,” Antonia said. “I didn’t need to have pasta.”
“I don’t think any item on any menu should be for two people. It’s hurtful. I’ve never noticed this until now, but maybe I’ll make this my crusade. I’ll take to Twitter and Yelp and OpenTable.com and get restaurants nationwide to allow singletons to order whatever the fuck they want. I’ll start a hashtag: #eatme. Do you think it’ll go viral?”
Antonia giggled. “The sad thing is, it probably will. You’re right, though. If you want to eat the pig, you should be able to eat the pig—married, single, gay, straight, whatever.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. This is why I need you. You get me.”
“It better be good,” Antonia said. “I wanted the bucatini.”
“I mean, the funny thing is, I don’t even really want it.”
“Oh my God,” Antonia said, resting her head in her hands. “I’m going to kill you.”
We laughed. The waiter brought wine. We drank it, and then we laughed again, and it felt really, really good.
Chapter 12
FRED THE ACCOUNTANT was apparently a masochist who got off on pain, humiliation, and suffering, and liked to seek out people who could make his life miserable. He had a penchant for leather chaps, and safe words, and filled a padded room in his basement with various types of perverted sex toys, and really weird porn. This was the only reason that I could think of to explain the fact that Fred called me a week after our date. His still waters must run freakishly deep.
I played the message out loud for Lissy and Antonia to hear while we sat at my kitchen table: Well, I’ve never had a first date go quite like that before. If you’ve come back down to earth give me a call.
“What the hell is wrong with this guy?” I asked as Bo bounced in his jumper and banged on the piano keys that played the “Can-Can.” Antonia sat at the kitchen table working on her laptop, and Lissy sat on the floor near Bo so she could hand him his teething ring, which he dropped every thirty to forty seconds, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“I have no idea. You assaulted Owen in front of a roomful of people. I wouldn’t call you again,” Antonia said. She made it sound like I punched him, or kneed him in his groin, and honestly, I thought she was making it sound more dramatic than it was.
“I’d hardly say it was assault,” I said, even though it actually might have been.
“You lunged at him with scissors, Claire. You cut him,” Lissy added. “Even I think that’s a little crazy, and I once slashed my ex’s tires.”
“I didn’t cut him. I gave him a haircut. Let’s not make it sound like I attacked him with a meat cleaver.”
“The law doesn’t make that distinction,” Antonia so nicely reminded me.
“Don’t get me started with my problems with the laws in this country, okay? They’re all bullshit.”
Lissy giggled. “I still can’t believe you cut his hair. I mean, it’s hysterical.”
“It felt good. I’m not going to lie, it felt really, really good, but I shouldn’t have done it. What I can’t for the life of me understand is why Fred wants to go out with me again. There’s no reason on earth why he should ever want to see me again.”
“Maybe he likes that you’re spunky?” Antonia asked.
“Maybe he’s deranged?” Lissy offered. “I’ve met a lot of guys who look totally cool on the outside, but are all into the Goth thing. You can never tell.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I whined, which was silly since this was actually a nice problem to have. I wasn’t sure why I was acting like something horrible had happened to me because Fred called. Most girls sat by their phones and came up with
a million reasons why a guy didn’t call when he said he would: he was hit by a bus, he was in a coma, he was really busy with work. Fred had the luxury of using fear of being assaulted with nail scissors as a perfectly reasonable excuse to pretend he never met me, but he called me again anyway. A lot of people would hear this story and think that I was the luckiest girl in the world—minus the Owen stuff. Still, at least for a little while, they’d envy my voicemail.
“What do you mean?” Lissy asked. “He called you. You call him back. That’s how it typically works.”
“Nothing about this situation is typical. He has no reason to ever call me again, but he called me again. Which begs the next question: If he was going to call me, why did he wait a week? What, he’s a game player? I’m too old for this. If you want to call someone, call. Don’t make me wait a week. Why would he do that? Isn’t that rude?”
“Wait,” Lissy said. “First you said you thought he was weird because he called, and now you’re saying you think he’s rude for waiting so long to call?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Exactly.” Lissy looked a bit dumbfounded, which I didn’t understand. They were both perfectly legitimate concerns.
“I’m not going to sit here and listen to you talk about which reason you should go with to think that he’s the crazy one, when you were the one who went nuts on your date. Either call him, or don’t,” Antonia said.
“Fair,” I replied. I decided to just suck it up and call him. It was time I acted like a grown-up. I hit the call back button on my iPhone and he answered on the second ring. Apparently, Fred felt that he was a grown-up, too, and therefore didn’t feel the need to let the phone ring a minimum of three times before answering, even though he did wait a week before placing the call in the first place. Okay, cool. We were both going to be adults about this whole thing. Good to know we were on the same page.
“I’m glad you called,” Fred said.
“I honestly can’t think of a single reason why,” I replied. There was no reason to sugarcoat what happened. I needed to own the crazy. The only way to convince people that you weren’t actually crazy was to acknowledge when crazy episodes occurred. I heard that on Dr. Phil one day while I was folding laundry. “I’m not sure what to say. I’m so sorry about what happened. There was no excuse for my behavior,” I said, even though I still fully believed, in my heart of hearts, that there totally was, but I still shouldn’t have done it. “I thought I was ready to go out with someone new, but as it turns out, maybe I’m not.”
