She shakes her head gravely. “Carisa, go get your backpack. I’ll meet you out front.”
We both watch as Carisa sashays away.
“That wig was a mistake, I’m sorry.”
“What are you talking about? The geese stole the show,” says Mrs. Norman. “The wigs were brilliant. As was the song choice.”
“You didn’t think it was a bit-mature?”
Mrs. Norman shrugs. “It’s a new world. Eight is the new thirteen. Girls are getting breasts in fourth grade. She’s already begging me for a bra. They make them in very small sizes, you know. Tiny. Padded. So cute. So, look, I want to apologize for what happened the other week. You took me by surprise. I wanted to thank you. I’m very grateful you did what you did.”
Finally, some gratitude!
“You’re very welcome. I’m sure any mother would have done the same thing had they been in my shoes.”
“So where and when can I meet you? I know we shouldn’t do this at school.”
“I think we’re okay,” I say. The auditorium is empty. “Nobody can hear us.”
“You want to do this now? You’ve been carrying it around? In your purse,” she points to my shoulder bag. “Great!” She holds out her hand and then retracts it quickly. “Maybe we should go backstage.”
This woman thinks I still have her pot? “Uh, Mrs. Norman? I don’t have your-stuff. I got rid of it. The day I called you about it, in fact.”
“You threw it away? That was nearly a thousand dollars’ worth!”
I look at her indignant, entitled moon face and I think of Researcher 101, which gives me confidence to speak plainly.
“Mrs. Norman, I’ve had a very difficult day. It was wrong of me to have the girls perform ‘California Geese.’ I apologize for that and really, really hope you don’t buy Carisa a bra. She’s far too young and as far as I can see has no breasts whatsoever. Perhaps you should have a conversation with your daughter about the trauma she incurred in finding your stash of illicit drugs instead of talking with me about how you can get it back. She’s a really sweet kid, and she’s confused.”
“What gives you the right?” Mrs. Norman hisses.
“Tell her something. Anything. Just address it. She won’t forget about it. Believe me.”
Honk, honk, honk, honk, honk, says Mrs. Norman, meaning “you piece-of-crap teacher.”
Honk, honk, honk, honk, honk, I say, meaning “you pothead mother, goodbye.”
I play my music at top volume in the car to calm myself down, but I dream a dream of days gone by doesn’t work today. When I get home I’m still amped up from the afternoon’s events, so I do something I know will likely only add to my anxiety: I steal into Zoe’s room to check the Hostess product inventory, something I do every week in hopes it will bring me some understanding as to how my daughter can consume thousands of Ding Dong calories a week and never gain an ounce.
“I don’t think she’s bulimic,” says Caroline, poking her head into the room. “You’d know if she were purging.”
“Yes, well, there are two Yodels missing,” I say.
“You’ve been counting them?”
“And I always hear the water running in the bathroom when she’s in there.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s throwing up. She probably doesn’t like people to hear her pee. I’ve been watching her. She’s not a puker. I don’t think she’s bingeing on Yodels, I really don’t, Alice. She just doesn’t fit the profile.”
I give Caroline a hug. I love having her here. She’s smart, funny, brave, creative, and kind: exactly the sort of young woman I hope Zoe will grow up to be.
“Ever had a Yodel?” I ask.
Caroline shakes her head. Of course she hasn’t.
I toss her one.
“I’ll save it for later,” says Caroline, frowning at the packaging.
“Give it back. I know you’re not going to eat it.”
Caroline wrinkles her nose. “You’re right, I’m not going to eat it, but my mother will-you know how she loves junk food. She and my dad are coming to visit. Yodels have no expiration date, right?”
“Bunny’s coming to Oakland?”
“We spoke this morning. They just decided.”
“Where are they staying?”
“I think they’re planning on renting a house.”
“Absolutely not. That’s too expensive. They can stay here. You can sleep in Zoe’s room and they can have the guest room.”
“Oh, no, she won’t want to impose. You’re already putting me up.”
“It’s no imposition. Actually, it’s selfish on my part-I want to see her.”
“But don’t you need to ask William first?”
“William will be fine with it, I promise.”
“Okay. Well, if you’re sure, I’ll tell her. She’d love that. So Alice, I had a thought. What about if you and I went running? We could do it secretly. Take it slowly. Run at your pace. And eventually get you to the point where you and William could run together again.”
“I don’t think William is interested in running with me.”
“You’re wrong. He misses you.”
“He told you that?”
“No, but I can tell. He talks about you all the time when we’re running.”
“You mean he’s complaining.”
“No! He just talks about you. Stuff you’ve said.”
“Really?”
Caroline nods.
“Well-that’s nice, I guess.”
Actually, it irritates me. Why can’t William act like he misses me to my face?
I take the Yodel out of Caroline’s hands. “Your mother’s favorite is Sno Balls.”
I can just see Bunny sitting in the back of the Blue Hill Theater, peeling the pink marshmallow skin off the chocolate cake while instructing an actor to go deeeeeeper. There’s something about the theater and simple carbohydrates.
“When I was a kid these used to come wrapped in foil,” I say. “Packaged up like it was a surprise. A gift that you didn’t know was coming.”
Like the Yodel, Bunny’s visit feels like fate.
Three days later, summer officially arrives. The kids are out of school and I am, too. Because of our finances we’re not doing much of anything this summer (except going on a camping trip to the Sierras in a few weeks). Everybody will be home all the time, except Caroline, who scored a part-time intern position at Tipi.
I take Caroline up on her offer to train with me and am now standing in the middle of the street, panting, bent over like an old lady, my hands on my knees, deeply regretting my decision.
“That’s a twelve-minute mile,” says Caroline, looking at her watch. “Good, Alice.”
“Twelve minutes? That’s pathetic. I can walk faster,” I gasp. “Tell me again why we’re doing this.”
“Because you’ll feel great afterwards.”
“And during I’ll feel like dying and curse the day I ever let you come stay with us?”
“That’s about right,” she says, bouncing on her toes. “Come on, keep moving. You don’t want the lactic acid building up in your calves.”
“No, noooo lactic acid for me. Just give me a second to catch my breath.”
Caroline squints distractedly into the distance.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says.
“Are you looking forward to your parents coming?”
Caroline shrugs.
“Did you tell Bunny about Tipi?”
“Uh-huh.” Caroline does a quick stretch and then takes off at a trot. I groan and stagger after her. She spins around and runs backwards. “William told me you used to run a nine-minute mile. We’ll get you back there again. Pump your arms. No, not like a chicken, Alice. Tucked under your shoulders.”
I catch up to her, and after a few minutes she looks at her watch and frowns. “Do you mind if I sprint the last quarter mile?”
“Go, go,” I huff, waving her away.
As soon a
s she’s out of sight, I slow to a walk and take out my cell. I click on the Facebook app.
Kelly Cho
Thanks for the add, Alice!
5 minutes ago
Nedra Rao
Prenups, people. Prenups!!
10 minutes ago
Bobby Barbedian
Robert Bly says it’s all right if you grow your wings on the way down.
2 hours ago
Pat Guardia
Is dreaming of Tita’s lumpia. Hint-hint.
4 hours ago
Phil Archer
I read my daily fortune cookie!
The sensitivity you show to others will return to you.
5 hours ago
Boring. Nothing exciting.
Then I check Lucy Pevensie’s account.
John Yossarian
Likes barmaids.
5 hours ago
I give a little squeal.
60
John Yossarian
Why not?
1 hour ago
Okay I’m just going to ask. Are you flirting with me, Researcher 101?
I don’t know. Are you flirting with me?
Let me be the researcher for once. Answer my question.
Yes.
You should probably stop.
Really?
No.
61
F ESTIVE S WEDISH P OTLUCK AT N EDRA’S H OUSE
7:30: Standing in Nedra’s kitchen
Me: Here’s the meatballs!
Nedra (peeling back the aluminum foil and making a face): Are these homemade?
Me: And here’s the lingonberry jam to go with them.
Nedra: Now I understand why you chose Swedish. Because you ran out of cheap candles. Alice, the whole point of these internationally themed potlucks is to step outside our comfort zones and make new foods, not buy them at Ikea.
William: Blåbärsplåt (handing her a casserole dish).
Nedra (peeling back the aluminum foil, her face aglow with delight): You brought something, too?
William: I made it. It’s a traditional Swedish delicacy.
Nedra: William, darling, I’m so impressed. Alice, put the lingonberry jam on the table, will you? The Styrofoam cup is a nice touch, by the way.
7:48: Still standing in the kitchen
Linda: Wait until you have to move your kid to college. It’s like childbirth, or marriage; nobody tells you the truth about how hard it is.
Kate: Come on, it can’t be that bad.
Bobby: Did we tell you the twin master suites are finished?
Linda: First I had to get up at five in the morning to log on to get Daniel’s scheduled move-in time. It’s first come first served, and everybody wants the 7-to-9 a.m. slot. If you don’t get that slot you’re screwed.
Nedra: Why didn’t you make Daniel get up at five in the morning?
Linda (waving her hand, dismissing the idea that an eighteen-year-old boy could possibly be counted upon to set an alarm clock correctly): I got the 7-to-9 a.m. slot. We arrived on campus at 6:45 and already there were huge lines of parents and kids waiting for the four elevators that serviced the entire dorm. Clearly there was a 5-to-7 a.m. the-rules-don’t-apply-to-me-because-I’m-paying-$50,000-a-year slot that I was not made aware of.
Bobby: I’ve been sleeping like a baby. Linda, too. And our sex life-I won’t go into details, but let’s just say it’s an extreme turn-on to feel like strangers in your own home.
Linda: So each of us dragged a fifty-pound suitcase up five flights of stairs to Daniel’s room. A Sisyphean feat, given the fact that every couple of minutes we were pushed aside by the happy-go-lucky parents who got there early enough to use the elevator to haul their kids’ stuff up to their rooms, who said stupid things like “looks like you got your hands full” and “moving-in day-aren’t you glad to be rid of them!” And when we got to Daniel’s room-horror!-his roommate was already there and almost completely moved in. When the roommate’s mother saw us she didn’t even say hello; she was frantically unpacking and hoarding as much floor space as she could. Apparently the roommate had that syndrome where one leg is shorter than the other and had been given special dispensation to move in super-duper early-the 3-to-5 a.m. slot.
Me: William, just think of all the money we’re going to save now that the kids won’t be going to college so that we can avoid moving-in day.
Bobby: My only question is, why did we wait so long? We could have been this happy years ago. Our contractor told us that’s what all the people who get twin master suites say.
Linda: At least the roommate had the decency to seem embarrassed by the quantity of stuff he’d brought: a microwave, hot plate, fridge, a bike. We left Daniel’s suitcases in the hallway and told them we’d be back later.
Bobby: Pop over and I’ll give you a tour.
Linda: So we’re leaving and the roommate says, “Guess what? I have a sno-cone maker.” My heart sank. I’d bought Daniel a sno-cone maker, too. I read on some blog it was one of the top things you should bring to college to make you popular. Now they would have two sno-cone makers in one ten-by-ten room, which would be one sno-cone maker too many to make them popular. Instead people would be wondering what’s up with those tools in 507 with the two sno-cone makers? All those years of subtle social manipulation, making sure he got invited to the popular kids’ parties, making helpful suggestions like if you don’t feel comfortable “freaking” at the dance, just say it’s against your religion or that your parents forbid you to do it. That’s when I started to cry.
Me: What’s “freaking”?
Kate: Dry humping. Basically, simulating sex on the dance floor.
Bobby: I told her she should save the tears for later when all the parents said goodbye to their kids in the hallways-the one officially sanctioned location for farewells-but did she listen?
Linda: I cried then. I cried when we came back that evening and the roommate’s goddamn mother was still there organizing and rearranging knickknacks and I couldn’t in good conscience say what the fuck, lady to a mother whose kid’s left leg is three inches shorter than his right, and I cried once more in the hallway at the designated crying time.
Me: Isn’t it nice none of the children are here?
Linda (sobbing): And now I’m going to have to do it all over again in August with Nick. And then the kids are gone. We’ll officially be empty-nesters. I’m not sure I can bear it.
Bobby: I’ll bet there are services that will move your kid into college for you.
William: Great idea. Subcontract the job.
Nedra: No mother wants some stranger moving her kid into college, you bloody idiots.
Me: I’d love to hear more about the twin master suites. Do you have photos? Is this pink stuff gravlox?
Nedra: Lax. Lox is Jewish.
Me: How do you know?
Nedra: Hebfaq.com.
8:30: On the patio, eating dinner
Nedra: Believe it or not, there is such a thing as a good divorce.
Me: What makes a good divorce?
Nedra: You keep the house, I’ll keep the cabin in Tahoe. We’ll share the condo in Maui.
William: In other words, money.
Nedra: It helps.
Kate: And respect for one another. And wanting to do right by the kids. Not hiding assets.
William: In other words, trust.
Me ( not looking at William): So tell us what it’s like, Linda-having two masters. How does it work?
Linda: We watch TV in his or my bedroom, we have our snuggle time, and it’s only when we’re ready to sleep that we each go to our suites.
Bobby: The suites are purely for sleep.
Linda: Sleep is so important.
Bobby: Lack of sleep leads to binge eating.
Linda: And memory loss.
Me: And repressed anger.
William: What about sex?
Linda: What do you mean, what about it?
Nedra: When do you have it?
Linda: W
hen we normally have it.
Nedra: Which is when?
Bobby: Are you asking how often?
Nedra: I’ve always wondered how many times a week straight married couples have sex.
William: I imagine that has something to do with how long they’ve been married.
Nedra: That does not sound like an endorsement for marriage, William.
Me: What color did you paint the walls, Linda?
Nedra: A couple married for more than ten years-I’d guess once every two weeks.
Me: What about carpets? Can you believe shag is back in style?
Linda: Way more.
Me: Well-I’m not going to lie.
Linda: You’re saying I’m lying?
Me: I’m saying you might be stretching the truth.
William: Pass the Blåbärsplåt.
Me: Once a month.
William: (coughs)
9:38: In the kitchen, putting leftover food into Tupperware containers
Nedra: My forehead is shiny. I’m stuffed. I’m drunk. Put away your phone, Alice. I don’t want my photo taken.
Me: You’ll thank me one day.
Nedra: You do not have my permission to post this on Facebook. I have plenty of enemies. I would prefer they not know where I live.
Me: Calm down. It’s not like I’m posting your address.
Nedra (grabbing my phone out of my hand, her thumbs working the screen): It is like you’re posting my address. If your phone has a GPS, your photos have geotags embedded in them. Those tags provide the exact longitude and latitude of where the photo was taken. Most people don’t know that geotags even exist, which let me tell you has worked to many of my clients’ advantages. There. I’ve shut off the location services setting on your camera. Now you may take my picture.
Me: Forget it. You’ve taken all the fun out of it.
Nedra: So you were exaggerating, right? You have sex more than once a month.
Me (sighing): No, I was telling the truth. At least lately that’s how it is.
Nedra: It may feel like once a month, but I’m sure it’s more. Why don’t you keep track of it. There’s probably some phone app created just for that purpose.
Me: Have you seen the Why Am I Such a Bitch app? It’s free. Tells you what day you are in your cycle. There’s a version for men, too, only it’s $3.99. It’s the Why Is My Lady Such a Bitch app. And for $4.99 you can upgrade to the Never Ask Your Lady if She’s About to Get Her Period app.
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