Her Something Impetuous

by Hunt Harris, Kim

  But she had a feeling Pam was staring at the caller ID and making faces, maybe even giving it the finger.

  She dropped the phone back in its cradle and stretched. The house was too quiet. Cait still wasn't back from Michael's, and Pam was apparently never going to speak to her again.

  Karen hugged herself and stood. Was this what singlehood was like? She'd never been single. She'd gone from her parents' house to the dorms at Roosevelt, to marriage with Michael. She'd never had a chance to be alone.

  She’d always assumed she would love it. She treasured the times when the girls were gone to sleepovers or camp, and Michael was away for work and she had the entire house to herself. She could take a hot bath or watch any movie she chose. At those times, she breathed in the quiet and let her mind rest easy.

  At those times, though, she'd always known everyone was coming back. There was a dark, yawning, bottomless chasm between a weekend alone and a life alone.

  Michael wasn't coming back, which wasn't such a loss. But Pam was already gone, and the loss of her sat like a hot rock in Karen's stomach, weighing her down and scorching everything inside. And Cait…her sweet, brilliant, smart-ass Cait…Karen's heart beat faster at the uncertain foreboding that she was losing Cait, too.

  She paced the house and looked for something to do, checking the clock every few minutes. Scenes ran through her mind of Cait announcing she wanted to live with her dad. Of Cait falling in love with Denise, too.

  Denise who was younger and hipper and wouldn't be such a stickler about rules and issues of morality. Denise who would probably tell Cait something like, “If you really want to get ahead in life, you’re going to have to wear tighter sweaters and shorter skirts.” “Ever been drunk, Cait? No? Start with this martini. It’s what all sophisticated women drink.” “You want to try pot? Here, use my bong.” “Your boyfriend wants to spend the night, Cait? Sure. You two can sleep in our bed.”

  Karen felt edgy, nervous. Like the world was slipping away from her. Did all divorced women feel like this? Should she join one of those divorce support groups? Would it be horrible? Would it be a bunch of women crying and a bunch of divorced men trying to pick them up?

  She heard a bump outside and looked to see if it was Cait coming home, but the driveway was empty. She frowned and opened the front door, craning to see what she’d heard. After a moment of standing on the dark porch the thought occurred to her that a lot of slasher movies started like this. And too, bugs were beginning to congregate around the porch light. So she decided it would be prudent to close the door.

  She stood inside chewing her lip, and considered the possibility that what she’d heard had been a figment of her imagination. Still, she felt better once she dashed to the kitchen and grabbed the meat cleaver. She went around the house jerking curtains closed, wondering if she was going to be one of those women who called 911 every time something went bump in the night.

  A car pulled up outside and Karen put the cleaver back in the drawer before she went to the window. Cait climbed out of Denise’s car and lifted two bags from the back seat, waving to Denise with one hand as she trotted on long thin legs up the sidewalk. She was beaming, white teeth flashing in her beautiful freckled face as she called out to Denise, “Thanks! Call me.”

  Karen didn't want Cait to find her looking out the window. She pivoted on one foot and tripped. When Cait came through the door, Karen was lounging on the couch, because that was basically where she landed. “Oh, you're home.” Hmmm…that sounded lame.

  Cait's smile was gone. “Hi.” She walked right past Karen and headed for the stairs.

  Karen rose. “Wait a minute. Where's my hug?”

  Cait stopped long enough to let Karen put her arms around her, tilting her head slightly toward Karen's shoulder in what was evidently going to be her contribution to the hug.

  Don't push her. Don't be a drag. “Did you have a good time?”

  Cait shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Michael said Denise was taking you shopping. Where did you go?”

  Cait held up the bags so Karen could read the store names.

  “Oh.” Karen smiled. “Good.” All the stores she herself refused to take Cait to. “Are you hungry? I was thinking I'd make omelets.”

  “Denise took me to Applebee's.” She turned again toward the stairs. “I'm beat. I was out late last night.”

  “Okay.” Don't let her bait you. “I want to see what you bought.”

  Cait sighed. “Whatever.”

  Karen stopped and counted to ten. That word in that tone was usually grounds for punishment of some kind. But did she really want to make Cait scrub toilets tonight, after Denise had taken her shopping? Not a good move. So she let it pass.

  She followed Cait into her room and sat on the edge of the bed while Cait dropped the bags beside her and went to the bathroom. Karen waited a moment, and when Cait didn't come back she lifted the items out.

  She wasn't going to look at the price tags. She really wasn't. It didn't matter how much they cost. So what if Denise could afford to spend money that Karen couldn't? Karen was still Cait’s mother. She wasn't going to get into one of those divorcing family catfights, competing for the love of the children through material things. It didn't matter how much the clothes cost. She wasn't even going to look.

  “She spent a hundred and twenty dollars on a denim jacket? Are you serious?”

  She heard mumbling from the bathroom.

  Karen reined herself in. “Okay, okay. That's fine. How she spends her money is her choice.” Since she didn't have to worry about things like mortgages and car payments, like the rest of us, she could afford to be frivolous. “It's nice,” Karen said, so freaking cheerful she sounded like a Mouseketeer. “I like the cuffs.” Reminds me of a thirty-dollar job I saw in Walmart just last week.

  Okay, it was time for her to get out of here before she proved to her daughter just how neurotic she really was. She stood outside the bathroom door. “I'm tired, too. Going to call it a night. I'm glad you're home. I missed you last night.”

  More mumbling. Karen waited for something intelligible, but it was not forthcoming, “Okay, well, goodnight.”

  She turned to go, then turned back and tapped on the door with her knuckle. “Caitie? Listen. I…I really am sorry about last night. I didn't think it was going to end up like that, believe me. I thought we were just going to do something wild and crazy. Not something…really crazy.”

  “Don't sweat it,” Cait said from behind the door. “It was just more episode in the bizarre story of my life.”

  “Yes, well, I'm sorry.”

  Karen turned and dropped the jacket on the bed, knocking a smaller sack to the floor. She bent to pick it up and saw lace inside.

  Without thinking she reached in and drew out a frilly scrap of cloth not big enough to cover the behind of Barbie herself.

  Mmm…hmm. Karen pursed her lips together and looked toward the bathroom door. A thong. She looked in the bag. No, four thongs. That ignorant witch had bought her innocent teenage daughter slut underwear.

  Karen moved to go back and pound on the door and demand that Cait get out here right this minute. They'd discussed the issue of thongs before. Cait knew that she and her father had forbidden her to wear them. And the fact that she'd had Denise buy them for her made Karen's heart pound with anger. Ridiculously, she felt betrayed by her own daughter.

  But instead of confronting Cait she dropped the hooker panties back into the bag and walked out of the room. Cait already knew where she and Michael stood on this issue. So it would be no surprise to her when she wasn't allowed to keep them.

  She went to her bedroom and dialed the number at Michael’s condo. Denise answered, of course. What, did she go eighty and run all the lights?

  “Hello?”

  “Can I please speak to Michael?”

  “He isn't here, Karen,” Denise said sweetly. “But I'll be sure to tell him you called as soon as he gets home.”

  Was it her
imagination, or did Denise hit the word 'home' with extra emphasis? “That will be fine. Thank you.” See. Cool, civilized. She could do this.

  Denise sighed. “I suppose you’re calling about the thongs. Caitie told me you'd pitch a fit about it.”

  Oooh. Karen gritted her teeth and took deep breaths until the spots in front of her eyes faded. “Then she did tell you that she wasn't allowed to wear those?”

  “She told me you'd forbidden it, yes.”

  “And you chose to buy them for her anyway.”

  Denise sighed again. “Karen, can we just talk honestly for a moment? Woman to woman? As someone who can relate to Cait –”

  “Because you're almost the same age?”

  “I refuse to be baited by you. We need to have an open, frank dialogue about what's best for Cait, because that's what's most important here.”

  “Denise, I absolutely agree with you. What's best for Cait is what's most important. But I can't for the life of me see how having her butt cheeks hanging out can be what's best for her. Please do clue me in. Since you’re so ‘with it’.”

  “I meant that what's best for Cait is that we all get along. No arguing and backbiting.”

  “Denise, you consciously went against a policy that Michael and I had agreed on. You chose to override our express wishes. What do you call that?”

  “There comes a time when we have to open our minds a little and listen to the opinions of others.”

  “You are not allowed to have an opinion about my daughter's underwear!” Had she vowed not to get hysterical?

  “I have an opinion about Cait's well-being. I love her as if she were my own.”

  Karen bit her lips so hard she tasted blood. Was she even going to touch that one?

  While she was mentally debating, Denise went on. “Girls at Cait's age are extremely vulnerable to peer pressure. They have an intense need to be like everyone else. What I bought Cait is what every American girl is wearing these days. It's important to her to feel a part of her peer group.”

  “Thank you for your brilliant analysis.”

  “If you overly restrict her, Karen, you're just going to drive her away.”

  “Tell Michael I called.”

  “Karen, please don't take this out on Cait. It isn't her fault –”

  Karen hung up the phone. Well, slammed, actually. She looked up to see Cait standing in the doorway in her pajamas, staring at the bag in Karen’s hand.

  “Those are mine.”

  “You're giving them back tomorrow.”

  “They were a gift. It would be rude not to accept it.”

  “You'll write a gracious thank you note explaining how appreciative you are and how you regret that you can't keep such an inappropriate gift.”

  “You have no right!” Cait shouted.

  “I am your mother! It is not only my right, but my duty to keep you from anything that could possibly make you happy!”

  “Well, you're doing a damn fine job!”

  “Don't you talk that way to me. Cait! Get back here!”

  She followed Cait into the hallway, but stopped when Cait's door slammed in her face. She groaned and went back to her room, falling backwards onto the bed with a strangled scream.

  She hated Denise. She hated Michael. And right now she wasn't too crazy about Cait.

  One time she'd taken a transcendental meditation class, where a guy with a large bald spot and a ponytail tried to convince the class that they could rise above their daily struggles and attain a sense of euphoria by breathing out the bad and in the good. Right now she needed a sense of euphoria something fierce. A sense of not murdering someone would suffice.

  She breathed in good and let out bad. In with blue skies and puffy white clouds. Out with Denise and her chartreuse and puce pencil skirts and size 36DD bra. In with all-inclusive tropical vacations and fat-free ice cream. Out with Michael and his male menopause midlife crisis, with his sad look that told her he just hated to dump all over their marriage vows, but really, what could she expect?

  Okay, this wasn't helping. Maybe she should just concentrate on 'in with the good' and let the bad find its own way out. She breathed in and whispered, “ohhhm,” the way the pony-tail guy did. Hearing herself do that was ridiculous enough to get a giggle out of her. She said it a little louder and laughed out loud.

  If you’re overly restrict her you’re just going to drive her away.

  Well, hell. This was not helping.

  She sat up and blew hair out of her eyes. She picked up the phone again and dialed Michael’s work number.

  She didn’t give him a chance to say anything after “Hello.”

  “Michael, I am sorry to bother you at work, but I am going to have to ask you to have a talk with your…friend. I think this transition will be a lot easier if we set some clear guidelines and ground rules that we can all feel comfortable with.” Now. That didn’t sound like she was loading her gun, did it?

  Michael sighed. “What’s this about?”

  “It’s not that big a deal really –” Like hell. “But when she took Cait shopping she bought her something she was well aware Cait isn’t allowed to have. If she’d made an innocent mistake, that would be one thing. But she told me she knew –”

  “What did she do, Karen?”

  “You’re divorcing me, you’re not allowed to use that tone of voice with me. She bought Cait a thong. Four thongs, actually.”

  “Thongs?”

  “Yes, you know, those butt floss panties that we told her she couldn’t have.”

  Michael was silent for a moment. When he spoke, it was with carefully measured tones. “Are you telling me that you called me at work about underwear?”

  “This isn’t about underwear, Michael. It’s about your long-legged tart –” And just like that, her control was gone. “ – making decisions about my daughter.”

  “Karen, I do not have time for this.”

  “You don’t have time. Of course you don’t have time. You never have time.”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  She slammed the phone down before he could but it was a small victory, since he probably had the receiver away from his ear and didn’t hear her.

  She punched Terri’s number on speed dial.

  “Hello?”

  “You know those bitter women who get shrill over anything and everything connected with their ex-husbands?”

  “Yeah…?”

  “The ones you hate to be around because they have a stroke over every word their ex says? The ones who act like the new wife or the new girlfriend is the anti-Christ?”

  “Ummm…”

  “I am now officially one of those.”

  “Do you need a hug?”

  “How about a martini?”

  “How about a cup of coffee? I can meet you at Jitters in fifteen minutes.”

  “I can’t.” Karen flipped over to her back and lifted her feet in the air, studying her socks. “Cait’s home.”

  “She’s almost sixteen, Karen. She can fend for herself for half an hour.”

  “We just had a fight. About underwear. I’m telling you, Terri, I am losing my mind. I hate the person I’m becoming.”

  “All the more reason to get out of the house.”

  “I really don’t feel right about leaving her here alone right now.”

  “I’ll send Amanda over. She said she wanted help with her Geometry anyway. I’m here for you, Karen. I want you to know that.”

  Karen sat and studied her reflection in the dresser mirror. Her hair was flat and she could use a fresh application of makeup. But she just didn’t have the energy. She washed her face with a warm cloth and grabbed her sweatshirt with the hood from her closet. She tapped on Cait’s door. “I’m going out for a while. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “I’ll listen for you on the police scanner!” Cait yelled through the closed door.

  “Funny, funny girl,” Karen muttered as she bounded down the stairs. She sup
posed those were her genes at work. God knew Michael couldn’t unclench long enough to tell even a bad joke.

  She got to Jitters before Terri and ordered hot chocolate. She drummed her fingers on the table as her mind raced. The bitch was, there were so many things that sucked right now. Her relationship with Pam. Her relationship with Cait. Her divorce. There were no bright spots in her life at the moment.

  Her mind flashed on the memory of cool blue eyes and large warm hands. Of her panting like a porn star in the arms of a man who would look right at home on a poster wearing nothing but black leather pants and that brilliant white smile. Despite the absurdity of it, she had to admit the memory lifted her spirits.

  Terri walked through the front door, took one look at Karen, and burst into tears.

  “Well, hell,” Karen muttered, standing. She pulled some napkins out of the dispenser.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Terri said. “It’s just…” She waved a hand in Karen’s direction and slid into the booth. “I’m just so sorry this is happening to you.”

  “Terri, you’re really going to have to get a grip.”

  “I know, I know.” Terri sucked in a shuddery breath and wiped her nose. “I came here to cheer you up. To be your rock. Because you need me now, since your entire world has fallen apart and you don’t have a thing left in the world. I promised myself that I would be strong so I could make you feel better about your life being so crappy.”

  Some rock. “It’s not that bad.”

  But Terri was on a roll. “I mean, you’ve always been there for me. Thank God I’ve never had to go through something as horrendous as this, but you were there for me when Arthur was working nights and I thought the garbage man was stalking me. You were there for me when Amanda had her appendix out. And when Todd broke his arm? Remember that? I was such a wreck, and you stayed completely calm and drove us to the hospital?”

  “Terri, it was six months ago. Yes, I remember.”