Hangovers & Hot Flashes

by Kim Gruenenfelder

“This looks promising," he tells me cheerfully as I get out of my car.

  “Do you like it?” I say nervously, looking down at my dress self-consciously. “I wasn’t sure if it was too early in the day for red." I look up at him and realize, “Oh, you meant the building, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” he admits. “But you look amazing.”

  I walk over to him, and he leans in to kiss me on the lips. I move my mouth to the left and get an ill-timed peck on the cheek instead.

  Followed by an awkward hug.

  And I’m fifteen again. Only with saggy boobs.

  “Should we go up and take a look?” I suggest.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Great," I say, quickly trotting to the front door. “The seller’s agent gave me the code to the lobby, and the key is in a lockbox on the door. The agent also let me know the seller just dropped the price another twenty thousand. She has already relocated to Houston and is anxious to sell, so we might have even more wiggle room in the asking price…”

  Nick and I chit chat about various details of the house, including square footage, number of bedrooms and bathrooms, HOA fees, available parking spaces.

  Once we are inside, he looks around at the light-filled living room/dining room, crosses his arms, and announces, “Good start.”

  I follow him as he pops into the kitchen. “The linoleum is awful, but that’s an easy fix. Is the HOA solid?”

  “Yeah, they have about three hundred thousand in reserves. Oh, and included in the HOA is a gym, a pool and a Jacuzzi.”

  “Ooohhhh, a Jacuzzi," he says, smiling. He fans one eyebrow up and asks, “Any interest in joining me for a dip sometime?”

  “I’m sure the kids would love that," I deflect.

  We walk out of the kitchen and head to the bedrooms. I point. “That would be Kent’s room.”

  We walk over to the smaller of the two rooms. I ask, “Do you think she can fit all of her stuff in here?”

  “We just spent a year in a Hong Kong apartment that was about the size of a minivan. She’ll be thrilled,” Nick assures me.

  He makes his way to the master bedroom and walks in. He stands in the middle of the room, surveying his surroundings, then puts his arms on his hips and announces, “I’ll take it.”

  “Don’t you want to look at the other houses?” I suggest.

  “No. For the price, plus you said we can lowball the offer, I think I’m done.” He turns to me. “Can we get a thirty day escrow?”

  “Yeah," I tell him. “I can…”

  And I am interrupted by the best kiss I’ve had in…

  Well, since Sunday.

  The two of us kiss hungrily, moaning and pawing at each other’s clothes. Nick pushes me up against the condo’s freshly painted wall, rubs his hands on my thighs, and pushes up my dress. I begin to unbutton his shirt…

  And we hear the front door open.

  “Shit,” I whisper as Nick immediately pulls away from me and adjusts his clothes while I pull my dress back down.

  “Hello!” I hear the seller’s agent call from the living room. “Does he love everything he sees?!”

  Nick lets out a laugh as I yell to her, "He does! We’re in here!”

  “He does,” Nick repeats softly into my ear as he playfully tries to put his hand under my dress again.

  “We’d actually like to make an offer!” I yell to the other room as I smack his hand away.

  Forty-five minutes later, we are on the couch in my living room, doing the half-clothed will they/won’t they? thing teenagers are famous for. My dress is unzipped, and my bra is unhooked in the back, but he still hasn’t “seen me." His shirt is unbuttoned and almost off, but his pants are still belted. So, in my mind, I’m still a lady.

  Except I can’t help myself: I grab his black belt and undo the buckle. “I thought you wanted to wait,” Nick says urgently.

  “I do," I agree through heavy breathing.

  And the belt is off and the zipper down.

  “Let’s head to the bedroom…” he moans seductively.

  “No. I don’t want you to think I’m a slut.”

  “I’ve waited more than ten years. You’re not a slut.”

  “But what if I want to be?”

  “Then you’re a slut," he says, matter-of-factly.

  Another minute or six of kissing, and we still haven’t moved from the couch. My dress is a bunched-up ring around my waist and my bra is off…

  And I hear an outraged, “What the FUCK?!” from my husband.

  I’m not sure if I jump off of Nick or he flings me off, but either way, I crash onto the floor.

  “Steve!” I exclaim, startled to see him in our front entryway, the front door still open. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I LIVE here!” he says, closing the front door behind him and marching toward Nick. “What the fuck are you doing with my wife?!”

  Before Nick can answer, I exclaim, “Your WIFE?! Are you out of your fucking mind? I’m not your wife anymore, and you don’t live here anymore!”

  Steve turns to me. “I have a marriage license and a name on the mortgage that begs to differ!”

  “Really?! Were you thinking about those when you were fucking Olivia? Or maybe when you left your kids. Thinking about the marriage license then?”

  Steve points to Nick while yelling at me, “I knew you guys were having an affair!”

  I let out a loud guffaw. “Because I guess you, of all people, would know what people who are having an affair look like.” Then I add a self-righteous, “And Nick is a client.”

  Steve lowers his jaw at me in disbelief. At which time I remember that I am topless, my red dress having been taken down to my waist a while ago. “Who I am also thinking about seducing," I say in a huffy tone, crossing my arms to appear indignant (but in actuality to cover my breasts).

  And all three of us wait for someone to speak. I watch Nick slowly buckle his belt, zip his zipper, and button up his shirt, trying to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible.

  “Are you going to bother putting your dress back on?” Steve asks.

  “Why?” I ask, throwing my hands up slightly, then letting them fall to my sides. “Everyone in this room has seen my boobs.”

  But then I realize I’m not exactly in a position of power as the only half-naked person in the room. I pull my dress back up.

  And we’re back to silence. I look towards Nick, now fully clothed and waiting patiently to either be dismissed or called into battle. “Nick, can I call you later?”

  He nods. “Of course,” he tells me gently. Then he walks over to me and kisses my cheek. “You sure you don’t want me to stay?” he asks softly, leaning in so Steve can’t hear us.

  “I’m sure," I promise. Then I glance at Steve and, dying to make a point, take Nick’s face in both hands and kiss him sexily on the lips. “I’ll call you later.”

  Both Steve and I wait for Nick to wordlessly wave goodbye to Steve, then brush past him to head out the door.

  Once Nick is gone, I make a show of pushing off my dress. I stand there defiantly naked, save for a bright red lace thong. “So… this is what you gave up," I say, my rage on ‘simmer’, as I motion to my body. “You definitely traded down.”

  Then I walk purposefully to the bedroom to throw on a T-shirt.

  Steve angrily follows me. “What if one of the kids had come home?”

  “At eleven in the morning?” I ask as I yank open a drawer. “They would have been in trouble for playing hooky.”

  “They also wouldn’t have been able to unsee this.”

  “No. You know what? They wouldn’t," I snap. “Kind of like how Roraigh can’t unsee you making out with Olivia while you were still married to me.”

  Judging from Steve’s expression, that was a low blow. But, frankly, I’m tired of playing not only with kid gloves, but with one hand tied behind my back. “Yeah. That’s why he’s so mad. He didn’t just go through your computer. He actually saw you," I s
ay, angrily throwing on an old Beatles T-shirt. “Your son saw you break up our family. But, by all means, come into my broken home so you can yell at me about kissing another guy.”

  “It’s my home, too.”

  I shake my head confidently. “You know, it’s really not. You gave up your home the minute you fucked that woman. No, before that. The minute you phone-fucked that woman. Wait, no...” I think about what statement I can make that will hurt Steve the most. “You gave up your home the moment you Fucked. With. Me.”

  Then I get right in his face and quietly threaten, “Now get out of my fucking house, or I will do something that neither you nor Olivia will see coming.”

  Steve’s eyes narrow. “Are you threatening me?”

  I smile innocently. “You know me better than that Steve," I practically purr. “You know me better than anyone in the world. Why would you think that?”

  Now he’s angry. “The kids are supposed to stay with me and my brother tonight. After I pick them up from school, we’ll need to come home to get their suitcases. I’ll grab more of my stuff then.”

  “Perfect," I say, brightening my voice even more. “I’ll be sure to make myself scarce around four. Maybe I’ll go see Nick.”

  Steve takes an angry, deep breath. “Just remember: if you go all Angela Lansbury on my stuff, it’s just going to cost you money, too.”

  No idea what he’s talking about. “What?”

  “From that movie," he says in a threatening tone, then turns and storms out of the house.

  About thirty seconds later, I realize what he means, and run over my front door, whip it open, and yell to him as he gets in his car, “It’s Angela Bassett, you putz! And it’s just like you to refer to the movie Waiting to Exhale and not the book!”

  His car screeches away just as I see an old couple across the street staring at me, donned in nothing but my T-shirt and red lace thong. I wave politely, then shut the door.

  Well, that was unfortunate.

  Thirty-six

  Alexis

  “That is so fucking badass," I tell Michelle after she relates her story to me Wednesday night on my drive home from work.

  “It’s not badass," Michelle counters.

  “It’s totally badass," I reiterate.

  “No. It was incredibly stupid. He’s the father of my children, one of whom already wants to write off his dad. I can’t go to war with him. It’s unwinnable," she sighs loudly. “Jesus, I never should have gone out with Nick. What was I thinking? God, I hate men.”

  “No, you hate Steve. What did Nick do wrong?”

  “Come on, Alex," she says in a you should know better tone. “All that would happen is we’d get together after fantasizing about each other for ten years, and everything would be all hot and heavy for a month, and then reality would settle in, and neither of us would be the fantasy we thought the other was, and then he’d dump me. Only then, we’re no longer great friends who changed each other’s kid’s diapers. And spent years at zoos, beaches, parks and school plays enjoying watching our kids grow up. Then I’d be demoted to, ‘Mother he has to deal with’ at school functions.”

  “Wow," I tell her dryly as I pull into my driveway. “Remember when a first date led to us planning a wedding in our heads and not an awkward breakup?”

  “I hate men.”

  “You mentioned that. Now, remind me again: Nicolau is the really hot mixed race Dad who speaks a bazillion languages and can cook, right?”

  “Well, yeah…” she reluctantly admits.

  “Sounds hideous," I deadpan. I turn off my car, and grab my phone as the car’s Bluetooth turns Michelle off speaker. “And you said he and his ex-wife are actually on good terms, right?”

  “That doesn’t mean…”

  “Yeah, we’re four for four," I interrupt, getting out of my car. “Let’s see,” I continue as I slam my door shut and beep the alarm on my key fob, “And he also has a job, a daughter you love, he loves your kids, and he just made you a nice commission.”

  “Are you saying I’m subconsciously being a hooker right now because of the commission?” Michelle genuinely asks.

  “That’s what you took from what I said? That you’re a hooker?”

  “Well, I did just make several thousand dollars because of him.”

  “Please. If I had a nickel for every time I slept with someone who happened to make me money, I’d have…” I look up at the sky to calculate, and exclaim in surprise. “Oh! Fifteen cents, actually. But I digress. The point is, you’re overthinking this.”

  “Which part?” she asks. I unlock my front door and wait for Tunny to jump all over me like I’ve just returned home from war. “The Steve part or the Nick part?”

  “Both. Steve and you had a fight. You said things you didn’t mean, but, you know, divorces are complicated and awful, and there are no roadmaps on how to get through them…”

  “I think Gwyneth Paltrow wrote a book…”

  “There. Are. No. Roadmaps," I repeat, this time more sternly. “But it’s you and Steve. You guys are going to get through this journey. Together. Because all it is really is a journey. Granted, one with a lot of road hazards, red flags, trip wires, and ambushes. But a journey nonetheless. And if you two can get through the first three months of taking care of a newborn baby girl while watching your toddler try to throw himself off the top of the refrigerator or ram his head into a TV screen, all on a total of four hours of sleep per week, you will get through this.”

  “Huh," Michelle says, seemingly taking in what I said. “And Nick?”

  “Different journey," I assure her confidently. “Different road hazards, red flags, trip wires and ambushes. But more sex.”

  She laughs. “Okay. Thank you… Shit, they’re here. And I was supposed to make myself scarce. Call you tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow, later tonight. At four in the morning if you can’t sleep. My phone is always on.”

  I think I can hear a smile on the other end. “Thank you. I love you. Bye.”

  “I love you, too. Bye," I say just as I see Kris and Tunny walk in from the beach.

  As I hang up, I watch Kris stare at her phone screen and scream, “Oh my God! I hate men!”

  “Seems to be a lot of that going on today," I say, tossing my purse and key fob onto the kitchen counter then crossing through the house to the living room.

  “Oh, you’re home early," Kris says.

  “We start at five a.m. at Claudia’s house on Broad Beach tomorrow, so I figured I could come home. Catch me up. What’s going on? And where’s your car?”

  “What’s going on is men suck. And I was so angry I jogged here.”

  “You jogged here?” I ask, simultaneously impressed and appalled. “From school?”

  “No. From home. I had to drop my backpack off. Why? Don’t you ever go for a run when you’re mad?”

  “Well, I used to. But now that I’m a grownup I can have all the ice cream and bourbon I want when I’m mad, sooo…”

  “What does a girl have to do to get a guy to notice her, short of doing a pole dance in the lunch room?” Kris interrupts. “I’ve tried texting, putting cute pics up on social media, liking his posts, deep-liking his posts, hanging out next to his locker, being nice to his friends. I even tried reading.”

  “Oh, don’t believe what women’s magazines tell you about guys. ‘Men notice legs. Try a mini-skirt. Particularly if he’s a Pisces.’ There’s $6.95 I’m never getting back.”

  “No. Actual reading. Brody talked about how he had to read Ulysses for AP English over the summer, so I read it just to impress him…”

  “You read Ulysses?” I ask, once again impressed/appalled. “For a guy?”

  “All six hundred and eighty two pages. Plus, Brody likes the Beatles and Metallica so…”

  “Backing up again… the guy you like is named Brody?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “No. You are not in love with a Brody.”

  “Okay, you can’t blame people
for their names. He didn’t choose it, his parents did. I mean, my poor sister Nora has the first name Apple for Christ’s sake. Nora is her middle name.”

  “Really?” I ask, trying to suppress a shudder. “Does she get asked if she’s the forbidden fruit by drunk guys?”

  “Mostly, they say they want to take a bite out of her.”

  “Ugh. I love your dad, but what was he thinking?”

  Kris’s eyes widen. “You do?”

  I shake that one off with, “It’s an expression. Go on.”

  “Well, anyway, so he was dating this girl from another school, a private school, and over the summer she broke up with him. So I figure, now is my shot! But it’s like he barely knows I’m alive, and I don’t know what to do. What would you do?”

  What I want to tell her is, “Apparently I would offer to pay for his kid to go to college.” But that doesn’t sound particularly productive. Instead I suggest, “I take it you’ve googlestalked.”

  “This is not my first rodeo.”

  “Wait, it’s not?” I ask, surprised. “Ok, that’s a more serious discussion. Have you been to a doctor yet?”

  “I’m not sexually active!” she exclaims, sounding offended. “I’m only sixteen!”

  I was already active at sixteen, but whatever.

  Kris continues. “I meant, I know how to googlestalk. I’m on all of his feeds, too.”

  “Okay, that’s actually a good start," I tell her. “Does he have any girlfriends who are just friends?”

  “Yeah. He has a bunch.”

  “Great. Are any of them your friends?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Which of his friends is your closest friend?”

  “Hmmm…” Kris says, thinking aloud. “Tokyo’s pretty awesome. She’s a cheerleader, but not, like, one of the super annoying ones. And I’ve known her since kindergarten. She’s cool.”

  “Tokyo is a girl?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Sure, why not? “Any chance she’s going to make a move on…” I throw up a little in my mouth as I say the name, “Brody?”

  “No. She’s been with Fisher for, like, two years. He’s a freshman at UCSB. They’re totally in love.”

  “Fisher? Does anyone at your school have a normal name?” I ask. Then I get back to the matter at hand. “Never mind. Okay, cheerleader. That means there’s a football game this Friday night, right?”