by B. E. Baker
No one expected me to bring a date to the company holiday party, so when I square my shoulders and walk inside alone, no one bats an eye. The entire night goes smoothly, perfectly even. I don't spill anything on my dress, and before I've even used up my third accounting joke, I'm being summoned to the stage.
“Some of you may be surprised to hear this,” Shauna says, “but I've taken a position running our London office. It puts me back at home, near my in-laws.” She makes a face and everyone laughs. “Actually though, I prefer them to my own family.”
Everyone laughs except for me. If I ever get married, I'm sure that will be too true for me. Her joke hits a little close to home.
“Although we're excited to move back to the UK, I'm heartbroken at the idea of leaving all of you.”
Shauna reaches over and takes my arm, tugging me near the microphone. “Corporate initially wanted me to help them choose an outside hire. I convinced them they should offer my job to one of our own.”
Everyone cheers. Eighty accountants, fifty something support staff, and loads of significant others.
Shauna holds up her hand to quiet my co-workers. “As I'm sure you've already guessed by her presence on stage, it's my pleasure to inform you that with just a little bit of cajoling, and a good amount of well-intentioned arm twisting, Mary Wiggin has agreed to take my place. I'm sure you'll all welcome her and help her with patience and understanding during this transition.”
Everyone claps again, more loudly than before, if that's possible.
After the announcement, drinks flow freely, and I'm suddenly surrounded by a bunch of sloppy, goofy, and gleeful dancers. I start for the exit, shaking hands and accepting congratulations as I go. I've almost reached the back door when Shauna stops me.
“Are you leaving?” she asks.
I nod. “Today was our firm's last day before Christmas, but I've got a full day of work ahead of me tomorrow.”
“Right, your charity stuff.” She nods. “Well, I do have some bad news. I got an email from corporate a few hours ago. They've instituted a vesting plan for the corporate bonuses.”
I reach my finger into my ear and wiggle it around. Maybe I've got earwax in there or something. “I'm sorry,” I say to Shauna, “but it sounded like you just told me that the bonus you guys promised me won't be accessible. For years.”
Shauna's lips press tightly together. “They've had a problem this year with poaching. Other firms steal their talent during the training phase when things are rough. No real incentive to stay once you've already gotten your huge bonus.”
“How many years does it vest over?” Before Shauna can even answer, I shake my head. “I guess it doesn't matter. I emptied out my retirement accounts to pay for my nephew's treatment. I needed that bonus money so I could roll it over. To prevent my penalties, etc. Now I won't be able to.”
Shauna closes her eyes and shakes her head. After a moment, she reopens them. “Mary, I am so sorry. I had no idea you meant to do that, but my hands are tied. I'm one vote among two hundred.”
“It's fine.” I force a smile, and make small talk for a few more minutes before someone wanders up to ask Shauna questions about her timing. I take my chance to sneak away.
I run numbers in my head all the way home. Any way I slice it, I'll have to take out a home equity loan to pay the additional tax penalties for early distribution of my retirement fund.
By the time I reach the driveway, I've put things in perspective, I think. I had the money to help Troy, and with a home equity loan, I'll have the means to pay my taxes. I'll also be making more going forward, so I can catch up on retirement savings. I hope.
I put on my game face before I walk through the garage door. I won't let Trudy know what's happened, because she'll never forgive herself. The guilt she'd feel about a debt of that size would destroy her.
One of Shauna's favorite sayings comes to mind. 'It's only money,' she'd tell me, whenever I had a bad return to discuss with a client. It's not health, it's not livelihood, it's not a beloved family member in trouble. It's only money.
When I walk through the door, I'm so focused on my own drama, that I barely register that Trudy's on the phone. Tears roll down her cheeks from where she's curled in a ball in one of my chairs.
She has to be talking to Chris. I want to reach my hand through the receiver and pop him on the nose, but that probably wouldn't help things, and it's not scientifically possible anyway.
Trudy shakes her head. “Of course not. You were so busy that I didn't want to upset you.”
I can hear him yelling and swearing through the teensy phone microphone. I stride across the room and snatch it out of her hands. Chris continues to rant, and I'm glad I snatched the phone when I did. He's off the rails.
“You think you get to make all the decisions about my son? Well, you don't. You're pathetic, and you'll always be pathetic. That's why I left, you know. It was like, having Troy broke you.”
“Are you quite finished?” I ask.
“Excuse me?” Chris swears. “Who is this?”
“Merry Christmas to you too, Chris. This is Mary, Trudy's older sister.”
“Give the phone back to Trudy.”
“I acknowledge your request, but as you're an abusive, unfaithful loser, I decline to honor it. In fact, I won't be honoring any requests from you. Today, or at any point in the future. Trudy has been afraid to tell you about Troy because you told her she's a drag now. She was afraid to tell her son's father about his condition, because you're so selfish, she worried you'd like her even less if you knew Troy was sick. I'd suggest you think about that, but I doubt it would penetrate your tiny brain. Now she's finally gotten the nerve to call and dump you—”
“She can't dump me. I already left her.”
“Have you ever heard the saying, Chris, that behind every little sister is an older, crazier sister? People laugh about that like it's a joke. Except for us, it's true. I've got a baseball bat, a handgun, and a shovel and Trudy and me were raised to take care of problems ourselves. Keep it up, and I'll let you pick which one I use on you first.”
“Oh please.” Chris swears again. “Like I'm scared of a little girl. I could kill you both without breaking a sweat, except then I'd have to take care of Troy, which I don't wanna do.”
“Fine,” I say. “You may not be scared of me or Trudy, but you'll be very afraid of the lawyer I hired to ensure you only see Troy under limited visitation. Possibly only supervised custody once I play this recorded call. Thanks for being so creative with your threats and curses.”
Chris lets off a string of curses that are, in spite of what I said, more creative than I expected from him.
“I never understood why people said profanity was the crutch of the uneducated. I know plenty of educated people, and most of them swear. But after talking to you today, I'm starting to understand what they meant.”
“You stupid—”
“I think you're drunk, Chris. And as such, this conversation isn't going anywhere. But here are the main talking points. Get a pen, and write them down. Number one, my sister's new lawyer, Ann Stephens, obtained a temporary restraining order against you. With the holidays upon us, the judge granted it for two full weeks. If you call my sister, if you text her, if you come near my house, I'll call the cops so fast it'll make your head spin. And you'll get a restraining order against you for the duration of the pendency of this divorce. Bonus for me. Number two, when you realize you want to win Trudy back because your new girlfriend is a steaming pile of poop compared to my lovely sister, don't waste your time. She's done with you, and poop is closer to what you deserve. Number three, you will never criticize Trudy regarding her timing in telling you about Troy being diagnosed with diabetes. You left them. You were busy shacking up with a new lady and you didn't care about your family. I won't have you unloading your own guilt onto Trudy. Am I clear?”
Chris gives me the oral equivalency of the bird and hangs up. I text him to reiterate my three points
and then toss the phone on the island in the kitchen.
I manage to get Trudy up off the chair, and onto her bed. I lay next to her until she's asleep. It gives me a long time to think.
I have a shiny shovel that's never been used, but I don't have a gun or a baseball bat. Maybe I should buy one of each.
Chapter 20
I want to text Foster and tell him that I'm sick. I almost text Luke and ask him to come with me after all. Taking my sister along instead of my supposed boyfriend is embarrassing, but I can't quite bring myself to use Luke that way. And if I see him again, well. There's no telling what pathetic thing I may say or do.
“So are you going to this thing?” Paisley asks me Thursday morning.
“Wait, are you going?”
She grins and shakes her head. “I'm a lowly peon, remember? There's no way his royal highness Prince Foster would condescend to asking me along.”
“The way he treated you was always one of the things that bothered me the most about him.”
Paisley collapses into a chair in my office with an exaggerated sigh. She puts the back of her hand to her forehead. “I lost so much sleep, tossing and turning, wondering what I might do to impress Foster and his snooty family so he'd think I was worthy of being your friend.”
“No you didn't.”
She sits up straight and grins. “No, I didn't.”
“I've been thinking,” I say.
“Uh oh, that always gets you in trouble.”
“Shaddup.” I mock-scowl at her. “Maybe I can use last minute Sub-for-Santa details as an excuse.”
Paisley shakes her head, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders. “Not a chance.”
My bottom lip sticks out a little in a pout. “That was my best idea. Why not?”
“Look, when someone close to you dies, you need to go to the funeral. It's like, cathartic. It helps you accept that they're gone, and process the information so you can move on.”
“Oh good grief. Foster didn't die.”
“More's the pity,” Paisley mutters. “But your relationship died, and you haven't moved on, not in over a year. It could be because you kept seeing each other intermittently thanks to your role here. Or maybe not, but I think watching him marry the most idiotic woman I've met this month, and I've been to Wal-Mart four times already so that's saying something, might help you grieve and move on.”
In spite of Paisley's absolute certainty that I should go, I make up and discard various excuses all day. I've got a cold. My nephew's back in the hospital, which is a lie, but it did happen last week. My dad's liver is failing, which is almost certainly true, although I'm not sure we'll even know when it happens. I haven't heard from him since I dropped off a basket of presents and hygiene products last Christmas.
Even with my waffling back and forth over my RSVP to the wedding, Paisley and I finish our calls in record time. I start the process of taking out a home equity loan so that I can afford to pay my tax penalties in the spring. Afterward, I run to the store and do some shopping for Troy and Trudy, for my dad, and for Paisley and Addy. I even run by Pet Smart and pick up large breed dog-essential items. A crate, dog food, treats, rawhide chews, bowls and a leash. I toss a dozen different toys into my cart on my way out, unsure what exactly Andromeda might like.
When I reach the address Faith gave me, and walk up the sidewalk, my heart pounding, my hands shaking, I hear the barking of thirty dogs coming from inside the house.
Maybe this is a big mistake. Plus, I didn't even run it by Trudy, and she's living with me.
I reach my hand up to knock, and then drop it by my side. Again, for the second time in a week, the door opens without me even rapping it once.
“You must be Mary.” An older woman, with her hair in a frizzy white ponytail, sporting a floral print caftan, opens the door. Her face breaks into a smile, and I notice a few of her teeth are dark brown. One of them looks crumbly, like old chocolate. I don't shudder or even squirm. Or at least, I try not to.
Appearances aside, Faith is one of the nicest people I've ever met. She puts her other four monstrously large dogs outside. Andromeda trots right up to me and sniffs my thighs, and then my knees, tail wagging the entire time.
I crouch down at eye level with her.
“Sit,” I say.
She sits.
“Down,” I say.
She flattens to the ground.
“She adores you,” Faith says. “Did you bring the papers I asked for?”
I nod and pull them from my purse.
She looks over them while I wrap my arms around Andromeda's neck. She smells like oranges now. So much better than the vomit smell she exuded that night at the Pet Smart.
“Did you miss me, girl?” An enormous pink tongue licks me from chin to forehead. “Ewww, gross!”
Faith chuckles. “She likes to lick.”
I try not to imagine where else her tongue has been. Now that she's clean, it's clear I underestimated her beauty. She may be the most beautiful dog I've ever seen.
“You know she'll require grooming several times a week?” Faith asks.
I bob my head. “I've been researching.”
“The great news is that she never barks, even when surrounded by the horrible miscreants from my mob, and she's already housebroken. Usually the first few days are rough, but she's been perfect.”
An overachiever. I should've guessed. I scratch her behind her ears and after another twenty or so questions, she follows me happily outside and hops into the back seat of my car. Of course, as soon as I put it in drive, she tries to climb into the front seat.
I shout, “No!”
She ignores me, and I shove her into the back. I feel kind of bad about it, but she's too big to hog the front seat. She tries to climb over a half dozen more times, but once we reach the highway, she settles down.
When I reach my house, I'm surprised to discover Trudy isn't home. I spend the afternoon acclimating Andromeda. She sniffs every square inch of the backyard, though what she can smell in all the ice and mud, I have no idea. She lays at my feet while I wrap presents on the dining table. I usually sit down on the floor to do it, but I'm not sure whether Andromeda would chew on anything when my back was turned so I keep the operation up high.
We watch The Miracle on 34th Street, and It's a Wonderful Life while I work, and I swear she's paying attention. She looks from me, to the screen and back again. I've got everything wrapped, including family and friend gifts, and gifts for my assigned family. I leave Andromeda inside while I run out in my slippers to take the trash out to the big black can just outside of the garage when I realize I missed something at the bottom of one of the bags.
The horse plush Amy and I chose for the girl in her family looks up at me accusingly from the inside of one of the bags. My heart stops. I ought to take it to Luke's house. Maybe I should do that right now, and he'll probably still be at work so I could go without seeing him.
Unless he's all done. The ribbon cutting takes place tomorrow morning. He could be working right up until the deadline, or he could be relaxing at home. I think of him playing with Chase, catching balls, or building a tower with blocks only to knock it down. Or maybe he's reading Amy a book.
I shake my head to clear the delusional thoughts. I want to see Amy and Chase again, but I shouldn't. And I have no idea where he is right now. Work? Home? Shopping?
Or maybe he's on a date with someone else. My heart sinks, but I'd have no right to care, even if he was. I stand outside, frozen in thought until I'm almost frozen in body. A whimper from Andromeda, probably upset I left her inside, returns me to my senses. Horse or not, I shouldn't see Luke or his kids again. I can't run it over without the risk of seeing him.
Besides, I'm almost out of time. I glance at my watch and realize I have barely more than an hour to get ready before I need to leave for Foster's wedding. I have to decide whether to dress up and go to this stupid wedding like Paisley thinks I need to, or stay home and
feign sudden and dire illness.
I'm waffling between the two when Trudy arrives home, her hair up in a fabulous French twist, and a dry cleaner bag in hand. No three year old anywhere in sight.
“Where's Troy?” I ask.
She bites her lip. “Well, I didn't want to hire a normal kid babysitter because he's so complicated right now. We lined up the continual monitor and a responsible adult needs to take regular reads.”
“Okay. . . So where is he?”
“Chris' parents’ house.”
I slap my forehead. “Is that wise?”
Trudy shakes her head. “I don't know. They're upset about the divorce, but they know it's all Chris' fault. They've apologized to me a lot, and begged to babysit Troy whenever I need help.” She lowers her voice. “I think they're worried that they won't get to see Troy anymore, and they're really the only grandparents he has.”
“I hope you told them about the restraining order, at least.”
She bobs her head. “Of course I did. They understand they can't have Chris over. Troy was sitting on grandma's lap watching The Grinch when I left. Lemme go change and then I'll be ready to go.”
If Trudy's gone to all this trouble for me, I can't back out.
I trudge back to my closet and put on my favorite formal dress, a champagne colored silk sheath dress slit up to mid-thigh. I pair it with my only pair of Louboutins, an almost boring, classic black heel with patent accents to spice them up. Dark shoes to contrast with the champagne of the dress.
Trudy gushes when she sees me. “Oh Mary, no one will pay any attention to that lying loser once you walk in. Foster's going to wish he hadn't been so intractable.”
I doubt it, but I certainly hope she's right. Even now, even today, I can't help feeling like Foster sent me a message when we broke up. Without the promise of children, I wasn't enough for him.
I'm grabbing my purse when I hear a blood-curdling scream from the family room. I rush toward the noise, my heart beating its way out of my chest. Is Chris here? Does he have a gun? I should never have threatened someone so crazy. What was I thinking?
