by Debby Mayne
Dad chuckles. “You’re a grown woman, Priscilla. It’s not like there’s a custody issue or anything.”
Yes, I’m a grown woman, but that doesn’t make this any easier. How can I know that they won’t push me out of their lives, after they do that to each other? Even worse, what if one of them meets someone new? I shudder.
“Is there . . . another woman?” I ask Dad.
He glances over toward Mother before smiling at me. “No, I wouldn’t do that . . . at least not until the divorce is final.”
“Divorce?” Even after hearing they’ve separated, the word divorce sounds even worse. “Can’t y’all at least try to make it work? See someone?”
“We’ve done all that,” Mother says. “The problem is—” She stops abruptly. “Okay, we’ve said everything you need to know. Don’t go trying to make us feel guilty because it won’t work.”
I hate divorce. I’ve never liked it, but now that it’s affecting me, the very thought of it makes me sick to my stomach.
“Now that we have everything out in the open, Suzanne, there’s no need to continue with this charade.” Dad takes a few steps toward their room . . . or her room. “I’ll get my things and leave.”
“But—” I have no idea what to say next.
Mother remains standing in the same spot, but her head is bent, and she’s looking at the floor. I close the distance between us and put my arm around her. She stiffens at first, but then she relaxes as she puts her arm around me in one of the rare hugs I’ve gotten as an adult.
“I love you, Mother . . . and I love Dad too. I wish y’all had told me.”
“We discussed it and decided it would be better if we waited. Your father said he didn’t want to interfere with your business, since you seem to be doing so well. I know how you feel about your beauty shops, so I went along with him.”
This sounds like a veiled way of blaming Dad, but I let it drop. No point now in even bringing that up.
“My family will always come before business,” I say. “But I appreciate y’all thinking about me.” Even I hear a hint of sarcasm in my words. “What now?”
Mother shrugs and pulls away from me—a position I’m most familiar with. “Your father will go to his apartment, I’ll retire to my room to read, and you’ll do whatever you normally do at this hour of the night.”
She leaves me standing there staring after her. I want to chase her down the hall to her room, but I know that won’t do any good. My body goes from the numbness of shock to anger toward both of my parents. How can they do this? I don’t understand why, whatever the problem is, they can’t work it out.
I can’t stand there all night, so I make my way to my old room that was once my cheerful sanctuary. Now it’s oppressive and gloomy. What did I ever see in that lemon-yellow bedspread? I yank it off the bed and toss it to the chest that used to be my mother’s. She called it her hope chest. I let out a maniacal snort as I reach for the envelopes Laura has asked me to address. At least I have something to do. And then I pray. Lord, please don’t let my parents split up. If there’s anything I can do to help, show me.
The next morning I drive over to the Mosses’ house to deliver the cards. Laura answers the door.
“You’re not gonna mail ’em?” she asks.
“You didn’t say you wanted me to mail them. You just said you wanted them addressed.”
She growls. “It’s common sense, Priscilla. If all these reminder cards have to be addressed, most people would assume they need to be mailed.”
I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying what’s really on my mind. “Okay, I’ll go to the post office now.”
“Mama!”
“Go back to your room, Bonnie Sue, and don’t come out until I tell you to.” Laura turns to me. “I swear, I don’t know what I’m gonna do with that girl.”
“Why isn’t she in school?”
Laura’s frown deepens. “You obviously don’t have young’uns, or you’d know that school’s out for summer.”
“I have to go to the bathroom!” Bonnie Sue hollers.
“Okay, you can go to the bathroom, but you better get right back in your room.” She spins around and faces me again. “I been thinkin’ about your offer.”
“My offer?”
“Yeah. You offered to go to La Boutique and try to fix things.”
“Um . . . what about it?”
“While you’re out mailin’ those cards, why don’t you swing by La Boutique and see if you can’t straighten things out?”
“Are you sure?”
Laura gives me one of her are-you-kidding looks. “Of course I’m sure. You’ve known me long enough to know I only say what I mean.”
“Okay, I’ll do it.” I know I need to have my head examined, but I’m thinking that if Bonnie Sue’s story is accurate, we can smooth everything over. If she’s lying, having to face the store clerk might put the fear into her, and she won’t ever do it again. And maybe Laura will realize she’s not the only capable person around. “But I’ll only do it if Bonnie Sue goes with me.”
“That could be dangerous. I don’t know about lettin’ my daughter go off with someone she doesn’t know.”
“Don’t you think it would be more effective for her to go with me?” I challenge. “Besides, you just said you didn’t know what you were going to do with her. Maybe this will shed some light on what the best course of action may be.”
“Aren’t you all la-di-da?” She glances over her shoulder, still holding the door from the inside with me standing on the porch. When she turns back to face me, she has a completely different expression. “I reckon it won’t do any harm. It’s not like I haven’t known you all my life.” She sighs. “Besides, how much worse can it get than it already is?” Before I have a chance to say another word, Laura turns around and yells. “Bonnie Sue, get down here right now. You’re goin’ somewhere with Miss Priscilla.”
I barely have time to catch my breath before Bonnie Sue arrives. “I have the skirt in my purse.”
Once we have our seatbelts fastened, Bonnie Sue rummages through her purse and pulls out the tiny skirt. It’s all wadded up, and I see a smudge of a stain on the side.
“How many times did you wear that?” I ask.
“Just once.” She shakes it out, and I’m stunned to see how tiny it is when she holds it up.
We drive straight to the post office first, and since it’s already getting hot out, I tell Bonnie Sue to go inside with me. She starts to argue, but she stops herself and agrees. The line is rather long, but it’s moving quickly. I recognize a few faces, but I don’t know anyone well enough to strike up a conversation. Bonnie Sue, on the other hand, seems to know most of the people in there, and several of them say something to her.
As soon as we get back out to the car, she cowers lower in her seat. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Don’t ever make me do that again.”
“Embarrassed?” I look at her as she peeks out the side window. “Why were you embarrassed?”
“Are you kidding me? Who goes to the post office and stands in line with their mother’s friend?”
“I—” I don’t know what to say. It never dawned on me that anyone of any age would be embarrassed to be seen with me.
“I’ll try not to put you through that again.” I smile to myself as I think about how much worse she’ll feel after visiting La Boutique.
After turning off the car, I turn to Bonnie Sue and see that she’s hyperventilating. “What am I supposed to say?”
“Just tell the woman what happened.” I reach for her hand. “But before we go in, why don’t we say a prayer?”
Bonnie Sue goes from being a tough acting preteen to a little girl in a matter of seconds. Her palm is damp, and her hand is shaking.
I say a short prayer for guidance and mercy. After I say Amen, she follows suit. “Ready to go?” I ask.
She hesitates but nods. “Okay.”
The bell on the door jingles as we walk i
n, and a blonde woman about my age comes out from the back room. As soon as we lock gazes, I recognize Carolyn from my beauty school class. She tried so hard to do a good job, bless her heart, but she never could get the hang of cuts, color, perms, or anything to do with hair. The first time she messed up, I helped her out. The second time, I covered for her. After that, there was nothing I could do, but before she quit, she told me how much she appreciated all my help.
“Priscilla? Priscilla Slater? You sure have turned into quite the celebrity! What brings you here to La Boutique?” She glances over at Bonnie Sue who is trembling slightly to my right. When she looks back at me, I see the confusion on her face.
“I need to speak to the manager, if you don’t mind.”
Carolyn beams. “You’re talkin’ to her.”
“This is my friend’s daughter, and it appears there’s been some kind of misunderstanding.” So much for letting Bonnie Sue handle things on her own.
I explain what I know, and Carolyn asks Bonnie Sue a few questions. I’m proud of the girl when she answers all the questions with “Yes, Ma’am.” Laura has taught her children manners.
Fifteen minutes later, Bonnie Sue and I are back in the car, not only with an apology from Carolyn for the misunderstanding, but with a twenty-five-percent-off discount card for the next purchase. Bonnie Sue handed Carolyn the skirt and apologized profusely as I’d instructed her to do. I’m happy because I feel that this has taught Bonnie Sue a valuable lesson. “So what did you learn from that?”
She looks at me with way more admiration than anyone deserves. “You really are famous, aren’t you?”
I can’t help it if Carolyn has been following my career, all the way down to the fact that I’m about to pitch to TVNS. That seems to have impressed Bonnie Sue the most.
“I don’t know about famous.”
“But you are. That lady called you a celebrity.” She settles back in her seat, grinning. “I’m hangin’ out with a famous person. Just wait’ll I tell my friends. They’ll be so jealous.”
15
Trudy
Rumors have been flying ever since the class reunion invitations went out. Mama doesn’t hesitate to call me when she gets home from her weekly appointment at the Cut ’n Curl to catch me up on everyone’s business. I suspect most of what I’m hearing is factual—at least in someone’s mind—and what’s not totally factual has at least a grain of truth.
Today is Thursday, Mama’s regular day to get her hair done before the weekend, so I expect my phone to ring any minute now. She’s all excited about me coming home for the reunion, but she’s made me promise not to starve myself half to death like I did last time.
“Instead of not eatin’, why don’t you work out like Amy’s been doin’ to get ready for her weddin’?” she asked last time we chatted.
“I hate sweating.” The truth is, I’ve spent all my money on clothes and makeup, and I can’t afford a gym membership. Sure, I could go for long power walks like my neighbors Alan and his wife do every afternoon after work, but it’s awful hot lately. We have a gym at my apartment complex, but there are always a bunch of young, Barbie-doll women who’ll make me look huge in comparison. And we all know how women use floor-to-ceiling mirrors to compare.
“Surely there’s somethin’ you can do besides limit yourself to rabbit food.”
“Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll do what I can, but I won’t stop eatin’. In fact, I’m on a health kick these days.” I turn the topic to my weekly grocery list, hoping she’ll lay off the talk about working out. I’ve done a bit of that in the past, but it’s not something I stay with long enough to do me any good. I hate pain.
This time when Mama calls, I’m all worked up and ready for an argument, until she drops the bomb. “Michael’s latest girlfriend is pregnant.” Then I go numb.
As I fall back onto the chair behind me, I open my mouth to speak, but no words will come out. My ex is about to be a daddy? All I can do is let out a tiny grunt.
“Apparently,” Mama continues, “she gave him an ultimatum. Either marry her, or her daddy will ruin him for life.”
“Who’s her daddy?” I manage to squeak.
“Senator Showers.”
Now I’m in total shock. Senator Showers has two children— one boy who is just now finishing up law school at Ole Miss and a daughter who graduated from high school a year and a half ago. I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised. Michael has always favored girls over women.
“Are you still there, Trudy?” Mama asks.
“Yes, Mama, I’m here.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “Is . . . is he bringin’ her to the reunion?”
“I would assume so, unless her father takes him out to the woodshed first, and he can’t walk.” Mama laughs at her own joke, which I don’t think is so funny. “Who knows? They might even show up as a married couple. Are you okay with that?”
What choice do I have? “Of course I am. It’s been over between me and Michael for years.”
“Sweetie, don’t feel like you have to lie to your mama. I remember all the stories about what happened at your ten-year reunion.”
“Those were just stories. You should know better than to believe everything you hear at the beauty shop.”
“I been around a lot longer than you, Trudy, and I know there’s somethin’ behind every morsel of gossip.”
So she’s always said. “Mama, I really need to go now. I have a bunch of stuff to do before I go to bed tonight, and tomorrow is gonna be a long day.”
“Don’t work yourself to death, Trudy. You know what they say about all work and no play. Besides, I think you need to find yourself a good man and think about having your own family soon.”
“Bye, Mama.”
All sorts of thoughts flit through my mind as I pile clothes into the washer. I’m barely thirty-three, yet I’ve gained enough weight to put me two sizes larger than I was when I was still married to Michael. We got enough money in wedding gifts to put a down payment on a house shortly after we got married, and the real estate agent was so enamored of working with Michael that he cut his commission to practically nothing. Even the seller cut us a deal, enabling us to buy a much bigger house than we needed. Michael liked living there for status. I saw it as a place that was big enough to raise children, but every time I brought that up, Michael reminded me that pregnancy would stretch out my gorgeous body, and it might never come back.
In a way, the joke’s on him now, but I don’t feel like laughing. He’s got his jailbait girlfriend, and she’s the one who’ll wind up with the stretched-out body. I glance at my backside in the mirror behind me and sigh. No telling how bad I’d look if I’d given birth.
All my friends with kids don’t seem to mind the fact that their wiggle has turned to jiggle when they walk. It makes me wonder why I’m still into the whole perfect-body notion that most everyone else has already gotten past.
I’m tempted to forgo the healthy dinner and nibble on lettuce leaves like I used to. But images of a pregnant belly remind me that even if I do care—not saying I do—what Michael thinks, at least I won’t be compared to a skinny little stick-figure girl with big boobs. That is, if Mama’s right and Jenna Showers really is pregnant with Michael’s baby, and he’s forced to marry her. Love for Michael is a fleeting thing, which leads me to wonder how long his relationship will last with Jenna Showers, even if she is pregnant. The biggest advantage that girl has is her daddy, who can make or break anyone’s career in the state of Mississippi.
The more I think about Michael and Jenna, the more I realize how perfect she is for him. And that just proves that I’m completely over him because before, the very thought of another woman being with him sent me into the darkest emotional hole anyone could imagine.
As my clothes go through the laundry cycles, I tidy up my apartment and start thinking about what to wear to the reunion. Even with my employee discount, I’m not sure my budget can handle a new outfit—at least not one I’d want to be seen i
n. It’s bad enough that I’m still driving the same old car I was ashamed to take to the reunion five years ago. The difference now is I don’t care as much about the car. It is what it is, and it has nothing to do with me as a person. But still . . .
My mind wanders to other options. Now that Alan’s married, trying to find a way to borrow his car is out of the question. Renting one won’t work because of the car rental stickers all over the bumper.
Then the solution dawns on me. I can tell everyone my car is in the shop, and I’m driving the mechanic’s car. That’ll involve having to fib, but it’s not like it’ll hurt anyone. I’ll have to put more thought into that, but at least I have a plan if nothing else comes to me.
16
Priscilla
What do you think you’re doing, Priscilla?” Mother asks as she stands in my bedroom doorway, a semiscowl on her face.
“I’m trying to get the room neatened up a bit before I go to the salon.”
“That’s what Teresa’s for.” She comes into the room and thumbs through the closet, inspecting my clothes. “How much did you pay for all these . . . clothes? They look expensive.”
They are, but I don’t tell her that. Mother is a society snob, but she’s always been a reverse snob about fashion. She seems to think anything that doesn’t come from a thrift store, clearance rack, or discount store should be outlawed. All she’s ever cared about is education, and quite frankly, her nagging about it has only made me want to go in the opposite direction.
“Some of them are, Mother, but you don’t have to worry about it. I’m doing just fine.”
She pulls out my most expensive blouse, inspects it with a curled lip, and puts it back. “I bet you bought most of them new, too.”
“And you’re right.”
“Have you even been to a resale shop since you moved out of the house?”
“Of course I have.” I smile, trying to lighten things up a bit and make her happy. “You’ve taught me well, and even though I make a good living, I still like to save a buck if possible.”
