“Except that Peter took the teakettle.”
She winced. “Sorry. I keep forgetting-”
“Yeah, me, too,” I lied. If I was busy forgetting, I wouldn’t have nearly burned down the apartment building because I was so busy obsessing about the fact that as of yesterday, I was a divorce statistic.
I was a terrible liar, and nobody knew it better than Eve. She leaned forward. “It’s OK to get it all out,” she said. “Why, it’s only natural that you’d feel-”
“Like I’d like to wring his neck?”
She slumped back in her chair. “I thought we were past the anger stage and working on acceptance.”
So did I.
Until I realized I didn’t own a pot holder.
I scrubbed my hands over my face. It was two o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, and even though it was June and outside the Virginia air was hotter than my just-about-combusted saucepan, I was wearing jammies and a flannel robe. Comfort food, comfort clothes. I cinched the belt a little tighter around my waist.
“I’ve been working on acceptance for just about a year now,” I reminded Eve and myself. “Ever since the day Peter told me he never really knew what love was until he met that girl at the dry cleaner’s. News flash! If the knot in my stomach means anything, acceptance is not working.”
“Well, of course not!” Eve popped out of her chair and rummaged around in the cupboards. She came back to the table with a jar of peanut butter, two spoons, and all that was left (it wasn’t much) of the giant Hershey’s bar she’d bought me the day before, on the way back from the court-house where Peter and I had signed the papers that said our marriage was officially over.
Eve broke off a piece of chocolate, slopped peanut butter onto it, and handed it to me. “He’s a slimeball,” she said.
I popped the whole piece of chocolate into my mouth. “Sure he is.” I would have sounded more convincing if my words weren’t stuck together with peanut butter. “And honestly, she’s welcome to him.”
“Annie, it’s not what you say…”
“It’s what I feel,” I finished for her. I’m not sure it exactly proved my point, but I emphasized my sincerity by grabbing a spoon and a piece of chocolate. I ladled peanut butter on it and this time chomped the piece of candy in half. I licked peanut butter off my fingers. “If he cheated on me, he’s going to cheat on her,” I told Eve. “Maybe not any time soon, but someday. I’m better off without him.”
“You are.”
“I’m happier without him.”
“You’ve got to be.”
“I’ve got a bright future in front of me.”
“You do.”
“I’m… I’m…” I paused, desperately hoping the endorphins from the chocolate would kick in at that moment.
My shoulders drooped. My spine folded like an accordion. I dropped my head on the table. “I’m alone and miserable!” I wailed.
“There, there.” Eve patted my back. “You have so much to look forward to.”
“No.” I sat up, pushing my hair out of my eyes. “Youwould have something to look forward to if you were divorced. If you were divorced-”
She cocked her head. “But I’ve never been married.”
“But if you were. If you were married, and then you were divorced. You’d have something to look forward to. Guys would be lined up around the block to date you.”
“And they’re not for you?” Eve rolled her eyes. “Why, that nice Ed Downing at the bank-”
I cut her off with a groan. “That nice Ed Downing is fifty-four and still lives with his mother.”
“He’s saving to buy a house.”
“He’s a loser.”
“He likes you.”
“He likes me because every time he screws up his drawer, I’m able to make sense of it before the head teller shows up and he gets his ass fired.” I got rid of the thought with a shake of my shoulders. “I don’t know why I even mentioned it. It’s not like I care. Mr. Right could walk in here right now-”
“No.” Eve’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Let’s have him drive in. In a red Jag.”
“OK, Mr. Right. In a Jag. He could drive in here right now stark naked-”
Eve giggled. “And with a nice, tight ass.”
“And he could ask me to rip off my clothes and-”
“Ask?” Eve pooh-poohed the very idea with the wave of one manicured hand. “We don’t want him to ask, honey. We want him to beg. Mr. Right. Jag. Naked. Begging. If you’re going to fantasize, you might as well go whole hog.”
“I still wouldn’t want him.” I folded my arms over my chest andharrumphed, just so Eve would know I meant business. “I’m never going to look at another guy. I’m never going to date another guy. I’m never going to get married. Not again.”
“Of course you are.” Eve took a bite of chocolate, and because she forgot to spread it with peanut butter first, she dipped her spoon in the jar, scooped up some extra crunchy, and swallowed it down. “Annie, really…” She pointed at me with the spoon. “You’re talking crazy. You make it sound like your life is over. You’re only thirty-three.”
“I’m thirty-five,” I reminded her. She was just trying to be kind, and I wanted none of it. Kind would make me feel better, and right now, I was too busy wallowing in my misery. “I’m a thirty-five-year-old bank teller and my hips are too big and my hair is too curly and I have the most boring life in the world and-” My voice wobbled, and I screeched, “I don’t even own a pot holder!”
Eve didn’t mind the screeching, probably because she’d been overemotional herself a time or two. Sometimes it was because her job-whichever one she happened to have at the moment-wasn’t going right. Sometimes it was because she’d missed a sale at Macy’s or put a run in her last pair of hose.
Mostly it was because of men.
Fact is, Eve’s affairs, like everything else in her life, are the stuff of grand opera. There’s always plenty of uncontrollable passion at the beginning and usually, just as much angst at the end. Hence, the screeching.
Me, on the other hand… well, the truth of the matter is that I wasn’t used to these sorts of gut-wrenching emotions. My life before, during, and after I’d met Peter had been pleasant and largely uneventful. We’d been introduced by friends, and I liked him instantly. Maybe because unlike all those other guys, he’d never once said I was cute. Maybe because unlike all those other guys, Peter really liked me.
Was it any wonder that I really liked him back?
Peter was a high school chemistry teacher. He had a good job, a low-key sense of humor, and an appreciation for all the things I valued. Things like stability and a balance in our savings account that promised that someday, we’d own a home of our own. We dated for two years before we got engaged, and then we had a wedding that was as pretty as a fairy tale. We were married for eight years and were finally at the point of looking for that home we’d spent so many nights talking and dreaming about.
Then he made that fateful trip to the dry cleaner’s.
Call me a wimp, but I sighed again.
“Speaking of pot holders…” Eve’s eyes lit the way they did when she’s excited about something. “I think I’ve got just the thing to make you feel better.”
“A lifetime supply of pot holders?”
She was as good as anyone at ignoring sarcasm. Rather than respond, she disappeared into the living room and came back a minute later, Kate Spade bag in hand.
“No pot holders. I’ll let you buy your own.” She dug through the purse, and when she didn’t find what she wanted, she began the unloading process. Wallet, checkbook, comb, compact, blush, lipstick, eyeliner, lip liner, nail polish. After less than a minute, my kitchen table looked like the cosmetics counter at Saks.
“Ah! Here’s what I’m looking for.” Grinning, Eve pulled a piece of paper out of her purse.
“That better not be a confirmation for a trip to anywhere,” I warned her, backing away to put some distance between myself and whatever she might have planned. “You can’t afford a vacation, and I can’t take the time off from work. I’ve already missed enough days going back and forth to court.”