“I guess I just felt smothered.”
They astounded her, even five years later. She obsessed over them as she hastily chopped a long carrot and gathered the pieces in her shaky hands, tossing them into the pot on the stove. Chopped carrots, celery, onions, split peas, and ham hocks – that was the easy part. She started on the onion.
Those words – “I guess I just felt smothered” – didn’t seem so bad on their own. She may have been okay with it if Brian had said it during dinner, or after their regular round of bad sex, or if he had sent her a nice card with a fifty dollar bill in it, congratulating her on her singleness; she would have even accepted a hammered voicemail from Vegas.
Instead, Lenore had sought him out, deciding one cold February day to borrow her friend’s blue ’95 Mercury Mystique and camp out in the parking lot of the law firm Brian worked at. She wondered how many other wives did things like this as she hunched over in the driver’s seat, touching her nose to the top of the leather steering wheel. She considered starting a concerned wives organization as she waited for five o’clock to roll around and decided on the name Psychotic Housewives Anonymous, because that’s how she felt – completely, pathetically and utterly psychotic.
Her hands continued to shake as she bent over the kitchen counter, tying together sprigs of parsley, thyme, and bay leaves. She always forgot how many sprigs of thyme to use, but three seemed appropriate. Jared would probably notice if she put in more than three and would writhe in his seat and whine about how dad cooked better. For seven years old, he was an exceptional connoisseur or a total brat – either way, he was entirely too much like his father. He was outside now, repeatedly sledding down the slight slope of their back yard, waddling happily in black snow pants and a bulky orange coat. The back patio lay outside the kitchen, and she watched him through the glass doors, the snow violently swirling around his chubby face.
It was colder than this five years ago, Lenore remembered, and Jared was just a toddler, strapped into a safety seat in the back of the car as she watched Brian exit the doors of the law firm, strolling to his SUV. Her body stiffened as she turned the key in the ignition.
“Mommy, Daddy!” Jared had observed loudly and proudly from the back seat.
“Jay Jay, no,” she hushed him, thrusting her arm behind her to smack him on the foot.
“It’s Daddy!” Jared kicked his legs wildly. “Mommy, it’s Daddy!”
“Jared, shut the fuck up,” Lenore had grunted, wrapping her fingers tightly around his pudgy ankle. Jared squealed in pain, but didn’t emit another sound for the rest of the evening.
In retrospect, Lenore knew she had been hasty. She brought the soup to a boil, adding a few pinches of salt. Jared couldn’t help loving Brian, and neither could she.
“Mom …”
Jared’s muffled voice seeped through the thick glass door to Lenore’s left. She sighed, pretending to be too engrossed in her soup to hear him. He struck the door with repeated, desperate raps. She stirred the soup carefully.
“Mom, I’m ready to come in; it’s cold. No one else is coming out to play today.”
She glanced towards him. Hot tears leaked down his cheeks, staining his flushed complexion. He raised his hands, which were both clad with thick wool mittens, and shielded his eyes from the ravenous wind before giving his upper lip a shameless wipe, smearing his boogers everywhere. He was disgusting. The water began to boil and Lenore lowered the heat to a simmer, covering the pot and raising her index finger towards Jared, as if to indicate that she’d be ready for him momentarily. His chest heaved in a helpless sigh and he meandered back towards his sled.
He walked like Brian. He talked like Brian. Some days, Lenore even expected him to tell her that he felt smothered – that he had found a new mommy, one with long black hair and legs to the moon.
She didn’t even know her name – the one with long black hair and legs to the moon; the one she walked in on that fateful February night; the one who stared at her over Brian’s shoulder with cold, dark eyes, as he muttered “I guess I just felt smothered.” If Brian weren’t built like a linebacker, Lenore was certain she could have pushed through him and ripped a chunk of hair out of Bitch Cunt’s pretty head.
The phone rang suddenly, shaking Lenore out of her fuming reverie. She reached for the cordless phone on the kitchen counter.
“Hello?”
“Lenore?”
The sound of Brian’s voice made her entire body ache with vertigo. Her face, her chest, her arms and her legs grew instantly hot. She feared her thighs would burn holes in her jeans as she responded, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
“Oh, Brian? How’s it going?”
“Oh, not bad.” His voice was deep, authoritative. “How are you?”
"Oh … good. Making your favorite tonight.”
“Huh?”
“Split pea soup.” She leaned against the counter for support, attempting to steady her heartbeat.
“Gotcha. Did you remember the croutons this time?”
“Fuck croutons.”
“Hmm.” Brian paused. “Well, I just wanted to ask you if you ever found my RCA cables. I can’t find them anywhere. It’s not really a big deal; I could pick up some more, but I’m going to be around the area tomorrow night so I thought I’d ask.”
“Doesn’t Moon Legs have some RCA cables you could borrow?” Her voice was shaking embarrassingly now.
“What?”
“Can’t Black Death loan you a few bucks?”
“Lenore, what are you talking about?”
“Why don’t you go whine to Bitch Cunt? I have better things to do with my time than deal with your bullshit, Brian.” Lenore felt strangely empowered. She took the lid off the pot and added a dash of pepper.
“Lenore, are you talking about that again?” Brian sighed. “That was five years ago. I haven’t seen Keely in nearly four years.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot her stupid name. What an ugly name.”
“I’ve moved on, Lenore.” Brian’s voice grew louder. “It’s time for you to move on, too. Get over it. It’s been five damn years now. I just want to pick some things up tomorrow. Can you just be an adult about this?”
“She was so trashy, Brian. I just don’t understand.”
“You left me, Lenore.” His voice cracked. He was breathing heavily. Lenore beamed.
“Fuck you, Brian, and fuck your croutons and your stupid cords.” She hung up.
Outside, the sun was setting, casting a dull glow on the fallen snow. Lenore felt safe, inside, alone. She read in the newspaper earlier that it was going to hover around zero degrees all day –
“Mom, please!”
Jared was pounding urgently on the glass door, his hazel eyes still watery with tears. He hopped up and down anxiously between sobs. “Mom, I want to come in! It’s too cold!” Even through the earmuffs and the chunky scarf Lenore could see Brian gawking at her through Jared’s little eyes, eager to complain about his split pea soup being too spicy. Fuck; she forgot to add garlic. Jared kicked at the foot of the door with his leg, screaming like he did when he was a toddler. He wiped the snot from his nose again. He was really an ugly kid.
Lenore turned off the stove and marched toward the door. She had to make sure it was locked.
1 comment:
I think I know what this is based on. I like where it's gone, and I especially appreciate that you're so skilled at revisiting things. I never have the discipline to do that effectively. Hooray!
Post a Comment