Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 6

Oh dear God.

How much did you hear, baby? I asked, wishing I hadn t decided to do a striptease in the hallway between the kitchen and primary bedroom because now I wore no pants in addition to having my shirt on inside out.

Enough.

Curse you, Mitchell Quackenbush, for always weaseling your way out of doing the hard things.

Well, I m sorry you had to hear that, I said, the statement and its tone eerily reminiscent of words my mother had spoken to me on more than one occasion.

Yeah, me too, Dylan said, clearly in a daze.

I followed him to the kitchen, where he surveyed my array of baked goods, finally selecting the banana bread. Apparently, he d gotten his ability to eat in the middle of a crisis from his father, because the thought of eating something turned my stomach.

I moved out of the doorway to put on my pants, which was ridiculous because the child had literally just caught his mother with her pants down. While I was out of his line of sight, I took off my shirt and put it on properly.

I walked into the kitchen as he was pouring a glass of milk. He took a seat at the breakfast table and stared at his slice of banana bread. Are you going to leave Dad?

What?

When I got to the front door, he was saying something about another woman.

I laughed in spite of myself. The poor child had heard only part of the argument. In his mind, I could make all of this go away simply by agreeing to stick with his father.

At least Dylan wasn t mentioning anything about sex therapists or Mitch s declaration that he d get laid less.

But there s not another woman? he asked.

That s what your father says.

So there s no reason you can t, you know, take him back?

Dylan, sweetie, your father asked me for a divorce.

Oh.

I hadn t seen the kid this confused since algebra, and I had to admit his inability to process that his father would want to leave me was gratifying. He pushed the saucer with the banana bread away and drank from his glass of milk. I especially couldn t contemplate milk at a time like this.

He drew the saucer back to him and took a big bite. His face screwed up, and he spit it out.

Dylan, are you okay? I asked, thinking that he was having a delayed reaction of crying.

Mom, he said, his eyes almost watering. I think you used salt instead of sugar.

In my mind s eye I could see Past Vivian reaching into the salt pig instead of into the sugar canister. As it turned out, I couldn t make anything out of rotten bananas.

What if you can t make anything out of yourself, either?

My vision blurred with tears, and Dylan, who d never once seen his mother break down-not even at her father s funeral-didn t know what to do with himself. He got up and gave me a hug, a much more awkward one than earlier.

Um, can I do anything? he asked.

I shook my head, my throat too painfully closed to get any words out.

Do you want me to leave you alone?

I nodded because I didn t want my child to watch me fall apart.

Okay, uh. Mind if I go next door and play video games with the twins?

Video games? At a time like this he wanted to play video games?

I looked into his eyes and saw a hurt, scared child who wanted nothing more than to escape.

Me, too, kid. Me, too.

Go play some for me. Goodness knew this mess wasn t going anywhere.

He left the kitchen but then came back and kissed me on the cheek. I love you, Mom.

I could only nod, but I hoped he could feel how much I loved him, too.

I don t know how long I sat at the breakfast room table, staring at the opposite wall. It felt both like a day and a half and a matter of seconds. In reality, it was less than twenty minutes before my doorbell rang.

I didn t get up. I needed to look at the mostly uneaten slice of banana bread and think about what I d done. Besides, I had been catted. I could not possibly get up and answer the door if a cat was sitting in my lap.

Someone knocked on the door, and Rachel said, Come on, Vivian. We know you re in there.

I was on the verge of shouting, There is no Vivian, only Zuul! but Lucky jumped down from my lap, a sign from the universe that I did, indeed, need to open the door to my friends.

At least I d quit crying.

No promises for the future.

I opened the door to Abi and Rachel and the sunset behind them.

Can we come in? asked Abi.

Her words brought me back to the present, and I nodded. Lucky tried to dart outside, but Rachel deftly scooped her up.

We just wanted to check on you, Abi said, her eyes traveling over me as if to scan for visible wounds before meeting my gaze.

I m . . .

I was what? Soon to be divorced? Unloved? Unwanted? Bruised like my bananas? So absent-minded that I d used salt instead of sugar while baking?

Definitely, that last one.

Rachel stepped into the house, scanning each of the areas she could see. Is he here?

An undercurrent of disdain emphasized the he. I appreciated knowing someone was on my side, whatever that side might be.

He s in our bedroom.

Abi and Rachel exchanged a what-an-utter-bastard look.

Maybe we should . . . , started Abi, pausing when she remembered that Dylan was at her house. No doubt he d blabbed. Not his fault since I didn t tell him not to.

Go hang out in my wine cellar, Rachel finished.

Wine cellar sounds good, Abi said.

Wine sounds great, I said, even though I could hear my mother saying, Don t drink your feelings.

You do divorce your way, Mom, and I ll do it mine.

Rachel put Lucky down; then she and Abi led me to her house. I was halfway across the cul-de-sac when I stopped dead in my tracks. I don t have my phone or my keys or my purse or anything.

We each have spare keys, Abi said.

I followed them into Rachel s airy foyer. David stood in the doorway to the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and drying dishes.

He was a good husband.

Maybe I should ve made Mitch do more dishes. Maybe then he would ve appreciated me more.

Suja, their thirteen-year-old daughter, didn t even look up from the couch where she was doing homework. We took the door that led to the basement and descended the stairs. At the foot of those stairs was another living room that opened out onto a patio, but Rachel really did have a wine cellar. She d converted the lone basement bedroom into a room with racks full of delicious wines.

Abi sat me down on the couch, and Rachel went to find a bottle. All I got from Dylan was that his dad was leaving and-

I sat up on the edge of the sofa. Is he okay?

He s fine. Well, he s going to be fine. You re going to be fine, too. Mitch? She left that last question unanswered, but her tone suggested she knew at least three good places to stash a body.

From the tiny kitchen area, a cork gave way with a pop. Rachel came with three stemmed glasses in one hand and a bottle of something red in the other. She set the glasses down on a coffee table that had been demoted from upstairs during her last remodel and then poured just a bit of wine into each of our glasses. Do you want to talk about it?

I don t know.

When? asked Abi, unable to help herself.

I found the papers yesterday, but I had to wait for him to come home. I had no idea. I took a sip of wine, unsure whether my stomach could support such a thing. My stomach liked it. I nodded my approval to Rachel.

Oregon pinot noir.

Divorce papers? asked Abi, itching to investigate.

I sighed. It was a packet of forms and instructions for how to file for an uncontested divorce.

She nodded and paused to take a sip of her wine. Is there another woman?

There s always another woman. At least that s what Mom always said. He says there isn t. I don t know.

That can be rectified, Abi said, reminding me that she made a living from finding out secrets.

Please don t, I said. At least not yet.

What can we do to help? asked Rachel.

I don t know.

Let s think this through rationally, Abi said. Maybe he s going through a phase. Maybe counseling would help.

I asked him. He wasn t on board. I think he s made up his mind. To hear him tell it, he made this decision when Dylan was a freshman in high school.

Abi muttered an insult to Mitch s parentage under her breath. His mother had died before we married, so I could neither confirm nor deny the allegations.

I think it s over, I said.

Not necessarily, said Rachel. It all depends on how you feel, and we ll support you either way.

I don t know how I feel.

Oh, baby. Just don t make any rash decisions yet, said Abi.

No rash decisions. I could do that. At the moment I didn t want to make any decisions.

Are you sure there s nothing we can do to help? asked Rachel.

I-

The words wouldn t come out.

Don t know, the two of them finished with me.

My giggle turned into a snort. I had my own Greek chorus. Maybe they could follow me around and moan she doesn t know after every line I said.

Doubtful, former drama geek.

With my luck, they probably took away the Greek chorus option after twenty-plus years of not being a thespian.

You okay over there? asked Abi, her look suggesting she thought I was losing my mind.

No, I said as my laughter went back to tears.

Wanna sip your wine in silence? she asked.

Yes.

Want some cheese with your wine? asked Rachel.

Maybe. If you have Manchego.

For you, I d look up that fancy dry-aged Monterey Jack that you like so much, she said as she patted my knee.

Eventually, Rachel laid me down on her basement couch and draped a blanket over me. She also left a bottle of water out because she was nothing if not thoughtful. I closed my eyes, but they popped back open the minute she and Abi left the room and turned off the lights.

Something about the hazy feeling from the pinot noir led me to a postmortem of my marriage. At this point I couldn t even remember life before Mitch. As a sophomore in college, I d been ready to swear off all men. Not only was Mom about to get divorced for the third time, but I had just been dumped by a university football player. He said we didn t have chemistry. Loose translation: you re pretty, but you re not putting out.

My roommate dragged me to that fateful frat party on homecoming night, and there was Mitch. I didn t want to believe in love at first sight, but then he d walked me home. Then he d kissed my hand, for heaven s sake.

Over the next three months, he d been so attentive, showering me with gifts. He used to kiss me for an hour and would actually accept not yet without whining about blue balls. Sad that he was the first boy I d encountered who would do that.

In retrospect, maybe my expectations and standards were a bit low.

One night we went to an Italian restaurant in the Old City, one with flickering candles and red-and-white-checkered tablecloths. Mitch s hands shook, and I was fairly sure he was going to ask if we could finally have sex for the first time.

My pulse quickened at the thought.

I was ready.

He ordered a bottle of wine, and the waiter checked his ID but not mine. I d been such a Goody Two-shoes up until that point. I couldn t stop smiling from the euphoria of breaking the law. Or maybe it was that I was finally going to have sex, which felt like breaking the law.

We picked through our salads and tried to make small talk about the most recent football game. He drummed his fingers on the table, and his leg jerked up and down even after they cleared away the salad plates.

He muttered something under his breath, and then he was kneeling beside me. A violinist appeared behind him playing O Sole Mio. So did two confused waiters holding plates of spaghetti. Was this some kind of elaborate way to ask me to go steady? No, he produced a small diamond ring and said, Vivian, not only are you the most beautiful woman I ve ever met, but you are also the loveliest person. Will you do me the honor of being my bride?

The restaurant spun around me.

Marriage?

No way could I get married right now. If Mom had dated all those guys for at least a year and then still ended up divorced, what hope did I have of making a marriage work with some guy I d dated for only three months?

Maybe that s the secret.

Obviously, Mom had never found the right person. She d just been trying to stick square pegs into round holes. But I d already found this special person who wanted to marry me, so maybe this was it. My big romantic moment. I couldn t let it pass me by, now could I?

I opened my mouth to say yes, but the word wouldn t come out. The waiters with their plates of spaghetti shifted from one foot to the other. The violinist arched an eyebrow as if to say, How many verses do you think this song has anyway?

Mitch spoke again, and I was drawn to his blue eyes. I know we haven t been dating long, but when you know, you know. I can t imagine my life without you. I want you to be there when I get home. I want to make beautiful babies with you. I want to grow old with you and have matching rocking chairs.

The matching rocking chairs did me in.

Yes, I whispered, the restaurant going blurry from the tears in my eyes.

The whole place erupted into applause, and when I wiped away my tears, Mitch had the biggest, most beautiful smile. He kissed me and slid the ring on my finger before taking his seat. He reached across the table and grabbed my hand. Oh, Vivian. Let s find one of those places with a justice of the peace and get married tomorrow.

Tomorrow?

One of the waiters cleared his throat, and we put our hands in our laps so he could put the spaghetti down on the table.

Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of our lives, Mitch said as they backed away.

Mitch, I really think I should finish my degree first, don t you?

Fresh grated Parmesan cheese? asked one of the waiters. He smirked as though he enjoyed interrupting important conversations with his cheese. Mitch waved him off, even though I would ve loved more cheese.

He reached across the table, and my hand instinctively met his. He brought it up to his lips, and electricity ran down my arm, then crawled up my spine. You don t have to waste your time with such things.

I don t have to waste my time with Parmesan cheese?

No, college! I m going to take care of you, Vivian. Forever.

Forever?

Forever.

At the time I d had no intention of being a housewife, but I didn t tell him that. I just smiled. And about an hour later, I lost my virginity and got pregnant all in the same night.

Not that I thought about that night or that failed pregnancy any more than I had to. I locked those memories away along with the other miscarriages.

I sat up straight on the couch. I had to be missing something, something that had happened in the past few years to make Mitch stop loving me.

What was it?

I want to grow old with you and have matching rocking chairs.

That s what he said.

I m going to take care of you, Vivian. Forever.

He said that, too.

So what was I missing? Had I done something to invalidate those promises?

Aside from my chicken salad, of course.

The metaphorical microfiche of our marriage ran through my mind in a blur. Spats here and there. PMS. Nothing bad. Not a single time where I didn t cave to what he wanted.

Just like tonight when you didn t stick to your guns about the bed thing. He probably thinks he s going to slink back into the house tomorrow and do the same thing. After all, you re over here hiding in Rachel s house, aren t you?

Well, maybe I needed to go home. To make sure he knew that I was watching him and to make sure he left. After all, it was my house.

I got to my feet. Of course! The house had been bought in my name with my mother as the cosigner because not only had Mitch been out of town when it came on the market, but he also had horrible credit from forgetting to pay on his college loans before we married. Mom had helped me scoop it up before anyone else discovered how deeply it had been discounted.

So when I told Mitch that he needed to pack up his things and get out tomorrow, I d been well within my rights.

Because it was my house.

At that thought, I looked up. Rachel s basement room had taken on a gauzy glow courtesy of a glass of wine on an empty stomach.

I could use another glass of wine, truth be told, but I wasn t about to pick something out of Rachel s cellar. With my luck, I d accidentally choose the most expensive bottle in the room.

But I had a bottle of not so fancy but perfectly serviceable merlot in my kitchen, and it was beginning to seem like a velvety texture kind of evening.

A glance at my watch told me that it was past eleven. As I tiptoed upstairs, I realized that all the Panickers had gone to bed. No need to wake them. I would simply let myself out and lock the door behind me.

But first I grabbed Rachel s copy of my house key because Mitch had already locked me out figuratively, and I sure wouldn t put it past him to lock me out literally.