Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 9

MompickupMompickupMompickup, I muttered under my breath like a mantra. I had to beat Dylan. I had to explain to my mother that she absolutely could not tell Dylan that it would be okay to leave school. And I would not allow her to invite him down to the University of Florida so he would be closer to his grandmother. My son, a Florida Gator? Not if I had anything to say about it.

The phone kept ringing.

I could hear Dylan talking to someone on the other side of the wall.

I hung up in defeat, but then I tried again.

And again.

And one more time.

Just as I was about to dial Mom again, she called me. I used the Hello? that suggested I had no idea who was calling even as I ran for my bedroom and shut the door.

Vivian, I swear, what is your problem?

Hello to you, too, Mom.

Seriously. I was talking to Dylan and had to make an excuse, so make this quick.

He s going to ask you if he should come home from UT, and I need you to tell him what you told me: to wait it out.

I told you that?

Yes! It s one of the most important things you ve ever done for me, I said out of habit, but I examined those words as they came out of my mouth. I d always said it was the best thing my mother had ever done for me because, by staying at UT, I d met Mitch.

Vivian, are you still there?

Yes, Mom. Sorry. It s complicated. What did you say?

Of course I told Dylan to give it a year at UT. What did you think I was going to say?

I plopped down on the bed in relief. You re easier on him, and I was afraid . . .

Afraid I d tell him to come down to Grandma s house?

Maybe.

She laughed. It was the husky rumble of a woman who d known her way around a pack of cigarettes, even if she had finally kicked the habit about ten years ago.

Silly girl. Now what is wrong with you? Something is wrong with you.

Nothing.

Vivian Loraine, do not even try lying to me.

I searched for the words, but tears came in their place. I swiped at them fiercely.

Vivian?

Mitch is leaving me.

Mom said a lot of words, one of which I d never heard her use before, none of which were complimentary.

I . . . I . . . kicked him out.

Good girl, she said. He s never deserved you.

My whole body warmed from the compliment, even if she was obligated to say it, being my mother and all.

I reminded him that I own this house and told him he is no longer welcome. You should ve seen the look on his face when he remembered that the house is in my name.

There was a pause as if there were something Mom wanted to say, but then she said, Good for you.

I waited for her to say, I told you so. I waited for her to point out that I d been entirely too smug all these years, smug about how I d done all the little things to keep my marriage going.

She said nothing. Somehow that was worse.

You ll call me if you need anything? she finally asked.

Of course. And by that I meant, Of course I will not.

I suppose I should call Dylan back?

That would be good. Let me know if he tells you anything I should know. I have no idea how to handle this with him. Seems like he was having a hard-enough time before Mitch pulled this stunt.

I will, she said softly. Vivian?

Yes, Mom?

Call me if you need me. I mean it.

We said our goodbyes and I hung up, oddly relieved. Mom and I hadn t been close for a while, but that conversation hadn t gone anywhere nearly as badly as I had thought it might.

She is your mother.

True, now I knew better what a mother would do for her child. A surge of anger coursed through my body, anger at Mitch. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands.

Or maybe he could be hit by a bus.

At least then no one would think twice about my crying. Dylan and I would mourn, but there would be closure. We wouldn t have to go through whatever the hell we were going to have to go through for this divorce.

Vivian, that s awful.

Remorse shoved anger right out of the way. How could I possibly wish such grief upon my son? Or on Mitch s father?

God, I was a hot mess.

I went for a run, my first one in quite some time.

It wasn t pretty.

Running at forty-four was quite different from running at twenty-four or even thirty-four. My right heel throbbed. My left knee, too. I got winded at the drop of a hat and had to walk for a while. Then there was the inexplicable ache in my right elbow. What did that even have to do with running?

I didn t want to contemplate my need for a better sports bra.

As I ran and walked and ran and walked and hobbled, I d managed to clear out the cobwebs a bit. First, I contemplated whether I would take Mitch back if he did come to his senses. I didn t think so. It would be so hard to trust him. If he came back that very afternoon and I took him back, I d live the rest of my life with my breath held, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But never say never.

Because it would all be so much easier if he would just come home and apologize profusely. I wouldn t have to worry about Dylan s college or Mitch s worksheets or getting a job or-

I stopped dead on the sidewalk.

Mitch wanted to sell the house.

An older man jogged past me with ease, a metaphor for both my life and how the patriarchy had overtaken me.

Somehow in all that had happened, I had forgotten about seeing the sheet where Mitch wanted to divvy up the proceeds from selling the house.

No.

Hell no.

One didn t live with a real estate agent mother without having heard stories about divorcing couples selling their house. Inevitably one or the other-usually the wife-would desperately want to keep the house but have no way of buying the other person out.

Oh, I would find a way.

The sum my father had left me would almost cover me-thanks to the interest it had been earning. Only, I might need that money to round out Dylan s education. Or it might not be enough after a new appraisal.

A headache bloomed behind my eyes, but I started running again in an attempt to get home sooner.

Why did Mitch have to be such an ass? Why did he have to disrupt my life like this? What the heck made him think he deserved happiness more than I did?

But, Vivian, have you been happy?

I slowed to a walk, giving in to age and gravity and my former indolence.

I hadn t been happy per se, but I d been . . . content.

Yes, I d been content.

But in the twenty-four, almost twenty-five years we d been married, had Mitch ever once asked me what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go? Heck, he couldn t even remember my favorite color was red. Anytime he bought me clothing-and he insisted on doing so no matter how many times I asked him not to-he bought blue.

Because blue was his favorite color.

When I told him that I might like a Mustang since Dylan was off to college, he came home with a minivan. An aqua minivan! Mind you, I d since made peace with the van and lovingly called it my Mystery Machine, but that was beside the point. Would it have hurt him to have consulted me on the purchase of my own vehicle?

I hadn t made roasted brussels sprouts in twenty years-not since he informed me that they were disgusting and he couldn t possibly eat them. Maybe I wouldn t have gained that extra fifteen pounds after my hysterectomy if I d been able to eat brussels sprouts. Had he ever considered that?

I kept more rum in the house than bourbon because he liked rum.

That tattoo I wanted to get? I hadn t because he thought tattoos were tacky.

I used Gain instead of Tide because he liked Gain.

And he was the one who wanted to go to Florida, so he d dangled the idea of being able to build my dream house in front of me. Well, I didn t want to go to Florida. They had gators and snakes and that awful Florida Man who kept making the news for doing stupid stuff.

Well.

From now on, as I tried to navigate these choppy waters, I would do what I wanted to do.

Makeup? I wouldn t wear it unless I wanted to.

Hair? Time to cut it all off.

Food? Chicken salad and brussels sprouts and every other food I hadn t recently bought because picky pants Mitch didn t like them.

Beverages? Bourbon all day every day.

As I neared my house, I took my phone out of the tiny pocket at the small of my back. Before I lost my courage, I would make another quick video. One without makeup, one that showed that I had, indeed, exercised for once.

At first I recoiled at the sight of my face. It was red and sweaty, my eyes puffy from an earlier cry. I tried on a smile. It looked fake.

Vivian, be yourself.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Hello, everyone. I wanted to give you a sneak peek at Vivian 2.0. That s right, I made time to exercise today. Don t let my red face fool you; it s actually quite pleasant. I m going to award myself the Run-Walk Badge, a.k.a. the Look, I m Trying Badge. With some practice, maybe I ll be able to convince my body to do more running in the future.

I talked a little more about my philosophy of doing what I wanted from that moment on and why I d decided to take the video when I did. All in all, it was a brief video. I edited it after my shower and went through all the steps necessary to upload it to YouTube.

I saw a few comments on my last video, but I couldn t face them right then. I should probably delete the damn thing since I d posted it while inebriated. I had fuzzy recollections of trying to edit while the room swayed around me and how many steps I had to repeat before I finally got the thing up. I couldn t even remember half of what I d said.

Bah. Who really paid any attention to my stupid little channel? I d have plenty of time to delete it tomorrow. For now I had bigger fish to fry.