Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 10

The next morning I went to church-that was something else I hadn t been doing because Mitch and I couldn t agree on one. And the reward for my piety? Coming home to Mitch s car parked in my garage.

I stalked into the house, my righteous indignation reaching a fever pitch. He wasn t in the kitchen. He wasn t in the living room, either. The shower in the primary bath came on-aha!

I marched into that bathroom like I owned the place because, well, I did. Mitchell Quackenbush, what the heck are you doing back in this house?

Vivian, what the hell? He tried to cover himself.

I don t know why you re bothering to cover yourself, I said as I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against the vanity. I ve seen all of that before.

Well, it s not appropriate!

It s also not appropriate to leave your wife, but here we are.

Resigned, he went back to his showering. I took in the slight paunch, his farmer s tan, his white ass, his-

Nope. Don t look there.

Too late.

Either Mitch was thinking about another woman, or he liked me more than he wanted to let on.

Could you please leave? he asked.

I asked you first.

He turned off the water, and I resisted the urge to hand him a towel, an action I d done a thousand times before.

He toweled off quickly. Once he d wrapped the towel around his waist, he had the audacity to put his hands on his hips and grin at me. Vivian, you can t kick me out. There are laws on the books about occupancy and residency, nothing you ve bothered your pretty head over-

You think I m pretty? I asked in mock shock, holding my fingers primly in front of my mouth.

Sarcasm doesn t become you. You can t kick me out, because I ve lived here for over fifteen years. That s the long and short of it.

That may be the long of it, but I know where the short of it is, I said, with a pointed look at his towel. On the inside, however, I was fuming. I tamped down my boiling rage. I m assuming you ve been talking with your lawyer?

Yes, and she is very good at what she does.

My heart pounded ninety to nothing, but I forced a smile to my face. That s fine, but you are not sleeping with me. Unless you would like me to become your official alarm clock.

He blanched ever so slightly.

I took that as a small victory and retreated to my craft room. I closed the french doors and the curtains so I could pace unseen for a few minutes. Of course it couldn t be as simple as kicking him out. The cheap bastard probably didn t want to have to pay for another apartment.

But that was not a me problem.

I had managed to get his attention with the cookie sheet yesterday. I could think of other ways to make life as uncomfortable as possible for him, couldn t I?

Just like that, I knew the first step in Operation Get Mitch Out of My House.

I took out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. My finger hesitated over a familiar name. I had to make the call.

Hello, Mom?

Vivian, to what do I owe the pleasure of speaking to you again so soon?

Now I had my mother on the line, but the words I needed to say got caught in my throat.

Vivian?

Mom, I need your help.

Silence stretched between us, and I was afraid she would laugh in my face. Instead, she finally replied, All right. What kind of help?

When I asked about a lawyer, she didn t hesitate to give me a ranked list of possibilities from before she moved to Florida. She also admonished me to start calling as soon as possible. If Mitch decided to be spiteful, he could consult with each and every lawyer around just to limit my options.

When I told her about Operation Get Mitch Out of My House, she paused for the longest time.

I ll be there tomorrow.

Mitch waltzed into the kitchen while Dylan s and my lunches were already in progress. I d picked up a couple of sandwiches on the way home from church. Two sandwiches.

Where s mine? asked Mitch.

He wasn t even angry yet, just lost and confused. I had the urge to get up and immediately make him a salad, maybe offer him the uneaten half of my sandwich.

Nope, that s old Vivian s game. New Vivian is going to let him sweat it.

Well, Dad, I don t think Mom should have to fix meals for you if you want to divorce her. Dylan s voice came out eerily calm and oddly adult. I studied him in wonder.

Mitch crossed his arms over his chest. Whose side are you on?

Ah, there was the anger and the bluster.

No one s, Dylan said as he placed his sandwich wrapper in the trash can. Just stating the obvious.

Pretty clear to me that you re on your mother s side.

Dylan paused in the kitchen. Father and son stared each other down. Dylan stood a couple of inches taller than his father. They looked like mirror images of each other except for Mitch being thirty-one years older.

I sucked in a breath.

Don t look away, Dylan. If you look away, it s all over. I really wish I hadn t given in as many times as I did.

As if he could hear my thoughts, Dylan leaned ever so slightly closer to his father.

Mitch looked away.

I leaned back in my chair in relief.

Dylan came over and kissed my cheek. I m heading out.

Be careful! Text me when you get there! I said at the same time Mitch said, Where do you think you re going?

Back to school.

But I m not done talking to you.

Dylan turned around. Dad, I don t want to talk to you right now.

Mitch reached for the wallet in his back pocket. At least let me give you a little spending money.

No, thank you, Dylan said.

The storm door opened and closed. Out on the driveway, Dylan started up his Altima and left Mitch and me with our empty nest.

This is your fault, Mitch said under his breath.

My blood ran cold, but I forced myself to carefully wrap up the other half of my sandwich and place it in the fridge. Three breaths in, three breaths out. You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.

We kept our distance the rest of the afternoon, but my adrenaline kept spiking. I couldn t live like this, and I couldn t understand why Mitch would want to. Of course, he didn t change his habits. Just sat in the living room drinking beer and watching football.

I finally went to bed early because I didn t have anything else to do since I didn t want to be in the same room with him. I also wanted to claim the bed for Vivianlandia.

Naturally, I couldn t sleep.

I tossed and turned, irritated by the sound of whistles and cheers from the living room.

But there was something else.

Oh, the sheets smelled like Mitch.

For half a second I wanted to sink into them and pretend that none of this had ever happened, that he was just finishing the late game. Then he d come into the bedroom and slip into the covers beside me, a comforting presence.

Come on! That wasn t pass interference! he yelled, the sound traveling from the living room through the bedroom walls.

Advantage number two of this impending divorce: I wouldn t have to listen to his bullshit bad sportsmanship anymore. It was just a game, for crying out loud.

Up I got, ripping the sheets from the bed. Once I d finally gathered them into a ball, I took them to the laundry room, accidentally slamming the bedroom door behind me.

What the hell, Vivian?

I didn t answer. I could see Mitch s memoir now: I Blame My Wife for All of My Crappy Decisions. There d be an entire chapter called What the Hell, Vivian?

I would not be buying his memoir, seeing as I d already lived a good chunk of it, not that my devotion mattered in the least to him. Instead, I focused on getting clean sheets from the linen closet. I closed and locked the bedroom door behind me, carefully and methodically putting the new sheets on, even though changing out sheets was easier with two people.

Of course, lots of things were easier with two people, but I was going to have to navigate them as a singleton. A memory of my mother s mantra-one she probably should ve listened to herself-came to me unbidden: Better to be alone than to be with the wrong person.

Once I d put on fresh sheets, I lay down on my side of the bed, then scooted to the middle to take up as much room as humanly possible. Just as I was falling into a fitful sleep, someone knocked on the door.

I got up with a yawn and opened the door a crack to look at my confused husband.

What are you doing? he asked.

Well, I was sleeping.

What were you doing earlier?

Changing the sheets.

I see that. Why?

I could tell him lots of things. I could tell him that he smelled. I could tell him I was eliminating all blue from the house. In the end, I chose the truth. They smell like you.

He leaned back with a small smile. So you do still like me?

I laughed even as tears pricked at my eyes. No, Mitch, I don t like you at all right now. But I still love you. Too bad you don t feel the same way about me.

Hey, he said in that low, calming voice as he put a hand to my cheek and brushed away a tear with his thumb. It doesn t have to be like this.

My heart lurched. All thoughts of Vivian 2.0 flew out the window.

We can still sleep together, he said with a shrug and that crooked smile I used to find so endearing. We are married after all.

The blood in my veins turned to ice. Are you hitting on me?

Well, you know, he said as he tugged at a spaghetti strap. I ve always liked you in that little pajama set.

I swallowed hard. I was wearing one of my only pairs of matching pajamas, a satiny tank top with matching shorts.

I could sleep with him, prove to him that I wasn t a cold, dead fish.

We were, in fact, still married.

Maybe sex with Mitch might even change his mind since he had been complaining about it two days ago. Had it really been only two days? It felt as though I d lived a thousand lifetimes. At least, I was tired enough to have done so.

Come on, Viv. I ll even go back to the guest room afterward.

Go back to the guest room?

My brain caught up to my heart. So, you re saying that we have sex, but we re still getting a divorce?

He grinned. My voice had come out husky, and he mistook my anguish for an attempt at being sultry. That s it! Now you re getting it.

My heart didn t break. No, that would be too easy. Instead, my chest burned as if Mitch had administered a hundred paper cuts to the organ and then doused it in lemon juice.

Oh, I understand perfectly, I said.

He leaned closer.

I understand that you want to have your cake and eat it, too. That nothing would fuel your ego more than sleeping with two women at once.

Wait-

Go screw yourself, Mitchell.

I closed the bedroom door in his face.

There s not another woman!

I let him tell it to the door.