Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 13

Thank goodness for all the cleaning I d done on Thursday. With Mom arriving that afternoon I needed only her essentials: clean sheets on Dylan s bed, her favorite coffee, and a new bottle of Jack Daniel s for her nightcap.

Could I change the locks? Mom could answer that question, but if I thought too long about the impending divorce, then I might break down. I would have to do something I d often watched my mother do: put all my feelings into the mental drawer I d thought about earlier. At the rate I was going, I would have an entire mental chest of drawers. Maybe I could compartmentalize all my emotions and deal with different drawers on different days.

Next, I would figure out how much money I had and how much money I needed-that included deciding whether I wanted to ignore the views and comments on my video or to wade through the bad to get to the good.

Vivian, I know who you really are. Be careful.

Nope. Wasn t going to think about that. Probably someone messing with me so they could take up headspace, but my mental chest of drawers, my emotional chifforobe if you will, was full, thank you very much.

Back to business.

I d already made an appointment with a lawyer, but she hadn t been able to see me quite as quickly as I d hoped.

Finally, once I was sure the divorce was proceeding as it ought, then-and only then-would I go back to my mental chest of drawers and start examining its contents.

At 4:31 p.m., I flopped on the couch for a well-deserved rest. Exactly one minute later the doorbell rang. I sat frozen. I had wanted Mom to come, but now what? Now I d have to admit some things I didn t want to admit.

She rapped on the door lightly, and I stood to answer it. We looked at each other through the glass. Finally, I reached for the storm-door latch and gestured her in.

She put her bag down and wrapped me up in a hug I hadn t known I needed. Tears spilled down my cheeks in spite of my vow to put every last feeling away.

It s all going to be okay, she said, her words as comforting as her Chanel No. 5.

How do you know? I asked.

She chuckled. I know lots of things you ve never thought to ask.

I pulled Mom out to arm s length. She was just a hair shorter than the last time we d seen each other.

Of course, I probably was, too.

Her hair now had more salt than pepper, but she still wore it in a chic short cut that screamed efficiency along with her sweater set and designer jeans.

Maybe Mitch left because I didn t do as good a job of keeping myself up.

Or maybe Mitch left because he was an asshole, Mom said.

How did you . . . ?

Baby, I can see the question on your face. You ve never been much for poker.

Interesting words considering I d thought the same thing earlier.

Mom led me to the dining room table. Come on, let s go ahead and talk this over so we can make a plan and do what we need to do to make you feel better.

I kinda have a plan.

Oh, she said as she took a bottle of Jack Daniel s from her purse.

Guess I hadn t needed to buy a bottle after all. Oh well, I d also treated myself to some bourbon.

Wait. I thought you said to never drink my feelings!

This is for medicinal purposes, carefully dosed to take the edge off, she said as she disappeared into the kitchen to get a couple of highball glasses. Besides, that was me hoping you would do as I said and not as I actually did.

Mom!

What?

I watched you pour liquor down the sink on more than one occasion.

Yes, that was because I had been drinking my feelings and needed to get it together in order to take care of you. We ll pour your liquor down the sink if we have to, too.

My mouth opened and closed. I couldn t have been more surprised if Mom had pulled a coatrack out of her bag like some kind of Divorce Mary Poppins.

Once we each had a finger of Jack, Mom sat down beside me at the table and said, Okay, tell me everything.

I told her about the papers, about our argument, about how Dylan heard the argument and saw the world s least sexy striptease. I told her about the video and how Mitch tore up the house in a search for my laptop. She said nothing, only nodding and sipping, nodding and sipping.

Well, he s right that you can t kick him out.

My shoulders sagged, and I took a swig of Jack, then coughed as it burned its way down my throat.

But you re right that we can make life so unpleasant for him that he may choose to move out. Here s my question: How far are you willing to go?

As far as it takes.

She arched an eyebrow and looked at me over her highball glass. Based on the twinkle in her eyes, I might regret having said that. Who was this woman?

And these papers?

I went to get the papers so she could look over them. She took out a pair of reading glasses and, without looking up from what she was reading, asked, Who s he sleeping with?

He says no one.

She looked up at me, her blue eyes ice cold. There s always another woman.

My shoulders slumped. Abi says she can find out. She s a private detective, you know.

Adultery doesn t mean much in Georgia, but it might be nice to surprise him with his own lies, Mom said.

I don t know why it felt better to believe that he wasn t sleeping around on me, but it did. But he said-

He said he d love and cherish you for the rest of your life, too. I was there, she said. Mark my words-there s always another woman.

She finished a page and flipped to the text. Unless there s another man.

What?

Leo.

Oh. Huh. Leo was the burly biker with all the tattoos. He was my favorite.

He comes over to play dominoes with his boyfriend sometimes, Mom said. Because he s the nicest of my ex-husbands.

How did I not know any of that?

Mom just looked at me.

Because I never call, I said.

Bingo.

She read the rest of the papers, her lips pursed enough to show fine lines. I tried not to fidget.

At long last she put the papers down and took off her glasses to look at me. Well, that s a load of horse crap. We definitely need to get you a lawyer.

I made an appointment with Paloma Carter.

Good choice, Mom said. But are you sure you don t want to meet with a few of the others?

I don t know anything. I m not sure about anything, I said.

She gazed at me as though she could find the answer if she stared long enough. So you would take him back?

I mean, if there s really not another woman . . .

There s another woman, Mom said.

But-

No buts, dear. I ll bet you a hundred bucks right here and now that there is another woman.

Mom-

I have it to spare. I got a prenup the last couple of times.

No arguments there.

Speaking of money, though, you re going to need to make sure that Mitch factors in Dylan s college costs. He may be over eighteen, but he is still that idiot s son.

Worst-case scenario I can use the money Daddy left me-

And you kept that money in a completely separate account? Mom asked me suddenly.

Yes, I promise I did. I don t know what the big deal is, but I did.

The big deal is that, as long as that money never went into a joint checking account, it s yours free and clear. Mitch doesn t have a claim to it, and you need a nest egg for your retirement. Mind you, you shouldn t touch that money unless you have to.

My mouth opened and closed at her genius. Did you know Mitch was going to leave me? Is that why you insisted I keep my inheritance separate?

Mom sighed. I actually hoped you might be the one to leave him. I could see the typical midlife shenanigans brewing.

Mom!

She reached across the table and grabbed my hand. I have tried to stay out of your business all these years. Even when I forgot my own advice and tried to meddle, you would hold me at arm s length.

You never liked Mitch.

She arched an eyebrow. I had my reasons.

Which are?

Mitch and I had a little chat about a week before you got married. She squeezed my hand, but the gesture didn t make me feel better.

I can t believe you! I drew my hand back and stood, pacing once more. If nothing else, all these extra steps might help me lose some of the extra weight that had found me after turning forty.

See, this is why I kept it to myself.

I did my yoga breathing: in three counts, hold three counts, out three counts. Even after a few repetitions, I was no closer to calm. Fine. What happened?

Well, first of all, he eagerly let me pay for his lunch. That s always a bad sign. I m not saying a man should always have to pay, but he was a young dentist and I was his future mother-in-law. He should ve tried a little harder.

He Should ve Tried a Little Harder: The Mitchell Quackenbush Story.

He was still in a lot of debt. The words left my mouth of their own accord, probably from all the years of defending Mitch.

That s what I surmised when he asked a few questions to sniff out whether or not we had any money.

A week ago I would ve been outraged, probably would ve kicked my mother out of the house for saying such a thing. Today, I let her go on. After all, what did I know about this man I d married?

I asked him to do one thing for me. Just one, she said, staring into space and shaking her head at the memory.

What?

I asked him to please make sure that you finished school and got your degree. He promised he would. Two months later you called me to say that you were dropping out of school to have the baby.

I swallowed hard. I d never had that baby. She d been my first miscarriage. When I d physically healed and thought it might be a good idea to go back to school, Mitch talked me into working as his receptionist instead. He said that way we could get rid of some of our debt and put more into the practice.

And that s why I jumped at the chance to have you buy the house with me instead of him. I wanted to make sure you were never without credit.

What?

But seriously . . . who was this woman? Had I really been such an awful daughter that she d had to sneak around to help me?

Mom sighed deeply. Look, I had to have my father cosign on my first bank account back in the early 70s. Then, after your father left me, I would ve gotten stuck with a higher mortgage rate if I hadn t been working in real estate and thus known the laws of the time. The last thing you want is to have no credit.

And here I d thought the last thing I wanted was a divorce.

Do you have your slush fund? she asked.

I nodded affirmatively.

How much?

Ten thousand.

Air hissed through her teeth. It s not great, but it could be so much worse. And you do have your father s money. How much do you owe on the house?

Less than a year s worth of payments, I said, a spot behind my left eye beginning to throb. I paced more to avoid the feeling of being interrogated.

After you meet with Paloma, we ll need to find you a job. I m not sure-

Mom. Do we have to do this right now?

You need my help, don t you?

Yes, but-

I couldn t find the words.

Okay, okay. That s enough for now, Mom said in a softer voice. We ll take a break.

She got up to hug me, and I leaned into her. If only I could be six for just a few minutes, then I would be small enough to fit in her lap and let her arms encompass my whole body.

Unless you d like for me to go through your financials and-

Mom, stop. Just be my mom, won t you?

How about you take a nap. She led me to bed, even handing me an eye mask to help me forget that it was broad daylight outside. Now, we re not going to do this every day.

Her tone of voice reminded me of the time we had cake for breakfast on the morning after my eleventh birthday. I said the same thing I said that day: I know, I know.

She kissed my forehead and left the room quietly.