Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 16

I couldn t figure out a good way to make a video about getting my Homeowners Association Badge, so I resurrected my blog and wrote about it. Then I made a video about my blog, which had to be the most twenty-first-century thing to ever twenty-first century.

When my phone rang, I almost ignored it but picked up when I saw that it was Dylan wanting to FaceTime.

A bit late, isn t it, Buddy Bear?

Do you have to call me that? he asked. His scowl was half smile, so I could tell he didn t really mind.

As that great philosopher Mariah Carey once said, you will Always Be My Baby. Are you doing better?

I was going to ask about you, Mom.

Don t worry about me. Let me worry about you.

He paused, a longer pause, the kind of pause that preceded something very bad or very good.

I got a B plus on my last paper, he said with a small smile.

Good work! See, you re going to do it.

And I might have asked a cute girl out on a date.

His announcement had the same effect as a ball-peen hammer to the sternum. I bit my tongue to keep from saying things like, Run! Don t believe in true love! Don t be an ass like your father! Instead, I said, That s great!

Mom, come on.

No, really, Dylan. And you have to believe me, or I ll talk to you about the birds and the bees.

Please don t.

Okay, then I ll have to trust you to be very careful with your heart. And other things.

Mom!

Always use a condom. Check the date, too.

Mom!

I m done now.

We stewed in the awkward silence that was mother and son talking about the possibility of sex, that space where responsible parenting dictated I remind him about pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases, even though neither of us wanted to acknowledge the other even knew what sex was. The whole thing was all the more mortifying by virtue of the fact that he d overheard my conversation with his father. I would make a video about awarding myself the Birds and the Bees Badge, except there was no way I d embarrass the child any more than I already had.

I was mainly calling to ask if you d gotten any interview requests.

No, you were mainly calling to tell me about the girl and the B plus, and these interview requests were a dandy excuse.

I got a lot of interview requests. Why?

On Monday right after I called you, my public-relations professor assigned a project where I had to use both social media and traditional media as promotion tools. I called radio stations and other news outlets, even looked into Instagram influencers. I found a makeover contest and sent in your video as an entry.

You did what? Maybe the interview requests weren t a dandy excuse. Maybe my son had unwittingly capitalized on a viral tweet and helped shove me into the limelight. At least it explained how all those radio stations had gotten my phone number.

It s this company called Busy Mom Cosmetics. I got your video in just on time. Oh, and I made a meme and a couple of GIFs. Some of them really took off.

I gritted my teeth at the thought of the chicken salad meme that was now being parodied with about a hundred other things that were ah-mazing. As for the GIF? I was about two steps away from using it to describe my situation, except that would be rather meta.

I don t know what to say.

How about, Thank you for getting me lots of exposure ? His facial expression reminded me of Dylan the four-year-old who d created an entire crayon mural on the wall in the hall. I d been torn between complimenting his artistry and wanting to tan his hide for drawing on the wall after I d specifically asked him not to.

Oh, Dylan. I guess I should simply say thank you.

Two birds with one stone, Mom! He sagged in relief. I needed something to do for my project, you need the monetization from your YouTube channel-

But I thought you hated that video!

It s growing on me now that I got extra credit for getting chicken salad to trend on X.

Uh-huh. As long as that s the only extra credit you re getting.

Mom. Please don t talk about sex ever again.

Fair. You be responsible, and we won t have to.

Mom!

Dylan, I echoed.

Anyway, so Good Morning America might be calling.

Dylan Harvey, what have you done?

That imp, my firstborn-my only born-started making static sounds as if I couldn t see him. Shhh. Sorry, Mom, you re sshhh breaking up. Ssh. Gotta go! Ssh. Love you!

And then he hung up on me.

I went over to my YouTube channel and almost fainted from the numbers. Subscribers were up, views were way up. About two and a half million views. Yes, my views were in the millions .

And the comments?

Nope. Not about to read the comments.

But what was I going to do? I couldn t make another video about how my husband was leaving me. Lord willing, I would never have to go through my husband leaving me ever again.

Okay, fine. The comments.

I told myself I wasn t looking for another comment from OneBadMother49, but my sigh of relief upon not seeing anything from him-or her?-suggested otherwise. I tried to ignore the nastier comments and focus on the people who took me seriously when I asked what badge I should earn next:

The Kiss My Ass Badge? Eh, it would be logistically difficult to pull off.

The Tattoo Badge? Nah. I still hadn t decided what artwork I wanted to live with forever.

Karaoke Badge? Never.

At the thought of singing by myself, my hands grew clammy and my pulse sped up.

Wait. Wasn t a part of this project doing things that made me grow?

If so, that s the thing you need to do, Vivian.

The next night I decided to spring my idea on the group during Wine Down Wednesday. I dragged my camp chair out to the cul-de-sac early. Mitch had returned home whistling, and I didn t want to be anywhere near him. I was hoping Abi, Rachel, Mom, and I could brainstorm ways to make his life uncomfortable, but first I wanted help with tomorrow night s project: Ladies Night at Sal s Singalong.

Mom came out next with a smile that was entirely too smug.

What did you do? I asked.

Nothing.

Oh, you did something.

I took advantage of your not being in the house to revisit my years-ago chat with Mitchell.

And?

Nothing to note at this time. This story is still developing.

I opened my mouth to ask more, but Abi was headed down the driveway with her camp chair slung over one shoulder and a manila folder in her hand.

I swallowed hard. God, I hated manila folders.

Hold this, she said, handing me the folder while she set up her chair.

Is this? I asked, a boulder of a lump now in my throat.

Yep.

I started to open the folder.

Mom put her hand on mine. Just wait for the wine.

Glad you could join us tonight, Heidi, Abi said to my mom.

Glad that you ll let this old lady hang out with you.

Abi chuckled. Now, Heidi. You aren t old.

My fingers itched to open the folder, but Mom s advice was sound. Per usual, the person who brought the wine was tardy. Might as well broach my other subject matter. So I had an idea for my next badge, and I would like for all of you to join me.

Oh Lord, Abi said. Do I want to know?

Karaoke.

Both Mom and Abi looked at me as if I d lost my mind.

Look, I m actually going to call it the Spreading My Wings Badge because karaoke is something I ve always been too scared to do. So I m going to try it.

Vivian, I m not sure that s a good idea, Mom said.

Of course she would say that.

Mom forged ahead, oblivious to my irritation. I seem to remember that you spent the entire Grease audition crushing my hand and tapping your foot and then threw up afterward.

My face flushed hot. No need to remind me.

When the drama teacher suggested that you play Sandy, you ran to the bathroom to hide because you didn t want to tell her no, but you were scared half to death to do it.

Mom. I was sixteen. I m older now. Can you just support me on this? My words came out harsher than I d intended because I didn t need her to embarrass me in front of my friends. They didn t know about painfully shy teenage Vivian. They didn t know that, in some ways, I owed my father a thank-you note because his not showing up that night eventually gave me a new attitude: no need to avoid things because I was afraid of his opinion.

And Mom should ve figured that out by now.

Fine, she said softly. I ll go.

I turned to Abi.

Nope.

Abi, please. I know you can sing.

She picked up her knitting from her bag. Of course I can sing. That doesn t mean I want to do it in front of complete strangers.

What if I get a private room?

She sighed deeply and paused in her knitting, obviously weighing her love for me against this thing she did not want to do. If it s a private room, then I ll at least go. As long as Zeke can stay home with the boys.

Odd. They were old enough to fend for themselves, but whatever.

Where are we going? asked Rachel as she approached with her chair.

Karaoke tomorrow night! I said, my spirits buoyant at this thing I was going to do for myself.

Cool! I ll go.

I loved Rachel so much in that moment. I loved her even more when she produced the wine. Everyone brought out their personalized tumblers. I had a regular stemless wineglass for Mom, although I was planning to order her a signature Mom Scout tumbler tomorrow.

We nibbled on Cheez-Its and drank wine, enjoying the crisp October air. My fingers played with the edge of the folder. Finally, I said, I suppose I should get this over with.

Abi nodded.

I opened the folder to see a picture of my husband and one of his receptionists, both wearing scrubs and walking hand in hand. Wait.

Let me see that! Rachel said. She snatched the picture from me and muttered a stream of words in Malayalam.

She d had the same epiphany only seconds after I did: my husband was having an affair with her younger sister, Tabitha.

I looked down at the second picture in the stack, one of Mitch kissing Tabitha. The third was even worse: their foreheads were touching, and they gazed into each other s eyes as if no one else in the world existed.

I ve seen enough, I said, closing the folder.

I haven t! Rachel said as she took the folder from me. I can t believe her!

I could.

I remembered only too well the time Tabitha needed a job. Mitch had hired her, even though she didn t have any qualifications. He d said, She only has to answer the phone and put appointments in the calendar. I m sure she can handle that. I ll teach her the rest.

And that was that. I thought my husband was bending over backward to help out our neighbor s family. Apparently, he d decided to help himself somewhere along the way.

Rachel looked up at me with agony in her eyes. Vivian, I m so sorry. I didn t know. I would ve never-

It s not your fault, I said.

I ll talk to her.

Don t.

I held out my hand for the folder. I didn t know exactly what I would do with it yet. Part of me wanted to run into the house and scream and rant and throw the pictures in Mitch s face right then. But another part of me said, Wait. Bide your time. Let him think he s so slick.

And, honestly, I was too tired for another screaming match.

So can I expect that hundred dollars from our bet now or later? Mom asked.

I closed my eyes as I remembered her words: I ll bet you a hundred bucks right here and now that there is another woman.

Then I laughed at the absurdity of it all. One glance at Mom s twinkling eyes, and I could see that had been her intention all along.

But damn I hated it when she was right.

Before we could bring the conversation to another topic, George appeared with Rucker. Hello, ladies!

Hey, George, we all said.

Oh, I see there s a fourth lady!

This is my mom, Heidi, I said.

A pleasure, George said. What are we drinking this evening?

Tonight, since we have Vivian s mom with us, I broke out something special: a Freemark Abbey cabernet that we should probably be pairing with steak, Rachel said.

George held out his Solo cup, gratefully accepted a pour, and took a sip. Delightful. As always.

Thanks. Rachel preened a little. She deserved it since she always did a good job with her wine selections.

Any news? asked Abi as she returned to knitting a multicolor scarf.

Well, you already know about Harriet so-

Harriet? Abi and Rachel said in unison. Then they both looked at me.

Look, if you really wanted to know, then you would ve gone to the HOA meeting, I said.

George got them up to speed on Harriet s reappearance and then excused himself because-and no surprise to any of us, really-Dawn was headed our way.

What s up with Harriet? Mom asked.

Well, she and her husband had a nasty divorce, Abi started.

I winced.

Sorry, Viv.

It is what it is. Carry on.

Anyway, she was also trying to homeschool her son and got frustrated with his math homework-

And no doubt life , added Rachel.

So she set a fire in the backyard. It started with her son s math textbook and then became a bonfire of her husband s possessions.

Then Dawn, her next-door neighbor, called 911.

Abi and Rachel looked at each other.

Then what happened? asked Mom.

The whole thing was blown out of proportion, Abi said. Harriet had to pay a fine and was placed on probation. Her husband had a better lawyer, so he ended up getting custody of the kids. We all thought Harriet had moved out. No clue how she managed to keep the house or why she even wanted to.

I had some idea, but I kept my feelings to myself-especially since there was Dawn Crawford with her lacquered hair walking up Oregon Trail.

She paused in front of us looking from covered cup to covered cup until her eyes took in Mom s open glass.

Don t start, I said softly when she opened her mouth. It s been a week. I m about one crisis away from turning into Harriet.

She cringed at the mention of the name, then her shoulders fell. She had to know that we would all vote for the supposed arsonist before we d vote for her.

I don t even know why I bother, she said in a small voice.

You try too hard, Abi said matter-of-factly. Have a handful of Cheez-Its and a little wine. You ll feel better.

For a second I thought she would take us up on the offer, but instead she walked away. Her gait this time lacked its usual speed and vigor.

I feel a little sorry for her, Rachel said once she was out of earshot.

I don t, said Abi. You reap what you sow.

Does her hair ever move? Mom asked.

No, the three of us said in unison. For some reason our answering in sync struck me as funny. I laughed until I cried, even though it wasn t that funny.

If only I could stay in this moment forever, but no. Tomorrow I had to talk with my lawyer.