A Conflicted Woman

by T. B. Markinson

  Then the memories of Drunk Meg killed that desire.

  I didn’t know if she had chutzpah for coming here as if she’d never blackmailed me, or sold herself, or if she’d blocked out all the memories to survive. Kinda like how I had weeks earlier to survive teaching.

  I fidgeted in my seat, knowing I resembled a first grader who didn’t prep for show and tell. Finally, I said, “It’s okay—”

  She shook her head adamantly. “No, don’t. It wasn’t okay. What I did. The things I said. How I treated you. My behavior. None of it was okay.”

  Maybe she remembered some of it, then. I focused on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

  “Not a day goes by without thinking of you.” She spoke to her folded hands in her lap.

  I couldn’t see her face, but I took the opportunity to note the normal skin pallor of her forehead. Not booze-soaked and splotchy. Her blonde hair had a shine. Her V-neck sweater hugged her curves, instead of hanging limply. “You look good—better, I mean.”

  “I’m trying.” She met my eyes.

  “I’m glad.” I rested on my forearms. “Really, Meg. I want the best for you.” As long as you stay away from me and my family.

  The left side of her mouth tugged up. “Thanks. I’m happy everything is going so well for you. I never thought you’d have kids, though.”

  I cracked a smile. It was hard not to with the mention of Ollie and Freddie. “Neither did I back… then.” When I’d barely started my graduate program and was naïve, making me easy pickings for the likes of Con Artist Meg.

  “I’d like to meet them. And Sarah.” She added, “Officially.”

  Like that was ever going to happen. I’d rather have Mussolini over for tea. “Sure, sure,” I said in the placating tone I’d used with her many times in the past.

  Meg, naturally, picked up on it. She rose. “Thanks for listening. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

  I rushed around the desk and reached for the door handle, relieved to end the meeting. “Nor you, I imagine.” I hoped she understood her old power was useless without me coming out and saying that. I’d moved on with Sarah and the twins and nothing she said or did could help her weasel her way back in.

  Meg stood inches from me, staring into my eyes like she had a thousand other things she wanted to say. Then a curtain came down over her face. “Bye, Lizzie.”

  “Bye, Meg.” My tone was resolute, and I mentally high-fived myself, following it up with a celebratory spike of the football in the end zone.

  She left. Closing the door, I rested my forehead against the wood, completely zapped of positive energy.

  “Was your day that bad?” Sarah asked immediately upon my entrance into the kitchen.

  “What? No.” I set my bag on the barstool. “How goes the battle with the twinks?”

  “Battle is an appropriate word choice today.” Sarah jerked her head upward. “Bailey is giving them their bath.”

  “Should I even ask why so early?” I glanced at my watch. Didn’t Bailey have Scientology class? Although, I was 99.98 percent sure that wasn’t the name of the course.

  “It involved an art and food project gone awry. Let’s leave it at that. Do you want to shower before going out?”

  I sniffed my armpit. “Trying to tell me something?”

  “Looks like you could use alone time, and that’s really the only place in our house for privacy these days.”

  “You know, I’ll take you up on your offer.” I kissed her cheek.

  In the bathroom, I pulled my phone out of my left pocket and realized I’d forgotten to turn it back on after my last lecture. After flipping it on, I put it on the counter and then rummaged the walk-in closet for a clean pair of jeans, a shirt, and a sweater.

  Outfit selected, I hopped into the shower. Sarah was right. This was exactly what I needed. The hot water streamed over me, doing its best to obliterate the weirdness pinging throughout my body.

  The shower door opened.

  “I was hoping you’d join me.” I turned around, and my smile fell when I spied Sarah’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  Sarah held up my phone. “You got a message.”

  “And?” I swiped water droplets from my forehead. Sarah wasn’t the type to read my texts or emails, nor was I one to keep them from her.

  “I caught a glimpse of the name when it lit up.”

  I rinsed conditioner out of my hair, massaging my scalp, my mini-version of Cloud Nine. “Who was it?”

  She waited for me to shut off the water so I could hear the name. “Meg.”

  My entire body went cold despite the steam swirling around. Drying off my face, I wrapped a towel around my body and stepped out. “She stopped by my office today.” I added, “She’s on step nine,” to explain what I still didn’t fully understand. While part of me could see the purpose of instructing an addict to say sorry to those they’d hurt, as a way of realizing the magnitude of their actions, the other part didn’t like the addict tracking down loved ones after they had, hopefully, healed their wounds inflicted by said addict. Did they, whoever they were, realize it was putting the innocent in a terrible predicament by accepting an apology and likely opening the door to becoming a crutch to keep the addict clean and sober?

  It was beyond selfish, and frankly typical of Meg, which worried me more than I wanted to admit. Meg’s addiction wasn’t solely booze. Adoration also fueled her. When she couldn’t achieve that, she turned to terrorizing to keep subjects under her spell. Time to reread Machiavelli’s sixteenth century political treatise The Prince as guidance. Meg was more Machiavellian than the author.

  “And you didn’t think to tell me?” Sarah staggered back a step.

  “I was going to after dinner. I promise.” I pressed my palms together like I was praying for absolution.

  Sarah’s expression wavered from angry to believing me and then back to angry. “What’s step nine?”

  “Telling people sorry or something. It’s part of her recovery.” Perhaps step nine didn’t really exist or it was meant to be handled differently. I needed to look into that.

  “Is she back in Colorado for good?” She leaned against the counter with her arms folded over her chest.

  “Boulder, according to the office grapevine.”

  Sarah inhaled deeply and released it. “I don’t like it.”

  That makes two of us. “Did you want to hop in?” I gestured to the shower.

  “I—” She looked to the shower and then back at me, her shoulders slumping. “Why didn’t you call me after it happened?”

  I sighed. “It literally occurred less than an hour ago. I didn’t call because I wanted to tell you in person.” I put a hand on each of her shoulders.

  “Because you knew I’d be upset?”

  “No—”

  “You don’t think I should be upset that the woman who tormented you is back?”

  I lumbered back a step and showed my palms. “That’s not what I meant. Not at all. It was the last thing I expected today, and… I needed time to process.” I shrugged. “I’m sorry you found out this way.”

  Seeming somewhat mollified, she said, “I don’t trust her.”

  I snorted. “Join the club.”

  “How do you feel?” Kindness seeped into her eyes.

  “Cold.” I raised my arms to show her the goose bumps.

  Sarah started to speak but released a soul-cleansing sigh. “Fine. Get dressed for dinner, but we aren’t done with this conversation.” She gnashed her teeth.

  Dealing with an angry Sarah, given her irrationality as of late, was one of the last things I needed to juggle on top of the Meg bombshell.

  Although, Sarah had helped me through the situation before. Would it be prudent to let her in and admit this was beyond my personal survival skills?

  I squirted lotion, which was jasmine with a hint of cedarwood, into my hands and placed my right foot on Sarah’s makeup chair. “It was strange, you know? Seeing Meg… after everything. And she acted…
I don’t know, like everything was normal. I mean, she was nervous, but at the same time, she wasn’t.” I repeated the lotion routine with my other leg. “I’m not doing the meeting justice. I wish you’d been there. You’re better at picking these things apart.” It’d played over and over in my head for the past sixty minutes, yet I couldn’t find the words to let Sarah in completely. Not because I didn’t want to. Nor because of the Troy situation.

  Maybe I was embarrassed that Meg still had some kind of power over me, Independent Lizzie. In the past, she had blackmailed me for money. Now that she was looking for a teaching gig, she still held something over my head. I never wanted my colleagues to learn the truth about our relationship. The blackmail or Meg’s methods of making money to support her habit, which would be embarrassing for her if that got out, but there was a nagging thought Meg might not see it that way. She excelled at playing the victim and laying all blame at my feet.

  Sarah bobbed her head, unusually quiet.

  “Talk to me.” I slipped on a pair of plain cotton panties.

  “I don’t know what to think, really. I thought you—we were done with Meg.”

  It wasn’t like I could control or stop Meg from seeking me out, but from the fire in Sarah’s eyes, it didn’t seem pertinent to bring that up. I laughed nervously, which wasn’t the right emotion to express, while putting on a matching bra. “I am. It’s not like I requested the meeting. And the way she put it, as part of her recovery… and Dr. Marcel and Janice had already spoken to her. What could I say?”

  “Do you still love her?”

  Love, no. Was I conflicted? A thousand times yes. Was it evil of me to wish I’d never see Meg again? Not that I wanted her to get mowed down by a bus, but couldn’t she set up her new life far away from me? Like Mars? Or, were there any experiments, like the Biosphere, I could nominate her for? Sealing her off with a handful of people to test the practicality of settling on different planets or the moon even? Maybe it was time to foster alliances with science professors.

  Right now, though, Sarah needed reassurance. She’d been my rock for so long. It was my turn to shoulder everything. “I’m in love with you.” I took her hands in mine. “Our life together. The twinkies. Sarah, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.” I so wanted that to be true.

  “I… I’m sorry.” She rested her head against my shoulder. “I’m not myself these days.”

  I kissed the top of her head. “Take your own advice. Hop in the shower. Let the news wash off. Hot water does wonders for the soul.”

  We almost literally bumped into Dr. Marcel and his wife outside the glass doors of the Vietnamese restaurant.

  “Imagine meeting you here,” Dr. Marcel joked, dropping his wife’s hand to greet us.

  “I secretly hoped the babysitter wouldn’t show up, forcing you to bring the twins.” Mrs. Marcel pulled Sarah into a comforting hug. “You look like you need a break, though.”

  Dr. Marcel air-kissed both sides of Sarah’s cheeks. “If your two are anything like our boys…” He left the rest unsaid, a trend I’d started to notice loving parents used when not wanting to bad mouth their own flesh and blood.

  Inside, the lights were dim, making the large and colorful fish tank pop into view. Green vine-like plants resided in the corner with a trickling waterfall and small pond. Several people were squeezed onto the bench off to the side of the entrance, probably waiting for a table.

  The hostess offered a warm smile, and Sarah supplied her name for the reservation. The woman promptly escorted us to the table. “Anything to drink?”

  “Wine. Loads,” Sarah said, coupled with a joking smile.

  The wine list was offered to Sarah, who immediately handed it off to Dr. Marcel with the usual you know better reason.

  “He likes to think he’s an expert, but his method involves selecting the third most expensive,” Mrs. Marcel said behind her hand, although she’d spoken loud enough for all to hear.

  “It hasn’t let us down yet,” he defended with a gleam in his eyes.

  “Lizzie goes for the most expensive,” Sarah offered.

  Dr. Marcel perked up in his seat. “Wait until the twins get older. The bills really start to stack up.”

  I groaned. “Maybe my boss will take pity on me and give me a raise.”

  Dr. Marcel pointed out his selection to the waiter who had stepped in for the hostess, before saying, “Wish I could, but our budget was slashed for the fifth straight year. Soon, computers will be teaching history courses, robots will take over administrative tasks, scheduling, serving coffee…” He motioned that the list went on and on. “Have you considered teaching an online course?”

  “Not an appropriate dinner conversation when trying to entertain parents of young twins on a rare night of freedom.” Mrs. Marcel admonished her husband with a finger wag.

  “We dissect the effects of war on societies for a living. You really expect Lizzie and I to have an upbeat conversation?” Dr. Marcel offered a teasing smile.

  Sarah and Mrs. Marcel locked eyes. “Maybe we should guide the conversation,” Sarah said.

  “Fine with me.” I brushed my hands, showing my relief. “I have to talk for a living.”

  Both spouses rolled their eyes.

  “Careful, Lizzie. I think they’re on to us.” Dr. Marcel sipped his water.

  “The pretending you’re exhausted from working and shouldn’t be expected to do anything else?” Mrs. Marcel arched a thin eyebrow.

  Sarah and I exchanged a smile. Many times, we’d commented on how we wanted to be like the Marcels. Playful, loving, and honest.

  “Woman!” was all Dr. Marcel had.

  Mrs. Marcel turned to me. “What’s new with you, Lizzie?”

  I wondered if Sarah had alerted Mrs. Marcel via text about the Meg bombshell as a test. Normally, she’d reach out to Maddie and her mom, but Rose was out of the question at the moment, leaving me to wonder if she’d reached out to a different mom-like figure for guidance.

  I went for it. “I did have an interesting meeting today. With Meg.”

  Sarah’s face hardened.

  “She finally got a hold of you,” Dr. Marcel said, showing zero indication of his true feelings.

  I nodded, chancing a stealthy peek at my wife, who seemed to be frozen in time, and from the static expression on her face, I was in for a very long night of explaining and reassuring.

  “And?” Mrs. Marcel asked, eyes wide.

  “It was okay, I guess.” I recrossed my legs. “Weird, actually.”

  “I hear she’s speaking at the conference in Boulder next month,” Dr. Marcel said. “It’s good she’s focusing on work.”

  “Aren’t you slotted to speak at CU next month?” Sarah asked me in a confrontational tone.

  I swallowed. “I’ll need to check my calendar, but I think you’re right.” Why oh why didn’t I just confirm right then and there? I hadn’t known Meg would be speaking, but fluffing the simple question made it appear like I did. If I could palm-slap myself without drawing more ire from Sarah, I would have. Possibly hard enough to knock myself out. I channeled my therapist: Sneaky Lizzie would only complicate the hell out of this situation, and it was already mired with land mines.

  Mrs. Marcel honed in on Sarah’s anger, her face registering support. “Frank will be there.” She said it as if I needed a guardian. The Marcels didn’t know the whole story, but I’m sure they gleaned enough to realize Meg was bad news. Like when Hitler marched into Poland, unleashing World War II.

  “You’ve always wanted to see me in action. Maybe this is a good time to come,” I offered to my wife as a peace offering.

  Sarah didn’t commit, but I could practically see her brain kicking into action, determining who could watch the kids all day on a Saturday. Bailey typically didn’t work on the weekends, and if Sarah asked her mom, that would involve Troy.

  “What’s your topic?” Dr. Marcel asked, and Mrs. Marcel didn’t attempt to derail the comfort of a safe conversation.


  The waiter returned to take our orders. After glancing at the menu, I selected pork dumplings as a starter and lemon chicken with steamed rice. Sarah opted for crab cheese wontons and lemongrass salmon.

  While the Marcels ordered, I reached for Sarah’s hand under the table. Knowing why I was reassuring her, she gazed at me with the look that had made me fall in love with her so many years ago. If Meg messed this up for me, I would…

  After the waiter left, Mrs. Marcel turned to Sarah. “Are the twins talking your ears off yet?”

  Take note, Lizzie. When in doubt, bring up the safest of conversations.

  “Ollie is saying mama like a pro now, along with a few other words. Fred seems to be taking his time saying more than no.” Sarah’s shoulders relaxed and her eyes twinkled. “Lizzie is praying he’s holding out to say something that will instantly qualify him for Mensa.”

  “I am not.” I feigned being indignant, but she wasn’t too far off the mark. I figured Freddy was holding back for a reason.

  Ignoring me, she continued. “She loves to repeat words. Slow-ly.”

  “I’m sensing sar-casm,” I mocked, much relieved Sarah was willing to put the conference kerfuffle aside for the sake of the dinner.

  The Marcels laughed, and conversation broke off into Sarah and Mrs. Marcel discussing twin stuff while Dr. Marcel and I veered into work talk.

  “Well, this is a surprise,” a voice said behind Sarah and me.

  From the way Sarah flinched, it wasn’t a welcome one. Dutifully, Sarah stood and said, “Mom, how lovely to bump into you.” She neglected to address Troy, who was standing right next to Rose.

  Inwardly, I winced over Sarah’s formal manner, so unlike the way she usually acted around Rose.

  Dr. Marcel, ever the gentleman, got to his feet and greeted Rose with his sophisticated but easygoing kisses. Had he picked up the trait while living in Europe?

  All eyes were on Troy, and I expected Rose to introduce him, but she focused her attention on Sarah. Was this the Cavanaugh version of High Noon? It was hard to imagine an Old West shootout in a stylish Vietnamese restaurant with a large mural of three ladies in colorful full-length dresses and white cone hats carrying baskets, but stranger things have happened, especially lately.