by M. E. Carter
The moment is sweet, but short-lived when a venomous voice starts speaking next to me.
“Well, well, well. You just can’t stay away from the teeny weeny, can you?”
Taking a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable pissing match, I look over at Libby.
“Nice to see you again, Libby. I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Aputi. I hear he was a nice guy.”
Her eyes narrow at me as Peyton looks up. “’Puti here?” she asks.
“No, baby,” I say gently. “He’s at his house.”
“Oh.” She lays her head down on my shoulder, completely ignoring her mother. Sadly, Libby doesn’t even seem to notice. Either she’s had a whole lot more beer than I know, or she’s really pulled away from Peyton emotionally in the last year. The thought makes me sad. This precious girl deserves to be snuggled and loved and cherished. Now, more than ever, I’m grateful Greg sacrificed everything to be with his daughter. Between him and Aputi, it seems they were the only stable forces in this child’s life.
Well, except Joie, of course. If she’s as much of a busybody as Greg makes her out to be, she probably spoils her niece rotten.
“Yeah, it’s funny how my boyfriend and my ex got all chummy behind my back,” Libby spits out. “It doesn’t make for a very solid relationship with your man when he and your ex like each other better than they like you.”
Whoa. I think she just answered my question. She is way more drunk than I realized. The last time I met her, she was all about lobbing personal digs, not giving away personal feelings. No wonder Peyton would rather find comfort in me than go to her own mother.
“But it doesn’t matter,” she slurs. “It’s not like I want either of them anyway. Aputi was shit at oral. And you can have Greg’s teeny tiny pecker.”
Callie gasps next to me. I didn’t even hear her walk up. Her eyes catch mine, jaw wide open, and I know what she’s thinking… this bitch be crazy.
Trying to deflect, I do the only thing I can think.
“Libby, this is my best friend Callie. Callie, this is Libby. Peyton’s mom.” I widen my eyes slightly, shooting her a look that says she needs to be careful with her words around this one. Callie’s heard all the stories. She knows how unstable Libby is. I’m just not sure she expected personal insults to be flung in front of a three-year-old.
“Oh good,” Libby responds, “Another one of Greg’s whores. Are you banging him, too?”
It’s almost funny how insulting she’s trying to be, and failing at it. Especially because going up against Callie’s wit isn’t a smart idea when you’re sober.
“Nah. Elena gets all the banging,” she says, Libby following the wave of her hand. If she’s not careful, she’s going to fall over. “I use Greg for his handyman and parenting skills.”
Libby snorts and wavers a bit. Yeah, she’s going down soon if she doesn’t switch to water. I can only hope Peyton doesn’t see it when it happens.
“Handyman skills,” she spits out with a laugh. “Yeah, he’s good at nailing things. And I mean with something the size of a nail.” She raises her pinky, insulting Greg’s manhood once again, but before we can respond, the man in question shouts “Hey” from across the lawn.
He looks angry as he comes stalking up, and I take a step back when he stops right in front of Libby. “You were invited here as a courtesy only, not so you could start shit with my friends. So, you have two choices… you’re going to take your drunk ass back over there and park it next to your mother. Or you’re going to leave. What’s it going to be?”
“Pffft,” she spits out. “You can’t kick me out of my daughter’s birthday party.”
“Not if I don’t have to. But you are a guest in my home and if you can’t get it together, I will escort you out. So have a cup of coffee and sober up. You’re a mess.”
“Okkkaaaaay,” I singsong and turn to Callie, shifting Peyton into her arms. “Pey, why don’t you go with Callie. I bet she knows where Christopher is.”
“You do?” Peyton’s eyes are wide, as she latches right onto Callie like she never moved away and we’ve been here with her all along.
“I do,” I hear Callie coo when they walk away. “He’s having fun over here…”
Once they are safely out of ear shot, I turn back to see Greg and Libby still staring each other down. Libby is swaying again, but Greg isn’t backing down.
“Listen here, Pencil Dick.” She lets out a small burp before continuing. “No matter what you do, that is my daughter right there.” She waves in the exact opposite direction of where Callie took the tot. “How would it look if you kicked her mother out of her birthday party, hmm? You would look like the asshole that you are, so stop with the threats, ok? Now I’m gonna go hang out with my mom and our friends, and I would appreciate it if you don’t bother me again.” She turns, flipping her hair our direction and stumbles back over to the pop-up tent she was sitting under, dropping into the chair and toppling backwards to the ground.
Greg looks over at me, but I’m at a loss for words. The last thing I expected today was a drunk Libby pulling her passive aggressive bullshit in front of the entire neighborhood. Not only is it bad for the kids to see, it makes her look trashy. But it does clarify one thing for me.
This is why I’m afraid. This situation right here. As long as Libby is around and Greg can’t follow through with his threats, she stays in control.
And as long as she’s in control, it’s only a matter of time before Greg leaves and breaks my heart again.
Another week goes by faster than I can blink. I don’t remember time moving this quickly before I had a job. I don’t know if it’s because I’m so busy, or because the clock speeds up the closer I get to death. Either way, I swear time keeps moving faster.
Peyton’s party turned out to be relatively drama free after Libby sat back down. I guess she wasted her last bit of energy on that ugly scene, because she didn’t move from her chair the rest of the afternoon. Not to get another beer. Not to help Peyton open presents. Not to sing Happy Birthday. It was… weird.
As eye-opening as the party was in some ways, it helped others shift back to normal. It’s like Greg was reassured Callie and I have his back, which blew the lines of communication wide open. Now he and I text all day. We stop and chat in the yard. He came over to talk to me at the gym while Fiona was in her class. We laugh, and we give advice about parenting, and we have serious discussions. No topic is off limits. It’s like he never left.
Except the kissing part.
That still isn’t back to normal, and while my emotions are still hesitant to hand over that part of me to him again, my body is raring to go. It makes it hard to concentrate when he shows up in my spin class. Which he did again today. The bastard sat right behind me, knowing I was going to have to bend over the handle bars at some point. I strategically flipped him the bird during that part, making him laugh out loud, when he could barely breathe, which of course meant he lost his stride.
Serves him right.
Pulling into the parking space of our favorite park, the girls begin fighting over whose shoes are on the floor. Never mind that only one person has bare feet. Surely, that doesn’t mean those are Max’s shoes.
Yes, actually it does. But have you ever tried arguing logic with an almost four-year-old? It’s pointless. Instead, I keep her fully strapped down, while I put her shoes back on, the other two kids already off to the playground.
Finally getting her situated and putting her down, Max takes off running, yelling at the others to wait up. Until she sees Christopher. Then she purposely races past him, just inches away from running into him. As soon as he realizes it’s her, off they go together.
I wipe my brow like I’ve been in a wrestling match. Which I kind of have been. But it’s also just hot out here. I never thought I’d miss the days when we took that mommy and me class. A/C sounds good right about now.
I find Callie at our normal picnic table. With Deborah. I knew she was going
to be here today. As rude as she was last week, the more I thought about it, the more I realized Callie was probably right.
Deborah is at the very beginning stages of her new business. She admits to not having a lot of friends and like Callie said, she’s anxious about doing a good job. So if she wants us to tone it down a little during work hours and be a little more professional, I can do that without being a judgy bitch.
I mean, I won’t forget that it happened. But I can be the bigger person. In several ways. The skinny bitch.
Pasting a smile on my face, I greet them both. “Hey ladies.”
“Hi, Elena,” Deborah says with a smile. Callie waves a carrot stick at me while she chews. I never thought I’d see Callie eat a carrot, but it looks like her options are a bit limited.
The table is covered with brightly colored Tupperware containers, each filled with the exact right amount of different finger foods. There are carrots sitting next to some sort of dressing. No doubt it’s organic. Bite-sized cheeses. Black olives. Yet Deborah keeps bringing out more.
“Wow.” My eyes keep going back and forth across the table, noticing something new at every pass. Are those kale chips? “Did you really put in this much effort for us, Deborah?”
“It’s my turn to bring lunch, right?”
I half nod, half shrug. “Yeah, but you didn’t have to spend so much time. My kids would have been happy with peanut butter and jelly.”
She makes a face. “Do you know how many preservatives are in regular peanut butter? And how much refined sugar is in jelly? This is much more healthy.”
“Well, I’m impressed. Thank you.”
She smiles brightly at me again, only this time she looks a little embarrassed as well. “I know it looks crazy, but Trevor is my only child, ya know? I just want to do it right.”
“And you don’t think chicken nuggets are doing it right?” I inquire, leaning forward on the table, Callie still munching away.
Deborah gathers all the lids and stacks them neatly in the bottom of her matching tote bag. “It’s not that. I feel like there are so many toxins we’re exposed to—pollution and chemicals and medications. If I can remove some of that by eating organic, it makes me feel better about giving him medication.”
“When you phrase it that way, it doesn’t sound crazy at all,” I admit. “It actually sounds really smart.”
She’s beaming now and I get the strange feeling she doesn’t get praised very often. Maybe I was right to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe.
“I didn’t know Trevor was on meds,” Callie finally pipes up, snatching a few purple grapes from a different container.
“Oh, he’s not.” She pulls out some brightly colored cloth napkins, placing them in a neat pile on the table. “But it’s inevitable that he will be someday. I guess I’m being proactive.”
A mass of dark, springy curls runs by at that moment yelling, “Hi, Lena! Bye, Lena!” as, who I assume is Peyton, sprints to the playground, making me laugh. I look around and see Greg meandering toward us, hands in his pockets.
“What’s Peyton doing here?” He sits down next to me on the bench and kisses me on the top of the head. “Isn’t this Libby’s weekend?”
Keeping his hand locked on my neck, he gently massaging the sides. Despite the heat, I don’t mind it at all.
“Supposedly she had to go to work and her mother was busy, so I’ve got her today.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“Yep.” That’s all he says, which is weird, but if I know Greg, he’s biting down his irritation at his ex.
Reaching over, I grab his hand, smiling at him. “Well for what it’s worth, I’m glad you guys are here.”
He smiles back, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles and, once again, we’re locked into each other, having one of those moments where the rest of the world fades away.
Until Callie interrupts.
“Would you two boink already?”
“Callie!” Deborah chides loudly. I don’t know if I’m rolling my eyes at Callie or Deborah, but either way they’re both ridiculous. Greg laughs while I pull away, putting a little distance between us. My hormones can’t take much more of these staring contests.
“What?” Callie responds. “Give me that knife.” She grabs a plastic utensil off the table and begins slashing it through the air. “Can you see that? I’m literally cutting their sexual tension with a knife.”
“Would you stop that?” Deborah hisses, snatching the knife out of Callie’s hand, making her pout. “This is a family park.”
Callie shrugs. “That means everyone here knows what sex is.”
Deborah gasps in horror. “Except the children!”
“Greg, this is Deborah,” I say, looking at him with wild eyes, hoping he understands my exaggerated facial expressions for what they are… my unspoken way of saying she drives me crazy. “She’s a little uptight.”
She squeaks in annoyance. An actual squeak.
“I can see that,” Greg laughs. “It’s nice to meet you, Deborah.”
She closes her lips tightly, trying to get herself under control before speaking. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” Straightening her spine, she says, “I’m going to get the children for lunch. I hope we’ll have a more appropriate conversation while they are here,” and she turns to stomp away.
I turn my glare to Callie. “That is your friend,” my finger pointing in the lunatic’s direction.
She waves me off. “Whatever. We only have a few minutes. I have rapid fire questions.”
I groan, but Greg gets a grin on his face. “It’s my turn to play.” He sits forward and leans in towards Callie. “Hit me.”
She leans right back, narrowing her eyes. And then it begins.
“Did you have sex with her?”
“Not since I’ve been back.”
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
I feel like sitting up a little taller. Greg still wants me. Boom.
“Did you kiss her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I almost burned the house down instead.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“The oven was broken.”
“Did you get a new one?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“LG700, double oven with gas stove top.”
Wait, what? What is happening here?”
“Four burners or five?”
“Five, but the middle can change out to be a skillet.”
“Was it expensive?”
“Very.”
“When I save enough paychecks, will you take me to buy one just like it?”
“Of course.”
“Done!” Callie yells and slams her hand on the table. Greg sits back victoriously like she landed on No Whammies. And I’m still sitting here trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
Looking back and forth at them, they each sit there like nothing weird is going on. Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “What was that?”
Callie snatches a kale chip out of a container and sniffs it, grimacing and throwing it under the table. “What? I need a new stove,” she says like that explains it all. Suddenly, Christopher pops out from underneath the table, making her screech. He climbs up on the bench next to her, discarded kale chip in his mouth.
The other kids aren’t far behind, and before I know it, six sets of grubby little hands are reaching for finger foods. With the way they’re acting, you’d think they’ve been starving for weeks, but I know for a fact they ate stepped-on vanilla wafers off the floor less than two hours ago.
“Wait, kids!” Deborah says sternly. “We need to sanitize our hands before we eat.”
Callie freezes, cheese cube halfway to her mouth, and drops it on the plate. “Yes. We need clean hands.” She puts her hands out, like she even knows what hand sanitizer is.
I furrow my brow. “Why? It’s just dirt.” I continue loading food on a plate fo
r Max, knowing full well I don’t have any baby wipes on me.
To my surprise, Deborah pulls a giant bottle of industrial sized hand sanitizer out of her bag and begins squirting all the kids’, and Callie’s, hands. You can tell who has used this stuff before. Trevor is rubbing his hands together nicely. Maura is sniffing it. And Christopher is licking it off his palm. Maybe the alcohol in it will slow him down a bit.
“You always have to wash your hands, Elena,” Deborah says condescendingly. “Way too many cases of botulism come from places like the park.”
I turn to Greg who mouths botulism? at me and shakes his head in amusement.
We finally get all the hands washed, some of them twice, and are preparing to dig in when Deborah announces, “Ok, let’s fold our hands and close our eyes.”
Even Callie has a strange look on her face this time, and I swear Christopher is about to come unglued from how long he’s been denied the goodies in front of him.
Now, I’m not one to poo-poo on people blessing their food. I was raised that way. But when you are in the middle of the park with a bunch of pint-sized heathens about to go ballistic if they don’t get nourishment, I think God already understands how grateful you are.
But that’s just me.
Surprise of all surprises, Trevor says the blessing. A long, drawn out prayer that thanks God for every single item of food, every single friend he’s ever had, every animal he can think of, and several people who apparently live in a heavenly zip code. By the time he’s done, I’m sure ants have carried all the food away.
“Mama, I’m hungry,” Max wails just as Trevor says, “Amen.”
Deborah shoots me a look and addresses Max with a smile on her face. “It’s good to say the blessing before you eat, Maxine.” Maxine? Since when did we start using her legal name? “You need to learn patience somehow.”
Ok, now I’m starting to get pissed. I understand we don’t parent the same way and she’s all into organic foods and is anti-germ. But that sounded a whole lot like a passive aggressive dig my direction.
The way Greg is watching this all go down quietly, one eyebrow raised as he slowly nibbles a celery stalk, I’m betting he thinks the same thing.