That morning, Doris had accidentally shrunk a pair of her daughter’s jeans. Instead of confessing the mistake, Doris decided to replace them. That would be easier than dealing with another one of Mandy’s tantrums. Instead of handling the news like a normal person, Mandy would most likely start screaming and crying, just before slamming the door to her room until it shook on its hinges. More and more, Doris found herself the victim of these attacks. They could be loud and dramatic or much more subtle, but they all had the same theme in common—Doris was the worst mother in the world.
Every time she dared think the opposite, Mandy would prove her wrong. Like last Saturday, when Doris had been reorganizing her closet and humming something she’d heard at the symphony. She was right in the middle of placing her sweater sets into a color-coded sequence when Mandy had barged into her room.
“Mom, what is wrong with you?” Mandy demanded, sneering at Doris from the doorjamb.
Doris felt a familiar heavy feeling in her stomach. “What . . . what do you mean?”
“Are you seriously reorganizing your closet again?” Mandy said. The young girl was wearing too much eyeliner and a concert T-shirt that was way too tight in the chest. There was something blue and sparkly on the front that matched her daughter’s dangly earrings.
Doris suddenly felt unbelievably old. “I like to know where everything is. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Mandy said, examining a fingernail. “If you don’t have anything else to do.”
“I have lots to do,” Doris said. A sensible sweater dangled from the hanger in her hand. Quickly, she smoothed its soft material and hung it in the closet.
“No you don’t.” Mandy sighed in a tone bordering on pity. She flung herself onto Doris’s bed, wrinkling the white coverlet. Doris opened her mouth to tell Mandy to get off her bed or, at the very least, take off those dirty shoes, but nothing came out. Instead, she gritted her teeth and turned back to the closet.
“I have lots to do,” Doris repeated, trying to keep the slight tremor out of her voice. “Go look at the calendar.” The family appointments were concise and color-coded, hung neatly in the kitchen. On paper, there was never a dull day.
“Anyone who has time to color code a calendar and her closets clearly needs to get a life,” Mandy said, lying on her back and raising her sneakers toward the ceiling. She was chomping gum and popping it after every other word. This was a sound Doris had grown to detest.
When Mandy was born, Doris’s mother had been gleeful at the shock of red hair sticking out of the baby’s head. “That red hair is a warning flag,” her mother had said, laughing, practically smothering the baby with kisses. “When this one’s a teenager, she’s going to be a handful.” Now, Doris wondered if her mother was laughing all the way from heaven. Or—and this was her biggest fear—shaking her head in disappointment.
Handling Mandy had been so easy when her mother was alive. In part, that was due to proximity. Doris’s parents had moved in down the street a week after Mandy was born. Instead of finding this oppressive, Doris loved it. Her mother was her best friend. The two jogged every morning, went shopping together, joined every club in town and, of course, raised Mandy. There was no one in the world Doris admired more than her mother. The woman had been a genius at all of the little things that meant so much to a kid. Things like whipping up green eggs and ham on St. Patrick’s Day, suffering through those giggly sleepovers without saying a word, oohing and ahhing over the first gag-worthy dinner her only child had cooked . . .
When her mother had died, Doris was at a loss. To get through that time, she focused her energy on helping others to cope. Time passed in a blur of putting her mother’s things in order and disposing of them properly, helping her father sell the house and move closer to his brother in Florida, and even getting Mandy into grief counseling. Doris became something of an expert on the topic of death. She read book after book that clearly outlined the steps of grief and how to cope with losing a loved one. Doris was happy to share this information with anyone who needed it. Doris spent hours talking with her daughter about the loss of her grandmother. She was a friendly shoulder whenever her mother’s friends needed it. She even talked Jackie through Robert’s hospice.
During this process, Doug kept a close eye on her. He was worried that Doris couldn’t handle losing a mother and a friend. He even tried to get her to talk about it a couple of times, but Doris would just quote from whatever book on grief she was reading at the time. After two years passed and Doris seemed fine, he decided she had handled the loss quite well. So had Doris . . . until she found herself gorging on sweets because she couldn’t sleep, snapping at Mandy for no reason, or fighting back tears over the tiniest thing. The day her mother’s favorite song, “Let It Be,” came on the radio, something finally broke inside her.
Doris had been out running errands, crossing items off her checklist at a stoplight. The window was open and the sun was hot on her arm. “Let It Be” started, and out of habit, Doris began humming along. As the light changed and Doris pressed her foot on the gas, it dawned on her that her mother would have enjoyed running errands with her and that, if she hadn’t died, she would be singing along in that out-of-tune way of hers. Suddenly, Doris got light-headed and darkness seemed to seep into the very marrow of her bones. Doris managed to drive herself home but once there, she got into bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, and fell fast asleep. Once awake, the reality of the loss finally hit her. She stared up at the ceiling with tears rolling down her cheeks.
“This isn’t about your mother,” Doug told her, the third day he found her in bed with the shades drawn. “It can’t be. Too much time has passed. You need to tell me what’s really bothering you.”
Doris just shook her head, staring at the wall. That’s when Doug had forced her to meet with a therapist and the medications began. Slowly, that terrifying blackness seeped out of her heart but it left a layer of gray that she couldn’t quite shake. Some days, Doris wished she could feel like her old self again, but without her mother, it was impossible. She would just have to learn to live with who she had become.
Shaking her head as though to clear the memories, Doris smoothed her coat and stepped through the heavy double doors at Macy’s. The warm air gushed onto her head, rifling her pageboy cut. As the scent of new clothes and perfume hit her, Doris decided it was a good idea to be at the mall. It was her and Doug’s anniversary. Since she was here, Doris could pick up something special, like lingerie. It would be nice to make that extra effort Doug had stopped expecting from her.
Inside the store, Doris hesitated. The lights were bright and she had no idea where to start looking for anything so for the moment, she allowed the Godiva chocolates display to grab her attention. Fondling a gold box, she debated whether to snack on truffles or just get a mocha at the bookstore. Doris was in the midst of this mental debate when she heard whispering from the teddy bear display.
“Omigod,” said a husky voice. “That’s Doris MacLean. The one I was just talking about.”
Doris stiffened, her heart suddenly pounding in her ears. That voice was familiar . . . and certainly not pleasant . . . but she couldn’t quite place it. Who on earth would have been “just talking” about her?
“Yuck,” said a younger voice. “She looks ninety. Was she a senior when you were a freshman?”
“No, she’s my age,” the first whisper continued. “She used to be super popular, can you believe it? I love it when they get fat and old.” Doris almost dropped the box of candy. “Doug dated her right after me and that was the biggest mistake of his . . .”
It was Katherine Rigney! Doug’s girlfriend from high school. What on earth was she doing back in town? Hadn’t she married some trucker and moved to Tennessee?
“She got knocked up in high school,” Katherine was saying. “They got married, then lost the baby . . .”
Whirling, Doris searched the clothing racks for her high school nemesis. There she was, leanin
g against a display of colorful sweatshirts. She was sporting brassy highlights and gossiping with a girl who had to be Mandy’s age. They both wore Macy’s name tags and French manicures.
“Hello, Katherine,” Doris said, voice cold. She took a few steps forward but then stopped. Why was she even talking to this woman? For a foolish moment, Doris had an image of herself racing out of the store, covering her head, and screaming, “I hate Katherine Rigney!” But then she’d still be stuck without a pair of jeans for Mandy and she would have given Katherine something to talk about for a week.
Katherine Rigney strutted forward through the juniors section, running her hands across the racks of clothing as though she were shopping for herself. Doris tried to remember—hadn’t Katherine been busted for shoplifting in junior high? Something about jewelry and perfume from the display counters? It had been a big scandal at the time. The principal had come into their classroom flanked by two police officers and everyone had started whispering. Katherine had given a little sigh, packed up her Trapper Keeper and jean purse, and then followed the officers out of the room. Even though Doris would have liked to have seen her put away for life, Katherine had gotten off with a warning.
“Well, hey, stranger,” Katherine said, cocking her hip and giving a lazy wave. She was smiling too big, showing off crooked front teeth that could have used a few years with a Whitestrip.
“Nice to see you,” Doris lied. “You look well.”
But Katherine did not look well. She looked like what those reality shows called a cougar—but a cougar who had spent too many hours in the sun. A cougar, Mandy had explained to Doris, was an older woman set to compete with a younger girl for a younger man.
“Like Cheryl,” Mandy had compared, digging her hand deep into a bag of microwave popcorn.
Up close, Doris could see that Katherine was wearing black eye shadow and liner, pounds of mascara, and a slick, lacquered lipstick that had to be from the eighties. “Whatcha up to? How’s Doug?” Katherine asked, leaning against a display and tossing that overprocessed hair.
Doris bristled. She tried hard not to let it show on her face.
Doug had dated Katherine during their freshman year. Katherine had dumped him right before the Christmas dance, so she could go with a boy old enough to drive. What did this . . . this . . . tigress want with her husband now?
“Why do you want to know?” Doris asked.
“Just curious,” Katherine said, snapping her gum. The sound reminded Doris of Mandy snapping her gum. Irritating. “I moved back to town so I’ve been thinking about old friends. Oh, wait!” Katherine slapped her hand to her forehead in that old Chris Farley “stupid” move. Funny, Doug had recently started doing the same thing. “I forgot. I just saw Doug the other day.”
Doris felt something tighten in her chest. Doug had not mentioned that.
“Where did you see my husband?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Who knows?”
“Where?”
The younger sales associate was holding her breath, watching the exchange like a match point in a tennis game. Katherine, Doris. Doris, Katherine.
Katherine’s eyes were wide, mocking. “Oh . . . the mall, I guess?”
Doris felt frumpy in her heavy winter coat. “He doesn’t shop,” Doris mumbled, stuffing her hands into her pockets.
“Downtown then,” Katherine said. “I can’t remember.” Once again, the woman flipped her hair. Doris hoped the move would give her whiplash. “He’s looking good,” Katherine continued, cracking her gum. “You got lucky.”
“You’re too old to chew gum,” Doris spat. “My teenage daughter chews gum.” As soon as the words were out, Doris felt a little jolt of pleasure. She didn’t know where the words had come from but they sounded strong. They sounded like the woman she used to be.
The two salesgirls regarded Doris with surprise. Then the younger one elbowed Katherine. “She’s right. We’re not supposed to chew it on the floor,” she said. The girl glanced over her shoulder like a manager could pop up at any moment. Katherine rolled her eyes but she spit the gum into a tissue and stuffed it into her pocket.
Doris shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fists clenched in triumph. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to have a job she would be scared to lose. Even a job like this, folding and refolding prefolded T-shirts. It certainly would give her something to do, but Doug had always been very against it.
“Your daughter is your full-time job,” he’d said, more than once. “You should be focusing on her.”
Katherine’s catlike eyes appraised Doris’s expensive handbag. “Doris, why don’t you let me help you find something? Maybe we could upgrade your purse. Or even better, that jacket?”
Doris’s jaw clenched. The gray-checked coat had belonged to her mother. Years ago, her mother had pressed it lovingly into her hands and said, “I’ve had this since the sixties. It’s yours now.” Although she had appreciated the gesture, Doris had never worn the coat—it just wasn’t her style. Instead, she had stuffed it into the back of the closet. A few months ago, she had found the coat in the basement and sat with it, silent, for hours. She had worn it ever since.
“It makes you look lumpy or something,” Katherine added.
“The coat doesn’t make me look lumpy,” Doris said. With all the dignity she could muster, she said, “I have put on a little bit of weight.”
“I guess you have,” Katherine said. “You know, some good lines could hide those rolls. Let’s trade it out. We’ll find you a new coat.”
“No, thank you,” Doris said. Her voice sounded steady but inside, she was screaming.
It was at moments like these that Doris wished she and Cheryl hadn’t gotten into that fight. If Doris still had Cheryl to turn to, she would have stormed out of the store, picked up Cheryl, and brought her back to help put Katherine Rigney in her place. Doris might have said, “I wanted to talk to you about my mother’s coat—” and Cheryl would have cut in with, “Your broken-down trashy ass shouldn’t even be allowed to look at it, let alone talk about replacing it.” Then they would have busted into giggles, stalking away with their arms around each other. Cheryl probably would have added something over her shoulder, like, “Congrats on minimum wage at forty.” But without that type of support, Doris did not feel brave enough to take on this horrible woman.
“My coat is fine,” Doris said. “I just want some blue jeans for my daughter.” She dug around in her purse. Finally, her fingers found the piece of paper where she’d jotted down the size and brand of Mandy’s jeans. Even though she was loath to get Katherine’s help, Doris needed those jeans. She had no idea how to find them on her own and would feel even more foolish if she had to come back and ask for Katherine’s help.
“Yup,” Katherine said, reading the brand. “I’ve got just what you need. Follow me.”
Doris walked beside her, feeling slightly foolish but unable to pinpoint why.
“Your daughter must trust you,” Katherine said, suddenly elbowing Doris like they were friends. “Most girls would rather die than have their mother pick out a pair of jeans. You two must have a great relationship.”
“I am very lucky,” Doris lied. Immediately, she felt a little better. Sometimes it amazed her how easy it was to lie.
“So . . .” Katherine gave her a quick glance. “Are you still friends with Jackie Greene?”
High school never died.
“Of course,” Doris gushed. “Jackie’s in Paris. She’s an artist.”
“What about Cheryl?”
Doris’s face darkened. “Cheryl’s doing very well at her marketing firm. She’ll probably make partner.”
“You guys still BFFs?”
“Always.” Doris smiled too brightly. “Ever since . . .”
“The crash,” Katherine said, nodding.
The two women stood in silence for a minute, then Katherine picked up a pair of jeans, considering them. “What do you think of these?”
“See anything else your daughter would like?” Katherine asked.
Scanning the crowded area, Doris shook her head.
“What about these?” Katherine pressed, holding up a pair of dark blue jeans that tapered at the bottom. Mandy had just been drooling over those in one of her fashion magazines. Doris felt a pang. How did Katherine Rigney know what her daughter would like more than she did?
“Those are nice,” Doris admitted. “Why don’t you pick out a couple more pairs in her size? I have to go find a couple other things. It’s my anniversary. I’m going to find something special. You know. To surprise Doug.”
Katherine’s eyes narrowed. “Sure. Bring everything back to me. I’ll ring it up.”
The moment Katherine turned back to the jeans, Doris darted away. She ducked into the customer service area and ripped off her coat. Leaning against the wall, Doris took a couple of deep breaths before moving to the water fountain and taking a long drink. After splashing cold water on her face, Doris stood up straight and tossed her hair just like Katherine had. Determined, she set out for the lingerie section.
Maybe Doris wouldn’t look good in black spandex or a leopard-print leotard but there must be something she could find that Doug would like. Something that wouldn’t remind him of that cougar.
Chapter Four
CHERYL CRINGED AT THE BRIGHT WHITE LIGHT MOVING toward her.
“What the hell?” she said, trying to raise her hand to block it. “Did I die?”
The way she felt, it was certainly possible. Her arm was not cooperating and Cheryl could barely focus. Plus, that backlit figure kept darting in and out of her vision. Was it an angel? If so, Cheryl had to admit she was impressed. This particular one had floppy brown hair, green eyes, and a cherubic dimple attached to the hard body of a man. Giving her best Mary Magdalene grin, Cheryl managed to raise her hand. She stroked it against his soft curls.
The Whole Package Page 3