by Kaira Rouda
Maybe I need a nap.
I never sleep well during my boys’ summer absence. Last night was no exception and I’d had a horrible dream. Not only had my one gray eyebrow hair turned into two gray bristly hedges above my eyes, my face was covered in wrinkles. Not just crow’s feet, not just laugh lines: full-out, you-didn’t-wear-sunscreen (I hadn’t) and-used-mirrors-to-tan (I had) weathered lines that looked like crevasses.
It was a sign. I need to take charge of my life, take advantage of the sense of urgency I’d felt when I thought I’d had breast cancer. While I want to grow old gracefully and happily, and I want to be a grandmother and enjoy slow walks on the beach, between now and then I need to get moving. Seize my year.
Fortunately I’ve just invested in the latest sonic skin scrubber—like an automatic toothbrush for your face—and it’s guaranteed to keep those wrinkles at bay. At least I think that’s what the saleswoman at Sephora promised. Or did she say it simply helps the lotion sink into the wrinkles better?
I’m a salesperson’s dream. Even a suggestive selling novice can make me buy. Just ask the Sephora saleswoman. She’d even talked me into buying the latest blush, called Orgasm. Everybody had one, she said. I bought two.
Hey, maybe I could work retail. I could talk women into Orgasms. I could convince other women like me that the key to happiness was the next wrinkle filler, scrubber, zapper, blush. I could wear a black apron and learn how to paint on makeup in just the right way to make it appear as if you weren’t wearing any makeup at all. And, since the new look is “dewy” instead of matte—according to my sonic scrubber saleslady—I would tell women to toss their old facial products and start all over. I could do that!
No I couldn’t. I’d have to work for someone else and pretend to care deeply about makeup. I’d have to go to the mall, thereby being in close proximity to all the things I didn’t need but would buy if given the right push. “We’ll need to give you two bags!” the Sephora Siren had gushed with a big smile while tossing in a couple of free samples and my shiny new frequent buyer membership card.
“Okay, Kelly, that’s all for today. We’ll need a follow up in two weeks, and the bottom guard will be ready then too,” said the perky dental assistant.
My head was back and my eyes were closed. Maybe she was talking so loudly to try to wake me up. A quick image flashes across my mind: I envision myself climbing into bed each evening, top and bottom teeth covered in plastic. Patrick gives up even trying to kiss me good night. I just clack my guards together as a sign of affection, like a seal slapping her front flippers. At least my face will be smooth and sonically scrubbed.
As the dental assistant elevated me back to a sitting position, I tried to feel my lips. Nope. Chin? Nope. Could I learn to preach in Spanish? Nope. Could I start a restaurant? Could I go back to the PR firm? Could I move to Kenya? Could I sell sonic face scrubbers? Nope. Nope. Nope. And nope. I headed toward the door and friendly, helpful Susie sitting at Dr. Bane’s front desk asked when I would be free to come back.
“Really, I’m free anytime,” I slurred, sounding and feeling pathetic.
“I’ll call you when the appliance arrives,” Susie chirped back happily.
You’d think I’d ordered a new refrigerator; that’s how happy she sounded. . . .
SELECTED TITLES FROM SPARKPRESS
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Gridley Girls, by Meredith First. $17, 978-1-940716-97-8. From the moment Meg Monahan became a peer counselor in high school, she has been keeping her friend’s secrets. Flash forward to adulthood when Meg is a recruiter for the world’s hippest, most paranoid high-tech company, and now she is paid to keep secrets. When sudden tragedy strikes just before Meg hosts the wedding of her childhood BFF, the women are forced to face their past—and their secrets—in order to move on to their future.
Rooville, by Julie Long. $17, 978-1-94071-660-2. When a California TV weatherman is fired from his job, he heads home to Iowa—but in his absence, Martinville has become the center of the Transcendental Meditation movement. With old customs and open-mindedness clashing like warm and cold fronts, Owen gets caught in a veritable tornado.
On Grace, by Susie Orman Schnall. $15, 978-1-94071-613-8. Grace is actually excited to turn 40 in a few months—that is until her job, marriage, and personal life take a dizzying downhill spiral. Can she recover from the most devastating time in her life, right before it’s supposed to be one of the best?
Tracing the Bones, by Elise A. Miller. $17, 978-1-940716-48-0. Eve Myer becomes consumed with the world of healing arts—and her conflicted emotions—when new neighbors/instructors Anna and Billy move in. Shortly after sessions for her chronic back pain begin with Billy, Anna and her small son drown in the bathtub. As Eve’s life unravels, her sessions with Billy culminate in an experimental trip into the freezing woods, threatening the remaining bonds of Eve’s marriage and finally uncovering the reason for Anna’s death.
ABOUT SPARKPRESS
SparkPress is an independent, hybrid imprint focused on merging the best of the traditional publishing model with new and innovative strategies. We deliver high-quality, entertaining, and engaging content that enhances readers’ lives. We are proud to bring to market a list of New York Times best-selling, award-winning, and debut authors who represent a wide array of genres, as well as our established, industry-wide reputation for innovative, creative, results-driven success in working with authors. SparkPress, a BookSparks imprint, is a division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC.
Learn more at GoSparkPress.com