She headed upstairs to her room and sat heavily on the bed, feeling the stress drench her as though somebody had come along and dumped it over her head in icy, liquid form. Her heart began to race and a searing pain pierced her behind her right eye.
“Damn it.”
The experience was almost familiar now. She tried to relax, to calm herself, to talk herself down, so to speak, as she’d been doing for the past six months since the panic attacks had started. Part of her knew she should probably go see a doctor about them, but logic always won out. She was tired. She was stressed. She was overworked. Was there a business executive in this day and age who didn’t have panic attacks like this?
She leaned forward, dropped her head between her knees, and rocked, counting slowly from one to ten. Tears sprang into her eyes, which annoyed her more than anything else. She wanted nothing more than for Molly to come up the stairs, find her in pain, and wrap her up in her loving embrace. Kristin couldn’t remember the last time they’d hugged for no other reason than because they loved one another.
“Molly,” she whimpered as she stared at the braided rug beneath her feet.
But Molly was outside. Talking to Darby.
“Damn it,” she said again, but this time, it came out as more of a whimper, and one half-sob escaped her lips before a distinct buzzing sound filled the air. Kristin whipped her head up—a bad idea judging from the way the room spun for several seconds. Her Blackberry was vibrating on the dresser.
Excellent, she thought as she pressed the palms of her hands against her throbbing temples and squeezed her eyes shut. Something to focus on was just what she needed. It was what she always needed when she felt like this. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she got slowly to her feet and crossed to the dresser. She picked up the Blackberry and did her best to infuse her voice with a clipped, professional tone she didn’t feel.
“Kristin Collins.”
She listened, trying her hardest to focus on her client’s voice while she massaged her forehead with icy fingertips. She didn’t register the footsteps coming up the stairs.
Nothing's Trivial
Jo took a swig from the Heineken bottle as she watched the others settle into seats around the living room. She sighed inwardly, wondering what the hell her beloved had been thinking when she broke the group into teams. Jo totally understood the splitting up of partners—that was standard practice in any game—but teaming Molly with Darby was something she herself would never have done. She made a mental note to have a talk with Amy later that night, assuming the game went well and nobody was beaten to death with the game board. Then she was thinking that the discussion with Darby they’d debated earlier might actually be in order after all.
She arranged the question cards in piles she preferred on the TV tray in front of her—after all, she was the Quiz Master, a name she liked to call herself; she’d much rather ask the questions than play the game any day. Scanning a few of the queries, she let her thoughts dwell on her niece. Much as she liked to admit that it was amusing to watch her push Kristin’s buttons--and she’d become a pro at it in an alarmingly short time--there was a line that Darby was coming dangerously close to crossing. Her attention to Molly was bordering on inappropriate. It was one thing to be harmlessly flirty—hell, they were all like that every now and then—but when it was pretty apparent that a couple was having issues, that type of behavior was unacceptable and the best course of respectable action was to step back.
Jo blamed Darby’s age as well as her reckless personality for her failure to realize these facts. Or did she realize them, but not care? Jo was a little bit shocked to find herself feeling sympathy for Kristin. Molly wasn’t cutting her any slack at all. Granted, Jo didn’t live in their house, didn’t see their day-to-day interaction, and might very possibly be missing something big. But from what she saw here in the past two days, Molly held the reins, pretty much all the cards, and pulled every string, and still she seemed miserable. Was it possible that she had no idea? No clue that she had all the control? That Kristin had handed it all over, maybe not even knowing it?
Across the room, seated on the couch, Sophie felt her nostrils flare as if her disappointment used them as an alternative route for escape. Amy had paired her with the cheater. What the fuck? She grabbed her glass and took a big gulp, then nearly choked. She’d mixed it herself and the ratio of vodka to tonic was distinctly backward. She managed to hold back the coughing fit, feeling her eyes water and her face redden, but nobody noticed, thank God.
Laura sat close to her on the couch, their thighs pressed together and Sophie caught herself inhaling deeply, taking in the scent of Laura’s perfume, letting it absorb deep into her lungs. She absently wondered what brand it was. She tried to watch Laura out of the corner of her eye, peripherally without turning her head. It wasn’t easy and gave her a headache almost immediately—or was that from the previous two drinks? God, she was going to be useless during this game.
Something she’d noticed about Laura that alternately softened Sophie and annoyed the crap out of her was the perpetual smile. It didn’t matter what she was doing…eating, watching TV, reading, on the phone with various animal shelters…Laura always seemed to have a very slight grin, making her dimples almost constantly apparent. It gave her an air of friendliness, of gentle kindness. Sophie snorted aloud. She should have to have the word “adulteress” tattooed on her forehead, she thought with bitterness. As a warning for future potential partners.
She sipped again, squeezing her eyes shut for a second as she swallowed, and made a mental note to ease up on the next drink. When they’d returned from their shopping trip earlier in the afternoon, Laura had been feverishly scanning the phone book for more places to call about the dog. Sophie didn’t know why, but she neglected to mention the guy at the store. It was pretty obvious that the terrier now lying possessively across Laura’s feet was his, but something had kept Sophie from sharing that knowledge. As if sensing her train of thought, the dog shifted slightly and rested its chin on one of Sophie’s socked feet.
Sophie ignored her self-deprecation. She told herself she enjoyed the worried look in Laura’s eyes. She told herself it served her right to be uncertain. Let her sweat it out. She sipped again, willing the vodka to dull the realization that she was simply being mean for the sake of meanness, and tried not to feel the warmth radiating from Laura’s leg against hers. Instead, she turned to her left and asked Kristin if she was any good at Trivial Pursuit.
Kristin blinked rapidly as if coming out of a trance. Dragging her pretty blue eyes away from Molly and Darby, who were giggling together across the room as they sat on the hearth, she turned to Sophie. “Depends on the category,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m sort of a science geek.”
“Me, too,” Sophie said. “And I like the geography questions.”
“Good, because I stink at those.” Laura joined the conversation. “I’m pretty good with the literature and entertainment categories, though. We might do okay.”
Kristin leaned forward so she could see Laura around Sophie. “Molly rocks at entertainment. She might give you a run for your money.”
Laura grinned at the challenge, her dimples deepening. “We’ll see.”
Over on the hearth, Darby was enjoying making Molly laugh as they bumped shoulders. “How’s your drink?” she asked.
“Still half full,” Molly responded as she peered into her rum and Coke.
“And you’re laughing this much at my jokes? Man, you must be a lightweight.”
Molly smiled at the truth of the statement. Kristin always teased her for her inability to hold her alcohol. She looked across the room at her girlfriend, but she was lost in conversation with Sophie and Laura. She turned her attention back to Darby, who was talking.
“Are you good at this game?”
Molly shook her head. “Not really.”
They held each other’s gaze in silence for several long seconds before they both burst out laughin
g.
“Terrific,” Darby said. “We’re going to get our asses kicked.” She tousled Molly’s hair playfully.
Amy entered from the kitchen, handed a new beer to Jo, another to Laura, then plopped down on the floor at Kristin’s feet. Leaning back against Kristin’s shins, she tipped her head backward and asked, “Ready, partner?”
Kristin had managed not to glare at Darby when she touched Molly’s hair, but she was presently entertaining a very satisfying fantasy that consisted of breaking every one of Darby’s fingers, one at a time. Slowly.
“Okay,” Jo announced. “Here we go. Team One, you go first.”
Molly leaned forward and rolled the dice, then moved their slice of pie the requisite number of spaces on the board that sat on the coffee table. “Green,” she said.
“The category is Innovations,” Jo told her. “What company, the makers of Rogaine, genetically altered a mouse to be bald?”
Molly and Darby put their heads together, whispering. Kristin gritted her teeth.
Darby looked up. “That would be Upjohn, Alex.”
“That is correct.”
Darby and Molly high-fived each other. Molly’s smile was wide and sparkling as she rolled again. Kristin’s stomach clenched and heaved as they answered another question correctly and slapped hands. Kristin exhaled in relief when they got the next one wrong, thinking she couldn’t possibly take any more demonstrations of team celebration without going completely insane.
Sophie rolled for Team Two.
“The category is News,” Jo said in her serious game-show-host voice.
Laura leaned forward and caught Amy’s eye. “She gets into this, doesn’t she?”
Amy snorted. “You have no idea.”
“Here’s your question,” Jo continued. “Who was assassinated on November 4, 1995, in Kings of Israel Square?”
Laura looked at Sophie, eyebrows raised.
“Rabin, wasn’t it?” Sophie offered.
“You think?”
“I do.” Sophie nodded her certainty.
“I trust you,” Laura said with a gentle smile. “Go ahead.”
Sophie was surprised to find herself returning the smile. Then she focused on Jo and said, “Yitzhak Rabin.”
“That is correct.”
Laura bumped Sophie affectionately. “Nice work, partner.”
They rolled the dice again. “Brown,” Sophie said.
“The category is The Written Word. What beloved family dog died after rescuing little April in the comic strip For Better or For Worse?”
“Oh, God, I know this one,” Laura responded. “I cried for a week.” She turned to Sophie, who made a gesture that said “go ahead.” “Farley.”
“That is correct,” Jo stated.
Laura bent forward to pet the terrier and Sophie patted Laura’s back in congratulations. When the little voice in her head screamed, “You’re touching the cheater!” she told it to shut the hell up.
*
Just over an hour later, all three teams were in the home stretch. Amy had carried her team, Kristin being unfocused and not answering a single question correctly, much to her deep consternation. Jo felt sorry for her, knowing that The Molly and Darby Show was bothering her a great deal. Sophie and Laura worked surprisingly well together, a fact that did not surprise Amy at all. Molly and Darby were out in front, though, followed closely by Sophie and Laura. Molly rolled a three that put them in the winner’s circle.
“Okay, Team One,” Jo said. “Answer this question correctly and you will be the winners. The category is Stage and Screen. Here is the question: What comics-page ‘girl reporter’ did Brooke Shields bring to the silver screen in 1989?”
Darby blinked and looked at Molly, whose face was scrunched up in a semblance of concentration. Laura began to hum the theme song to Jeopardy, which made the others chuckle.
“I have no fucking idea,” Darby muttered to her team partner. “Not a clue.”
Laura laughed. “What were you in 1989? Eight years old? Nine?”
Molly held up a hand, silencing them. “Hang on. I know this…” She stared hard at the floor, while Darby and Kristin both watched. Even the terrier had his eyes open and focused on Molly. Finally, Molly flinched as though she’d been poked and looked up.
“Brenda Starr.”
“That is correct,” Jo commended.
Darby gave a hoot of joy and jumped up. “Yes!” She did a little dance around the room while most of the others laughed and the terrier yipped. “That’s my partner,” she said, pointing at Molly. She pulled her to her feet and made her dance, too. “That’s my partner!”
No, that’s my partner, Kristin thought, feeling nauseated. She stood up and stepped over Amy. “Excuse me. I’ve got to use the ladies’ room,” she said quietly, heading upstairs.
Molly watched her go, her grin dimming several watts. Jo also watched. Turning her head, she made eye contact with her wife, whose lips formed a straight line. Then she shifted her gaze to pin Darby with a disapproving glare.
Darby didn’t notice and continued to dance.
Friday, December 30
Molly
God, it was early.
Molly didn’t even think the birds were awake yet. Nobody else was. She’d managed to sneak into her winter attire and out of the house making very little sound. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she guessed somewhere between five and six in the morning—closer to five, judging by the fact that Jo wasn’t even up yet.
There was no sound but the crunching of her boots in the snow, and when she stood still, the silence was almost eerie. It was still dark and she wasn’t terribly familiar with the area, so she wandered out behind the garage where she knew there was a big stump to sit upon and plopped herself down on it with a world-weary sigh.
“What the hell happened to my life?” she whispered into the stillness, the puff of her breath visible as it drifted away into the atmosphere.
Kristin hadn’t said a single word to her for the rest of the night. When she didn’t return right away from the bathroom, Molly went up to check on her. She was already under the covers in the bed and—Molly was sure—feigning sleep. Molly knew they were going to have to have a serious discussion, more likely several of them, but she just hadn’t had the energy last night. She’d had a little too much rum, and the idea of arguing around and around in a pointless circle with Kristin was just too exhausting to entertain. Instead, she’d closed the door and gone back downstairs to laugh and joke with the others, telling them that Kristin wasn’t feeling well and had decided to retire early.
It was something she felt decidedly guilty about now and it was probably the main reason she hadn’t slept. The bed was cozy and comfortable and she’d sensed the familiar warmth of Kristin’s body heat next to her and still, she’d never felt so cold and lonely in her life.
Now she was out in the dead of winter, in the freezing dark of the early morning, because she couldn’t stand lying there for one more second. At least if she was moving, she’d feel like maybe she was getting the tiniest bit of exercise. She stood up again and began walking a large circle around the garage.
Am I being too hard on her?
It was a thought she had often, too often for her liking. It forced her to stop heaping all the blame for the failing relationship on top of Kristin and take some of it herself. Last night was a perfect example. Rather than settling into the bed next to her partner and talking about what was bothering her, what was bothering them, she had run away. It’s what she did best and she inwardly cursed her mother for teaching her the fine art of never facing a problem head-on. If you ignore it, it’s not there.
She loved her mother to pieces, but the woman was queen when it came to avoiding conflict. Oh, she’d be upset about something, lose sleep over it for weeks, even give the cold shoulder to the source, but she’d never face it directly. Her mother deferred all decisions to her husband without even knowing it. When Molly’s father asked his wife for
her input, her most common answer was to shrug and wave a dismissive hand and say, “Oh, I don’t care,” even when she did.
So her father was left to make all the decisions and to hear about it later when he made one that his wife suddenly didn’t agree with. Molly had watched this behavior over and over as a child, as a teenager, and as a young adult. She vowed never ever to be that way, especially in her relationship. Yet here she stood, in the black of predawn in the middle of winter, pacing in the snow rather than facing her problems, hoping they’d all just disappear on their own if she ignored them. She was a carbon copy of her marshmallow of a mother.
The most frustrating thing, though, was that she knew it. She knew it and yet she couldn’t find a way to make herself stand up, to say what she felt, to act like her opinion counted, like it mattered. When she and Kristin had moved into their house a couple years back, they were painting their bedroom. Kristin had two paint chips from the hardware store—a soft lavender and an earthy khaki. She’d asked Molly which one she liked better.
Molly had looked at them both, shrugged, and responded, “Oh, I don’t care. You pick.”
Kristin picked the khaki, and now Molly hated the color of their bedroom and blamed Kristin for it.
In her defense, though, it wasn’t all her own fault. Of that, she was well aware. When had Kristin’s priorities gotten so out of whack? On her way out of the bedroom that morning, Molly had glared insidiously at the Blackberry on the dresser and her fingers had literally itched to pick it up and whip it across the room. She suspected she’d feel an enormous wave of satisfaction to see it shatter into a million pieces and fall to the floor. If Kristin gave her half the amount of attention she paid to that stupid piece of electronic equipment, they’d be two much happier women, of that she was sure.
That’s why Molly couldn’t regret that she’d been having so much fun with Darby over the past couple of days. Darby listened to her. Darby looked at her. Darby didn’t seem to be thinking about her job when Molly was talking to her. She actually made eye contact and seemed genuinely interested in what Molly was saying. Molly felt like she got all of Darby’s attention when they were talking, not just a certain percentage of it. It had been ages since she’d felt what it was like to be the focus of somebody else. Somebody like Kristin.
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