“Yes, it’s horrifying and embarrassing, but it’s still pretty PG-13. I think butts are PG-13. I’m not sure though, you’d have to Google it. And why isn’t Nick feeling like he needs to run and hide? He’s out and about, parading his dirty mistress. You can’t let Sloane win. I’m sure driving you out of East Hollow was part of her grand scheme. It’s like the terrorists—if you show you’re afraid, they win. She wins if you give up, so, hold your head high and ignore the pubescent boys who call you a whore.”
I laugh a little—but not much. I can’t get over the dirty, shameful feeling I have. “Worse than him calling me that, I can’t believe that my child knows what a ‘whore’ is. And that he knows that people call me it. And somehow, ridiculously, I blame myself, even though it’s really all Nick’s fault. Fucked up, isn’t it?” I ask with a rueful chuckle.
“Don’t blame yourself. Nick doesn’t seem to feel any shame at all. He’s all over the place with Sloane. I saw them at the diner the other day. They were sitting on the same side of the booth, no one else with them, just the two of them on the same side of the booth. I hate when people do that. He’s the one who should be ashamed. He’s the whore—a male whore, the worst kind.”
I laugh at Andi’s assessment, but remember quickly all the crap with Mrs. Wilson. “How the hell is Trev going to survive being on the principal’s shit list for the next three years?” I sigh.
“Just suck it up and ignore bitchy Mrs. Wilson,” Andi advises me. “Just tell yourself that she’s a very unhappy woman and she just takes it out on the kids, because she can. She probably never has sex. You’ll be fine. Plus, like I said, you can never leave East Hollow—you’d miss me too much.”
“I know I would. Thanks for making me feel better. I know someday I’ll get past all of this. Someday this will seem like a lifetime ago. I have to remember that. I have to remember that no matter what anyone thinks of me, I’d do anything for my kids and that makes me a good mom. Right?” I look at Andi hopefully.
“Right!” she exclaims and hugs me. “I’m so glad you’re finally seeing it. You just have to get to that point where you’re so fed up with worrying about what people think of you that you suddenly just don’t give a fuck.” She whispers this last part.
“That will be my new mantra: I just don’t give a fuck,” I whisper back. “You’re the best, Andi. You’re right; I could never leave this town, not unless I could take you with me. Thanks for taking Sam today. I never could have bought an outfit with him hanging on me.”
“No problem. Where did you go?” She rattles off the names of half a dozen boutiques in East Hollow, all of which I never shop at and she knows that, so my “no” to each of them shouldn’t be a surprise.
“I went to Tarjay, a very fancy boutique with only the finest designer labels,” I answer with a smirk.
“Why’d you go to Target for date clothes?” Andi asks, exasperated. “Spend a little on yourself. Treat yourself—then send the bill to Nick.”
“I went to Target, because I don’t like to spend a lot of money and because I knew I would find something. It’s a good thing I did, because I was in and out before I got the call about Trevor and I even got some makeup. Plus, I feel very self-conscious going into those fancy-schmancy boutiques. I just don’t feel like I fit in there, especially now. Women like Sloane fit in there; I don’t.”
“You can fit in anywhere, and I’m sure whatever you got will look fabulous on you.”
“I don’t know—I’m not so sure about that,” I protest. “Maybe you’re right—maybe I should have gone somewhere more expensive.”
“No, you were right to go to Target, because you always find the cutest clothes there. You’re nice and petite and you can wear all that stuff. I, on the other, hand need to shop in the giant store, so I need the boutiques. Plus, he’s already seen you naked, so it really doesn’t matter what you wear. He knows what’s underneath it.”
“Well, he won’t be seeing me naked tomorrow,” I counter. “So, I need something that looks good. I seriously cannot believe that I’m going on a date. I never in a million years thought that at forty-four years old I would be getting back into dating and wondering what I should wear. It just seems so unfathomable.”
“You also didn’t think that you’d start your afternoon yanking your kid out of Happy Time and end it with an eighth grader calling you a whore. So, I think it’s safe to say that your life has become completely unpredictable.”
“Um, you think?” I say with a laugh, as I round up my boys to leave. I need to get Will off of the bus soon, and take him and Trevor to Hebrew school. Of course Trevor insists that his half day suspension should get him out of Hebrew, but I explain that that would just reward him. He and Will moan and groan the whole way to the synagogue, but dropping them off is a giant relief for me.
When I get back I’m so emotionally exhausted from the whole day, that I just collapse on the couch with Sam to watch Sponge Bob. He and I both fall asleep after about five minutes, and I wake up only twenty minutes before Hebrew school pick-up. “Pizza for dinner tonight,” I announce and Sam claps his little hands.
After dinner, I sneak off to the den with my laptop to Google PG-13 rating. I have to see if Andi is right. Trevor and Will are doing their homework at the kitchen table and Sam is doing puzzles in the living room. Emma came home, but is hiding out in her room. I figure I have a few moments and maybe Andi is right—maybe the video is just PG-13 and I’ll feel so much better. But, it doesn’t make me feel better at all—it just makes me feel worse. It says that nudity is allowed if it’s not sexually oriented. I start to cry when I read it.
I walk into the kitchen still sniffling a bit. Trevor looks up from his homework and asks what’s wrong. My kids never notice when I’m upset. Normally, I could be bawling my eyes out and as long as it doesn’t affect them, they don’t care, but Trevor is staring at me intently. I know he’s taking in my red-rimmed eyes, my rosy nose. “What’s wrong, Mom?” he whispers, concern lacing his voice.
“Nothing, Buddy. I just feel bad about what that boy said to you. I don’t know how his parents even let him see it. No supervision.”
“Um, Mom, I don’t think he saw it. I heard him laughing with his friends after it happened. He said that he just heard his mom talking about it and he thought it would be funny to bust on me, but that I had to be an f’ing a-word and punch him. Then he said it didn’t even hurt.”
“Why didn’t you tell this to Mrs. Wilson?”
“She said that if I argued with her she’d make the suspension two days, so I didn’t bother. Plus, I just didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I only told you now because I heard you tell Andi how upset you were that he saw it.”
I can feel my face flush. “You heard me talking to Andi?”
“Not much—all I heard you say was that you wanted to move, because he saw it. I didn’t hear anything else. I swear. We’re not moving, are we? I still have a lot of friends. My friends were actually pretty happy that I punched that kid, because he’s such a beep.”
“I’m glad you didn’t say the curse word, but still that’s not nice.” I haven’t asked Trevor who the boy is, because I don’t really want to know, but since I have some friends with eighth graders, I ask now. I need to find out if it’s one of my friends talking about me.
“Do you know the boy’s name?” I ask.
“You want to know, really? I don’t know if I should tell you.”
With that answer, I know exactly who it is—a friend of mine, Patti, (though that’s using the term “friend” loosely). She’s judged me from the moment we met in Mommy and Me when Emma was a toddler. Her son was deemed advanced and was placed with the two-to two–and-a-half year-olds, even though he was only eighteen months old. “He’s too smart for those babies,” Patti said haughtily the first time I met her. As she bragged about her son, I hoped she didn’t notice Emma trying to eat the Goldfish crackers that had been ground into the rug. I watched as her son built a towe
r of blocks while Emma delicately plucked Goldfish crumbs out of the rug, crying each time I brushed them off her fingertips just before they reached her mouth.
“Do you feed her?” Patti asked condescendingly, adding, “Just kidding, of course.”
I really can’t explain why I became friends with Patti, except for the fact that I had just moved to East Hollow and didn’t know anyone else. Our families started spending time together, but she always had a compliment that was a dig at the same time. “Your house is so lived in. It must be relaxing not to have to worry about nice furniture with a toddler in the house.” Her house, of course, was beautiful with white couches that never had a stain. She had a girl and a boy—the perfect balance, she bragged. “I see no need to contribute to overpopulation when you have one of each,” she told me right after I shared with her that I was pregnant with Will. She waved her hand and said, “Of course your kind have a lot of children.”
I didn’t know what she meant by “my kind.” Italian, based on my last name? Jewish? From Queens? It was a mystery to me, but I had already become good friends with Andi at that point, so after that conversation I finally ditched Patti for good—except for Christmas cards and feigned enthusiasm when we run into each other. I’m sure it’s her son who taunted Trevor.
“Was it Jared?” I ask slowly.
“Yeah, Mom—it was. I know his mom isn’t always nice to you.”
“What do you mean?” I really thought I hid my feelings about her around my kids.
“Well, you’re always complaining about her to Dad if you see her somewhere.”
I realize that I do complain about her, thinking my kids aren’t interested enough to listen if it doesn’t involve them. I make a vow to be more careful, even if she is a jerk. “So, it was Jared? I guess that’s not really surprising,” I say. And not surprising at all that he didn’t get punished. Patti is just one of those people who glides through life and there’s no point in fighting her. So, I won’t even try. But, I do hope that Jared has learned not to mess with my kid. Just as I’m thinking this, my phone buzzes—a text from Patti. I don’t think she’s ever texted me. I didn’t even have texting on my phone when we were friends.
I pick up my phone and glance at it. All it says is, WTF?! Why did Trevor beat up my Jared? Seriously, you need to control your child. I’m sorry your life has fallen apart, but violence is never the answer!
Perhaps if your perfect child hadn’t called me a whore, my son wouldn’t have punched him. He’s just as much at fault and since he heard it from you, so are you, I shoot back.
If the shoe fits… is all her return text says.
I turn off my phone, but not before I forward her texts to Andi. I do feel so much better though, knowing that it was Jared. For one thing, I know this is horrible, but he’s as smug as his mom and if Trevor was going to punch anyone, I’m glad it was him and not a nicer boy. Though, a nicer boy wouldn’t have called me a whore. For another, I know for sure there’s no way that he saw the video. Patti isn’t the type to let her son see anything that she hasn’t approved first. Plus, if Trevor heard him say that he didn’t see it, I’m sure it’s true.
It’s a relief. I just felt so disgusting and skeevy, thinking that it may be making its way around the middle school. I’m pretty sure Patti didn’t even see it. She is far too puritanical to watch anything of a sexual nature. She probably just heard about it, because she’s the town busybody, and decided that I’m a whore.
I have never looked forward to bedtime more by the time this day mercifully comes to an end, though my new mantra of I just don’t give a fuck has certainly helped make the rest of the day better than the beginning. It’s kind of freeing feeling like I don’t care, and I know I’ll fall asleep easily for once. As soon as the boys are asleep and Emma’s at least in her bed (where she’ll probably be texting with Kate for an hour or two), I crawl into my bed and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep the moment my head hits the pillow. I’m awakened out of that sleep by my cell phone ringing. I grab it off of my night table, sure that it’s 3:00 a.m. and there’s been some horrible tragedy. All of my children are with me, though, and my parents are already gone. The only person left whom I care about is Andi.
I answer without even looking at caller ID or the time. “Is it Matt?” I ask, my voice still heavy with sleep.
“Who’s Matt? Should I be concerned? Well, I guess I don’t have a right to be. We haven’t even gone on a date yet—at least not in this century.”
“Ben?” I ask, confused as to why he would be calling me in the middle of the night—until I look at my clock and realize that it’s only 10:09. Is it possible that I wasn’t even asleep for half an hour?
“Yeah, it’s Ben. I hope I didn’t call too late. I called your cell, so I wouldn’t wake your kids in case they’re sleeping, but it sounds like I woke you. I would have called earlier, but I had clients all night. The last one left at 10:00.”
“It’s fine. I just had kind of a tough day and collapsed into bed right after my kids. I usually don’t go to sleep this early. I guess I was a bit groggy and thought you were my friend, Andi. Her husband had cancer. He’s in remission right now, but I was worried that something happened to him. He’s the Matt I was talking about.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that—about your friend’s husband and that you had a tough day. And, sorry for my weak attempt at humor.”
“Not weak at all.”
“Well, thanks for being polite,” Ben chuckles. “I’m just calling to confirm tomorrow and make sure it’s not a problem for you to pick me up.”
“No problem at all. I’m really looking forward to seeing you.”
“So am I, Maxie. I can’t wait.” The way I’m half asleep and lying in bed, Ben’s voice soft in my ear, this conversation reminds me of all those nights we couldn’t be together for one reason or another and we’d talk until we fell asleep.
I’d wake up sometimes an hour or two later in the stillness of the night, clutching the phone. I’d yell, “Ben! Wake up!” and more often than not I’d hear the phone clattering to the floor as he woke up too.
I had a pink princess phone that my mom had bought for me when I moved into my first apartment off campus. I kept it on my night stand, and since it was before cordless phones, I would always lie in bed to talk on it. I think there’s something missing from phone conversations now – if we even have conversations, instead of texting. Being able to take a phone anywhere means you’re always multitasking. Back in college, on that pink princess phone, the conversation had my full attention. I was anchored to the phone—there was no speaker and the cord only reached so far. I’d lie in bed any night I wasn’t with Ben and we’d just talk and talk.
“Hey, do you remember when we would fall asleep on the phone talking to each other?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah, of course I do. Those were some of my favorite nights. I mean, being with you was great, but just cradling the phone and having your voice be the last thing I heard before falling asleep…” he trails off and I wonder what he’s thinking about.
“Do you remember that night?” he asks slyly.
Oh—that’s what he’s thinking about. How could I forget? Ben was at a gig in Maine during spring of our senior year, but I couldn’t go. He called me from the hotel after the show—a little drunk, and from what I could tell, very horny. I remember feeling incredibly grateful that he called me and didn’t just find some random girl to satisfy him.
“I wish you were here,” he whispered, his voice caressing me when his hands couldn’t.
“Do you want to know what I’d do to you, if I was?” I practically purred.
“I have an idea and it’s making me hard.”
“Well, I’m sure your idea’s right then. I’d take you in my mouth until you touch my tonsils.”
“Holy fuck, Maxie—you’re gonna make me come.”
“So, do it—go get some lotion. I’ll talk you through it.”
“Let me see if I can pul
l the phone into the bathroom. I don’t know if the cord will reach. Fuck it. I’m just gonna lock the door. The guys can wait outside if they get back.”
“Yeah, I remember,” I answer. “I have to admit—I never had another conversation like that with anyone else.”
“You even let yourself go after I did. I remember thinking—no way can I get her to, just by talking to her. But, man—that was the hottest night.”
“I laid my soul bare that night. In some ways I think it was even more intimate than the times we were physically together. I remember you whispering, ‘I love you so much’ as you, um… rode the wave. Did you ever talk to anyone else like that after me?” As soon as I’ve asked the question, I want to take it back. It’s really none of my business, but for some reason, I just need to know. I need to know if Ben’s ever had that deep connection, that ability to just be completely exposed—no walls, no masks—just words reaching out over the phone line.
Ben is quiet for a moment and then, “No, I haven’t. You have to let yourself be vulnerable for that and I don’t think I’ve ever done that with anyone but you, Max.”
I don’t quite know what to say. I feel like that, too, but I don’t know if I’m ready to admit it, so I make a joke. “You know I feel bad for college kids today with their sexting. It’s not nearly as good as phone sex.”
“True,” Ben answers quietly. And immediately I worry that I’ve hurt his feelings by pretty much ignoring what he admitted. This whole thing is so tenuous. I just feel like if I say the wrong thing, this nascent connection we’ve been forming could be torn apart.
So, I say something completely reckless and quite possibly outlandish. “Do you want to again?” I ask, my voice barely rising above a whisper, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Do I want to, you know, um, talk it through again?” I don’t think it’s my imagination that Ben’s voice sounds like a kid who was just told that Santa Claus is bringing him exactly what he wants for Christmas.
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