Charlotte considered her sister’s flat belly, her tiny waist.
Fiona sighed. “You just look like…like you’ve given up.”
“Oh.”
“No offense.”
Charlotte remembered just then a time, years ago, when Gracie had come home from school saying she didn’t like when people started a sentence with “No offense” because they thought it gave them permission to say whatever they wanted afterward. “No offense, but your face looks like a canned ham.” “No offense, but you are dumber than a box of hair.”
Fiona was looking at her expectantly, so Charlotte nodded without being entirely sure why.
“No offense,” Fiona continued, “but living in the Midwest…I don’t know. Maybe it has changed you.”
“It’s not because we live in the Midwest. We love the Midwest.” Don’t be dogging on the Midwest, Ms. Snobbity-Snob-Snob, Charlotte thought.
“I mean, what do you people out there eat? Corn dogs. Corn chips. Corn syrup soda?”
Charlotte shook her head.
“It’s revolting. Do you know that my kids have never had a Coca-Cola, a Snickers bar, or a doughnut? Not in their entire lives.”
“Huh.”
“All I was saying by the pact is that you should clean up your diet and start working out. It will make you feel better, I can promise you that, especially when you rid your body of all that poison. And you will simply adore Leopold. I mean, you will love him. You will want to eat him up. And it will be like taking care of Pact Item Number One and Pact Item Number Five, all at once.”
Charlotte strained to remember through the haze of her hangover. Oh yes, pact items one and five: lose weight and enjoy delicious men. She wondered what flavor a personal trainer was. Sweat and balls came to mind. Decidedly not delicious.
“So, let’s get started. What do you say? Today?”
Charlotte was silent. No offense, she thought, but you’re sort of controlling and bitchy.
“Come on! What do you say? Can we help you?” Fiona pleaded.
Charlotte took a deep breath. She ran her palms along her shiny black jogging pants. She wondered if any of Fiona’s neighbors or clients had seen her pathetic run, which had become a walk, which had become an amble, punctuated by shouts of public humiliation. She wondered if any of these neighbors or passers-by would be reporting to Fiona later in the day.
“I can help myself,” Charlotte said, mostly to herself.
“I know. But that’s what friends are for. That’s what sisters are for.” She took a deep breath. “Plus, no offense, Charlotte, but you’re not super into action.”
“What does that mean?”
“You just…you would rather think about things than do them.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Yeah. It is. For example…when was the last time you left your house, on a vacation?”
“I don’t know. It’s been a while, but…We’re here, aren’t we?”
“I know. But this is a little different. This isn’t a vacation. This is a time away for you to better yourself.”
“It is?”
“Yes.” Fiona looked at the ceiling and sighed. “It’s been at least fifteen years, Charlotte. Gracie says you guys have never done it. Never taken a vacation that didn’t involve visiting a relative. She just told me this at breakfast.”
“It’s just not true.” Charlotte tried to think about it. She and Caleb had planned to do all kinds of things once they got on their feet. It had just taken longer than expected.
“It just…seems like you are letting life pass you by. And I remember….growing up….if we had let you, you would have spent your entire summer in the studio painting freakin’ trees or reading your freakin’ books.”
“Painting trees is doing something. Reading books is doing something.”
“No, you have to move to do something.”
“No you don’t.”
“See? You have no idea how frustrating it was to grow up with you. Mom and Dad were always banging their heads against a wall to get you to have fun. To do stuff.”
“I was valedictorian. I was president of the Honor Society. I earned a full ride academic scholarship and graduated summa cum laude with Phi Beta Kappa honors.”
“That’s because all you did was study.”
“Oh right. And you have to move to be doing something. So studying doesn’t count. Earning accolades doesn’t count.”
“Precisely. Because, look around you, Charlotte. It got you nowhere. And you didn’t even get to have any fun.”
Charlotte’s memory flashed to the parties their mom and dad were always hosting. All the commotion and the music and the crystal tumblers half-filled with single malt. They were ever telling Charlotte to lighten up, to throw caution to the wind, to have more fun. And sometimes Charlotte would hide in her bedroom closet with a flashlight, a pair of socks tied around her head so she could hear herself think. All of those people, always in her house— they wore her out. But Fiona could generally be found smack in the center of the crowd, perhaps standing on a table, singing or twirling.
It had been five years since Mom and Dad packed up and moved to their ancestral homeland, to Glasgow. Charlotte and Fiona had both promised to visit, but they hadn’t yet. What would her mother and father think of this pact…this promise of transformation? She could almost smell her mum’s whisky-soaked breath, could almost see her punching her tumbler into the air and shouting “Aye, Charlotte! Aye!”
Charlotte missed her, suddenly, and her tone softened. “Look, I know you want to help.” She put a hand on Fiona’s back. “And I thank you for all your work and for all your…feedback. But I need to do this myself. I can get my juju back…or whatever you said…but I need to do it on my own terms.”
Fiona turned away and blinked. She opened her mouth to say something. Then closed it again.
“You can understand that, right, Fiona?”
Fiona stood. She hadn’t dressed yet, but her silky emerald nightgown made her eyes a brilliant, blazing green. Her breasts sat erect in their places like two rocks, marbled with blue veins under taut translucent skin. She sighed. “Can I at least do your hair, today? Can I do some highlights? Cut all this off?” She reached over to grab at the ends of Charlotte’s hair. “All those raggedy ends?”
Charlotte shook her head. Then she took her plate and entered the swinging door into the kitchen, where she tossed her cantaloupe into the trash and gobbled four slices of bacon from the kids’ plates in the sink.
As she chewed, she remembered how very much she disliked breakfast meat. And yet, there was something about being told not to eat something that made her crave it all the more.
***
The house was quiet. So quiet. When her own house was empty, it felt snug and warm; the silence like a quilt that she drew around herself, cocooning her energy for that time when the kids would once again throw open the door and tell her noisy, jostling tales from the school bus and the middle school cafeteria.
But when Fiona’s house was empty, it felt chilled, with a dreary, desolate quality. As Charlotte moved through the halls, she felt disembodied, floating like a ghost.
They had all gone to the salon: Fiona and Gracie, Hannah, Maxwell, and Maddox. Just as they were loading into Fiona’s Range Rover, Charlotte had backed out.
“I’m not sure I’m feeling well,” Charlotte said, which was mostly true.
“But you have to see my salon!” Fiona rebutted. “You simply must.”
“I’ll see it another day. Tomorrow maybe. I just…I suddenly don’t feel up to it.” And this was the truth. She knew she was being petty and small, but she wasn’t sure she could see another of Fiona’s successes. She wasn’t sure she could tour another monument to Fiona’s good, solid decisions and all her blessed action. The worst part was, Charlotte hadn’t realized there was so much wrong with her until she had arrived here. Maybe her life had become a bit of a bore…
“Mom.” Gr
acie flashed her mother a look that said, I don’t want to go without you. Help!
“You guys will be fine without me,” Charlotte said. “And I want to hear all about it when you get back.”
“But what are you going to do?” Hannah asked.
“I think I’ll lie down and maybe get settled in here a little.” She dug in her wallet and handed Gracie two crisp twenty-dollar bills. “Why don’t you girls take everyone out for ice cream?” she said.
Fiona groaned. “Ice cream?” She slumped her shoulders, exaggerating it so everyone could see.
Maddox and Maxwell bounced on the balls of their feet. “Yes! Ice cream! We never get ice cream!”
Maddox threw his arms around Charlotte’s upper thighs, which was as high as he could reach. “I love ice cream more than anything else in the whole world, Aunt Charlotte.”
“What are you trying to do to me?” Fiona asked.
Charlotte smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Sorbet? Italian ice? Frozen yogurt?”
“Alright, load in the car.” Fiona made a weeping motion with her hand. “We’ll see about the ice cream. Maybe we can find some nice dried fruit instead. I bet I even have some raisins in the glove box.” And then they were gone. Apparently, this was the battle Fiona had chosen. Food.
First Charlotte tried to sleep. She had to do something to get rid of this blasted headache, but she couldn’t get past that buzzing sensation in her brain, the same one she experienced in the middle of the night. Ever since the girls were toddlers, she would often wake at two in the morning; her mind fully alert. It was as though a surge of adrenaline had woken her, and it would take two or three hours to sufficiently dilute in her bloodstream so she could drift off to sleep again. Meanwhile, she would listen to the night sounds of her home, soft snores from Caleb, the clank and hum of the water heater, the settling and occasional popping of the joists deep in the floor.
As she lay there, she tried to take advice from a book she had read. She would try to feel grateful for each of the things in her life, cradling them in her mind, one by one. After a moment or two, however, her mind would shift on its own accord and she would begin thinking other thoughts. Thoughts and questions. Always the same ones, deep in the night: Was there more to life than this? What did she really like to do? Was there a point to doing anything at all? Why didn’t she enjoy doing things other women enjoyed, like sewing Halloween costumes and volunteering for school dances? Was she wasting her life and her potential?
Charlotte’s throat constricted as she remembered the tight-lipped smiles the girls had given her when she told them about Fiona’s invitation, just after she had sent Caleb away with only a suitcase and a toothbrush. The way the girls had responded when Charlotte had asked them, “Do you think we should go? Do you think we should take a summer to go somewhere else? Somewhere new?” The girls had looked at her, and then they had looked at one another, steadily for a long while, and then Gracie had said, in a small voice, “Do you think this would help you? Would it be good for you? For us?” Then Charlotte had nodded, and they had folded her in their arms and stood in the kitchen and swayed from side to side, arms locked over backs.
What would she have done if they had asked to stay in Missouri, with their father? If one of them had asked to stay behind?
And when she had told Caleb their plans, his jaw had grown tight, his teeth clenched. He wanted her back. She knew this. And he would agree to anything, even her leaving, if it meant she might return, feeling better, picking up their life and their marriage exactly where they left off. When she told him she was going away, she had seen a flutter at his temple, a pulse of tension. Was his hair thinning? That would serve him right.
She had given up everything for him. She had been a straight-A college senior. Then Caleb’s pregnant girlfriend. Then a summa cum laude graduate. Then a mother. And that’s when her ambition died. All she wanted to do, suddenly, was raise her girls. And so she married the man who knocked her up. The sexy, young literature professor who every undergrad wanted to visit for office hours. She just hadn’t realized it was still this way.
Caleb said he hadn’t done anything with that woman. That he hadn’t even touched her. That strong dark woman with the dark, dark lips. This is what Caleb said, but Charlotte knew.
And today, as she tried for a nap in the sunny guest bedroom, atop the coverlet that she had already pulled tight for the day, her mind whirred in the way it always did when she was lying down, not sleeping. First, she marveled at how she’d actually been looking forward to a fresh start here, at Fiona’s house. The very idea of it had gotten her through the last week with Caleb. The fights, the denials. But now, suddenly, she worried that she had made a dreadful mistake. Why did she feel so petty? Why couldn’t she ever manage to transform herself, using her own methods? And why hadn’t she realized how very much work there was to do? On her own?
On her own. That’s exactly what she would do. She would use these three months as a time to improve herself. To eat right and exercise. To get back in touch with the things she enjoyed. She would return to Missouri looking and feeling better than ever. On her own.
Granted, Charlotte tended to have an easier time starting a diet when she was full from a meal. Once she got hungry, she found it became exponentially more difficult. But now—today—the hunger pangs and growls told her that she was finally doing something right. That she had already begun on the path to her metamorphosis and rebirth.
Charlotte sat straight up in bed. She swung her legs to the side and found herself on the way to Fiona’s fitness room.
She started on the elliptical, a lanky contraption that hummed and whirred as she pushed with each foot. Charlotte was surprised to find herself breathless in only a few minutes and with the machine still in its default mode, with minimal resistance. And what was with all the mirrors? They were everywhere, wall to wall.
Charlotte kept her eyes on her feet to avoid staring into her own reflection, and this was making her dizzy and unsteady. She had worked out for only a short time when a wave of anguish and dissatisfaction swelled over her, then seized her by the throat.
Charlotte wobbled off the elliptical machine and sank down in the corner of the room, low enough where she couldn’t see her reflection, and she drew up her knees all the way to her chest and she laced her hands around her ankles and she let the tears fall without lifting a hand to her face. Where had this rush of sadness come from? What was wrong with her?
Her first response: Everything. Her second response: High elevation and low blood sugar. Charlotte always did have a bit of a blood sugar problem. She felt faint sometimes before breakfast, and Hannah and Gracie had once told her that she really shouldn’t diet because it “made her kind of mean.”
She stood and ambled to the kitchen, wiping her tears now on her bare arm. She snorted and sniffed. God, she hoped Fiona didn’t have a surveillance system.
Fiona’s kitchen pantry was as large as Charlotte’s master bathroom at home. The shelves had been stained a deep espresso color and, once inside, it was hard to see what treasures they held. Jars and canisters donned clean white labels and everything was stacked and lined up just so.
Ah, now there was something. Something good. Positioned directly in the front and down low, where the kids could reach it. A jumbo plastic tub of peanut butter. A nice, huggable-sized container. Extra smooth. She sank to the floor, once again, holding the tub in her lap. She snapped open the lid and plunged in two fingers. As soon as she placed it in her mouth and the great gob of creamy, familiar, glossy roasted goodness made its way into her belly, she felt a surge of happy fullness. Fulfillment.
She licked her fingers clean, which took some time. Then she replaced the lid on the tub and sank back against the shelves. She tasted a bitterness then. Shame, perhaps? Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe it just took coming out here to realize how far she had fallen.
***
Caleb zipped his Samsonite suitcase. Was this really all he wou
ld need for a month or two…or however long he’d have before the book’s official launch? His publicist would soon be sending Advanced Reading Copies to libraries, bookstores, and media outlets. He had been able to make his edits and his new Acknowledgements page before it went to press, which gave him a flutter of hope.
This really was going to be a great way to spend the summer. Why hadn’t he thought of this before Charlotte ran off? Conducting workshops in small, picturesque towns during the summer breaks? Charlotte would have loved that idea. It might have been just what she needed.
Well, here it was. He would lead some workshops. Start outlining the next book. And he would get his wife back. A sense of confidence flared in him.
But was this really all he needed? A briefcase, a laptop, and a suitcase full of clothes? Charlotte had always packed for him. And she had made checklists for those professional items he would need during book tours or interviews or seminars. Lists of things to remember to do, to buy, even things to take care of before he left.
Now he knew that he was probably forgetting something. Shit. The mail. Were you supposed to have someone hold the mail? The newspaper? Was he supposed to turn off the water? The sprinklers? What if Charlotte’s plants died while he was gone? He clenched inside. Was this even a good idea? Should he be doing this? Surprising her? Charlotte didn’t much like surprises.
To hell with that. If nothing else, he was going to see his daughters. And if he left now, he would be there by morning.
***
Hannah slid along the wood floor on her socks. “You should have come, Mom. The salon is a-ma-zing! There are places for massage therapists. And there are mani-pedi stations and these gigantic chairs that massage every part of you while they do your feet and your hands. Look!” She waggled her hands in front of Charlotte. Each nail was painted a brilliant, shiny red with a tiny white butterfly drawn on the tip. Caleb would not have liked the dark red. He permitted only light pink for fingernails.
Charlotte could tell that Hannah was watching her mother’s face for a hint of her reaction, so she smiled and said, “Pretty.”
Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy) Page 4