Mother Suck a Cat!
He looked incredible—so freaking incredible. Where were his Coke bottle glasses? Where the Hell was the gray hair that sprinkled the sides of his head? Were those Polo Jeans? He was slightly tanner, too—sun-kissed and golden. He must be golfing more. Staring longer, I realized he was definitely thinner. He looked about twenty pounds lighter. Christ, it’d only been three weeks since I’d seen him. How could he lose twenty pounds in three weeks? The only thing I’d lost in the last three weeks was my dignity, self-esteem, and sanity.
What in God’s name was that all about?
Matt met someone.
Another woman was the only reason a middle-aged man would start looking this good, this irresistibly good. My husband was boning some young skank on the side. He had to be.
Laughing at some absurd joke Evan told him, Matt’s face lit up and his laughter filled the room. My heart fluttered and sunk. Christine shoved me into the kitchen. Matt turned and looked at me. Our eyes met, and a boyish grin splayed across my husband’s face.
“Angelisa, my God, you… you… you look beautiful,” he said, walking toward me. Opening his arms, he tried to hug me, at which point, I backed up, and said, “This is Christine; Christine Zolendz, my critique partner and friend from New York. Remember, I said she’d be here?” I sputtered, organizing all the papers on the island and handing him a manila folder. “Here is everything you need to know about the kids. I have all their insurance information, medical forms, everything that you might—”
“Ang, I’m their father—not some babysitter. I know what they need,” he said, walking over to me. “I know their allergies, their likes, dislikes, hopes, fears—everything. I’m their Dad. Not only do I know everything about them… I know it about you too, Lou.”
Ignoring the tug on my heartstrings at the sound of my nickname, I said, “Speaking of that, I still have you as my emergency contact on my forms. I haven’t gotten around to changing any of my paperwork yet. But once I get back from Vegas—”
“So, you two are really doing this?” he asked, looking between Christine and me for confirmation.
“Of course, do you never listen to me… can you ever take me seriously? For God’s sake, Matt—”
“Lou, I just asked. I knew you wanted to go. I told you that I thought it would be good for you—for both of you,” he nodded toward Christine. “You just never told me that you guys had actually decided to go. That’s all. I think you should go. You need this. People need to see just how wonderful and talented and perfect you really are.”
Every time I hear Matt call me “Lou,” I’m a teenager again, and my heart flutters like the first time. The first time Matt ever called me “Lou,” we’d been drinking in his backyard after I snuck out to meet him one night. He’d drunk a lot that night, and he told me that he loved me for the first time ever.
Sort of.
It was a storybook tale.
Sort of.
The stars were out. Fireflies were lighting up the trees that we were tucked under while crickets chirped somewhere in the distance. There was a cool breeze that left a chill on my arms in the warm, humid air. Matt brushed the hair out of my eyes, and said, “Ang, I love Lou. I mean, I yove lou.”
It was the most perfectly ridiculous and romantic thing he’d ever said to me. He’d called me “Lou” ever since, trying desperately to hide the fact that he hadn’t just screwed up my name and ruined the first time a boy ever told me he loved me.
“Boys, let’s get your stuff in your dad’s truck,” Christine said, walking toward the piles of luggage. “If I stay in here any longer, I’m going to stab your mom in the throat,” she mumbled so only I could hear her.
“Yeah Matt, let’s get the car packed. Christine and I have a long day and night of driving before our first stop,” I said, not wanting to be left alone with him.
I had no idea why I was so afraid to be alone with my husband, but I most certainly was. I was afraid of how I felt about him. But more importantly, I was afraid of how he didn’t feel about me.
After the truck was loaded and each boy ran back into the house for a charger or a forgotten iPod or to take “another wazz,” all the kids crammed into Matt’s truck and immediately started fighting and punching one another.
Christine was pretending to ignore us and grab something out of her van, but she was absolutely watching Matt’s every move and listening to his every word.
Grabbing my hand, Matt pulled me closer to him, until our bodies were only inches apart. Trapping my hand against his chest, I could feel the pound of his heart thudding against my hand. “Lou, listen to me, just say the word, tell me to stay, and I’ll stay. Tell me that you want to come with us, and Kevin can crawl in the back, and we can spend all summer in Michigan as a family—our family,” he pleaded, running his free hand through my hair. “Just say it—tell me you still want me—still want to be with me. Hell Lou, say the word, and I’ll even drop everything and make this trip to Vegas with you. Anything. Just say the word.”
“Make sure Evan takes his allergy medicine… and don’t let Kevin spend too much time on his phone,” I said, backing away from him and out of his reach.
“Angelisa please—”
“Oh and make sure they all get their sports physicals somewhere up in Michigan by the August 5th deadline. They need to be done some time between June 30th and August 5th to count for this upcoming school year,” I reminded him, still stepping backward out of his reach.
Matt’s head dropped. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Looking back up at me, he nodded his head, and the corners of his mouth turned downward. “Okay Lou… okay.” He shook his head twice, looked at the boys in the car, and then back at me. “Okay then, you win. See you in August. It was nice to meet you, Christine. Take care of her this summer.”
Matt got into his truck, clicked on his seatbelt, and started the engine. He sat in the driveway for a few moments before he backed out and slowly drove away. I stood paralyzed in fear watching his car turn the corner at the end of our road—my road.
“Our” was gone.
It was only me.
Walking up behind me, Christine wrapped a single arm around me and said, “Where is the closest optometrist’s office?”
“About seven miles away,” I answered still staring at the empty street corner.
“Why? Do you need something there?”
“Because I think we need to stop there before we take this road trip. Otherwise, I’m not sure if I can let you drive,” she explained.
“What do you mean? My eyes are fine. I don’t wear glasses or anything like that.”
“Well you need some, because you, my dear, are blind as a freaking bat,” she said, shaking her head at me. “If you can’t see how in love that man is with you, then you are dumber than a box of freaking doorknobs.”
“Don’t. Don’t. I’m not ready to talk about this,” I explained, stepping away from the confrontation.
“Fine. I got you. You won’t hear another word from me about it, then,”
Christine said, walking toward my brother’s car.
“Ang, whose sports car is this, anyway?”
“My brother’s. He’s in Atlanta for work. Since I live so close to the airport, he parks it here, and I drive him to the airport. He’s getting a cab here at the end of the week when he gets back. It’s cheaper than parking in the lot at the airport.”
“I thought your brother was freaking loaded?” she asked, peeking into the windows.
“Oh, he is, hence the fact that he drives a Jaguar convertible, but that doesn’t stop him from using coupons and other crap like that to save a buck… including using my driveway as a parking lot for his business trips,” I explained truthfully.
“Damn, this is a gorgeous car,” she marveled, walking around the Jag and inspecting every inch of it.
“It really is. It kind of represents everything I want to be: new, shiny, tiny, sleek, and incredibly sexy,” I jok
ed.
“Crap, me too. Now I have to be frigging jealous of cars, too,” Christine groaned, glaring at the car.
“With a body like that, what more could you ask for?” I said, laughing. “It’s so hot… so freaking hot.”
“Oh, speaking of hot, did I tell you that the air conditioning went out in my van?”
Christine said, frowning. “It’s going to be one hot drive to Vegas.”
Immediately her eyes lit up and sparkled with mischief.
Mine followed suit.
Twitter: Cupcakes. The answer to all life’s questions. #Gonein60seconds #AllYouCanEat
We launched into the street so fast I could swear I felt the pressure of centrifugal force slamming my eyeballs into the back of my skull. I snapped my head in Angelisa’s direction. She sat gripping the steering wheel and shrieking in holy terror. Her eyes were squeezed shut tight.
“Are you crazy?” I yelled, clutching at my seat belt. “Open your eyes!”
There was a fleeting glimpse of the world outside the car’s tinted windows that blurred by fast. My heart hammered in my ears when she opened her eyes wide and cut across a curb to make a sharp turn onto a narrow side street. My head hit the roof. Pain screamed out from somewhere behind my eyeballs.
“We’re stealing a car!” she screamed.
We were. We were stealing a mother-effing Jaguar!
She stomped the gas harder and flew out onto a four-lane boulevard as if NASCAR racing was her superpower. She cut off a family minivan and veered right. Tires squealed and screeched beneath us. Burning rubber and smoke trailed in our wake.
The sudden terror of a brick wall had me pulling my feet up over the dashboard, ready for impact. Sweat burst out across my face. At the last minute, she swerved to avoid the wall, throwing me up against the passenger side window, face smashed up against the glass.
“Whoops. Sorry.”
“S’ Okay,” I lied through gritted teeth.
Red lights and stop signs, just suggestions.
Yield signs, forget about them.
She drove out of that neighborhood like we were on fire. We were on fire—a fire fueled by freedom and fun.
She took the onramp to the highway doing over 90 miles per hour. I was holding onto anything I could to keep my balance. The seat belt strap cut into my chest. I might even have peed just a little. “Dear Lord. Please watch over this crazy-ass driver and me,” I began. “I don’t want to die.”
She merged onto the highway, crossing all lanes at once. Cars blasted horns, and tires shrilled as drivers swerved out of her way.
“What are you doing?” I asked, bracing myself.
“Turning on the heated seats. I’ve never had a hot ass before,” she squealed.
“Trust me, you do not want to do that! You’ll end up with swamp vag—there’s nothing worse than warm, funky vag,” I explained, turning off the heat. “Plus, it’s June and 75 degrees. Why do you want heat, anyway?”
“Luxury that my old lady van doesn’t have,” she admitted.
“Let’s do this instead,” I yelled, opening the sunroof and sticking my whole torso and head out. With my hair blowing and Ang traveling at breakneck speed, I screamed, “Hey forty, suck it! Forty is the new nineteen, bitches.” Still screaming, I gagged on a mosquito, and picked two out of my teeth.
Then, Angelisa jammed on the brakes and slowed the Jag to 30 miles an hour. I lunged forward, banging my forehead on the roof. “What the Hell did you do that for?” I asked, rubbing my head and coming back into the car.
“Thought it would be funny,” she smirked, speeding up again. Skid marks and smoke trailed behind us. We were never getting to Vegas. We were going to die in a fiery crash of twisted metal and poorly packed luggage. Somebody would go through the wreckage and find my Pepto Bismol pink vibrator with clitoris stimulation and anal plug while judging my whorish, perverted ways.
“Pardon me,” the judge interrupts. Why the hell does she have to keep interrupting my story? “Are you telling me you committed grand theft auto? Then endangered the lives of the people in your community by disobeying traffic laws and…”
“No,” I lie, narrowing my eyes at her. “Angelisa pleasantly drove the speed limit and adhered to all traffic laws for the remainder of the drive. It was quite entertaining and enjoyably relaxing. I never once feared for my life in the least.” I cross my arms over my chest. At this point I just want to tell my story and sit back down, let her really arrest me for something. Just give me a pen and paper, so I could write this shit down.
“Ms. Zolendz, the district attorney is overwhelmed by the Affidavit I’m holding in my hands right now. And personally, I don’t know what to make of it either. I’m trying to give you the chance to explain yourselves…”
“She’ll get on with it, your Honor,” Angelisa says, smiling brightly.
“Please continue,” Judge DREAD orders.
Angelisa hit cruise control at THE LAWFUL SPEED LIMIT. “You want to listen to music?”
“No. I want to talk about that gorgeous, sweet man you call husband,” I pried.
“Nope. Off limits. I can’t think about him right now,” she stated, cutting me off.
“Seriously, what’s going on? There’s more to your story than you’re telling me. Did you find him banging some bedazzled thing at work?” I asked, with a bitter laugh.
“No, it’s nothing like that. We just don’t… It’s just not the same anymore,” she said just above a whisper.
“Are you telling me you’re not in love with him anymore?” I asked.
“I just don’t know if either of us are. What if we’re just together, because that’s where we’re stuck?” She turned toward me, her eyes welled with unshed tears. “Did you ever get that heart-pounding, exhilarating feeling when you were with someone?”
“Sure. I used to have that with Scott when we were younger, you know that first stage of a relationship where everything is new and exciting. Way before kids.” I said.
“Yeah. Then the person you had this great love for just turns into a regular, extremely flawed, annoying human being,” she continued.
“Yep. Same person that used to give you butterflies from a look across a room makes you sick to your stomach with their nail clippings, dirty underwear, and chainsaw snoring,” I added.
“And their jokes aren’t funny anymore. Their cologne makes you gag,” she cringed.
“The thought of having sex with them is akin to getting your teeth pulled by some guy who practices dentistry from the back of his old station wagon,” I laughed.
“All you end up doing is wondering every day what the hell happened to us? Where is the person I fell in love with? And who the Hell am I in this relationship? Where did I go?”
“That’s marriage, though, isn’t it? When you’re with someone for so long it gets easy to start taking each other for granted and lose sight of each other and staying friends. But you guys went on dates every week and…”
“See, that’s just it. We haven’t done that in months. God, Chris,” she wiped at her eyes. “I can’t even remember the last time we had sex.”
“What’s sex?” I laughed, looking out into the distance of the road we were on.
“We used to have amazing sex. Really dirty stuff. Like the erotica I write about in books. We’ve done everything I’ve written. You know, for research. But now he doesn’t ever want to. He doesn’t even look at me like he wants me anymore.”
“I want someone to look at me the same way I look at cupcakes,” I whispered.
“Cupcakes.”
“Mmm cupcakes,” I sang.
“I’m so hungry,” she sighed.
“Me too.”
“What’s the possibility rate of finding a cupcake restaurant in Ohio?” I asked.
“Unrealistic.”
“My imagination is so much better than my reality. So much better.”
After a hundred or so miles and three bags of chips each, we were still in Ohio. “How b
ig is this state? It’s not ending. I want it to end.”
“You’re getting cranky, because you’re hungry,” she said.
“I was hungry two hours ago. Now I’m in a state of complete nutritional deprivation. Let’s stop somewhere,” I said.
I played with the extensive GPS system installed in the dash of the Jaguar, pushing buttons and giggling to myself. “Why in the world would a man need a car like this?” I waved my hands across the GPS screen. “Look at what I just did on his GPS! I found all the restaurants in the area. What are you in the mood for?”
The GPS beeped and made these cute little noises. Apparently, the brother must be some sort of technological hornball, because the entire GPS system spoke in a low seductive, female voice that chuckled and called us Jakey-Poo. I mean who programs cars to do that stuff?
“Ohhhhh! Look! An All-You-Can-Eat buffet!” she simultaneously swerved and squealed.
“All you could eat buffet? That’s like food porn!”
Swerving across four lanes of traffic, she pulled off the highway and followed the provocative voice of the GPS toward the restaurant. “My God, your brother must be a real character, huh? This GPS. This car. I think I hate him already.”
“He’s a piece of work. That’s for sure,” she said, turning onto a narrow street and into the parking lot of the restaurant. “Oh man, I’m so hungry that they are going to need one of those hoist thingies or the Jaws of Life to get me to leave this place!”
We both climbed out of the car, stretching and yawning. Turning my back to her, I looked over my shoulder and asked, “Does my butt look like the shape of that seat? It feels weird.”
“No,” she chuckled, “But you do have potato chip crumbs all over it.” She started whacking at my bottom, helping me get all the crumbs off and added, “They’re kind of in the shape of a big penis, too. Looks like you’re taking it in the rear tonight, Chris,” she laughed, still wiping the chips from my astronomical ass.
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