by M. E. Carter
But I’ve spent the last two hours catching her shooting daggers at me from a distance while she tries to play like my family is actually hers. I know she’s up to something. But I’ll play nice.
It’s for the girls… it’s for the girls… Keep reminding yourself of that, Elena.
“No, I’m ok. Thanks.” I brush her off and keep loading the dishwasher, hoping she’ll take the hint and go back to her asshole. I mean husband.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she saunters right over to the counter and opens a bag of chips. I roll my eyes to the heavens and say a quick prayer for patience. Yes, I allowed James to bring her, but not for us to “hang out”.
“It’s ok. The guys are talking business anyway,” she says pleasantly while I do my best to get this knife in the silverware tray and not launch it at her head. “You know how James is… all business all the time.”
“Unless he’s screwing his secretary,” I mumble under my breath.
She turns to look at me. “I’m sorry? I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” I give her the same wide eyes and sweet smile she gave me earlier.
She briefly raises an eyebrow in irritation. It happens so fast, if I hadn’t been looking for a reaction, I would never have seen it. I admit, I’ve made a game out of ruffling her feathers sometimes. Knowing I still have at least that much control makes me excessively happy. But isn’t that true of every woman scorned? None of us like giving a shit. And for the most part, we don’t spend our days fixating on it. But to know you can get a little dig in here and there, it feels like taking back a tiny little piece of the dignity she stole from me when she stole my husband.
Not that he’s any prize. At least not anymore. Fifteen years ago, maybe he was. Turns out lying and deceit don’t help you age well. Too bad I didn’t see it until now.
“Max looks like she’s having a good time.” Keri tries again to engage me in small talk as she washes her hands of any chip crumbs.
“Hmm,” I say noncommittally.
She sighs and leans against the counter, crossing her arms and feet. “Elena, at some point we’re going to have to be friends.”
And there it is. The dead giveaway that there’s more to the sweet smile and puppy-dog eyes. She’s here to shake things up a bit. Create some drama. Pretend she has good intentions so I fall for her crap and she gets what she wants, when we all know how self-absorbed she really is.
As I turn around to have this conversation I’ve been avoiding, just to get it over with, I take a step back and trip over the open dishwasher door. Fortunately, I catch myself by grabbing the counter before I fall over and break the appliance. Forget looking like an idiot. I’m irritated, and maybe a little angry that Bend Me Over Barbie would try to make nice after upending my life, I don’t even care.
“What did you say?”
She sighs again, this time like she’s annoyed with me… with me… never mind that she’s a guest in my home. “Look, I know I’m not your favorite person…”
“You think?”
“But the reality is, we will be raising these children together. They’re my stepchildren. I have a vested interest in their lives.” I cock my head in disbelief. Surely, she didn’t say that. The anger is starting to take over the irritation.
For the girls… for the girls… for the girls… I keep trying to remind myself, but she won’t stop talking.
“And now that Max will be spending the night, it’ll work better for everyone if we were friends.”
Thank God for my best friend and her impeccable timing. Before I can open my mouth and go against the self-imposed rules I set up for this divorce, Callie walks in carrying an armful of dirty plates. She drops them in the sink, splashing just enough water droplets on our pretty, pretty princess that she squeals.
“Ugh, Callie, be careful! This is a three-hundred-dollar blouse I’m wearing,” Keri squeals.
Callie turns slowly and I take another step back… this time very carefully. I’d know that signature move of hers anywhere. It’s calculated. It’s cold. It means bad, bad words are about to come out of her mouth.
“Since you are now raising Elena’s children,” she emphasizes and I already know this isn’t going to go well for my friend. For me? It’s going peachy, so far. Especially when she picks up a fork covered in icing and starts running her forefinger over it, smoothing the icing down. “A good rule of thumb is to never wear expensive clothes to a three-year old’s birthday party. You never know when someone will accidentally get icing on you.” Quickly, Callie flicks the fork. Not hard. Just hard enough that a few tiny specks of icing fly out and land on Keri’s shirt.
Of course, Project Runway Barbie squeals again. Only this time she grabs a wet rag from the counter while she does it. “Was that necessary?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Callie says with her own fake innocence. I still haven’t made a move. Frankly, I’m too entertained by this whole episode. And it’s nice having a “bad cop” sidekick so I can stay true to my “good cop” desires.
“I get it, ok?” Keri continues scrubbing at the icing on her shirt. “You’re still mad because James chose me.”
Simultaneous gasps come from Callie and me. “She did not say that,” I whisper.
“Pretty sure she did,” Callie whispers back.
Keri rolls her eyes and tosses the rag back in the sink, positioning herself with her hands on her hips like she’s making a stand of some sort. “I can hear you, even when you whisper, you know.”
“We know,” Callie answers. “But it’s more fun to pretend we’re talking behind your back.”
“Look. We have to get along enough that we can help each other raise these kids. That’s what co-parenting means.”
Callie lets out a cackle and clutches her hand to her heart. “You think… you think first, third and fifth weekends is… is raising children?” She’s laughing so hard, she’s bent over to catch her breath. I assume this is an exaggerated laugh for dramatic purposes, because it really wasn’t all that funny. But knowing Callie, she’s about to go in for the kill, so I let it ride.
She finally pulls herself together enough to wipe the invisible tears from her eyes. “Oh, sweetie. Taking the kids to the movies and out to dinner isn’t raising them. It’s babysitting. You aren’t helping raise these children. You’re going on play dates so this one here,” she gestures to me with her thumb, “can go out and get a little R and R.”
Keri narrows her eyes. “That’s not fair,” she declares. “We do time outs and baths and… and family dinners as much as anyone else. It’s not our fault he only gets the kids three times a month and on Thursdays.”
Callie and I look at each other and we both start laughing this time.
“You think he takes them on Thursdays?” I ask.
“I know he does,” she says defensively. “We specifically set up Thursday nights as a night apart so he could go with the kids and I could go to hot box yoga.”
My eyebrows shoot up and Callie stops laughing. Suddenly, this conversation isn’t funny. As much as I despise Keri, it seems she’s becoming a woman scorned way faster than I was. I got almost fifteen years before my relationship caved. They haven’t even been married a year yet. “Keri, he hasn’t picked the kids up for Thursday dinner since the week before Christmas.”
Her face pales. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to,” Callie interjects, “but Elena cancelled her weekly book club meetings because he stopped showing up.”
If it’s possible, Keri’s face pales even further. I sort of feel sorry for her. Well, for a few seconds anyway. Then she straightens her spine, puts her hands on her hips, and opens her mouth.
“You think I’m going to believe what you tell me over what my husband tells me? We took vows of honesty and trust.”
Callie sniggers. I smack her arm, never looking way from Keri. If she wants to be delusional, that’s her problem
.
“You are not going to sabotage my marriage by planting seeds of doubt in my mind. He loves me more than he’s ever loved anyone. He told me.” I cringe at her words. He told me the same thing at one time, too. But, of course, she’s not done with her rant.
“First the hooker shoes and short skirt. Now this. I know what you’re trying to do and it shows terrible character on your part that you would try to come between a woman and her husband.”
“Ok, time for you to go, Delusional Barbie,” Callie announces, grabbing Keri by the arm and dragging her to the back door. “You may have a lot of things, but room to judge someone on her integrity is not one of them.”
“Let me go!” Keri squeals as Callie opens the door.
“Gladly.” She practically shoves Keri out the door and slams it in her face. Through the window, I see her huff and stomp her way to James’s side where she demands, yet another kiss in front of the neighbors.
“You ok?”
I blink and jump when she startles me. “Geez, woman. How did you get close to me so fast?”
“I have the super power of speed. Now seriously, don’t go back into your head,” she warns.
“I’m not.” But I’m lying. I am. James used to tell me all the time that he loved me more than he’d ever loved anyone. Even up to a couple of weeks before he left me. Now I question how long ago his eye, and his dick, started wandering.
“Bullshit. I can see your eyes glazing over.”
I sigh. “Is this skirt too short? Does it make my legs look fat?”
“What’s your definition of fat? Because if you’re comparing to chicken legs out there, that’s not a fair comparison. I could snap her thigh in half with my pinkie.”
I smirk.
“You know I’m telling you the truth.” She puts her hand on my forearm and goes into serious mode. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. “Elena, you’re a woman, not a child. You’re supposed to have curves and scars and embellishments.”
“Embellishments? Is that what we’re calling cellulite now?”
“Do you really want to drag serious mode out? Stop joking so I can finish my point.”
“Sorry.” I press my lips together and pretend I’m zipping them closed.
“Like I was saying, you’re a woman. A beautiful, desirable woman. You do not let her come in here with her passive aggressive bullshit and make this birthday party about anything other than a celebration of Max. Do you understand?”
I look at the floor and nod. She’s right. Today isn’t about me. Or Keri. Or James. It’s about Max and Max alone.
“What you’re saying is, you’d do me if you swung that way?”
“In a heartbeat.” We smile, knowing there is no better compliment than a straight woman telling another straight woman she’s ‘doable’. “Now let’s get this food out there to your guests before they mistake her chicken legs for buffalo wings.”
Serious mode is officially over. Birthday party mode is back on.
“When does James pick up the kids?” Callie grabs Christopher before he climbs up the steps to the balance beam and barrels over Max as she walks across it. I could cringe, but it wouldn’t be the first time he knocked her off.
I take her little hand and help her walk slowly, while Callie wrestles with Christopher on the stairs. Again.
“Tomorrow after school.”
“You ok with him taking Max?”
That is the million-dollar question. Now that she’s officially three, he gets the same visitation as he does with the others—first, third, and fifth weekend of the month.
It’s been hard letting the older two go with him for their visits. Not because I think he’s a bad dad. He’s not. He’s not as attentive as I’d like, but he’s not abusive or anything. It goes against my nature as their mother to be away from them this much. Sending Max away, too, makes it that much harder.
“I’m not thrilled, but there’s nothing I can do about it, ya know? I’m trying not to think too much about it.” Max gets to the end of the beam and I help her jump down to the floor, pride radiating off her face. “Fiona is old enough that she can report to me if anything goes wrong. And she knows how to make basic sandwiches if Home Wrecker Barbie forgets to feed them.”
Callie finally lets Christopher go and he runs across the beam as fast as he can. He trips with just a few feet left to run and tumbles to the ground. Not one adult in the gym even blinks twice. We’re all used to his rough and tumble ways. Sure enough, almost as soon as he hits the floor, he’s on his feet, racing to a springboard and jumping onto a few stacked-up mats. Max races behind him and, somehow, they end up falling in a heap on top of the springboard.
We meander our way across the room, careful not to get too far away from the kids.
“I hate him,” Callie grumbles. “He’s such a jerk and of course he married the worst woman in the entire world. I understand how hard it is to raise kids with a deadbeat dad. But I feel like that’s better than all this fake shit they do.”
“I know. He was such a distant parent when we were married that you know they’re eventually going to dump out of my kids’ lives at some point. Why put them through all the back and forth now?”
“That’s easy. To shove their psychotic relationship in your face.”
I roll my eyes. “You think they’ll ever figure out that I genuinely don’t care that they’re together? That if they were hit by a bus tomorrow the only tears I would shed would be for the sad looks on my kids’ faces?”
“They’re never going to understand that, my friend. They’re delusional enough to think none of us see through their games.”
It’s true. Yes, the betrayal still stings. But any emotion I have towards either of them is gone.
“Mama, Mama!” Max yells from a few feet away. I turn my attention in her direction as she does a forward roll down the cheese-shaped mat. She lands with a flop on her back, spread out like a starfish, but we clap for her improvement anyway—she didn’t roll sideways off the mat this time.
As we clap, I feel him come up behind us before he even says anything.
“Hey, uh, Callie?”
I can’t help but feel a little jealous that he addresses her first. It’s ridiculous, but sometimes I wish a hot guy would be interested in me. Even if it never goes anywhere.
“Oh, hey Greg,” she says with a smile. “We didn’t see you before. Did you get here late?”
“Yeah, my ex decided Peyton was too sick to come today.”
The three of us look over at the young girl happily throwing a scarf in the air and catching it.
“Uh. yeah. She looks really under the weather,” I retort.
“She made a miraculous recovery, right? But hey… did you see where Christopher is?” He points to the bars, and we watch as Tarzan shimmies his way up the side to the high bar.
“Hell…” she mutters and stomps away, yelling, “Christopher! You get down from there right now. We’ve talked about this!”
I laugh under my breath.
“I have no idea how she keeps up with him,” Greg remarks.
“She doesn’t.” Callie stands underneath Christopher, grasping at his feet as he hangs on to the high bar for dear life and flails his legs to get her way from him. If I hadn’t seen this happen a million times before, I’d question her ability to contain him.
Oh, who am I kidding. I’d be laughing at her and thanking my lucky stars it wasn’t me.
“She baby-proofed pretty much her entire house the minute he started walking,” I tell him.
Callie finally gets a good grasp of Christopher and yanks him down, the force throwing them both to the mat. Greg and I both laugh.
“I really wish I would remember to have my camera rolling at all times when they’re around.”
“Is that funny videos show still on TV?” he asks. “You could probably win serious money by putting together some sort of montage of them.”
“I was thinking more like a YouTube chann
el.”
“That could work.” I smile at him and notice he’s smiling back at me. And not just a friendly smirk when he glances my direction. He’s really looking at me and grinning. Like Peyton could fall off that weird rock wall thing or get stuck in a hula hoop and he wouldn’t even notice because he’s looking at me.
I get a weird sensation of butterflies in my stomach. Part nervous. Part excited. And a significant part of me that doesn’t want to get my hopes up, especially since, once again, I didn’t plan to talk to a hot guy and I’m wearing yoga pants and a stained t-shirt. I need to get a grip.
“How much longer do we have in class?” Callie puffs out, as she drags Christopher behind her. I mean “drags” in a very literal sense. He’s made himself dead weight behind her and refuses to stand up.
I look at the clock. “We’ve still got twenty minutes.”
She strains as she makes one last effort to lug Christopher to the mat and drops him on the floor. “We doing lunch when we’re done?”
“I assumed. Don’t we always do lunch?”
“Yes, but this one is extra-hyper today. I’m not sure… Christopher!” she calls out as he starts running back towards the bar. “Good god, will this child ever listen to me?”
“Christopher, stop!” Greg yells after him. And whatdoyouknow… the little shit stops and turns around. “Your mother said stop. Come back here please.”
Callie and I watch with our mouths wide open in disbelief, as Christopher walks right over to Greg who squats down in front of the tot. “Your mother said you can’t go on that high bar. Do you understand?” Christopher nods. “Good. Now you can walk over and swing on the low bar. But if you try to climb to the top, you will sit against the wall until your mom says you can get up. Do you understand me?” Christopher nods again. This time Greg smiles at him. “Good job, bud. Give me five, right here.” Christopher slaps his hand, a smile on his face. “Remember what I said…walk to that low bar.”
“Holy. Shit,” Callie whispers, as we watch Christopher calmly walk exactly where Greg told him to go. “Are you some kind of magician? No, you’re a witch, right? Or warlock. Isn’t that what they call a guy witch?”