The Glass Wives

by Amy Sue Nathan

  “Think about yourself,” Evie said aloud. She rubbed her lips together. The hint of gloss felt dry, almost chapped. She headed toward the entrance and imagined discussing Abraham Lincoln and the emancipation during a cross-campus walk. She imagined herself advising a student during office hours, and providing valued input in faculty meetings. Above all, Evie imagined the self she wanted others to see, and that was not a divorced mom, a retired dater, or someone who lived with her ex-husband’s widow. To the naked County College eye, she would be nothing more—or less—than normal.

  Sam had been in school for over a week. Sophie no longer appeared at Evie’s door in the middle of the night. Nicole had stopped trying to re-reorganize the cabinets. And now Evie was interviewing for a job she wanted. A job that could offer her a new identity and a chance to move forward.

  Hopefulness felt sweet and familiar.

  * * *

  “Good morning, I’m Olivia Talbot.” The chair of the History Department was a dark-skinned African-American woman with little, yet impeccable, makeup. She was tall, even in flat shoes, wearing slim, black trousers and a long, white tunic. She wore large gold hoop earrings that swung when she moved her head, which she did not do often.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for meeting with me.”

  “Have a seat, let’s get down to business.” Dr. Talbot sat and drew a multicolored scarf over one shoulder, creating a look of academic elegance. She glanced at a legal pad on her desk. “You haven’t taught at the college level before, but your credentials are excellent. Northwestern and U of C.” It was as though Evie were eavesdropping as Dr. Talbot talked to herself. “I understand taking time off to raise a family.”

  Evie nodded but said nothing. She wasn’t giving anyone ammunition.

  “I did the same thing years ago, started back part-time as well, and eventually earned my Ph.D. at DePaul. About fifteen years ago, I came here.”

  Maybe she was older than Evie thought. She couldn’t imagine getting a Ph.D. while the kids were at home.

  Dr. Talbot motioned to the window, which overlooked a green expanse. Outside that window it looked like a college: picnic benches and trees in a big square outlined by buildings. “County is very academic, Mrs. Glass. For a community college. Do you go by Mrs. or Ms?”

  “Ms.”

  Dr. Talbot picked up her pen and made a note on the top page. Being a Ms. was a good thing to Evie. Was it a good thing to Olivia Talbot?

  “As I was saying, though this is a serious institution of higher learning, you’ll find County more laid-back than what you’re used to academically.” She glanced down at her paper again.

  What Evie was used to academically were fifth-grade dioramas and Pokémon pencil toppers.

  “It sounds like there’s a good balance.” Evie hoped it would rub off.

  “That’s true. As you know, we need someone to teach Early American History two nights a week for the summer session. Would that be manageable for you if we offered you the position?”

  “It would be.” Nicole’s face appeared before Evie’s eyes. “Absolutely.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. After the summer the position is still part-time, but the class is during the day, not at night.” Dr. Talbot looked at her computer screen, her watch, and at Evie. “Now then, I have a division meeting to attend, so I asked one of our more senior professors to give you a tour and answer any questions you may have. Sandy teaches European History as well as History Ed Theory. I’m sure you’ll get along.”

  Was this a second opinion, or was Evie being pawned off to a department peon? The brush-off would be easier if it was quick.

  “We’ve worked together now for almost ten years, and I trust Sandy’s opinion,” Dr. Talbot continued. “The class you’re being considered for will be in the lecture hall Sandy uses during the day. You’d share office space as well.”

  “I understand.” Professor Sandy had tenure. She was probably a displaced academic snob—all prep school and penny loafer, a Brown reject with attitude—the yin to Dr. Talbot’s yang.

  Someone tapped on the door and opened it before Dr. Talbot said another word. A man in his fifties grasped the door as if ready to pull it shut again. He had a salt-and-pepper crew cut—more pepper than salt—and wore a pale pink oxford tucked into belted, olive chinos. When Evie had imagined her potential adult students, she’d pictured women. Of course there would be men too. Handsome men.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were finished,” he said.

  Evie looked at the doorjamb. Salt and pepper was six feet or six-one. She’d learned how to gauge height during a women’s safety course as an undergrad. She didn’t feel unsafe with the man at the door, more like unsettled.

  “Good timing,” Dr. Talbot said, standing. Evie followed. “Ms. Evelyn Glass, this is Dr. Alexander Perlman. Ms. Glass is applying for the summer adjunct position.”

  Dr. Perlman extended his right hand to Evie. It dwarfed hers, and heat transferred from his palm. Evie’s acute physical awareness released unanticipated memories. And hormones.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Perlman. Please, call me Evie.” She pulled back both her hands and slid them into her jacket pockets. She was thinking about flirting with a colleague. Better than with a student, but probably not a good idea. If Evie got the job, would she see Dr. Perlman on campus?

  He looked at Evie straight on with his bright blue eyes. A brief smile softened his square jaw. He jerked his eyebrows. They were not yet gray. “Please, call me Sandy.”

  Evie gulped, then coughed to cover her shock.

  After leaving Dr. Talbot’s office, Sandy unfolded a campus map and handed it to Evie. “At first, these halls and atriums and paths all look the same. It’s kind of the same way with the students.”

  “Thank you.” Evie tucked the map into her purse. His stride was twice as long as Evie’s, and she scampered to keep up, glad she wore kitten heels and not the three-inch pumps Laney had suggested.

  Sandy smiled at her and slowed his pace. “We’ll start here.” He stopped in front of an office with a door that matched every other door she’d so far seen.

  He slid a keycard through the slotted black box, and just like in hotel rooms from Evie’s other life, a little light flashed red, then green. Inside, the room was dark and small, with a 1970s teacher’s-style oak desk in one corner. Not old—vintage. Sandy flipped the wall switch and the fluorescent ceiling panels flickered. The bookshelves were filled with textbooks. The desk, cluttered with papers and stacks of folders and more books, sat kitty-corner to the metal shelves with the windows to the left. Framed railroad travel posters adorned the walls, along with a couple of framed college degrees with print too small to read. The room smelled like a college professor’s office—a mix of must, antiseptic wipes, and stale coffee.

  “We’ll put a desk on the other wall. And add a bookshelf, I guess.” Sandy scrunched his face, as if he’d never considered the ramifications of sharing his office. “It’ll be tight, but, whatever. No budget, no choice.” He thrust his hands into the air. “Sometimes we just have to make things work.”

  He has no idea.

  Sandy patted the back of a wooden swivel chair. “Have a seat.” It was less of a suggestion, more of a command.

  Evie sat. Sandy leaned on the desk next to her. Now he was two feet taller—effective for negotiating—she’d remember that.

  “I can tell Olivia likes you. She goes with her gut as much as someone’s CV when she hires.”

  Evie wouldn’t be lured into saying something inappropriate. “Thank you.” With Sandy as a conduit, she could ensure Dr. Talbot knew she was interested, in case her inadvertent emotional drooling hadn’t been obvious. “The position seems perfect.”

  Until her divorce Evie was only academic by marriage. Even with her master’s degree, she was a subset of Richard’s Ph.D., relegated to the role of late-night coffee pourer, early-morning alarm clock, proofreader, cheerleader. Evie’s forays into the world
of Pinehurst College had faded. The faculty-spouse soirées were stored in her Before Divorce mental filing cabinet. Her personal history was not unlike any other kind of history, bruised—and healed—by the slap of hindsight’s wisdom. But hindsight wouldn’t help her today. Teaching college, even at a county college, was all about her. She wasn’t the wife, the girlfriend, the date, the mother, or the friend. It was all Evie all the time, for the first time in a long time. Maybe for the first time since she’d met Richard.

  She wished she had the formula for doing and saying everything right. That was where Richard excelled. Following directions (but not rules), solving problems (but not those of his own making). Surprises weren’t boding well for her lately. She wished she had the foresight to know what was next. But only fools rely on wishes, Bubbe had said. She’d said it when Evie and Lisa wished for Hanukkah ponies, for better grades, for bigger boobs and smaller hips, or to win the lottery. Evie was no fool.

  “What’s your best advice that will help me get this job?”

  “Just be yourself. Olivia can see right through a poser.”

  Be yourself. The advice of mothers everywhere.

  “How long have you been teaching here?”

  “Ten years.”

  Ten years ago Evie had infant twins, a house with a newly sodded lawn, budding best friendships, and a husband. Ten years ago Sandy Perlman was probably as old as she was now. When she was fifteen, he was twenty-five. When she was twenty, he was thirty. But it didn’t matter. This was an interview, not a date, which probably meant that running her fingers through her hair and shimmying her shoulders would be unseemly.

  So instead, she just nodded and said, “Wow.”

  It covered everything.

  Chapter 16

  REX WAGGED HIS TAIL, WELL aware the best scraps came from a baby in a high chair. Sam and Sophie deposited their dishes in the sink and sauntered off to do homework. Nicole rinsed and loaded while Evie grabbed a baby wipe and cleaned Luca’s hands and face.

  “I’ll finish the kitchen if you want to get Luca in his pajamas,” Nicole said.

  “Sure. C’mon, Luca, Auntie Evie will take you downstairs.” Nicole smiled. Evie kissed Luca’s head and tasted essence of smooshed peas. Some things never changed.

  Evie rarely entered Nicole’s basement domain, just as Nicole rarely visited the second floor of the house. They occupied group space on the first floor, sharing the kitchen, living room, and dining room as if it were the common space of a dormitory. In a way, it was.

  The boxes of toys Evie had stacked in the corner were now arranged in a square, covered with a vinyl tablecloth and some of Luca’s plastic trucks. It was the perfect height for him to pull himself up on for a round of cruise, play, cruise, play.

  Luca banged on the makeshift play top and Evie turned. Easy, breezy baby play. If only adults could emulate the joy and innocence.

  She looked at a photograph lying on the table that captured a moment that did not belong to Evie. Nicole looked like a bride out of a magazine in a traditional ball gown with extra sparkle, an updo, and a cascading bouquet of calla lilies. Two bridesmaids had donned mauve taffeta dresses they’d never wear again.

  Evie would not do the fancy-white-dress and updo thing if she ever remarried, although that probably wasn’t going to be a problem since she wasn’t dating. She twisted the back of her hair off her neck absentmindedly and sucked in her stomach, just to see if she could.

  “Where do you put the wet diapers?” Evie yelled after removing herself from the imaginary aisle. Nicole appeared at the top of the steps.

  “The diaper pail is outside the bathroom, thanks.”

  With a cotton-footie-pajamaed Luca on her hip, Evie walked to the bathroom. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a pile of mail. It was still delivered to the other house; the family that had moved in didn’t mind, Nicole told her.

  Stepping on the pedal of the white plastic can, Evie spotted an envelope with a familiar green label. She would never go through Nicole’s mail, but what if Nicole had brought Evie’s mail downstairs by mistake? The letter from Midwest Mutual was addressed to Nicole. She must be dealing with them too. Maybe getting the same runaround? Financial details were something they didn’t discuss, except Nicole’s weekly contribution for room and board, which she always paid on time and in cash.

  Evie scanned the room for more of Nicole’s personal effects. No photos of Peter or Lucy. Nicole carried those photos with her. No pictures of her mother or brother. Nicole’s life before Richard existed only in her head and heart.

  Evie didn’t know what she would do without Lisa or her parents. They were far away, but close at heart, their photos lining the shelves. They descended for holidays, called all the time (sometimes too much), and met her and the kids for annual vacations in Rehoboth Beach. Nicole had set one life aside to start a new one. Evie had just blended hers.

  Upstairs in the kitchen, the twins bickered. Although it was music to her ears, this sign of normalcy, Evie was inclined to stop it.

  “What’s going on in here?” she asked, standing under the arch that separated the dining room from the kitchen.

  “I’m trying to figure out this math problem and Sam keeps telling me to be quiet.”

  “I can’t think when she taps her pencil.”

  “Okay,” Evie said. “Soph, don’t tap your pencil. Sam, be patient.”

  “Fine,” he said. “When I’m done, I’m going to ask Alan to help us with our science project.”

  “Not today.”

  “Why not?” the twins whined in unison.

  “Because he’s busy.”

  Sam rolled his eyes and scooted his chair closer to Sophie. They held their pencils the same way, the way Richard did, resting it on their right ring finger instead of their middle finger. They also stuck out their tongues to the left when deep in thought. Fragments of Richard were embedded in their beings.

  “You carry this number over here,” Sam said. “Keep it under this number and you won’t get mixed up.”

  “I know,” Sophie said with a smile.

  “Good job, guys. You guys are good students and good teachers,” Evie said. “Just like your daddy.”

  Sam and Sophie lifted and tilted their heads in unison. Their eyes blinked hard, but shone. Evie relished the glimmer of gladness. Her heart ached for more, and then the twins released wide, toothy smiles.

  Just like Richard’s.

  * * *

  Laney appeared in Evie’s back-door window. She waved her in, filled their mugs with hazelnut blend, and pointed to the two oblong, plastic containers on the counter.

  “You are still going all Barefoot Contessa,” Laney said. “Thank goodness.”

  Laney reached for just-baked lemon cookies. Evie went right for box-mix chocolate chip, but stopped, remembering the snug waistline of the blue suit.

  “I hope you don’t flake out on the baking with your new, fancy job!”

  “I didn’t get it yet,” Evie said. “But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I think I will.”

  They high-fived as if they were toasting with champagne.

  “I guess if you’re not going to get laid, the next best thing is getting paid,” Laney said.

  Only Laney could make that kind of connection.

  Evie sipped the cooling coffee and reached back into the container of cookies, took one, but just put it in front of her.

  “I’ll be so disappointed if I don’t get it, but it’s at night, twice a week. I can still work at Third Coast part-time while the kids are in school and camp.”

  “You’ll get the job. They’d be fools not to hire you,” Laney said.

  “I’ll be sure to give them your recommendation.”

  “You do that.”

  The two friends laughed. If only they could fix things for one another with just a phone call.

  “Did you tell Alan?” Laney asked.

  “I got the interview because of Alan.” Ev
ie looked away from Laney and into the cookies. “I want to get the job on my own.” I don’t want to tell Alan anything.

  “When will you know?”

  “They said a week or two, so I guess I’ll find out any day.” Evie’s stomach flipped.

  “And you don’t have to remind me, with Nicole here, you won’t worry about the kids.” Laney grimaced.

  “That’s the point.”

  “Where is she anyway?”

  “She’s out running errands and Luca is sleeping. I don’t know what her plans are. For now I don’t have to move or find a sitter.” Evie looked at her best friend and took a deep breath. She thought of Sandy Perlman and jutted her hands over her head in a faux hallelujah. “Sometimes we just have to make things work. And that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “No uh-oh, Lane. I’m just thinking that things are finally getting back on track. A little bit at a time.” Evie left out being off track with Beth. It would come out soon enough. “The kids miss Richard. Some nights are really hard.” The words caught in her throat. “But slowly, really slowly, I feel like one day we’ll all be okay. Really okay, not pretend okay. So—I want to go back to Bunco. I want to let Nicole have coffee with us—sometimes. I want people to know that she lives here for now and that it’s for both of us. I don’t care if people know that Midwest Mutual is being a pain in the ass and that I needed money to pay the mortgage. That’s my real life. And once I have the money for the kids and some bills, I might still want Nicole to stay because she helps with the twins. And I do love little Luca.”

  “Lord, it’s like The Brady Bunch but without Mike Brady.”

  “No, it’s like Kate and Allie, without the ex.” Evie clamped her hand over her mouth as if she’d said a dirty word. “My life is private, but there are no secrets. I cannot handle any more secrets.”

  “Got it. And since we’re being nonsecretive, tell me what the hell is going on with you and Beth.”