[2013] Note to Self- Change the Locks

by Heather Balog

  Sighing, I explained, “Simon showed up at my door a few weeks ago needing some place to stay, and I let him in.”

  “Are you crazy?” Sonny jumped up and stared at me.

  I tugged on his sleeve to get him to sit back down. “Geez, you sound exactly like Nora.”

  “Well, Nora’s a smart cookie. After completely shutting him out, why would you let him back into your life?” He stared at me, but I didn’t answer. “I don’t know why you got divorced, but it had to be pretty bad since you don’t ever want to talk about it.”

  “He’s not in my life. I barely see him. He’s just sleeping on my couch.” And shaving his face in my sink. And smelling up my bathroom with the aftershave I love. And ordering meals from my favorite Italian restaurant and trying to pass them off as his own.

  Sonny shook his head. “Bad idea, kid. Really bad idea.” He reached in his jacket pocket and retrieved two cigarettes, one of which he offered to me. “You probably could use this.”

  “Sonny!” Appalled, I sat back. “What about all that screaming at Vicky back there about smoking? And your unborn child?”

  Sonny waved me away with a sheepish grin. “Ah, Michelle is like a minute pregnant. And I just do that because I hate Vicky’s guts.”

  “You’re so bad,” I laughed as I accepted the cigarette. He lit it and I inhaled deeply.

  I was not a smoker, but I had a cigarette once in a blue moon when I was really stressed or drinking with my brothers. We used to do it all the time in high school, on the back porch after Mom and Dad went to bed. I still carried cigarettes around occasionally, but I couldn’t remember the last time I actually smoked one. In fact, I think there was a pack in my bag from before I met Simon. I doubted if they were even good anymore.

  After taking a long drag, I asked my brother, “So what do you think I should do?”

  He also took an exaggerated puff of the cigarette before he answered, “Beats me. You’re in a really tricky spot. If you don’t tell Austin and he finds out,” he paused as he shook his cigarette at me, “And chances are good that he will find out, you’re going to have hell to pay. I can’t tell you that he won’t leave you.” Taking another long drag, he continued. “If you tell Austin now, he’s going to want to know why you kept it a secret for so long. He’s going to wonder if there is something going on between you and Simon—”

  I cut him off sharply. “There’s not!”

  “I’m not saying there is. No need to get defensive. I’m just playing Devil’s Advocate here.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just really stressed out by this whole thing.”

  Sonny scoffed. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “You’re not helping, Sonny.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t think all the angels in heaven could help you now.”

  “Shit.” I took short puff and stomped the cigarette out with my foot after dropping it on the deck.

  “Mom’s gonna yell at you,” Sonny taunted.

  Shoving him playfully, I retorted, “Oh like the time they went on vacation and you had a party and burnt down the tool shed? I think she’ll overlook a little cigarette burn on the deck. I hardly think she even comes out here anymore now that Dad’s gone.”

  Sonny followed my lead and ground his cigarette out on the deck. “Out here was kind of their thing. Remember, the pond over there?” Sonny pointed to the corner of the yard, where a mound of dirt now sat. My father was undoubtedly going to start some new project with that dirt before he died. He had ripped out the pond three years ago when the neighborhood cats wouldn’t leave the fish alone.

  I chuckled. “Do you remember how mad Mom was when one of Pete’s friends grilled her Koi fish?”

  Sonny shook his head. “Stupid Brad. He always was dumber than a box of rocks.” He laughed as he recalled the event. “Don’t tell Mom, but the Koi was good.”

  I wrinkled up my nose. “Ewww, you actually ate it?”

  “Hey, my friends dared me to!” Sonny had never been one to refuse a dare.

  “Speaking of friends, I, uh, ran into Jim O’Malley last week,” I said slyly.

  Sonny, who had been laughing seconds before, turned stony cold. “That fag. What did he want?”

  “That’s not really nice, Sonny. He’s a great guy. You two were the closest friends.”

  “Yeah and that fudge packer was probably looking to get in my pants the whole time,” Sonny spat with disgust.

  “I doubt that highly. You’re hardly his type.”

  I poked my brother in his squishy gut, expecting him to laugh at my joke. Instead, he stood up, shoved his hands deep in his pockets and said, “I’m going back inside.” He opened the French doors and stepped into the dining room.

  I started to call out after him, but decided against it. I upset him by bringing up Jim, and once Sonny was mad about something he stewed for a while. I was on my own to figure out what the hell I was going to do about my ever growing problem.

  Eleven

  Wedged in between my mother and mother-in-law to be, I squirmed uncomfortably in the plush armchair. The food dishes were all being placed in front of me and both women were constantly reaching across me to get at them.

  “Mmmm, Elise, did you try the little stuffed crab cakes? They are divine!” Austin’s mother was asking Mom, craning her neck out in front of me.

  “Oh, yes, Melinda! I agree! And the chicken quiche? It’s like heaven in my mouth,” my mother replied while chewing her food.

  Good Lord, Mom, don’t talk with your mouth full in front of Mrs. Cooper!

  Austin’s family was from South Carolina and his mother’s parents were old money. They owned several plantations, and when Melinda married Austin’s father, a lawyer, she was given one of them to run. The house was enormous and the land was even bigger. Apparently Austin grew up on a bazillion acres where he was free to romp and play to his heart’s content. Under the watchful eye of his nanny of course. In contrast, my siblings and I grew up in a cramped split level under the watchful end of my mother’s wooden spoon.

  Tonight was only the second time I had met Austin’s mother and I was nervous as hell. The first meeting had been brief when we picked them up from the airport last night. Austin introduced us and then we all went out to dinner, and then his parents went back to their hotel.

  The dinner conversation was normal “get to know you” small talk, Austin’s mother inquiring about my family and where I grew up. Halfway through dinner, Austin and his father broke off into a mildly heated discussion regarding his contract, but for the most part it had been extremely civil.

  From the way Austin had described his mother, I was expecting a stuck up snob. From what I had observed so far, she seemed perfectly nice and ordinary, but I didn’t need my uncouth mother spewing food in her face as she spoke. Who knew? Melinda could be like a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It was imperative that I stay in this woman’s good graces. Lord knows my former mother-in-law hadn’t been impressed with me at all. She oozed of hatred toward me every time I was near her. Simon claimed that was part of her Alzheimer’s, but did she really have to call me a floozy in front of everyone?

  Which reminded me, I really needed to have a chat with my mother about ixnay on the Imonsay. I had been anticipating discussing it with her on the ride to the Manor, but Austin had surprised us with a limo. And he and his parents were inside. Yah!

  “Elizabeth, what do you think of the lobster ravioli?” Melinda inquired sweetly while spearing a piece of it with her fork.

  “I didn’t have any,” I began to say when my mother immediately began waving the giant piece of pasta in my face.

  “Try it! It’s to die for,” my mother ordered as she attempted to shove the forkful in my mouth.

  I waved her away and sat back. “Yeah, I will die if I eat it, Mother. I’m allergic to lobster, remember?”

  My mother slapped her forehead with her palm. Her cheeks were rosy from the four glasses of wine she had already consumed.
“That’s right, Elizabeth! I completely forgot. I’m sorry.” She hiccupped and then added, “I almost killed the beautiful bride!” She grabbed my face and planted a kiss on my cheek. I made a mental note about not letting the waiter bring her anymore alcohol until we got to the dessert at least.

  Mom, Austin, his parents, and I were sampling our wedding menu. We researched a few reception sites and decided that the Manor best suited our tastes. And by “we” I meant “I”. Austin simply said, “Sounds good.”

  Since Austin’s parents were flying in for his cousin’s bridal shower, we scheduled the tasting so that they could join us. So far, we had only sampled appetizers and already my mother was nearing her drink meltdown point. Surprisingly, Mrs. Cooper also seemed to be enjoying her fair share of cocktails. They kept leaning across me to chat with each other, which not only made me feel claustrophobic, but worried me as well.

  As much as I wanted them to hit it off, I was nervous about the flow of conversation. I didn’t want my mother, who wasn’t exactly the classiest broad, to say anything uncivilized to Mrs. Cooper, who was the epitome of refined taste. All I needed was for Mom to start complaining about her bunions to Melinda.

  It was difficult to direct the conversation with them both chattering away. And Austin didn’t seem to be any help whatsoever. He and his father were all the way at the other end of the table, continuing their heated discussion from the previous evening. I had no idea what it entailed because I tried to stay out of Austin’s baseball business. If he didn’t tell me, I didn’t ask. That’s the way a marriage should be, right?

  “Elise, what do you think about a martini fountain?” Melinda asked my mother while she pointed her wine glass, nearly spilling it on me in the process. I scooted farther back, scraping the chair on the recently polished dance floor.

  “I love it, but doesn’t it sound expensive?” Mom wrinkled her brow as she asked me, “What’s included in the package?”

  I reached under the table to retrieve my “bag of tricks” as Austin had taken to calling it. In the oversized tote, I carried everything wedding related. I was not planning to be a bridezilla in any way, but I wanted to be as organized as possible since my groom wasn’t available most of the time and I had to be able to relay any new information to him whenever I was graced with his presence. Not that he seemed to care.

  Okay, maybe that sounds a little like I was planning this wedding on my own. That wasn’t necessarily true. I had my mother helping and Nora, too. And Austin, whenever he was available. Which so far, had just been this evening.

  Two weeks ago, when he called me after his game at one o’clock in the morning, I explained, in a pre-wedding panicked voice, that we needed to pick a place and fast. It was going to be very difficult to find a reception hall less than six months before a wedding.

  “Of course. I understand,” Austin told me from Florida. “You let me know where you pick. I’ll help you with the menu.”

  “Austin, this is the place we’re getting married. I think that it’s kind of important for us to make this decision together.”

  Simon had stumbled into the kitchen as this conversation unfolded, and true to his word, opened the fridge, removed a bottle of water and promptly left without a word.

  Ever since I flipped out on him and he discovered that Austin and I were engaged, he had completely steered clear of me. He was gone from the apartment before I got out of bed in the morning, leaving everything as clean and tidy as it was when I went to bed. There were no more burnt pans or attempts at meal preparation. Around ten o’clock every weeknight, Simon would return home, walk directly into the bathroom, shower, and then set himself up on the couch in the living room. Once he did that, it was an unspoken understanding that I would retreat to my room. On the weekends, I never even saw him. He wouldn’t come in until two or three in the morning. Pig that he was, he was probably screwing around with a different woman every night. Not that it was my business any more than my relationship with Austin was his business.

  We were courteous to each other, saying good night and sleep well and that sort of thing. I never asked where he went and he never asked about my day or how the wedding plans were going. And that was fine.

  I just wish I knew when he was getting out of my apartment. Each day that I woke up and realized that he was still there, I got nervous. Austin was on the road a lot, and even when he was home, he was rarely around at night or any other time when he might run into Simon. But I just never knew if he would try to surprise me like he had with the engagement. The sooner Simon was out of my apartment, the quicker I could breathe easily.

  So, I was having this phone conversation with my fiancé that perhaps, did not paint him in a flattering light to an eavesdropper. After all, Simon had not only helped me in every aspect of planning our wedding (other than the dress), he had been eager to lend a hand and insisted that it was important to him.

  We went to listen to bands play and sampled caterers’ menus together with my best friend. I remember one particular Saturday when we sat at the bakery and ate our way through three sheet cakes, claiming we “just couldn’t decide”. Simon, Nora and I. We were like the three musketeers at one point in time. Before the incident of course.

  After a half an hour of me begging Austin for input, he had finally sighed and told me that he had been the best man at a wedding at the Manor a few years ago and that maybe I should check the place out. The following weekend, I took a ride to the hall with my mother, and pleased by the choices, I informed Austin that I think I had found our place.

  “It’s a tad bit expensive, though,” I added as we spoke the following day after midnight. I was getting really tired of waiting till his games were over to speak to him. If we weren’t planning our wedding long distance, I would have simply texted him goodnight at ten o’clock and called it a day. “I’m not sure if we can afford it.”

  “What do you mean, we?” Austin asked from a thousand miles away. Rather he shouted. The other players he was rooming with were raucously laughing in the background and I could hear something shattering, like beer bottles. “Hey, keep it down in there! The little lady wants to talk about the wedding!” Austin yelled to his bunkmates.

  My face burnt at the reference of “little lady”, like I was already nagging him and he was making a show of it to his buddies.

  “Austin, my mother is a widow, and even though my brothers and I have been helping her get her finances in order, I’m pretty sure we haven’t even scratched the surface on her debt. There is no way I’m asking her to pay for my wedding.”

  Not to mention the fact that my mother already paid for my wedding, the first time.

  Austin laughed at me from the other end of the phone. “That’s not what I meant at all! Elizabeth, my parents are millionaires and I’m their only child. Do you think they would ever let us pay for something like a wedding?” He laughed again as if I were an imbicile.

  “Oh,” I replied, face flushing again. Simon’s mother had been well off and she still let my parents pay for our wedding, despite the fact they truly couldn’t afford it, something that always made me feel even guiltier about my divorce. “Okay, then.”

  And thus why his parents were joining us for this little tasting party, and probably why Austin was faking any interest in the menu at all. When I first read him the choices he had told me to “pick whatever you want”. Now that his parents were here, he was playing the part of the involved groom. He even had a notebook next to him where he would periodically jot down notes about the food. Quite frankly, it was pissing me off.

  I slid the reception hall brochure in front of Melinda and started picking at the endless hors d’oeuvres on my plate while she thumbed through the pages, smiling approvingly.

  “I definitely think we need the martini fountain. And the fondue fountain.” She lowered her voice as she pulled closer to my mother. “And we should definitely get more waiters like that.” She jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen entryway wher
e many of the wait staff were poised to bring us samples of the main course. I glanced up to check out the type of guy that got Austin’s mom going and I nearly choked on my cocktail wienie.

  Bringing a tray of salmon pinwheels to the table was none other than Simon. With a warm sensation, I felt the color drain out of my face and my heart began reverberating so loudly, I could feel it in my ears. What in God’s green earth is Simon doing here?

  We locked eyes as he lowered the tray next to Mrs. Cooper but his face remained neutral.

  Don’t blow this for me, I pleaded with him telepathically. He nodded with understanding as he silently placed the dishes on the table and swept the tray back onto his shoulder. When he re-entered the kitchen via the swinging doors, I exhaled loudly, causing both my mother and Mrs. Cooper to stare in my direction.

  “Why, Elizabeth, are you okay?” Mrs. Cooper inquired with genuine concern. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”

  I’ve seen a ghost alright—a ghost of nightmares past. And now he’s the ghost of nightmares present.

  “Yes, dear, you’re all pale and washed out,” Mom slurred. My tipsy mother began to fan me with her cloth napkin, hitting me in the face as it flapped. I turned to her, my breathing labored and my hands shaking.

  Oh dear God, she will recognize Simon. And it will all be over. As soon as my mother blew the lid off my secret, I could kiss this nice meal and Austin’s normal family good-bye. He would wash his hands of me for sure.

  I jumped to my feet, nearly knocking over the glass of water in front of me.

  “Whoa, Elizabeth!” Austin finally emerged from the intense conversation with his father to notice my distress. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, yes,” I managed to stammer. “Um, no. Something isn’t agreeing with me. I need to go to the ladies room.” I gripped my mother’s arm tightly. “Come with me, Mom,” I ordered as I nearly yanked her out of her chair.

  “Okay,” she replied shrugging her shoulders. She leaned down to Melinda and whispered loudly, “Get me a refill of that Pinot will you?” She told me, “That wine was delicious.”