Enough Page 12

  We drive around town looking for the right place to go while we play music and dance in the car. When I say we dance in the car, I’m not kidding. We have perfected car dancing. We started in high school. It’s a lot of hand motions and lip puckering. The key is exaggerating every movement, singing loudly, and acting like you’re fierce. We usually spend most of the time in hysterical laughter. It’s one of my favorite things we do together.

  It’s an unusually warm March evening, and we roll down the windows. We laugh at each other’s hot car moves, and for the first time in months, I feel better. Almost hopeful.

  We settle on a cute little place on the strip and pull into the parking lot to begin our ritual.

  “Do I look okay?” I ask her.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you telling me the truth or are you telling me what you think I need to hear in order to get me to go in there?” I ask, pointing toward the door.

  “I’m telling you the truth. Why do you say that? Is it because I look bad and you don’t know how to tell me so you’re making it sound like you’re worried about yourself all while you’re secretly thinking that I look terrible and you don’t know how to tell me?”

  I try to follow her logic and surprisingly, it makes complete sense to me. “No! You look great. You always do.”

  “Well, so do you!”

  After I roll my eyes and call myself a fatty, I receive a slap on the arm and a growl. I know the expression on her face means I’m about to be served Gwen’s trademark talk about negative thinking. I’ve heard it so many times I could probably lip-sync it.

  “How many times have I told you to stop talking like that?” she questions. “That kind of negative thinking leads nowhere. You need to build yourself up not put yourself down. You’re beautiful, Ev.”

  I sigh and turn my head to glance out the window so she can’t see me roll my eyes again. “Yeah, yeah.” The sarcasm drips off my words like ice cream off a toddler’s chin.

  “You are! You’re gorgeous. You always have been. I’d kill for hair like yours. It’s so long and flowy. I wish mine would grow longer.”

  “So I have okay hair. I wish I had your boobs, butt, and thighs.”

  “Take them. When you get a good look at them in the mirror, you’ll be begging to hand them back.”

  I rotate sharply as I point my finger in her face. “Ha! “Now who’s the Negative Nancy?”

  “Are we going in there or what?” she asks in irritation.

  Nice change of subject. We fix our lipstick and watch the people coming and going for a couple of minutes in silence.

  “We can do this,” she says.

  “Totes,” I reply confidently.

  We continue to stare at the door and people-watch. Everyone looks so young and hip. I can feel any confidence in myself draining away. I stare down at my black jeans and wish they weren’t so tight. A few more minutes pass. We take out pieces of gum to chew and pretend to be busy getting ready to go in when the truth is we’re both stalling.

  “I like her shoes,” I say, motioning as a girl who looks half our age struts to the door.

  Gwen follows my gaze and leans to the side to get a better look. She grabs the steering wheel to balance as she checks them out. “Oh yeah, they’re super cute.”

  We sit in silence for a few more minutes until Gwen turns to face me. “What are we doing?” she asks.

  “I don’t know!” I laugh back.

  “We act like we don’t belong here. Like we’re too old to go to a bar for a drink!”

  “Yeah, the truth is, most of these people are probably too young to be in there.”

  “Right? So let’s go! Let’s do it!”

  “Okay! Let’s go.”

  Gwen and I take a deep breath as we step out of the car. The bar seems miles away. We try to act confident as we stroll inside, but the minute eyes turn to check us out, I immediately want to hide.

  As soon as she sees the younger, hipper crowd, Gwen turns to me and frowns. Her face needs to be an emoji. I could die laughing right here. She leads the way to a table off to the side, away from the crowd, and we slide in, happy to be out of the limelight.

  Our waitress is patient and she recommends French martinis for us when we appear clueless about what to drink. They’re super strong, and we both play with our glasses and try to make small talk over the music.

  “It’s loud in here!”

  “What?” she asks.

  “IT’S LOUD!” I shout with increased volume, pointing upward with one hand and covering my ear with the other.

  “Yeah!” she shouts back. “I can’t think!”

  We scoot closer together to hear each other better and end up watching everyone as we sip our drinks. We point out mediocre-looking guys as they enter the bar and then observe them attract girls who are way out of their league.

  “Does everyone settle now?” Gwen asks.

  I shrug my shoulders. These girls are beautiful. Way prettier and in better shape than I am. If the guys who talk to them are the best they can get, than what does it mean for an older mom like me? A destiny of more despair, apparently.

  After we finish the second drink I swore we wouldn’t have, Gwen and I decide to leave. As we exit the bar, it takes us a few minutes to adjust to the sound difference. We head home with a quarter of the enthusiasm we had when we originally left to go out.

  “You know what I want right now?” Gwen asks.

  “What?”

  “Fries. I want French fries.”

  “Me too,” I say enthusiastically as if she just read my innermost desire.

  “Extra salt!”

  After stopping and each ordering our own large fries so we don’t have to share, Gwen and I munch away as we drive. We both finish them before we get home.

  “Ugh,” I say, holding my stomach as I push out of her car. “I feel bloated.”

  “Yeah, me too. Why did I do that?”

  “They were pity fries,” I point to my left butt cheek as I explain, “This entire cheek is made up of all the pity fries I’ve eaten. This thigh is pity ice cream.”

  We head directly up the stairs and change into our comfy PJs. It’s only ten thirty, and before I know it we’re both dozing on the couch.

  “We’re pathetic,” she groans.

  I giggle as I glance over to her. We look like we’ve been through a war. “I feel like shit,” I tell her. “I hate the way my body feels right now.”

  “Me too. Why do we do this to ourselves? We should never have stopped for those fries.”

  “I know. But, do you want to hear something really, really bad?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Even though I feel like crap from the fries, do you know what my mind is telling me will make me feel better?”

  “Sex?” Gwen questions.

  “Well, yeah, that would be nice, but no. That’s not it. Think of something really, really bad. Something that would make the least sense for how awful I feel.”

  Gwen shrugs and frowns to show she has no clue.

  “I feel like having that chocolate ice cream in the freezer. You know the one with the brownie pieces in it?”

  Gwen sits up straighter. “Is there enough left for both of us?” I laugh and she falls back into the couch. “No! We’re not gonna do it!” she stammers while shaking her head. “We need to stop this. Do you know how I felt tonight in that dress? Fat and fugly. I’m tired of feeling fat. I’m tired of feeling like everyone around me is better, or prettier, or more deserving.”

  “Do you know why I wore the black?” I ask. “Because it helps me disappear. For the last few years I’ve trained myself to allow food to fill a void I have inside.”

  “We need to get out of this rut!” She stands and grabs my hand. “Come with me.” She flips on the kitchen light and pulls the garbage can over to the fridge. “We’re going to get rid of all the crap in this house. Tomorrow we start eating better!”

  “Yes!” I shout. “And working out!”
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br />   “Yes!” she shrieks back to me, pointing at the idea as if it’s another person in the room. “We’ll do it together!”

  “We’ll support each other.”

  “Just like we always have!”

  Gwen and I start throwing away chips and cookies and even the ice cream from the freezer.

  “We need to do this for us,” I add.

  “Not because we want to attract a man or because we think it will make us more deserving…” she responds. “Because I’ve tried that and I always fail when I do it for someone else. We have to do it so that we can be happy with who we are.”

  We both agree and take the trash out together. We spend the rest of the night planning meals and exercise routines. It feels good to move forward. Not for anything or anyone, just for me.

  ONE WEEK OF walking on the treadmill, no sugar, and lots of protein, and I start to feel better. Then it all gets flushed down the toilet the night the kids come home from dinner with Mike.

  The door opens and slams shut. I hear them whispering and mumbling in the hall.

  “Shhh…” Marlow hushes loudly.

  “You shhh. You’re the one who’s yelling.”

  I push myself away from the kitchen table and my books to greet them by the door. “Shhh about what?” I ask as I take their backpacks and plant a small kiss on the top of Marlow’s head.

  “Marlow said I shouldn’t tell you because Dad told us not to, but I think you’d want to know.”

  “Dad told you not to tell me something?” I question.

  “Kale!” Marlow yells. “You’re just going to make her cry and I don’t want to hear her cry again.”

  My lips curl downward. I know I’ve been prone to tears a lot the last few months, but I didn’t realize how much it bothered the kids.

  “I’m sorry,” I state with a frown as I side hug her. “I didn’t realize I was crying that much. I’m really doing much better,” I say with a small, reassuring smile.

  “Yeah, and that’s exactly why Kale needs to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Shut up, Marlow.”

  “You shut up!”

  “Hey!” I shout over them. “You don’t have to tell me unless it’s something inappropriate or something that concerns you.”

  “It’s concerning, all right!” Kale says with a wave of his hand and eyes that glare with a secret that’s bursting to be told.

  “Kale! Daddy said no. He said it would upset Mommy and she didn’t need to know he’s dating!” Marlow covers her mouth with her hand as the secret slips out.

  Kale laughs loudly. “Now who’s the blabbermouth?”

  I try to keep my emotions in check and hold my expression. I don’t want them to think it affects me at all. I summon a breath and tell them what I’ve read in all my parenting books about divorce. “Your father and I are divorced. He’s free to date whoever he wants.”

  “Really?” Marlow asks.

  I nod my head yes as my mind races over all Mike’s first date moves. I feel a twinge of jealousy to know he’s already moved on.

  “See, Dad had nothing to worry about. Mom’s totally cool with us meeting her for dinner and stuff,” Kale responds.

  “Wait, what?” I ask as I grab his arm. “You met someone?”

  “Yeah,” Marlow continues. “Daddy said he wanted us to meet her ‘cause she’s important to him and he wants us to be okay with the four of us spending time together.”

  Room spinning.

  I stare at the unsure smile on Marlow’s face and try not to burst into tears. My mind races with questions. The first question is, How long has this been going on? Which is immediately followed by, Is she pretty? Then I secretly pray she’s a dog and the kids hate her.

  “Mom, you’re really okay with this?” Kale asks, noticing the distant look in my eyes.

  I wave it off. The last thing I want is for them to tell Mike I’m jealous. Is that what I am? “I’m fine with it!” I say with a fake, forced smile. As soon as my back is to the kids, I feel my lips shoot downward.

  We slowly tread to the kitchen when I hear Kale’s voice. “See, Mom doesn’t care about Krista.”

  I stop dead in my tracks and gasp. Abruptly turning, I ask, “Did you say Krista?”

  The kids’ smiles fade and are replaced by worrisome dread as they glance at one another, unsure what to say or do.

  “Krista?” I question again to make sure I heard them correctly.

  They remain motionless which answers my question.

  “Does Krista work with your dad?” I ask in a hostile tone.

  “I think so,” Kale responds sheepishly.

  More questions I want to ask flood my mind. How long has he been seeing her? What did he say to you exactly? What did she say? Did either of them mention me? I picture Mike and Krista laughing at me. “Krista” from his sex fantasy? How many Kristas can there be in the world? I imagine Mike telling the kids our entire marriage was based on one ultimatum after another and then explaining that Krista is their new mommy.

  Kale grabs my arm spiritedly. “You’re freaking out, aren’t you? Do you want Dad back now?” he questions eagerly. He races toward the phone on the wall. “I can call him for you. I can tell him you don’t want him dating Krista because you still love him. Then we can move back home and we can be a family again!”

  I instantly understand Kale’s motivation for wanting me to know. I reach out to take the phone from him.

  He grins widely. “Do you want to call him yourself?”

  Marlow begins to bite her hair as she shifts from one foot to the other, watching me intently. I know I need to be careful what I say. I pray for the right words to come to me, but I have nothing. I take the home phone and place it back on the charger. Kale frowns.

  “No, Kale. I’m not going to call your dad.” I lead him gently toward the table as I fall into the chair. I need to put my feelings about Krista aside and deal with the real issue. “I know how hard all of this is on the two of you, but you need to understand that your father and I won’t ever be getting back together.”

  “Why not?” Kale asks as he yanks his hand away from me.

  “Because we tried being married and it didn’t work.”

  “Well, try again!” he shouts. “You say you know what this is like for me, but you don’t! Twice a week I go to Dad’s and have to sit with him while he tries to pretend he cares about stuff. He buys us McDonald’s and acts like it’s enough. Then all of a sudden we meet Krista and he acts different. He put on a damn show for her!”

  “Don’t swear!” I correct.

  “Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?” he spouts back.

  I glance over at Marlow and she’s now biting her nails. She stares at me anxiously, hanging on my every word and expression. I realize I’m being tested and I need to remain strong. “What am I going to do?” I respond. “I’m going to give you a chance to apologize, and if you don’t, then you’re going to lose your video games for a week.”

  “Take them!” he cries back, tears flowing down his cheeks. “I don’t care about them. I don’t care about anything. My life sucks and it’s all your fault!”

  He backs up slowly at first then dashes up the stairs. I hear his sobs and my heart breaks apart. I’ve been kidding myself into thinking the kids are handling the divorce better than I am. The truth is, we all handle stress and sadness differently, and I should have known they were struggling more than they were letting on. I immediately want to chase after him, but I see Marlow’s fearful, nervous expression and I decide to give Kale a moment to himself while I talk to her.

  “Come here, baby,” I whisper.

  She climbs onto my lap and rests her head on my chest. “He doesn’t understand,” she says empathetically.

  “Doesn’t understand what?” I ask, stroking her curly blond hair.

  “That you don’t love each other anymore.”

  I close my eyes and reposition her so that I can see her face. “I will always love your daddy b
ecause he gave me the two of you. But there’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with them.”

  “There is?” she asks as her big blue eyes search mine in consideration.

  “Yes. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but being in love means you think about someone first and put their needs above yours. That you want their happiness more than you want your own. Your heart is so full of them that you feel it may burst. You can’t get close enough and they’re all you think about.”

  She nods her head and then I watch it fall as she speaks lovingly. “Yeah, I get it. That’s how I feel about Norman.”

  My eyes squint and I almost chuckle to myself until I realize she’s serious. “Norman from soccer?” I question as I run my fingers through her curls.

  “Uh huh. I let him take the ball from me at practice today because I wanted him to be happy. I think about him all the time. That’s what you mean, right?”

  I smile down at her. “Kind of. You really like him, huh?”

  “Yeah, but he likes Olivia. He gave her my ball. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I took it away from her and kicked her hard in the shin.”

  “Marlow!” I half laugh, half shout.

  She glances up at me, sees my expression, and begins to laugh too. “Will he ever love me, Mom?”

  My eyebrows shoot up as I ponder how to answer. “Love is tricky. He may or he may not, but I know that doesn’t make your heart hurt any less.”

  She stares off into the distance for a moment and huffs out her decision on the matter. “Know what? I decided my heart doesn’t hurt at all. If he’s going to take the gift I gave him and give it away, then he really doesn’t deserve me, does he, Mom?”

  I smile at her confidence and allow her words to sink in. They apply on so many levels. It appears my little girl is more self-assured and mature than her mother. “No, he doesn’t!” I state assuredly. Her responding gaze lifts my heart. “Have I told you lately how absolutely brilliant you are?” I ask her.

  She smiles. “You think I’m brilliant?”