And One Last Thing... by Molly Harper

glared at me. “If you would just be reasonable, talk to him. A good Christian wife would know how to look past this and forgive him.”
    “Well, I will start looking into Buddhism as soon as possible.”
    “This isn’t the time for your inappropriate jokes. I don’t think you appreciate your position here, Lacey,” she said, her tone sweetening to a wheedle. “When I was your age, Jim had no idea whether I knew about his little dalliances. He was always so guilty, so nervous that he’d be caught, that I had whatever I wanted without even asking for it. I always knew when he’d been with her because he’d bring me home flowers, a sweet little piece of jewelry, or he’d take me on some wonderful trip to make up for it. For my fiftieth birthday, he took me to New York City to see Cats. Do you think he would have done that if he wasn’t cheating on me? And Mike’s already been caught! He’s got that much more to make up for. You could end up with an entirely new wedding set or maybe even a car!”
    I stared at her. “Are you on medications that I’m unaware of?”
    “Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”
    “Yes, you think I should let Mike humiliate and betray me repeatedly for the sake of the presents.”
    “Well, if you’re going to think about it that way, I’m not going to be able to help you,” she grumbled.
    “I think you need to leave now,” I told her.
    Wynnie could whip up tears in a second’s notice. Her eyes glistened. Her lip trembled. She fished around in her enormous teal handbag for a monogrammed hanky. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe how ungrateful, how unfeeling you’re being after all these years. I can’t believe you’re being so hard-hearted. This isn’t the Lacey I know. I’m ashamed of you. You’re not the girl I welcomed into my family.”
    Under normal circumstances, that kind of disapproval would have sent me scrambling to make up for whatever I’d done. I would have apologized automatically. Wynnie was looking at me with the kind of contempt my father reserved for straight-ticket voters. She was probably angrier with me than, well, arguably anyone, had ever been in my life. And the world wasn’t ending.
    I was fine. My stomach wasn’t churning. I wasn’t tearing up. My hands weren’t even shaking.
    I’d spent so much of my time worrying about whether I was liked, whether other people were happy with me. I took stupid, mind-numbingly tedious assignments at club meetings because women with bigger shoulder pads told me gathering twelve different kinds of coleslaw recipes would be “just perfect” for me. I let Wynnie keep a key to our house, because Mike said it would hurt her feelings if she didn’t feel free to let herself in, even if we weren’t home. People had certain expectations of me and I rushed to meet them, because if I didn’t… Well, I didn’t know. I never figured out that it wasn’t the end of the world if I disappointed someone or made someone angry.
    Honestly, how much worse could it get? What was Wynnie going to do? Ground me? It’s not like I was going to be married to her son for long. I didn’t have to worry about getting her approval or making sure Thanksgiving went smoothly. I didn’t have to swallow “that’s just the way she is” because that made Mike’s life easier.
    I was free. So I shrugged and said, “Okay.”
    “I don’t ever want to see you again,” she said, obviously confused when her proclamation of shame failed to induce wailing and gnashing of teeth on my part.
    “I understand.”
    Wynnie stared at me, bewildered. Finally she flushed red and ground out, “When you can stop being hateful - when you can find it in your heart to be a good and forgiving wife to my son, I’ll be willing to talk to you.”
    Wynnie stormed out of the house. It would have been a much more effective exit if she hadn’t slammed the door on her purse strap, forcing her to open it to extract herself. She scowled at me