Maserati with
our retirement savings. He’s moving in with a younger woman named Carly.”
“ No! ” I groan.
“ Yes! ” she cries.
“But that’s so…stereotypical! Like a caricature of what a
forty-year-old guy would do. It can’t be for real.”
“What can I say? Peter always did lack originality. It’s
the friggin’ truth.”
We sit like that for a moment, smoking and taking bites in
the still classroom. No wonder she is losing her mind. “This sucks,” I offer as
encouragement.
“The candy or my life?”
“Um…both?” That gets a half chuckle out of her.
I have a momentary image of Kat, hiding on her wedding
day. She disappeared before the ceremony, but I eventually found her hiding in
the back of the florist’s van her dress bunched up around her. She was pulling
the petals off some discarded daisies.
“Can I just say something?” I ask, and Kat nods. “Without
offending you, I mean?”
“Now my interest is piqued.”
I speak quickly, in one short breath. “You never really
liked Peter all that much. You didn’t want to marry him.”
“Not the point.”
“Kind of is.”
She stares at a blank spot on the wall, between all the
kid art. “Still…it hurts. I should have left him a long time ago.”
“I’m sure it does, Kitty-Kat.” I rub her back and we chew
on our candy cigarettes. I feel like a sixth grader suddenly, helping my friend
through a breakup with a boy who beat her to the punch.
“Consider it your starter marriage,” I try.
“As in: I have to start all over because now I’m broke?”
She attempts a wan smile.
“As in: Practice makes perfect. Next one’s a guaranteed
Prince Charming.”
“Can you put that in writing? Guaranteed in under five?
Cause my eggs are getting hard-boiled as we speak.”
“You’re fine. You’re what? Thirty, thirty-two?”
“Thirty-three next month.”
“A mere babe in the manger. A wee lass.” I dismiss. “I
didn’t have Becca until I was almost thirty-five.”
“I won’t think about it.”
“That’s the spirit!” I encourage, because, really, what
else is there to say?
We make plans to go drinking after school with the gym
teachers, which brightens Kat’s mood significantly. “I hope they are all
sweaty,” she pines. “Even the girl ones.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m hurting.”
I glance at the clock over the door and stand, stretching.
“How can you sit on this carpet all day? Doesn’t it kill your back?”
“I’m not old like you, remember.”
“Ha.”
Kat turns to me, her green eyes intent. “Seriously,
Lauren, I know I’m the one who’s an emotional wreck, but can I be honest with
you?”
I consider her request. “Actually, I’d prefer if you
lied.”
“You really look like shit.” She gets to her feet
and gives me the once-over. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, see if
you wanted to get your makeup done at Nordstrom’s or something. On you,
thirty-nine is like the new fifty.”
“And on that note…” I start heading for the nearest exit.
I pull the handle on the classroom door and say, with fake enthusiasm,
“Thanks!”
“It wasn’t a compliment!” she calls back.
I give her the finger. “Call down to the gym, please. See
you at Flannigan’s. Three fifteen!”
There are still nine minutes left before last period. In
teacher time, that’s like an hour. I figure I’ll sneak into my classroom once
my students vacate to attend their foreign language classes at the end of the
day. That way I can set up the lesson plans for the rest of the week and leave
them on my desk for the sub. Which reminds me: Better call the sub service and
secure a real substitute through Friday, since I’m sure Martha won’t be
interested in keeping the job past today. My ballet flats squeak against the
glossy linoleum tiles as I make my way purposefully down the hall.
I duck into the nearest girls’ bathroom and examine my
face in the cloudy mirror.
Kat has a
our retirement savings. He’s moving in with a younger woman named Carly.”
“ No! ” I groan.
“ Yes! ” she cries.
“But that’s so…stereotypical! Like a caricature of what a
forty-year-old guy would do. It can’t be for real.”
“What can I say? Peter always did lack originality. It’s
the friggin’ truth.”
We sit like that for a moment, smoking and taking bites in
the still classroom. No wonder she is losing her mind. “This sucks,” I offer as
encouragement.
“The candy or my life?”
“Um…both?” That gets a half chuckle out of her.
I have a momentary image of Kat, hiding on her wedding
day. She disappeared before the ceremony, but I eventually found her hiding in
the back of the florist’s van her dress bunched up around her. She was pulling
the petals off some discarded daisies.
“Can I just say something?” I ask, and Kat nods. “Without
offending you, I mean?”
“Now my interest is piqued.”
I speak quickly, in one short breath. “You never really
liked Peter all that much. You didn’t want to marry him.”
“Not the point.”
“Kind of is.”
She stares at a blank spot on the wall, between all the
kid art. “Still…it hurts. I should have left him a long time ago.”
“I’m sure it does, Kitty-Kat.” I rub her back and we chew
on our candy cigarettes. I feel like a sixth grader suddenly, helping my friend
through a breakup with a boy who beat her to the punch.
“Consider it your starter marriage,” I try.
“As in: I have to start all over because now I’m broke?”
She attempts a wan smile.
“As in: Practice makes perfect. Next one’s a guaranteed
Prince Charming.”
“Can you put that in writing? Guaranteed in under five?
Cause my eggs are getting hard-boiled as we speak.”
“You’re fine. You’re what? Thirty, thirty-two?”
“Thirty-three next month.”
“A mere babe in the manger. A wee lass.” I dismiss. “I
didn’t have Becca until I was almost thirty-five.”
“I won’t think about it.”
“That’s the spirit!” I encourage, because, really, what
else is there to say?
We make plans to go drinking after school with the gym
teachers, which brightens Kat’s mood significantly. “I hope they are all
sweaty,” she pines. “Even the girl ones.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m hurting.”
I glance at the clock over the door and stand, stretching.
“How can you sit on this carpet all day? Doesn’t it kill your back?”
“I’m not old like you, remember.”
“Ha.”
Kat turns to me, her green eyes intent. “Seriously,
Lauren, I know I’m the one who’s an emotional wreck, but can I be honest with
you?”
I consider her request. “Actually, I’d prefer if you
lied.”
“You really look like shit.” She gets to her feet
and gives me the once-over. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, see if
you wanted to get your makeup done at Nordstrom’s or something. On you,
thirty-nine is like the new fifty.”
“And on that note…” I start heading for the nearest exit.
I pull the handle on the classroom door and say, with fake enthusiasm,
“Thanks!”
“It wasn’t a compliment!” she calls back.
I give her the finger. “Call down to the gym, please. See
you at Flannigan’s. Three fifteen!”
There are still nine minutes left before last period. In
teacher time, that’s like an hour. I figure I’ll sneak into my classroom once
my students vacate to attend their foreign language classes at the end of the
day. That way I can set up the lesson plans for the rest of the week and leave
them on my desk for the sub. Which reminds me: Better call the sub service and
secure a real substitute through Friday, since I’m sure Martha won’t be
interested in keeping the job past today. My ballet flats squeak against the
glossy linoleum tiles as I make my way purposefully down the hall.
I duck into the nearest girls’ bathroom and examine my
face in the cloudy mirror.
Kat has a
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