As tempting as boil-in-the-bag osso buco is, I need to spend the evening alone.
Annika’s face immediately falls. “Why not?” she says, sounding a bit like my daughter when we tell her she can’t stay out past curfew.
“I’ve got to see Sam,” I lie. “She’s having some trouble at school … Math … you know how it is.”
Annika brightens. “Bring her along! I’m great at math. But she probably won’t want osso buco. We can order pizza?”
“Annika,” I say, my voice hushed. “Sam’s not ready to be brought into this … relationship.” The word sounds almost ominous.
“Well, when will she be?” Annika snaps, making no effort to lower her voice.
“I don’t know. One day … maybe.”
“One day maybe ?”
Christ! She’s practically yelling. What the hell does she expect? That my daughter would want to meet the woman I’m screwing less than a month after I’ve walked out on her mother? But I calm myself. This is not the time or the place to be having this conversation. “Can we talk about this later?” I grumble.
“When? Tomorrow? At my place?”
“Fine.” Thankfully, she leaves without causing any more of a scene. I’ve always been attracted to fiery women—Lucy being a prime example. But when it starts interfering with my job, well … that’s another story.
With a heavy sigh, I turn back to the email missive to my wife. Perhaps it’s my frustration with Annika, but my words take a harsh tone. Lucy can’t just ignore me this way. Whatever is happening with our marriage, we’re still co-parents, and she’d better start acting like it. Finally satisfied with my note, I hit send. There. Now that ought to get her attention.
Lucy
IN EIGHT YEARS AS A PROPS BUYER , I’ve called in sick only a handful of times. Sam got mono once and the babysitter refused to take her. Another time I had eaten some bad shrimp and couldn’t bear to be away from the toilet. And then there was last week. While I didn’t have the flu or anything clinical, I was absolutely, undeniably sick. I was sickened by Trent’s infidelity, his betrayal, his complete and utter shit-headedness. Worst of all, I was sickened by my own gullibility.
I put on a brave face for Sam’s sake. (The fact that my forehead can no longer relay any sort of emotion has been extremely helpful in these circumstances.) My daughter’s been through so much lately I feared that having her mother fall apart might send her back to the gin bottle. Each morning, I got up and made her toast or oatmeal or some other substantial start to the day that was always rejected in favor of a protein bar or a banana. When she walked out the door to school I would return to my bed, sobbing for hours. Eventually, when I was numb with exhaustion, I’d flick on Dr. Phil .
The show served only to confuse me more: all these complete fuck-ups working tirelessly on their train-wreck marriages. Thirty-two-year-old Tammy had been employed as a call girl behind her husband Merle’s back, and still, he wanted to work on it. “We have a baby and three ferrets together,” Merle said in his southern states twang. “I think our marriage is worth saving.”
So what was wrong with Trent and me? I had never been unfaithful, for money or otherwise. We had a child together. Was it our lack of a pet that made our bond so disposable? Would a guinea pig or a weasel have made all the difference? Or was Trent just a selfish, unfeeling prick as Camille suggested?
Hope had been calling ceaselessly as well. “Just wondering if you’ve got to chapter fourteen yet,” she’d chirp into the answering machine. “It’s about letting go of the indiscretions that happened when you were separated, and starting a brand-new life when you come back together. I’m not sure if you’re ready for it yet, but it really did help when Mike came back home.”
I hadn’t called her back. What was I going to tell her? That her chipper message had prompted me to rip out chapter
Annika’s face immediately falls. “Why not?” she says, sounding a bit like my daughter when we tell her she can’t stay out past curfew.
“I’ve got to see Sam,” I lie. “She’s having some trouble at school … Math … you know how it is.”
Annika brightens. “Bring her along! I’m great at math. But she probably won’t want osso buco. We can order pizza?”
“Annika,” I say, my voice hushed. “Sam’s not ready to be brought into this … relationship.” The word sounds almost ominous.
“Well, when will she be?” Annika snaps, making no effort to lower her voice.
“I don’t know. One day … maybe.”
“One day maybe ?”
Christ! She’s practically yelling. What the hell does she expect? That my daughter would want to meet the woman I’m screwing less than a month after I’ve walked out on her mother? But I calm myself. This is not the time or the place to be having this conversation. “Can we talk about this later?” I grumble.
“When? Tomorrow? At my place?”
“Fine.” Thankfully, she leaves without causing any more of a scene. I’ve always been attracted to fiery women—Lucy being a prime example. But when it starts interfering with my job, well … that’s another story.
With a heavy sigh, I turn back to the email missive to my wife. Perhaps it’s my frustration with Annika, but my words take a harsh tone. Lucy can’t just ignore me this way. Whatever is happening with our marriage, we’re still co-parents, and she’d better start acting like it. Finally satisfied with my note, I hit send. There. Now that ought to get her attention.
Lucy
IN EIGHT YEARS AS A PROPS BUYER , I’ve called in sick only a handful of times. Sam got mono once and the babysitter refused to take her. Another time I had eaten some bad shrimp and couldn’t bear to be away from the toilet. And then there was last week. While I didn’t have the flu or anything clinical, I was absolutely, undeniably sick. I was sickened by Trent’s infidelity, his betrayal, his complete and utter shit-headedness. Worst of all, I was sickened by my own gullibility.
I put on a brave face for Sam’s sake. (The fact that my forehead can no longer relay any sort of emotion has been extremely helpful in these circumstances.) My daughter’s been through so much lately I feared that having her mother fall apart might send her back to the gin bottle. Each morning, I got up and made her toast or oatmeal or some other substantial start to the day that was always rejected in favor of a protein bar or a banana. When she walked out the door to school I would return to my bed, sobbing for hours. Eventually, when I was numb with exhaustion, I’d flick on Dr. Phil .
The show served only to confuse me more: all these complete fuck-ups working tirelessly on their train-wreck marriages. Thirty-two-year-old Tammy had been employed as a call girl behind her husband Merle’s back, and still, he wanted to work on it. “We have a baby and three ferrets together,” Merle said in his southern states twang. “I think our marriage is worth saving.”
So what was wrong with Trent and me? I had never been unfaithful, for money or otherwise. We had a child together. Was it our lack of a pet that made our bond so disposable? Would a guinea pig or a weasel have made all the difference? Or was Trent just a selfish, unfeeling prick as Camille suggested?
Hope had been calling ceaselessly as well. “Just wondering if you’ve got to chapter fourteen yet,” she’d chirp into the answering machine. “It’s about letting go of the indiscretions that happened when you were separated, and starting a brand-new life when you come back together. I’m not sure if you’re ready for it yet, but it really did help when Mike came back home.”
I hadn’t called her back. What was I going to tell her? That her chipper message had prompted me to rip out chapter
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