Back in the Burbs by Tracy Wolff
Chapter Fourteen
A horn honks outside my house at exactly six forty-five—apparently Angela believes in Goldfish crackers always in her purse, laughing loud and proud, and arriving right on the dot for friend dates. I, on the other hand, have been running fifteen minutes late ever since I finally looked up from sorting through piles of my aunt’s old photographs and had an oh-shit moment.
Honestly, though, the mad dash to get the cobwebs out of my hair and slap on my face was worth it to get a look at those photos. My favorite is one of Aunt Maggie walking across a tightrope at a traveling circus. It isn’t a high-wire or anything—just a tightrope the circus put up between two poles, about two feet off the ground, so that audience members could try their hand at doing what the acrobats did, at the bargain-basement price of one dollar per try, if the sign in the picture is to be believed.
My aunt was probably in her late twenties—if her seventies hair and psychedelic bell-bottoms are any indication—and she was about halfway across the tightrope and obviously wobbling. But she had her head tossed back and was laughing at the same time, her eyes and smile so bright that I couldn’t help grinning myself despite the years and distance between me and when the photo was taken.
Looking at that photo was like getting a peek at pure, undistilled happiness—and it rubbed off on me. At least until I realize that what I really want is to be my aunt—sans the hoarding. I want to live my life for me, not for Karl. Not for my parents. And not for some damn HOA who hates periwinkle shutters. They make me happy every time I see them—even if they do hang a bit cockeyed.
I grab my phone and shoot off a quick text to Angie, telling her I’ll be out ASAP—the last thing I want is for her to decide I didn’t hear her and risk life and limb reaching the front door. Killing my first new friend by porch cave-in is definitely not on my agenda tonight.
With that in mind, I yowl a few more times as I pull a brush through my tangled hair and slide my feet into my favorite pair of red Rothy’s. I consider rummaging around in my suitcase for earrings but decide to forget about it. I can buy a pair at the jewelry party and consider my contribution made.
It takes me a minute to find my purse—on a table in the family room behind the pile of worn Time Life commemorative books I promised myself I’d go through tomorrow—and then I’m out the door, kinda-sorta knot-free hair flying behind me.
“Thanks so much for picking me up,” I say as I sit down in the passenger seat of Angela’s bright red minivan.
“Of course! Honestly, you’re doing me a favor. No one likes to go to these parties alone.”
She puts the minivan in gear and shoots away from the curb like she’s practicing for the Indy 500. As she does, I notice Mr. Stare at You Drunk Dancing in Your Living Room walking back from the mailbox. He has a greenish bruise on his forehead still. Not shockingly, he also has a pinched, disapproving look on his face as he watches us speed toward him on the empty street—not that I blame him this time. I’m all for speed and efficiency, but kids play on these streets. I’ve seen them.
“Um, Angela—” She hits the brakes as we approach the stop sign at the end of the block before I can get any more words out.
Thank God we end up behind a car going the speed limit right after we made the turn onto the main drag leading out of the subdivision. Do I let out a relieved breath? You bet your sweet bippy I do.
“So how’s the house fixing-upping going?” she asks right before snapping her gum. “Mikey says there’s a lot for you to do.”
“There is.” I turn toward her, wondering for the first time if I’m a little underdressed for this party. I didn’t think so in my mad dash not to leave the house naked or covered in dusty leggings and an old T-shirt—I went for my dressy-casual night-with-friends-in-NYC look of black pants and black pussy-bow blouse that I always get compliments on.
But Angela is dressed to the nines, complete with huge hair and a full face of makeup, including bright red lipstick that seems better suited for a cocktail party than a casual night at her best friend’s—especially when paired with painted-on black jeans and a top covered in so many silver sequins, it looks like the New Year’s Ball in Times Square.
“Do I look okay?” I try to keep the worry out of my voice, but we’re only a few minutes away from my house, so going back and changing isn’t out of the realm of possibility. “Or should I have gotten more dressed up?”
“What are you talking about? You look great,” she says as she careens around an Escalade and two Mercedes. When one of them honks at her, she just waves the middle finger back and keeps on talking without missing a beat. “I just overdress for these things. I mean, now that I’m staying home with the kids, when do I have a chance to dress up? Especially since Manny’s idea of a date night lately is sending the kids to his sister’s and keeping me naked from the time they walk out the door until five minutes before they walk back in.” She laughs. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I’m just saying that I don’t get much of a chance to dress up anymore.”
“Well, you look gorgeous.”
It’s 100 percent the truth, even if I wince at her story. Her life is so different from the life I had with Karl. Not just because we didn’t have any kids to send to my parents’ for a night off but because when we actually had a date night, it was always about going somewhere fancy so he could see and be seen.
When there was a quiet night at home—which wasn’t very often, since Karl was always “working”—it was more of a Netflix-and-sleep kind of night. Or a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of night, which weren’t exactly my favorites. I guess that should have told me something even before the divorce, considering it’d been a long time—if ever—since sex with Karl made me smile the way Angela is smiling and practically glowing.
A little voice whispers in the back of my head that maybe that’s why Karl started banging his paralegal. Is it really his fault I wasn’t interested in sleeping with him myself in years? I swallow. Hard. And push that thought down. Cheating is never the answer. He could have easily just said he wanted a divorce. As could I…
I cough. “Legit, you look amazing, Angela.”
“Thanks. Looking hot when I go out without him guarantees Manny is thinking about me all night. Gotta keep them on their toes,” she says with a wink.
Maybe that’s where I went wrong. I didn’t keep Karl “on his toes” with evenings planned to drive him wild with lust, have him wanting to take me against the wall the second I returned. Instead, he was the king of the three-in-the-morning dick poke to my ass followed by a few minutes of pumping, before he came with a grunt and rolled back over, asleep before his head hit the pillow.
“So what do you think of Mikey?” Angela asks when we stop at a red light while she riffles through her voluminous purse.
“I think he’s a really nice guy.” I scramble for something else to say. “Plus, he can put together a really readable spreadsheet.”
“He’s the best,” she says as she tosses a pacifier into the back seat. “And I’m not just saying that because he’s my brother-in-law. It’s true. He did all the remodeling on Manny’s and my house, and it looks like a million bucks now.”
A tiger-print glasses case follows the pacifier into the way back, then a blue toy truck whizzes through the air, and finally one giant purple-feathered earring. The light turns green just as she pulls out a Buzz Lightyear doll. “Here, hold this, will you?” She shoves the action figure into my hands. “Johnny will kill me if I lose his favorite toy.”
We inch forward but don’t make it through the light before it turns red again, which means Angela is back to digging in her purse. Another pacifier, two more cars, and a hair ribbon are tossed in the back seat before she comes out triumphant with a bright red lipstick that she applies with abandon to her already bright lips—while still singing Mikey’s praises.
I’m beginning to think she has some ulterior motives with this party invite, after all—and they revolve around getting me to date Mikey. Since I need Mikey for my new vaginal exorcism plan, I’m more than willing to hear of her plans, too. She drops the lipstick back into her bag and holds it out for me to do the same with the Buzz Lightyear. Then she abruptly changes the subject.
“This party is going to be so fun! I have a ton of people I’m dying to introduce you to!”
“A ton?” I ask, heart starting to pound because I’m really more of a small-group girl. “How many people are going to be at this party?”
“Fifteen? Twenty?” She waves a hand as the light turns green and she starts to drive again. “Does it matter? I’ve told them all about you, and they are dying to meet the girl who’s managed to turn Mikey’s head. I mean, there are a whole lot of women who’ve been trying to do that, but you’re the lucky one who finally made it happen.”
I have no idea what to say to that, and before I can think something up, she makes a quick left turn followed by a quick right. Seconds later, we pull into a driveway behind a dark-green minivan that looks an awful lot like the one I’m currently riding in.
“We’re here!” Angela announces triumphantly, and then she reaches over and adjusts my bow. “Ready to get your wine on?”
My stomach does the Cha Cha Slide for a million and one reasons—none of them good.