over to me and puts his arm around my waist. I remove it with clinical detachment.
“Come on. Want to reconsider?”
He can be very charming. I consider reconsidering. Maybe I’m being too harsh. Richard puts his face in Susu’s. She licks him and he french kisses her. Gross. What did I ever see in him? Oh yeah. I was twenty and pregnant. He was gorgeous (a 9, and I’m a 6, maybe a 6.5 on a good day). I was that shallow and stupid.
“No one’s at fault here. We shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place. If I wasn’t so far along, I could have had an abortion and we would have gone our separate ways.”
“But then there would have been no Darcy.”
Beautiful, sweet, baby Darcy. I gave up school for her and vowed to go back. Life got in the way, so that never happened.
“You’re right. And even though it’s been hard raising her, I don’t regret it.”
“Me neither. So we should try to work things out for Darcy’s sake.”
“Nice try, but no. I’m serious about starting a new life that doesn’t include you and your girlfriends.”
“Come on. At least let me take you out for your birthday.”
“Please take your precious little dog and go. That would be the best birthday present.”
“Okay. So I should cancel the reservation?”
“I’m sure Janice will love it.”
I grab my clothes, go into the bathroom, and slam the door. I sit down on the bathtub, turn on the water, and start to bawl. This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Richard knocks on the door. I ignore him.
“Bye, babe. I’ll call you. I know you’re going to miss me by tomorrow.”
You self-centered, egotistical asshole. Still playing the old game. But thanks for clarifying things. I’m not going to miss you tomorrow (or ever).
“Just go, Richard.”
The hot shower washes away some of the tension. Mercifully, when I get out, Richard and Susu are gone. As I pull up my taupe Control Top pantyhose, my fingernail snags them, but I so don’t give a shit. After slapping on the minimal amount of makeup, I grab my attaché case and head out, fortified for the next bomb.
I’m in my cubicle at the Bank of America, puttering around, having given up all pretenses of trying to look productive. I hear my supervisor Madeline approaching, her four-inch heels click-clacking, and don’t even feign industriousness. She knocks on my half-wall.
“Gerald wants to see us in the lunchroom ASAP, Liz. I think it’s about the safety deposit boxes.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Since it’s my birthday, I know exactly what’s coming. I enter the lunchroom and there they are, right out of central casting: “Bank Employees.” Only they’re whooping it up in party hats, blowing noisemakers, and throwing confetti at me as they sing a rousing “Happy Birthday.” Big surprise! We do the exact same thing for everyone’s “special” day.
They seat me at the table in front of my cake with its 39 (+ 1 for good luck) candles, reminding me that I’m almost 40. I feel even older. How did I get here so fast? Surrounding the cake are my presents. I know what they are without opening them: picture frames, candles, empty journals that I’ll never fill. And the really clever ones will give me “liz”ard knick-knacks. All safe, easy gifts for someone you don’t really know and don’t want to offend.
The ritualized mayhem continues. I can’t take it anymore. I stand up, put my fingers in my mouth, and whistle loudly. That gets their attention. They figure I’m going to make a nice “thank you” speech, so they look at me with smiling anticipation.
“I want to thank you all . . . and . . . I quit.”
As I reach under my skirt and pull down my pantyhose, my former co-workers look dumbfounded. No one can believe I’m actually taking this job and shoving it, or maybe they’re all fantasizing about leaving too. Whatever. I’m out of here. I throw the pantyhose over my shoulder like a bridal bouquet as I walk out the door. I wonder who caught them?
Driving home, I open the sunroof and take in the breeze. I blast Jimmy Cliff’s “You Can Get It If You Really Want.” Oh yes I can, Jimmy. And I will. I pull into the driveway. Hard to believe it’s been less than two hours since I kicked Richard out. I can’t remember when I’ve had such a productive morning. What’s going on next door? Who’s that guy? He’s cute. Am I serious?
I grab my bags of work memorabilia and get out of the car. The shirtless guy smiles and waves. He’s taking boxes out of a van. Is he a mover or my new neighbor? I couldn’t possibly be that lucky. Must be his job. He’s coming over. He’s about my age and definitely hot.
“Can I help?”
“No thanks, I’m okay.”
“Well, just wanted to say hi. We’re moving in. Michael Pollack. And that’s my son Cole.”
He points to an adorable teenager who’s coming out of the house. I wave and Cole flashes me an irresistible grin. His perfect white teeth look chewable. Father and son, what am I thinking? Uh oh. Richard’s gone and I’m turning into a pervert. I put my bags down and offer my hand to Michael. He shakes it just right, not wimpy, not too hard.
“Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Liz Harris. Where are you guys from?”
“Cincinnati.”
“Wow. Big move.”
“Yeah, well, the weather’s a little better here. And Cole’s a diver. He’s on a full scholarship at the University of Miami. If he works hard, he could make the Olympic team.”
“That’s great. My daughter’s in her first semester at Rollins, up in Winter Park. No scholarship for her, so it’s pretty pricey.”
“I bet.”
“Not that I’m complaining. My husband, soon to be ex, has it under control.”
That’s the first time I’ve said that. He seems to look at me more seriously. I’m probably imagining that.
Cole struggles to take a box out of the van.
“I should help him.”
“Sure. If you need anything, just holler.”
“Um, actually, is there a good health food store around?”
Must be a vegetarian. They can be preachy and self-righteous. I hope he’s not a strict one.
“Sure. There’s a Whole Foods two blocks that way, take a right, and it’s about a mile. Do you only eat organic?”
“I’m
