She’s hostile, aggressive, hateful, gross, disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. Did I mention disgusting?”
“I know.”
“I am so excited to hear you took the drink from her. You didn’t have to say a thing. I’m sure she got the message. She’s disgusting!”
“I wanted to vomit when she brought the dirty glass to the table. I was in shock and couldn’t believe someone could be that big of a bitch. I’d rather eat dog poop off the street than something that witch offered me. Later, when I told Jillian, I’ll never forget, she shook her head and she was livid. She was lying in her bed, IVs in her skinny, frail arms. She said, ‘Emmella, you should have thrown the fucking fizzy thing in her face. You should have said, “Keep the fizzy, fuck face!” That’s what you do if something like that happens again.’ She held a crumpled tissue in her hand. As she said those words, she took the tissue, flicked her wrist, and tossed it over the blanket onto her thighs.”
Emma took a long sip of water and then continued. “Jillian died the next day and that entire next day I kept saying over and over in my head, ‘Keep the fizzy, fuck face.’ I must have recited it in my brain a thousand times. Every time I said the phrase, I could picture Jillian’s little hand flip the tissue into the air and onto the blanket. She asked me to promise her I would take a deep breath and then calmly ask a question. If all else fails, toss it back and say, ‘Keep the fizzy, fuck face.’ Now I ask a question to throw back the focus. She is undeniably a bitch, and so is karma. I can sit back and watch her be an idiot, because the bitch that is karma will get her.”
“I’m glad you’re taking Jillian’s advice. That’s her legacy to you.”
“You know, Celia, I have never done anything unkind to her. I’m cold to her and stay away from her, but that’s to avoid her vicious conduct toward me.”
“You’re an innocent victim who happened to fall for a guy with baggage.”
“I know, right?” Emma flipped her hands in the air.
“Does this ex-wife have a name?” Celia took another slice of pizza.
“I despise her to the point that I can’t bring myself to say her name, and I hate when she says mine. She’s too vulgar and detestable for me to say her name.” Emma took a bite of her now cold pizza; the cheese was no longer stringy.
“Oh. I see. You have no problem saying fuck face a million times, yet you can’t say her name.” Celia’s voice was lowered to a whisper. “You do realize how funny that is, don’t you?”
“I call her Edie. Let’s leave it at that.”
Comfy Cozy Sheets
The changes that came along with her new car were now part of Celia’s weekday routine. The biggest change was setting her alarm clock twenty minutes earlier than usual. She hoped the extra time would provide a better chance to obtain prime parking at the T station.
She parked against the fence in the last parking space of the lot, which significantly reduced her chances of someone banging her car by fifty percent.
Celia despised people who parked their cars at an angle. She parked her Wrangler, pressed lock, and looked back at her parking job. There was no denying it: her car was ever so slightly parked at an angle. She never concerned herself with dents to her old car—its metal bruises were camouflaged by the rot and rust.
“Hello, this is Celia. How can I help you?” She didn’t bother to read the caller ID.
“Hey, it’s me. What’s new?” Ramona’s voice was particularly upbeat, which caused Celia concern.
“Not much. What’s going on?” She punched her fist in the air as she remembered their last evening together.
“My brother is coming back to Boston. He asked me to ask if you want to get together again.”
Oh, the booper. “Wow, he’s coming back again? So soon?” She reached for an advertising circular from the newspaper on the chair next to her desk. She started to leaf through the pages as they spoke.
“So soon? Celia, he was here over a month ago! I want you to know he specifically asked for you. He liked you a lot, Celia. You should consider yourself honored. He doesn’t take to people too easily.”
Wonder if anyone has ever confronted him on that booping thing? “I’m kind of busy. I don’t know.” Celia hedged. She didn’t want to decline too rapidly. She picked up a green highlighter and flipped through the pages of the Linen Closet circular. She began to highlight pictures of sheets, towels, and kitchen gadgets. She was half-listening to Ramona.
“He’ll be here over the weekend. He said he truly enjoyed meeting you the last time he visited. He thought you were very nice and wants to get together with you. That is, if you’re available.”
Celia pushed the circular to the side of her desk and focused on their conversation. “I think he’s nice, too, and very handsome.” She told the truth about his appearance. “Unfortunately, I have plans for the weekend. If they fall through, I’ll let you know.” She felt guilty for lying, but knew she had to lie to avoid another night out with Ramona and Booper Boy.
The Linen Closet was a luxury-only shopping spree. She needed nothing, except a new, fresh feel for her home. The thought of refreshing, crisp, cotton sheets against her cool, smooth skin when she got into bed at night made her happy. Soft, unspoiled bath towels hugging her body after a hot steamy shower would be delightful. Her old and soiled dish towels could be replaced with clean, new 100% cotton ones. She removed a shopping cart from the corral at the front of the store and enthusiastically began her shopping adventure.
Aghast at how incredibly gigantic the superstore was, she stood motionless at the entrance. With her hands clasped around the handles of the shopping cart, she took in her surroundings. Kitchen gadgets, bedding, artificial plants and flowers, dishtowels, picture frames, and bathroom and kitchen supplies filled the shelves. She pushed the cart and began her search for new possessions. Before long, she crammed the cart with bedding, linens, kitchen items, towels, and lotions.
Purchasing pillows was not even a distant thought when she set out on her excursion. At aisle four, the oversized fluffy pillows screamed out to her. Touch Me tags dangled from their packaging. She couldn’t resist the fluffy queen-size pillow. She squeezed it and held it to her chest, closing her eyes for a moment. She loaded three of the pillows on top of the dish strainer, the kitchen towels, and the comforter, which had all been tossed into the cart somewhere between the entrance and the beginning of the fourth aisle. She stuffed three more onto the bottom shelf of the cart, above the wheels. She selected new pillows to sleep on, new pillows for the pillow shams that came with the new comforter, and new pillows for the extra pillow shams that would match the comforter.
This cart was full. She should have taken a second one, but she was certain she could handle the awkwardly overloaded cart.
At the back of the store, a magnificent display of brightly colored plastic wastebaskets was set up in four tiers, each perfectly uniform. As Celia navigated around the display, one of the pillows popped up and slid down the side of the cart. She seized the pillow
