took the train home and arrived just before the first guest. She served as hostess, while I ran upstairs to shower and dress, and Dixie grabbed her toiletries from the RV and got prettied up.
When I had showered and refreshed, I came down to the party. I grabbed a glass of wine from a tray near the living room and took a sip as I looked around. The majority of those present were Albert’s relatives. I was an only child, and my parents were both dead, so my family tree was pretty barren. Albert was one of three children. His parents were good Italian Catholics and had tried to do their part to procreate and replenish the earth, but his mother had been forced to stop after three children. At least that was what she said to me when I told her I had no intention of having more than two children after David was born.
Albert’s mother, Camilia Conti, was a petite woman with unnaturally black hair. She had fallen in love with Albert’s father, Darren Echosby, an American in the military, after World War II. He died mysteriously not long after they were married and was seldom spoken about. Her current husband, Lorenzo Conti, was a small, quiet man who seldom spoke but made up for it in drinking and smoking.
Dixie and Stephanie spotted me leaning against the wall and came and stood on either side of me. Stephanie put her arm around my waist and leaned close. “Mom, I don’t want you to freak out or anything, but…”
She inclined her head slightly to a corner of the room.
I followed the direction of her head and nearly choked when I saw the bimbo, dressed in a skintight, body-hugging dress that left nothing to the imagination, wrapped around Albert. I nearly dropped my glass and came very close to letting out a shriek and lunging for her. Had it not been for Dixie and Stephanie, I might have embarrassed myself by throttling the hussy in front of a room full of people.
“He brought that…floozy into our house?”
Dixie and Stephanie continued to whisper in my ear, all the while using their bodies to restrain me from murder.
“Honey, I know you have to be furious, but now is not the time to show it. That’s what he wants you to do.”
I downed the glass of wine my daughter handed me in one large gulp. Part of me wanted to cry, while another part wanted to beat the living daylights out of Albert and his tart, but I knew Stephanie and Dixie were right. Now wasn’t the time. Instead, I took a deep breath, held it for as long as I could, and released it. I tried to remember the breathing exercises from Lamaze decades ago, but frankly, the deep breathing hadn’t worked to distract me from the pain back then, and it wasn’t working now.
“I’m okay.”
I tried to put on a fake smile, but it must have come across as more of a grimace, because neither Dixie nor Stephanie looked convinced.
“Mom, there’s more.”
I tried to wrap my head around the idea of what could be worse than my husband bringing his girlfriend into the home where we had raised our children in the middle of a gathering of his relatives. “Am I dying?”
“No, but—” Dixie never got to finish that sentence, because my mother-in-law walked up.
“I always had a feeling something was a bit off with you.” She shrugged. “When Alberto first told me, it took me a minute to adjust, but I say live and let live.” She grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled me close, and kissed me on each cheek. “Love is love, right?”
I stood ramrod-straight in a state of shock. Albert and I had been married for more than twenty-five years, and this was only the third time my mother-in-law, a normally very demonstrative woman, had hugged me. The other two times were at the births of each of my children.
When the shock wore off, I was dazed. “What just happened?”
“That’s what I was getting ready to tell you,” Dixie whispered.
I waited, but her courage must have failed. She looked at Stephanie. “Maybe you should tell her.”
“Tell me what?”
Stephanie grabbed another glass of wine and handed it to me. Then she took a deep breath. “Apparently Dad told everyone the reason you two are getting divorced is because you’re a lesbian.”
I stared at Stephanie and then Dixie.
“Don’t look at me. Apparently, I’m your ‘partner’.” Her lips twitched, and I could tell by the way her eyes twinkled she was a few seconds away from bursting out in laughter.
“Excuse me.” I waltzed around the large crowd of in-laws, neighbors, and friends, and cornered Albert. “Could I see you in the other room?” I didn’t wait for his reply, but turned and walked out of the room, marched upstairs to the master bedroom, and waited. A few moments later, Albert came in behind me, and I slammed the door. “Can you please explain to me why your mother thinks I’m a lesbian?”
A flush of red went up his neck. “You told me I had to tell my family about the divorce.”
I stared at him, waiting to hear how he planned to connect the dots to explain how his leaving me for another woman translated into me being gay.
He pulled at the neck of his shirt. “Well, I had to come up with a reason, and this seemed like a good way to explain things.” He hemmed and hawed and stuttered. “I mean, what difference does it make to you what my family thinks? You weren’t planning on seeing them again. Plus, you’re the one who’s all equal rights for everyone.” He used air quotes. “I don’t see why you’re so upset.”
I hadn’t realized my mouth was open until I got a look at myself in the bureau mirror. “Do you really not get why I’m upset?” I took several deep breaths. “I’m not gay.”
“So?” He sat down on the bed. “I don’t get why it matters.”
“It matters because you’re not taking ownership for your adulterous relationship, and instead you’re shifting blame for the dissolution of our marriage onto me. This is not about equality or gay rights, which, by the way, I support. This is about you not being man enough to tell your mother the truth. You cheated on me with that skinny bimbo. You broke your marriage vows. And you are shifting the responsibility for the divorce onto me.” I was practically screaming.
“Shush. Keep your voice down.”
“I will not be shushed in my own house.” I picked up a bottle of perfume on the bureau and flung it as hard as I could at Albert’s head. Unfortunately, he ducked and the bottle hit the wall and shattered.
“You’re crazy. You could have killed me.”
“You’re right. I am crazy.” There was a line of perfume bottles, jewelry boxes, and other objects atop the bureau, and I picked up each one and flung it at Albert, who was now standing against the bedroom wall, dodging flying objects. “I was crazy to have married you. I was crazy to have stayed married to you for twenty-five years. I was crazy to have believed you when you said you were working late at the office all of those nights.” I flung the last object, which missed Albert but went flying through the window.
The bedroom door opened, and Stephanie and Dixie rushed inside.
“Mom, are you okay?”
The anger that had fueled my screaming,
