“Divorce’ll do that,” I’d reply, helping him back up.
After class, I’d sometimes catch a latte with Robin, who was forty-five, and whose husband bailed on her five years ago while she was in the process of going through chemo treatments for ovarian cancer, leaving her with two kids in high school and a failing party-planning business. She was able to beat it, and was in remission now, and she’d somehow built her business back up after declaring Chapter Eleven. Now both her girls were in college. We’d gone out a bunch of times. For drinks or to the movies. Robin was pretty and funny, but also one of the toughest women I knew.
That day we had started talking about Brandon, and then about some guy who had asked her out, when I caught her looking at me and she finally stopped and asked if anything was wrong.
It took about three seconds for me to blurt out what was happening. Not everything, of course. But losing my job and how my finances were crashing down on me, and how desperate I was to keep Brandon in school. I’d always prided myself on being a person who could hold it together when things got tough. But I just couldn’t there. In my damp tights, my hair a sweaty mess, my makeup smearing, it just all came out of me.
“You’re preaching to the choir now, honey.” She took my hand. “We all hit bottom, but you’re a gorgeous, capable woman. And smart. I know it sounds like a cliché, but they’re only clichés because they’re generally right. You just have to suck it up and pull through.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, dabbing my eyes with a napkin. “It’s all just kind of crashing down on me right now, and I haven’t talked about it to anyone.”
“You know what they say …” She grinned. “The world always looks bleakest through a double mocha latte and a Starbucks napkin. Or maybe it’s at three in the morning and through a glass of vodka? I do forget.”
“Is that what they say?” I sniffed in and laughed. “You mean it’s not just me.” I took another sip of coffee and picked at a muffin. “I can adapt to anything. But it’s Brandon. I mean, what do we do, give the house to the bank, pull him out of a school that’s totally making a difference in his life; file for bankruptcy …?”
“No. You definitely don’t want to go down that road. That’s your last resort.”
“Without a job, I can’t afford to even stay in Armonk, Robin. Even if I did put him in public school.”
“Hil—” She took my hand again. “It took me six years to build myself back up. My health. My credit rating. And I’m not even talking about who I was inside. What about your ex? Can’t he come to the table?”
I shook my head. “He’s broke. He’s closed down his business. I guess we’re both broke.”
“Shit—I’d call a lawyer on his deadbeat ass anyway.” She chortled. “Trust me, beats kickboxing any day for getting the endorphins going.”
“Jesus …” I blew out a sip of my latte, laughing. “Remind me not to get in your way.”
“Think I’m joking? For two months, I had my girls at my sister’s and I was sleeping in our warehouse,” she said, her eyes fixed on me. “Getting myself to chemo twice a week. For years, who do you think it was I visualized every time I was hitting that hundred-pound bag?”
“It was hard, huh? I mean, obviously what you went through with your health … But the rest. Watching the life you built up around you fall apart. Losing everything you counted on?”
Robin looked at me. This time she wasn’t smiling. “Killer. Hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. And I hope you’re not looking for any fairy tale, take-home nuggets like it was all worth it in the end. ’Cause it wasn’t. It sucked. You just do what you have to do. And first order of business, you protect your cubs, right? That’s what drove me. I’d do anything I could for them. And I did. And you will too.”
“What if there was something you could have done …?” I put down my cup. “Something you didn’t want to do, but that you had kind of in your back pocket, that could have changed things. Changed everything. I mean, financially …”
“You got some rich dude who wants to marry you you’re not telling me about?”
“Not even a broke one,” I said. “Just if somewhere I could find some money …”
“Legal?”
I just looked at her.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not thinking about putting yourself out there, are you? In that case I change what I said. Try Chapter Eleven first.”
I laughed, and shook my head. “Gimme a break. Of course not, Robin.”
“You’d be surprised. There’re a lot of suburban moms who are finding all kinds of ways to pay for Pradas these days.”
“Well, that’s not me. Yet.”
“Good.” She took a sip of coffee and then shrugged. “Look, there’s this … and then there’s the other side of the road. I’ve been on both sides. And it’s dark over there. Short of maybe killing someone or robbing a bank … I’d do whatever you had to fucking do to take care of yourself and Brandon, Hilary. No one else will.”
She took a last gulp of her latte and there was only the slightest hint of humor in her eyes.
In terms of money, things were only getting worse. I threw myself into finding a new job. Steve Fisher knew someone in the market for an ad manager. I just hadn’t done that kind of work in years. All my contacts from back then had mostly moved on or were ancient history by now.
Someone else told me about someone who was looking for an accounts payable manager for a local wine distributor. The problem was, it paid only around half of what I’d been making. Enough to pay the mortgage, but no way I’d be able to cover Brandon’s school. Anyway, they were looking for someone with an accounting degree, and mine was in cultural anthropology.
I called up Karen Richards, the head of school at Milton Farms, to see if I could qualify for some financial aid. Brandon was one of their success stories and I always tried to pitch in on school events. The past two years I paid tuition on an extended monthly plan, the only way I could handle it even when I had my old job. But now I was hopelessly behind. And the spring payment months were coming up.
“Hilary, I’m afraid it’s just too late for this semester. Our funds are all allocated. And to be honest, our financial support isn’t really designed for your sort of situation anyway.”
I hesitated. “My sort of situation …?”
She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but look at the home you live in, Hilary. Your ex-husband comes here on Father’s Day driving a new Porsche. I know I don’t really know what’s going on, but I honestly think the best solution is to work this out with him. I wouldn’t normally say this, but I noticed you’re several months behind in tuition payments …”
“That’s why I’m calling, Karen.”
