At 4:30, Peter took off to the beverage store to buy beer and ice. Her neighbors carried tables and chairs to the street and arranged them on the left side of the three gas grills.
Heather arrived with her girls and Emily ran over to her new playmates, hugging little Rori. Heather held out a platter of brownies and a bowl of quinoa salad. Lance, not in attendance.
“Don’t ask,” she said pushing the brownies at her. “Where should I put the quinoa salad?”
Catherine took the tinfoil off the bowl, the powerful scent of cumin and cilantro struck her. “Mmm, this smells delicious. It must have taken forever to prepare.”
“Nah, just threw everything in the bowl and mixed it up.”
Catherine’s face tightened thinking of the amount of time it took her to cook today.
She placed the silken brownies next to her dry oatmeal cookies noticing how chewy and moist they looked. “Wow, so yummy.” Catherine faked her enthusiasm. Jealousy brewed again.
“I had Laurel make those this afternoon.”
“She cooks? You let her use the oven?”
“She’s twelve.” Heather twisted her face this time. “One Saturday when I worked, Lance left her home alone while he ran to the bank with Gia and Rori. She decided to cook scrambled eggs and toast. She was nine.”
“Are you serious?” I would never allow Bentley or Colton to cook.”
“We didn’t allow her. She just took it upon herself to do it without asking.” Heather shook her head at Laurel who hid her face. “You should teach the boys to cook, otherwise they’ll make their wives do everything while they sit on the couch and watch the Giants game.”
The boys could never cook. How ridiculous.
Catherine excused herself and brought the appetizers outside. She glanced around hoping someone would see her creations but the other mothers were too busy playing hopscotch and jumping rope with their children.
Bobby set up the water pistol game and aligned ping-pong balls on top of golf tees. Stephanie arranged two-liter soda bottles for the bowling game. Steve carried two tricycles and a pair of big wheels in his hands and grouped them with the other small bikes.
“It looks amazing Catherine,” Heather appeared from behind, “but…”
“But what? What now?”
“It’s just that it’s a block party. This would be great for…a wedding.”
Catherine compared her display with the others: Cole slaw, pasta salad, cheap frozen hors d’oeuvres and some cheese and cracker platters. The fathers operated the barbeques and tossed burgers and hot dogs on the grill. “I just wanted to make something special.”
“How much time did you spend with your kids today?”
“Kids? Are you kidding? I woke up at six to start cooking. I just finished now.”
“The whole point of block parties is to have fun and get to know your neighbors. Come, it’s time to have fun.” Heather seized Catherine’s hand.
They proceeded down the block amongst children blowing bubbles, singing on the karaoke machine, and riding their bikes. Her neighbors piled their plates with food and the DJ orchestrated games with various props. Many of the games involved children against their parents. Heather grabbed Catherine’s arm again and dragged her over to the center.
“No, I can’t.” Her skin tightened, suffocated her, then her muscles loosened as if transformed into a rag doll. Visions of her entire third grade class pelting her with dodge balls resurfaced.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know how.”
Heather laughed. “You’ll learn.”
Bentley and Colton put down their football and strolled over to the sidelines to watch their mother toss a grapefruit back and forth with Emily. Catherine tried hard not to drop it, for fear her neighbors would laugh.
On the last toss, Emily flung it too high. It missed Catherine completely and rolled under a red tricycle. Catherine did the walk of shame and hurried to the curb. Were they laughing at her? She bent to retrieve the grapefruit but a hand emerged, passing it to her. It was Bentley.
He smiled at his mom. Her dormant heart unearthed, not used to his kind gesture. She hesitated, not sure what to do, and he turned and walked away.
“You’re next,” she shouted, attempting to make up for her dillydallying.
Colton and Emily giggled when Bentley and Catherine raced their tricycles down the crowded street. Catherine’s sandals with their little heels could not compete with the other parent’s sneakers. Why had she worn these?
When Colton and Catherine ran through various obstacle courses, Bentley jumped up and down on the sidelines and cheered. Emily waved maracas and blew forcefully through a plastic whistle, piercing her ears. Heather tossed a subtle wink.
After almost two hours of games, the DJ switched to Top 40 dance tunes. Catherine appeared from within the crowd, drenched but smiling. “I hate you,” Catherine smirked.
“No you don’t. This is what life’s about.” Heather put her arm around Catherine’s sweaty beige T-shirt. “Your kids will remember this, not your Gouda and brussels sprout finger sandwiches.”
“They’re not—”
“Eh, eh, don’t ruin the moment.” They wandered down the block stopping to get water. “Where’s Peter? I haven’t seen him all night. He should be here playing these games.”
Catherine had not seen Peter since he left to buy ice. Unease filled her mind. Had he returned? Was the trip to buy ice another excuse to escape?
She cut through the tables of scattered food, passed the DJ, and jetted around the karaoke machine. Smoke from the barbecue obscured her vision and consumed her throat. She approached a group of parents lounging in a circle of folding chairs with enormous margarita glasses in their hands and asked if anyone spotted Peter, but no one had.
John and Terry sang, “You’re the One that I Want” into the karaoke machine’s microphone. Teenagers bopped to the DJ’s tunes reminding Catherine of her senior year in college when Peter and her boogied at dorm parties. The spicy chicken she ate earlier found its way back into her throat.
On her final stroll to the end of the block, chatter and laughter erupted from her neighbor’s backyard. She unlocked the gate and crept past the bursting marigolds. Several guests surrounded the inground pool.
Peter bounced off the diving board, tucked into a cannon ball and his splash drenched Catherine’s peach Capri pants. She flicked her palms to release the spray.
“Peter, you got me wet!”
He propelled his arm deep into the water, legs pounded away until he reached the other side.
“Are you going to spend any time with me?” she demanded.
He spun back around, treaded water with slow calculated strokes, while disgust poured from his eyes.
Catherine scuttled away. She bit into her nail and ripped it down too far. Blood gushed from the corner.
What happened to them over the years? They used to enjoy each other’s company. She couldn’t wait for him to return home from work each day. Didn’t he care about her anymore? What was wrong with her?
She joined the cluster of families and found Heather teaching their six children a lesson in hula hooping. Catherine stood a few feet away from Bentley.
Bentley chuckled at Heather’s antics but then looked up at his mom. “You try.”
“I haven’t done that since I was your age.”
He reached down and handed her a green hoop. Heather winked and nodded.
Catherine picked up the hula-hoop. “Only if you do it with me.”
“No way, that’s for girls.”
Heather continued to twirl her blue hoop around her hips but her eyes caught Bentleys. “Uh oh, I don’t think Bentley knows how.”
“I do too!”
“Then let’s see.”
Catherine and Bentley picked up a hoop and both tried repeatedly to keep it up longer than five or six swirls. Colton twirled one too, but it liked the asphalt below him more than his waist. Emily used hers as a jump rope and soon the four of them fell to the ground exhausted.
At 9 o’clock, the orange ball dropped out of the sky. Steve cracked light sticks to weave through the children’s bicycle spokes. Renee and Bobby joined in and suddenly a parade of glow in the dark bicycle wheels floated by.
With Catherine’s three children riding away into the darkness, Heather gathered her children and plopped them into the car. Still no sign of Peter.
Was this it for their marriage? The end. No, she needed to survive.
Survive? Is that what she was doing? She didn’t want to survive, she wanted to live, like she did today. It was the first time she laughed in years. Even the boys responded. No wonder they played video games all the time, no wonder why Emily hated all the shopping.
This wasn’t a real family, it was a façade, like Heather said. Everyone going through the motions, separately. She wanted what everyone else wanted, a home, a husband, children, happiness. Where was the fun? Why didn’t Peter love her anymore?
The block party broke up. Mothers put their young children to bed, fathers wheeled the grills away and disassembled the tables. A group of teenagers arranged themselves in the center of one of their lawns and continued to talk. Invited guests left, only a few chairs lay scattered across the street. A handful of neighbors sat around a fire pit with bottles of beer.
Catherine didn’t understand. She gave him everything. The house, immaculate at all times, she cooked gourmet meals, took care of their kids’ needs. She worked to bring in additional income and let Peter go out with his friend’s, never questioning him. What more could she do? Maybe she did too much. She needed to give herself a break. Tonight proved it. Catherine needed to put herself first, knock off all the perfect mother attributes and start having some fun.
Chapter 27
Victoria
Three weeks passed since Victoria saw Aiden. Her attempts to avoid him were failing, unable to resist his uplifting conversations. The memory of his soft, wet kiss taunted her. His advances were tempting but she needed to contemplate the full magnitude of this.
Ed worked more steadily and she made sure she cooked enormous, mouthwatering dinners for him every night. She bought him his beers in a chilled glass, watched TV with him, and rubbed his tired feet on several occasions.
He came home Saturday evening dragging his arms beside him. He sunk into his couch, his eyes dull and apathetic.
Victoria made his favorite pot roast with mashed potatoes and poured an ice-cold beer into his Budweiser glass. The smell of onions and her red wine gravy flooded the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Can you bring it to me? I’m beat. And bring me my tray table, I’ll eat in front of the TV.”
“But I set the table, with candles.”
“Is it too much to ask you to just do what I say?”
Victoria smacked the tray table down in front of him, then brought in his plate and glass of beer. He stared at the screen and said nothing. Victoria sat at the kitchen table by herself, only the flickering of the coconut-scented candle kept her company.
The sound of loneliness crept in and she decided to join him. She put her plate on a tray table too and sat on the opposite side of the living room.
Ed’s laughter sliced into her. Victoria took a bite of the cold pot roast, the gravy already hardening in her plate. A
Sanford and Son
rerun blasted from the surround sound. Her brain cells melted as each minute passed.
After dinner, Ed left his plate in the living room and occupied the bathroom for fifteen minutes. Victoria finished washing the numerous pots and pans, as well as their dishes and cups. The final knife clunked in the draining board when he sauntered into the kitchen.
Then the phone rang for him.
Victoria dried the dishes, stored them away and put the leftovers in the refrigerator. Ed returned wearing his bleach-stained Wrangler jeans and his
Up-Yours
T-shirt. “I’m going out.”
“Out where? You said you were exhausted.”
“I was, but now I’m not. Is that a problem?” He grabbed his chunky wallet from the counter and shoved it into the back pocket of his discolored jeans. “I’m meeting Ralph and Kenny at The Innkeeper’s Inn, don’t wait up.”
Asinine name for a bar. Obviously the owner didn’t have a wife, otherwise she would have explained to him how absurd the name was.
Don’t wait up
. Like she would. Actually, she would. Who was she kidding?
The telephone sat erect on the wall like an obedient soldier. No, that would not solve anything. But Victoria thought of Heather. Silvatri wasn’t solving anything in her life but at least she was happy.
She descended the stairs, away from the phone, and switched on her computer. Another thrilling Saturday night by herself.
She waited for the computer to turn on and dragged her Word of the Day calendar closer. July 8th. Almost two weeks had passed since she used it. She ripped off hyperbole, rapier and euphonious. Then grabbed a chunk without reading them and tossed them in the trash.
She arrived at today’s date: July 20th and rubbed the back of her neck.
Wanton
adj. Sexually lawless or unrestrained. Loose, lascivious, lewd. “Wanton behavior.”
Victoria drove past manicured lawns twice the size of hers. She turned onto Hidden Autumn Acres and counted her way to number 244. Aiden’s house, an English Tudor, had white stucco set above the exposed brick and was trimmed with brown decorative wood framing, beneath a trio of steeply pitched roofs. It reminded her of the buildings at SandCrest Laboratories. The prominent chimney, crowned with an ornamental venting cap helped her envision romantic nights in front of the fire. Her heart skipped.
She paused outside his front door and closed her eyes. What was she doing? She could leave. Run. It wasn’t too late. It was too late. The click of the door jarred her eyes back open. Why did she call him?
After a second glass of red wine, Victoria lounged on his cozy loveseat overlooking the barren fireplace. The late-July temperatures and air conditioning squelched her fireplace fantasy, but her laughter so frequent, her cheeks burned. “Stop, stop,” she begged.
Aiden chuckled too and rose to open another bottle of wine. He towered over her and dispensed the maroon liquid into her goblet. After an hour-long station on the sofa across from her, he lowered himself onto the cushion beside her.