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“She’s not home yet,” said Izzie.
I looked at Laura. “Really?”
“Yeah. I talked to her about an hour ago and she said she was going to dinner with a friend.”
“Who?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Mommy, where were you?” asked Izzie, her big blue eyes looking up at me.
“I spent the day with a good friend of mine,” I answered, picking her up and placing her on my lap, “Is that okay? How was the American Girl Place?”
“Great! Who was the friend?”
“Uh…”
“Our friend, Luke,” Laura responded for me, “He’s an old friend of the family. We’ve known him for years. Nice guy…”
“Is he married?” asked Izzie.
“No, but he has two kids,” I answered, “Twin boys. They’re nine.”
“Is he divorced?” she asked.
“How on earth is a six year old this smart?” I asked.
Isabelle answered, “I know lots of divorced people. My friend Gabriella’s mommy and daddy… Paul’s mommy and daddy… Aunt Laura… Grandma and Grandpa…”
“Maybe not Grandma and Grandpa, sweetie,” I told her, realizing how Izzie’s environment had sadly forced the little girl to grow up quicker than she would have otherwise.
A little while later, I put Izzie to bed, and then I went downstairs to find Laura snacking on some chips and salsa.
“What a surprise,” I joked.
“So, tell me…” she said.
I told Laura all about my jog with Luke, my breakdown, our dinner and our kiss.
“He sounds nice,” Laura said, “Although, I’m a little suspicious.”
“I know. Something’s going on with him. I think he might have a girlfriend. Maybe she’s married or something.”
“That’s terrible!”
“Please don’t judge. I don’t know that for sure, I’m just guessing. The thing is, there’s something about Luke that I trust. I don’t think he’s a snake or a liar. I think he’s genuine. Just a little confused. You know, he’s got baggage.”
“Everyone who’s divorced has baggage,” said Laura, “I just came to that realization.”
“Dan?”
“Of course,” she said with a smile, “but he’s hot, and fun and…”
I then saw my older sister’s face turn a dark shade of red.
“Are you blushing?!”
She put her hands over her cheeks. “No!”
“Laura, you’re 44 years old and you’re blushing at the thought of great sex! Jesus!” At this very moment, I realized how new casual sex and lust was to my very sheltered, sexually repressed sister.
“The things I do with Dan…I’ve never done those things before. It’s really embarrassing to talk about, and I’m ashamed to say it, but I like it. I like it a lot.”
I gave Laura a sad smile, sad because it had taken her this long to let herself be human and enjoy good sex. But I was happy that at least she was experiencing it now. “There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing, Laura. It’s natural and it’s fun and you’re not hurting anybody. You’re finally living.”
Laura gave me a big grin and said, “You know, I kept saying to myself, ‘Why did God do this to me? Why did God make Alan leave me?’ And now, I feel like maybe it was because of this. I’m not saying I’m going to live happily ever after with Dan, I’m just saying that I feel lucky that I get to have this much fun. I realize now how bad and how wrong my marriage was. For two people to live together for 20 years and have sex once a year at most just isn’t right. There was no spark. Nothing. Ever. And now, now I like being sexy. I like my body. I like that a really good-looking man wants to touch me.” Laura had tears in her eyes when she finished, “I feel so pretty.”
“I’m so happy right now!” I practically shouted, “You ARE pretty! And now you realize that!”
We continued to talk and talk and talk and it was wonderful to see “the new Laura,” self-confident in her newfound sexuality, and so happy.
When it got to be around 9:00, and my mother still was not home, I called her cell. Voice mail. 9:30, voice mail again. 10:00, voice mail again.
At 10:05, Laura left her a message. “Mom, it’s us. If you don’t call me back in the next ten minutes, I’m calling the police.”
I shouted in the background, “And then we’re calling dad! We really don’t have a choice! We’re worried about you!”
Then we waited. Both my sister and I were on pins and needles. Where on earth was our sixty-seven year old mom? At 10:08 we got our answer. Our mother sent her very first text (of her life). “I’m fine. With friend. Don’t worry and don’t call anyone! And don’t wait up!” At the end of her text was a smiley face.
“The woman’s never sent a text, and she’s already inserting smiley faces?” Laura practically shouted, “What if someone forced her to text that?”
“I don’t think so,” I laughed.
“Is Mom on a date?” Laura asked.
“Sure sounds like it.”
We decided to go to bed, hoping Helene knew what she was doing, that she was safe, and that she would be back soon.
All night I tossed and turned, realizing that if I could just fall asleep, my mother would be home when I woke up, everything would be fine, and there would be a perfectly logical explanation for her going on the lamb. I just couldn’t sleep, though. My mother wasn’t here, I had no idea where the woman was, and I was troubled.
At 6:15 the next morning, I got up and looked in the guest room. Laura was asleep. Alone. And that’s when troubled turn to panic. I woke Laura up, and the two of us were complete wrecks for the next few hours. We called my mother but it went right to voice mail. We texted, but no return texts.
Laura called her office and told them she couldn’t come in until later, and then paced in front of the TV while watching the
Today
show. As for myself, I did the one thing I knew could somewhat calm me down. I made salsa. With Izzie sitting on the kitchen counter helping, I created my latest invention, artichoke salsa. At exactly 9:15, my mother waltzed into the house.
“Where have you been?” Laura scolded.
When I took one look at my mother, the mother I’d known for forty-two years, I knew. The woman looked contented and relaxed and giddy, all at the same time. She reminded me of a young girl with her sparkling eyes, her wide grin and her rosy cheeks.
“Go upstairs and get dressed,” I said to Isabelle, “I’ll be up there in a minute.”
The second she was out of sight, I looked at Laura. “Mom had sex.”
My mom started giggling, while Laura responded, “That’s really funny, Emma.” Then she looked at my mother. “Mom, we were so worried! Where were you?”
“Your sister’s right,” Mom said.
“Wow…how do you feel?” I exclaimed.
Mom smiled, “Good.”
“Why was your phone off? And why didn’t you answer our texts? We were so worried!” said Laura.
“So, who’s the guy?” I asked.
Laura’s mouth was hanging wide open, as if she was appalled.
“What?” I asked.
“Are you condoning this?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
Laura began chewing me out, as if my mother wasn’t even there. “You think it’s okay that our mother spent the night out with a man?”
“Not only do I think it’s okay, I think it’s great if she’s happy. Are you?”
“Yes,” she smiled.
“So, who is it?” I asked, “Do we know him?”
“No. He works at the Lexus dealership,” she answered.
“You picked up the guy trying to sell you a new car?” I asked.
“Yup.”
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Harry Rakowski.”
“Not Jewish,” I joked.
“No, not Jewish,” Mom said with a smile.
“How old is he?” I asked.
“He just turned sixty.”
“You cougar!” I shouted.
My mom laughed.
“That’s really nice,” Laura interjected, “Calling our mother a cougar. Great…”
“Lighten up, Laura,” I said.
“I’d think you’d be happy for me,” Mom said to her, “My husband cheated on me. We’re separated. What am I supposed to do? Sit around by myself?”
Laura looked at her sadly and said, “No, Mom, I don’t expect you to sit around. But spending the night out…don’t you think that’s kind of…”
“Kind of what?” asked my mother, “What about Dan? Haven’t you been spending the night out with him? Have I said one thing?”
“It’s different,” Laura answered.
“How so?” I asked.
“It just is!”
“Look, Laura, you better get used to it,” I said, “Our mother’s single. So is Dad. Both of them are allowed to do anything they choose. Don’t you want them to be happy?”
“Oh, look who turned into Miss Optimistic all of a sudden. You’ve been in a coma for like a year. All you do is make God damn salsa, and now you think you’re an expert on happiness?”
“That’s unfair!” said my mother.
“And rude,” I added.
“Look, I’m not going to sit here and listen to the details of my mother spending the night out with some random guy,” Laura said, “It’s disgusting!”
“The way you’re acting…your attitude…that’s what’s disgusting!” I shouted.
“Are you guys fighting?” we heard. I looked over at the doorway and there stood Izzie.
“No honey, we’re not,” I lied.
At the same time, my mother said, “Of course not.”
“Then why are you shouting?”
“We’re not,” I said, “Want to go to the zoo today?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, then go make your bed, brush your teeth and put some socks on.”
Izzie started cheering and ran back upstairs.
“I guess we’ll never see eye to eye on these kinds of things,” Laura said sadly.
“Why are you only thinking of yourself?” I asked, “Can’t you understand how she’s feeling? She just had sex with the second person in her life. Can’t you focus on
her
instead of how
you’re
feeling about it?”
Laura ignored me and turned to my mother. “Look, I love you, but I can’t handle this right now.” She kissed Mom’s cheek. “I have to go to work.”
After Laura left the room, my mother took my hand. “Thank you for understanding,” she said.
.
D
uring my freshman year in college, in Psychology 101, I remember learning about how a person deals with grief, and the seven stages of healing, the third stage being anger. My costly education was now coming back to me, as I realized I was approaching stage three.
The anger I felt for my judgmental sister opened the floodgates to many things I was angry about, including what my dad did to my mom. He cheated. My dad was a cheater. And I currently found myself furious at him. Yes, I was happy that my mother seemed happy, but maybe in a sense I was like my sister, feeling like the only man my mother should be with was my father.
Then there was the loss of my unborn child. It was beginning to infuriate me all of a sudden. Where was the justice? Hadn’t I been through enough having a husband die? Why was God making me suffer more? It seemed so unfair. I found myself enraged.
Over the next few days, all I wanted to do was hit someone. Jogging was a good outlet. Everyday I’d go for a run in hopes that physical activity would help me blow off some steam. I ran and ran and ran and ran, (without Luke, which I’ll get to in a minute) and it would help, but only for about an hour. After that, the fury would return within me.
Why was I so angry? There was more. I was furious with Preston, who I hadn’t heard from in weeks. What a complete jerk! I thought to myself. After all the intimate moments we shared, all those times in bed, all the kind sentiments. How he could just stop calling was mind boggling. Didn’t he care enough to follow up with me? Didn’t he want to see how I was feeling? The playboy was now showing me who he truly was, and it was brutally painful.
Did I think I was the exception? Did I think Preston, the man who told me he didn’t want to fall in love, loved me? Sure, maybe for a fleeting moment he thought he could change. But ultimately, he knew who he was. He knew he was a player. And I knew that too. I had always known it. I just didn’t want to see it, because I had some sick fantasy that he would become someone else for me. And now I realized how naïve I was. Reality was infuriating.
And then there was Laura. We hadn’t spoken for a few days, living like strangers, just as we had when we had our fight about my pregnancy. Only this time, Laura wasn’t trying to make up with me. She was still angry, too. But I’d have put money on the fact that I harbored more resentment than she did, simply because bitterness seemed to define me these days.
And last, but definitely not least, there was someone with whom I was so completely irate, I couldn’t even think about him without gritting my teeth. Luke. The man who was supposed to be my friend, the guy in whose arms I cried, the guy I trusted and confided in, on whose couch I’d slept, and whose pizza I ate. He had disappeared off the radar screen. I hadn’t heard from him in almost a week. No phone call, no text, not one ounce of concern or compassion or follow-up.
He was actually worse than Preston, because although we had never been together physically, I felt more exposed to Luke than I ever had with my young boy toy. I trusted Luke. I opened my heart and soul and let him come in. I spoke Arabic to him for God’s sake! And he was there for me. And now he wasn’t. And I burned with anger when I thought about him.
Late one night, I headed up to bed. I was alone in the house with Izzie, my mother and sister presumably with their new boyfriends. When I checked on her, she woke up.