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“I hope not. It’s weird when she’s here.”
Susan had to agree with that.
Lani hopped back down to the gym floor to warm up with her teammates. Susan had thought when she signed those divorce papers it meant she was no longer her husband’s keeper, but somehow it hadn’t turned out that way. She stuck all the stuff she’d unloaded from her purse back into it again.
“Hello, Susan.”
At the sound of the woman’s voice, Susan turned around to see Linda Markham sitting down next to her. Please. Not her. Not now. Not anytime.
“I just wanted to thank you for the pound cake you sent for Teacher Appreciation Day,” Linda said.
Which had been a while back, so what did she really want? “You’re welcome.”
“I think on the whole the teachers enjoyed it, even though it wasn’t homemade.”
Speaking of not homemade, you came this close to getting a box of Ding Dongs. “Oh, I’m so glad,” Susan said. “I’m just so rushed some days that it’s hard to fit everything in.”
“I’m sure it is. If you’d like, I can recommend a wonderful time-management course. Why don’t I e-mail you the information?”
Why don’t you shove the information? “How sweet of you, Linda. I’d really appreciate that.”
“And next time, just let me know if you don’t have a Bundt cake pan. I have three. I’d be happy to let you borrow one.”
She gave Susan an angelic little smile, but Susan was sure she could see horns sprouting from the top of her head. Linda was one of those insidious women who masked their condescending nature with just enough cutesy smiles and sweet words that you couldn’t come back at them without looking like an ungrateful bitch. Susan’s theory was that motherhood was the only identity Linda had, so becoming queen bee of Parker Heights Middle School was her pinnacle of success. She’d guilt-tripped all the mothers into following after her like a bunch of mind-numbed minions, but still Susan wondered… If one of them ever got up the nerve to toss a bucket of water on Linda, would the others cheer as she melted?
Then Linda put her hand on Susan’s arm and dropped her voice. “Tell me, Susan. How are things since the divorce? Lani seems to be holding up well, but how are you?”
“It’s been a year and a half,” Susan said. “I’m good. But thank you so much for asking.”
“I know how difficult it can be. Not personally, of course. But I’ve had acquaintances who were divorced. It’s such a traumatic thing.”
Then she leaned in and spoke softly. “Is it true what I hear? That Don is getting married again?”
“Yes. It’s true.”
“So how do you feel about that?”
How do I feel about it? As if I’m losing some kind of race I never wanted to enter in the first place. That’s how I feel.
“His fiancée is a nice person,” Susan said. “I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Linda said, patting Susan’s arm. “You’re so brave.”
Susan had discovered that wrapping her hand around the neck of somebody who was bugging her didn’t make her feel that bad, and right now making history repeat itself was a pretty tantalizing thought.
Linda’s gaze drifted to one side. “Oh, I suppose I’d better hush. There’s Don.”
Susan turned, relieved to see her ex coming up the stairs. As Linda scurried away, Don sat down beside Susan, one of Lani’s textbooks under his arm.
“You were talking to Linda Markham?” he said.
“Yeah. Didn’t you know? We’re best friends.”
“Right.” He shook his head. “I always wondered what it would be like to be married to a woman who was that uptight. She probably keeps her vagina under lock and key.”
Susan blinked with astonishment.
“What?” Don said.
“Do you know that in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never once heard you utter the word vagina?”
He shrugged. “I always thought it would embarrass you.”
Right. She was an E.R. nurse. She blushed at the mere mention of genitalia.
No. If anybody had been embarrassed by the word vagina, it had been Don. He’d been the “lights out, no talking” kind of lover who would flatline any woman’s libido. But given the glow that seemed to surround Marla these days, evidently Don had gotten a whole new attitude where sex was concerned. They weren’t actually living together, which relieved Susan from having to deal with Lani’s feelings about that issue, but “not living together” didn’t mean “not having sex.”
Or maybe he’d finally found a woman who actually turned him on.
“Lani’s math textbook,” Don said, handing her the book under his arm. “She left it at my house yesterday.”
Susan took the book with a sigh. “What are we going to do about her forgetting stuff?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should talk to her.”
“I have talked to her, Don. About a dozen times.”
“She’ll grow out of it.”
Yes, and in the meantime Lani would continue to get zeros on assignments she left at home. Thanks for the insight, Don.
Susan asked “So where’s Marla?”
“Late getting off work. She’ll be here soon.”
Susan didn’t know how she felt about Marla being so diligent about coming with Don to Lani’s games. Nice Susan thought it was a good thing to do, particularly since she and Don were getting married. But Bitter Susan was getting a little tired of Marla being so sweet and kind. Damn it, just once couldn’t she do something rotten and bitchy?
“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” Don said. “Marla and I are going away for the three-day weekend coming up, so I won’t be able to see Lani.”
“Going away? Where to?”
“San Francisco.”
Susan looked at him dumbly. “You’re flying to San Francisco for the weekend?”
“It’s kind of a spur of the moment thing.” He smiled. “We like being spontaneous.”
No, you don’t. Or, at least, you didn’t. What happened?
Susan couldn’t believe this. In sixteen years of marriage, Don had never once taken her anywhere on a plane. If they couldn’t get to it within five hours by car after weeks of planning, they didn’t go. It was a travel mentality that had led to some ultra-exciting trips to Sea World, the Best Western on Galveston beach and the Alamo, usually with Lani in tow. And now he was taking Marla to San Francisco, which meant a beautiful hotel, whirlwind sightseeing and romantic dinners.
All Susan had ever gotten was an ear infection at Hurricane Harbor.
“Why don’t you take Lani with you?”
Don went pale. “Take Lani?”
“Why not? If Marla’s going to be part of the family, it can be like a family vacation.”
“Uh…yeah. But I really hadn’t intended—”
“Intended what?”
“You know, we have just one room booked, and—”
“Then it’ll be really cozy, won’t it?”
“Uh…”
“Just say it, Don. You want to go away with Marla over the weekend, and you don’t want anything messing up all that fun you’d planned on having in the bedroom.”
Don looked relieved. “Then you do understand.”
Lord, this man was such a dimwit sometimes. “So what about my bedroom activities?”
He looked at her dumbly. “What bedroom activities?”
“Exactly,” Susan said. “I don’t have those. Not with a fourteen-year-old in the house.”
“So are you dating someone?”
“Did you hear what I said? I have a fourteen-year-old in the house.”
“Lani’s with me every Saturday and other times if you need me to take her. Why can’t you date then?”
“Because by the time Saturday rolls around, I’m too damned tired to do anything, much less get all dressed up to go out. That’s why.”
Susan didn’t like the way she sounded, all cranky and whiny and defensive. But the truth was that as much as Don saw Lani, Susan still felt like a single parent. Don merely visited every once in a while, took her out, bought her things, then brought her back home, where Susan had the privilege of nagging her to do her homework and telling her no, she couldn’t pierce her tongue.
“If you really need Saturday,” Don said, “we can stay home.”
Susan waved her hand. “No. It’s all right.”
“If you have plans—”
“I already told you. I don’t have any plans. Go.”
As soon as she said the words, she gritted her teeth with irritation. She’d spent sixteen years of marriage giving in. She’d learned that behavior from her non-assertive mother, who saw nothing healthy about the expression of emotion and would turn herself inside out to avoid a fight, which was probably the reason she had high blood pressure and a stomach full of ulcers. Susan had never wanted to be like her, and to this day she didn’t know quite how it had happened. How ironic was it that the one time Susan had jumped into a confrontation with both feet, she’d gotten arrested for it?
“Hi, Susan. How are you?”
Susan looked up to see Marla inching her way down the bench to sit next to Don. She smiled, that perfect, glowing smile that was more genuine than the Hope Diamond. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but she had that helpless feminine thing going on that made men fall all over her. How she’d decided Don was the one, Susan would never know.
They exchanged a few pleasantries that only made Susan feel worse, so she was glad when she heard the buzzer signaling the start of the game.
Don and Marla stood up. “We’re going to sit closer to the court,” he said, and Susan knew it was because he wanted to be able to yell along with the other fathers in that annoying way men did, as if their junior high daughters were playing in the championship game of the NCAA tournament. Susan also had the terrible feeling that Don wanted to sit down there with the other men because he was with a woman like Marla.
As they walked hand in hand down the bleachers, it occurred to Susan that just once she would love to be the kind of woman men couldn’t take their eyes off of. Actually, not all men. One man would do. Just one, before she got so old and decrepit that the very idea of it was laughable.
Then she looked down at her jeans, her sweatshirt, her tennis shoes and her oversized, utilitarian mom purse, and she was overcome by the most terrible feeling that happily ever after was never going to happen. Getting by ever after was going to have to do.
CHAPTER 5
The following Monday, Susan hurried from the hospital to class and managed to slip into her seat with a whole minute to spare. Tonya and Monica were already there. Danforth was planted in his chair, too, looking as if he’d been prepared to get out the paddle if she hadn’t made it on time.
“Today we’re going to talk about the physiology versus the psychology of anger,” Danforth said. “Physiologically speaking, the amygdala is the part of the brain responsible for identifying threats and then sending out an alarm that causes us to react in order to protect ourselves. It sends that distress signal so rapidly, however, that the cortex, the part of the brain responsible for the application of thought and judgment, is unable to discern the rationality of our reaction.”
“Huh?” Tonya said.
Susan leaned toward her. “If we’re threatened, our brains are designed to react first and think later.”
“Precisely,” Danforth said.
Susan furtively rolled her eyes. If she’d said it so precisely, why hadn’t he?
He droned on about how they had to teach their prefrontal cortex to judge the consequences of the proposed action of their amygdalas. Susan was a nurse. Physiology was her thing. And still she was bored to tears. She could only imagine how much the other women wished they were anywhere else.
Then Danforth started in on the psychology of anger, with special emphasis on the differences in the way men and women express their anger. After what seemed like forever, he put that set of notes away and pulled out something else.
“Now that we understand the psychology and physiology of anger,” he said, “I’d like you ladies to learn a method by which you can express your anger constructively to the person with whom you’re angry. It’s known as the ‘I-Message.’”
Sounded like psychobabble to Susan, but what the hell.
He handed them each a sheet of paper. “I want you to think about a situation that has angered you in the past and fill in these blanks.”
Susan took a pen from her purse and looked at the form. The first line read, “I feel (be specific).” The second one read, “When you (give details of the behavior or circumstance).” The third line read, “Because (this is the why of your anger).”
They each filled in their forms, and a few minutes later Danforth said, “Ms. Saltzman. To whom is your I-Message directed?”
“My cousin, Sandra.”
“Read it, please, phrasing your statement as if you’re talking directly to her.”
Monica sat up straighter in her chair. “I get angry…”
“Yes?”
“When you call from New York at three in the morning to cry on my shoulder about all your problems…”
