Evvie Drake Starts Over(78)

“Lying about what?”

“I lie a lot,” she said simply. “I lied about the dishes.”

“Goddammit, I knew there was something weird about that.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Well, I broke the yellow dishes. Or, Dean and I broke them. Really, I broke them. It felt better than anything I had done in months, which I can’t explain. I didn’t know how to tell you about it. Just like I didn’t know how to tell you I wanted to get a divorce.”

“Can you tell me about it now?”

She told him that Tim was mean. She told him about the worst things he’d ever said that she could remember. She talked about his temper, how he hollered at her when he couldn’t find things, the bruise on her back from the dresser. And then she caught sight of her own toes, and it reminded her of something. She took the deepest breath, maybe of her whole life. “Do you remember the cut on my foot? When I got stitches?”

   He turned and looked at her. “You said you dropped a glass.”

“I did say that. But Tim dropped a glass.” She paused. “No, that’s not even true. Tim threw a glass. He threw a glass at the living room floor, because he was mad at me. He threw the glass, and I stepped on it.”

Andy shook his head. “Goddamn.”

Evvie nodded very slowly. “You know, he told me once a week since I was in high school that I overreacted to everything. That everything with me was drama. After a while, I knew what he would say. He didn’t even have to say it. So I think I just stopped telling anybody anything.”

“I should have figured it out, though.”

She shrugged. “I’m a better liar than you think.” She picked at a spot on her knee. “Speaking of which, I should tell you there actually was insurance money, but I felt too guilty to spend it, so I haven’t touched it. And you shouldn’t bother arguing with me, because I’m not going to.”

His eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

She smiled. “Yeah. That’s why I’m broke. That’s why there’s no way I can stay in this house. I’m going to look for something, maybe something smaller but closer to the water.” She looked over at him. “I know I’m laying a lot on you. But I think that’s about it for now. That, and I’m sorry.”

“Well,” he said, picking up a grain of rice from under the edge of the cabinet and tossing it over his shoulder into the sink, “I’m sorry, too.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you showed up now.”

“And I’m glad you called.”

   Evvie pulled her knees up and hung on to her shins with both hands. “I scared the shit out of myself tonight. I don’t even know what to do next.”

He put his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned on him. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re going to figure it out.”





A FEW DAYS LATER, MONICA TEXTED. Long time no see. I’m baking bread. Can I bring you some this afternoon?

Sure! Thank you. Come in the kitchen door and yell—might be working upstairs and not hear the knock.

But instead of working, Evvie, distracted and exhausted, eventually wandered into Dean’s apartment—no, the apartment. She rested her hand on the counter of the kitchenette, and she looked around at the emptiness of the big rectangular room where she once drank bourbon and told stories and where she sometimes slept with the most famous disaster in Calcasset besides herself. In the middle of the floor, right under the ceiling fan, she stretched out on her back and closed her eyes.

She heard a knock on the door, but she stayed where she was, and before long, she heard it open. “Evvie?” came Monica’s voice.

“I’m in here,” she called out. She heard Monica drop her keys on the kitchen table.

“Oh, hi,” Monica said.

“Hey.”

“Can I join you?”

   “Sure.”

Monica came over and sat down on the floor, then lay back until they were right next to each other. “It’s good to see you.”

Evvie smiled at the ceiling. “Yeah, you, too.”

Right there, stretched out on the floor, looking at the popcorn ceiling Evvie had always meant to replace, Monica updated Evvie on Rose’s upcoming dance recital, Lilly’s current obsession with collectible toys called Monsteroos (“like Beanie Babies if Tim Burton made them”), and everything she was trying to get done now that school had started. “How are things with you?” Monica finally asked.

“Okay. About to be busy. I’m going to sell the house, I think. It’s too big for me. And I’m trying to get back to work. And right now, I’m putting off calling my mother.”

Monica laughed. “Oof.”

She hadn’t planned to, but Evvie told Monica about Eileen: how she left when Evvie was little, how her visits and calls diminished gradually, how she would pop in at inconvenient times of her own choosing but miss all the weddings and the funerals. “But,” Evvie said, “she’s my mother. I don’t want to have regrets. I know I have to see her and suck it up, but it always stresses me out.”

“Well, you don’t have to.”

“No, I know. But I’m trying to…I don’t know. I can’t cut her off, so I might as well have peace with her.”