Good Time(55)

On the bright side, I’m already on the fourth stage of grief which is depression and carbohydrates. I think I might be a grieving overachiever, which is sorta sad, but I’m going to add it to my list of strengths anyway because I should still get credit for it.

Which reminds me of something else I should do.

“We should look Gwen up on the internet,” I announce once I’ve located a suitable table for eating and griping. That table is a booth along the far wall of the employee dining room because booths are ideal for private bitching sessions. And unbuttoning your pants for optimal caloric intake.

Lydia ate lunch an hour ago, which is a blessing because I cannot fake being happy right now and I still haven’t told her I’m married. Which is just as well, because I’m almost unmarried so why even bring it up at all?

Acceptance. It’s the fifth stage of grief. I’m going to pretend I haven’t hit it, because I’m not skipping the carbohydrate stage. Fuck that.

“Sure.” Mark slides into the booth across from me. “That sounds right.”

“Are you any good at math?” I ask while I open the internet browser on my phone. “How many boxes of Cheez-Its do you think I’d need to fill a bathtub, with me inside the tub?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“I was thinking twenty boxes, but then I wondered if that would be enough to be satisfying or if it would only barely cover the bottom of the tub. What do you think?”

Mark sighs as he twists the cap off of a bottle of water, as if he’s resigning himself to having a conversation about the volume of crackers required to fill a bathtub. “I think it’d take a hundred boxes or more.”

“God, that’s like three hundred dollars in crackers. Do you think I can claim that expense on my annulment?”

“I don’t think you can claim anything on an annulment. For starters you’re referring to an annulment like it’s a tax return, which it’s not. If you’re asking if you can request that Vince pay for a hundred boxes of Cheez-Its as some kind of financial settlement for your marriage, the answer is no. That’s not how an annulment works.”

“This day just keeps getting worse and worse,” I groan as I type ‘Rossi Law Firm’ into my internet search. It’s a really nice website and a really large law firm based on the number of attorneys on staff. If I was a supportive wife and not a bitter soon-to-be ex-wife I’d be really impressed. I click on the tab labeled ‘attorneys’ and there she is, Gwen Jones. There’s a picture of her. She’s blonde, went to law school at UCLA and I hate her. Those are the first things I notice. She’s a partner, which is super annoying and earns her another point in the ‘I hate her’ column. She specializes in family law and in her free time she sits on the board of directors for Girl Troopers of southern Las Vegas.

Who the hell can compete with that?

Not me. The full extent of my volunteer efforts is returning shopping carts to the shopping cart corral after I’ve put my groceries in the car and really, I don’t think that counts.

“See, this is the kind of woman he should be with.” I hold the phone up for Mark to scan. “Not a party-planning crazy girl like myself. A lawyer should have a serious wife.”

“Okay, simmer down. Don’t go all Elle Woods in Legally Blonde on me. You are jumping to some really wild conclusions here, even for you.”

“Maybe.” I twirl a bite of spaghetti around my fork and stuff it in my mouth. Then I type ‘Gwen Jones, ESQ’ into my Google search and click on images. And there it is, a picture of Vince and Gwen together. It was taken at a red-carpet charity event. There’s a super cute backdrop for the photo and I wonder who planned that event because I would love to know who did their graphics. I pass the phone over to Mark again. “I was right about them being together though. There they are.” I slump in the booth and drag my fork through the mashed potatoes.

“Three years ago,” Mark says, looking at the photo. “That event was three years ago.” He rolls his eyes in my face as he sets the phone down on the table.

“I don’t care how long ago it was, he shouldn’t have had his ex-girlfriend file the paperwork for the annulment. It’s… rude.” I finally decide on ‘rude’ as the best way to sum up ‘inconsiderate,’ ‘boorish,’ ‘ignorant’ and ‘insulting.’ Then I make a face at Mark, daring him to disagree.

“This is not the work wife I didn’t ask to fake-marry.” Mark shakes his head with a sad look of disappointment on his face.

“See!” I throw my hands in the air as if this proves everything. “I am a husband predator! I prey on innocent men and trick them into marriage!”

“No, I meant since when do you just sit back and passively let anything happen? You didn’t do it with me. You told me we were friends on your second day of work. After I made that joke about raccoons, you simply said, ‘Mark, we’re friends now.’”

“Oh, yeah.” I grin. “Raccoons are really funny though. Plus they’ve got those silly little masks that make it look like they’re gonna rob a bank.” I motion in the air as if I’ve got tiny raccoon paws.

Mark stares at me, nonplussed.

“Did you know that raccoon moms raise their children on their own?” I nod solemnly while Mark continues to stare at me while he chews. “People should be more understanding when a raccoon is digging through the trash or trying to get a slice of pizza. Single mom-ing isn’t easy.”