Not Perfect(13)

“I want to volunteer at a place called The Family Meal,” he said. “Dad mentioned it a few times and it sounds cool.”

“What do they do? What kind of organization is it?” she asked, walking over to his neatly made bed and sitting down.

“Can you just look it up?” Levi said, annoyed. She’d lost him. He didn’t want to talk anymore. She never should have sat on his bed, giving the impression she planned to stay and chat.

“Sure,” she said.

“I have to read,” he said.

“Okay, I’m leaving.”

“And what’s for dinner?” he asked. “I’m starving.”

Dinner. What was for dinner? She glanced at her watch. It was just five thirty now, she had time. And she wasn’t even sure what Fern would be up to eating tonight. She left Levi without answering, took her laptop into the living room, and sat on the love seat across from Fern.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” she asked.

“Much better.”

Tabitha reached over to feel her forehead. It was cool.

She logged on to her computer and checked her email. Nothing. Then she went to Stuart’s account. Or his old account. She had a feeling he had a new one, or else he’d cut off all ties to electronic mail. She wasn’t sure which. About a month ago it occurred to her that she could get into his account. She knew, or thought she knew, some of the passwords he used frequently, and she was right. His Gmail account, which was the only one she knew about, the one he emailed her from when he emailed her, was easy. It took only two tries. The password was GoBlue1990—referring to the University of Michigan and the year he graduated. It was so obvious that once Tabitha was in she looked around for Stuart for a second. She wanted to say, Really?

Now she clicked the keys and held her breath as it loaded. There wasn’t a single personal email since she last checked. Well, there was one—from a cousin who was just sending a save-the-date notice for a wedding in August. August! Who could think that far ahead at this point? She didn’t even know what she was going to feed the kids for dinner, not to mention breakfast and lunch tomorrow. She thought, and not for the first time, that it might not have been such a good evolutionary plan to have to eat numerous times a day to stay alive.

An email from Brooks Brothers came up, and Starbucks. And then something from the local University of Michigan Alumni Association. The subject line read “Happy Hour.” She clicked on it and saw there was a happy hour that night to “get psyched and sing a rousing round of ‘The Victors’” in preparation for the football game on Saturday, when there would be another gathering to watch the game. “Hotdogs, mini burgers, tacos and more!” It went until six thirty. And it was at the Fox & Hound at Fifteenth and Spruce, three blocks away! She pushed her laptop shut.

“Will you guys be okay for a few minutes?” Tabitha asked Fern.

“Uh huh,” she answered in a way that made Tabitha think she didn’t hear her. Probably better that way, she could slip out and be back before Fern even realized she was gone.

She considered taking a chance and not telling Levi. If he was reading in his room, he might not notice. But that would be bad, completely irresponsible.

She trudged back to his door and knocked.

“What?”

“I’m going to run out for a few minutes,” she said. “Will you open your door so you can hear Fern if she needs anything?”

“Is she still puking?” he asked with mild disgust in his voice.

“No, she hasn’t for hours. I don’t think she’s going to anymore.”

She heard footsteps, the door opened.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To pick up something for dinner,” she said.

He looked at her suspiciously, furrowing his brows in a way that made her think of Stuart. She looked beyond him, to the window that overlooked the Square.

“Okay,” he said. He sounded tired. “But be back soon. I’m starving. I’m so hungry I feel a little sick.”



She went back down the hall and saw Levi’s door close, then open again. She headed to her room and looked in the mirror. Did she do any brushing today? She thought not and brushed her hair and used a little baking soda on her teeth. She was saving the toothpaste for the kids. She pulled out her lipstick and gently brushed it over her lips. A little color was better than no color, but she didn’t want to use too much. She put the silver tube back in her purse and walked out through the living room to the high-ceilinged foyer. She’d need some sort of container to gather the food. She headed back to the kitchen and looked through the drawers. The big Tupperware was a possibility if she brought a huge bag, but big ziplock bags were probably better. She couldn’t find any new ones, but took an opened paper bag of sugar out of one and an opened bag of flour out of another, dumping both plastic bags out over the sink to get them as clean as possible. She pulled tiny pieces of tape off the dispenser and sealed the flour and sugar—she couldn’t risk losing it or having the sugar get sticky from water or humidity.

“I’ll be right back,” she called but no one answered. She knew she looked awful. But who was going to go to a Michigan happy hour on a Tuesday anyway? It would be busy on Saturday, she was sure of it, those Michigan fans were over the top, but today? It didn’t matter how she looked.