The Dirty Book Club(36)
“The skin above our knees starts to sag,” Britt added. “Random hairs grow out of our chins, our boobs look like pencils when we’re in doggy style.”
“Exactly,” M.J. said. “Then the romantic vision fades to black and we spend the rest of our lives trying to figure out what went wrong. But what if everything is going exactly the way it should and we’re too busy clinging to our bullshit fantasies to roll with it? What if Fear of Flying ended where it did because Isadora and Bennett are supposed to let go of their expectations and accept whatever mess they’re in today?”
“So, what mess are you in?” Addie asked.
M.J. told them about the car accident, Liz Evans, Dan’s extended trip to Java, and the unsigned contract at the bottom of her suitcase. The one Dan knows nothing about. “I gave up my career to be with him. Now he’s off doing what he loves and I’m stuck here watching another one of my visions fade to black.”
“Oh my gosh!” Jules gasped. She was holding a long thick clump of Britt’s hair in her hand. “Do you have—”
“Yes, along with one in eight American women so can we not make a big deal about it?”
“Oh no, shugah.” Jules pulled her in for a hug. “You’re going to get through this, you’ll see. Aunt Barb on my mother’s side is a cancer survivor and—”
“Cancer? I don’t have cancer.”
Confused, Jules examined the clump more closely.
“I have hair extensions.”
“Phew,” Jules said, “because I was fibbing about Aunt Barb. She passed away last year.”
“What about your ass?” Addie asked. “Is that real?”
“Yes,” Britt said.
“Lucky Paul.”
“You’re assuming he’s aware of it.”
“He’s not?”
“Truth?”
They nodded.
“Paul smokes more weed than a wildfire. He only notices my ass when it’s blocking the TV.”
“So the colon cancer brownies . . . ?” M.J. asked.
“They were his,” Britt confessed. “He broke his back on a landscaping job two years ago and is still quote, unquote, recovering. Apparently pot helps his pain. Meanwhile, I’m the one suffering because while Paul’s on the couch cupping his balls, I’m juggling twins, pet turtles, cooking, cleaning, and a career.” She paused while Jules dusted her T-zone. “This is not what I signed up for. I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. I actually love soccer practice and playdates and homemade teacher gifts. And now some nanny named Josephina gets to do all that while I work. Because if I don’t work, we won’t have a house, and who’s going to hire a homeless Realtor?”
“When will Paul be well enough to work?”
“Um, eighteen months ago, but he won’t. He’s had dozens of offers but none of them are good enough. Nothing is ever good enough and I’m over it. We sleep in separate rooms and communicate on sticky notes. Not even the big ones. The tiny ones. My romantic vision didn’t fade to black, it went up in pot smoke.” Britt wrapped the hair extension around her finger until the tip turned red. “Sometimes I think it would be better if he just died.”
Jules’s blush brush froze midstroke.
“Relax. I don’t have a weapon or anything. But I’ve fantasized about it. Like, would my life be easier if Paul magically disappeared—a zipless death, if you will.”
“Get a divorce,” Addie said.
“I don’t want to,” Britt said. “I like being married, at least I used to, back when Paul was . . . Paul.” Then with a nostalgic smile: “I miss him.”
Jules drew back her head, took in Britt’s newly made-up face. Her skin was luminescent, her features defined and enriched. “Dang, I’m good.”
“Wow, you just might get laid tonight,” Addie said.
Britt put down Jules’s hand mirror. “Not if I’m late,” she said, reaching for her clutch with renewed energy.
“Wait, what about the closing rituals?” M.J. pulled the key necklace from her purse, dangled it for inspiration.
Jules tapped her décolletage; she was already wearing hers.
“Addie? Britt?” M.J. said, hating to be a stickler. But without the rituals and traditions, this was just another book club—one that was bound to lose its magic and fizzle out.
“It’s somewhere in my room . . . I’ll have it next time.”
M.J.’s shoulders slackened. “And the cigarette?”
“I have chewing tobacco,” Jules said. “Will that do?”
“Really?”
“Nah, I’m just playing. I stopped chewing when Destiny was born.”
Addie stood. “I might have an e-cig.” She quickly returned with a shoe box filled with items that her various one-night-stands had left behind: a navy dress sock, skull-and-crossbones cuff links, gold earbuds, a BlackBerry, and thong underwear. “Got it!” She wiped the tip with her gauzy dress and turned it on.
All four women inhaled the clove-flavored vapor, all four of them coughed and tried again.
“The smoke entering our bodies,” M.J. finally said, her voice pinched to keep the vapor from escaping, “carries secrets that will stay locked inside us forever.” Those who had keys turned them. Then, on an exhale, their beams crossed, blended, and rose as one.