Bad Mommy(41)

I think he’s just distracted with work. Busy. He doesn’t know how to check on me in the way I want. We all have our own love languages, you know?

He’s a fucking shrink. Isn’t he supposed to have the love languages memorized? That’s a lousy excuse. I can see how you must feel. You have this other guy who always checks on you and knows what to say. He’s also gorgeous. By the way, I think Darius is intimidated by you.

Jolene didn’t answer her for a long time, and when she did it was about something else. She didn’t even mention what Fig said. That didn’t stop me from being angry, angry that she’d even entertain this sort of talk. She was mine, goddamnit. She should be showing loyalty to me, to what we had together. Despite her dismissal of what most of Fig said, I knew it was taking root. My wife was susceptible to heartfelt whispering. If she loved you, she assumed you loved her too, and had her best interest at heart. A naiveté I’d always found charming. But, Fig was using it to her advantage, playing Jolene’s emotions. She didn’t even know Ryan, yet the seeds of doubt she was planting in Jolene’s mind were growing—I could see it in the way Jolene looked at me. It used to be with adoration, but lately I saw disappointment in her eyes. Then she’d ask these questions when we were together: How come you never ask me how I am? Do you just assume I’m fine? I’m vulnerable even if I don’t let on. And at a different time in my life, I would have been better about checking in with her, but Jolene was right, I was distracted, and she never showed weakness—and I didn’t go looking for it. How was I supposed to know she wanted me to check on her? And while Fig was telling Jolene that she needed someone better suited for her than I was, she was playing the part of the sexy, flirtatious friend with me. She made jokes about Jolene being a dictator, and I didn’t correct her, I liked it. Perhaps she was the type of person who could be friends with us both. See each unique perspective for what it was and not take sides.

When I suggested a vacation to Paris to get away from things, Jolene was hesitant. She didn’t want to leave her father when he was this ill.

“You need this,” I told her. “You can’t be your best for Mercy or your dad if you don’t take a break. Just five days. I’ll romance you.”

She’d smiled at that, and we’d booked the tickets that night. When Fig found out we were going, she’d texted me, angry.

France? You’re going to France with her? You guys barely get along, how will you stand it?

I ignored that one, and the subsequent texts where she tried to make out like she’d not really been angry, but joking. When our trip was just a few days away, she showed up at the house wild-eyed and spitting sarcasm at everything Jolene said.

After she left I cornered Jolene in her closet. “Why do you let her talk to you like that? If anyone else said that shit to you you’d rip them a new one.”

My wife had looked surprised … wait … no, it was more amused. I was trying to look out for her and she was amused by it.

“It’s just the way she is,” she said. “It’s a defense mechanism, Doctor.”

I didn’t like the way she was talking down to me, insinuating someone of my education should know.

“But she’s genuinely mean to you. Cutting.” I watched her rifle through a drawer and pull out a nightie. A pink silk thing I’d bought for her on our anniversary.

Jolene shrugged. “I have thick skin. Do you really think Fig’s little barbs hurt me? She’s terribly insecure, that’s why she’s so hateful sometimes.” I couldn’t argue with that.

“It’s the principle of it. You’re notorious for not taking shit.”

“I take your shit,” she said. “Are you jealous that someone other than you gets away with being an ass to me?”

My skin prickled. Did she know? She was looking at me like she knew something. No, she was just being Jolene. Playing word games to throw me off.

“I don’t like it,” I said, touching her face. Tenderness always won Jolene over. Touching her chased whatever she was feeling away, and replaced it with softness. That’s why when she looked at me with her sharp brown eyes, I was taken aback.

“Then don’t let her,” she said. I pulled my hand away, let it drop to my side.

“If you don’t like the way she speaks to me then say something yourself.”

She pushed past me and walked into the bedroom without looking back. She probably thought Ryan would do that—jump to her defense—that’s why she was saying it. I was a mediator by nature, a Libra. I liked to keep the scales balanced without throwing my weight either way. They’d have to work it out without me, Jolene and Fig. I wasn’t getting involved. I went to the garage to pull out a suitcase for the trip. I’d timed everything just right, so we wouldn’t be here when the papers were served. I’d hired an attorney the week before, and I planned on telling Jolene what happened in France. All of it: Macey’s lies, her transference. She’d believe me, because she loved me.



The first girl I kissed had coffee breath. We kissed in a storage room at school where I was helping her put away classroom supplies. She pushed me up against the cheap plastic shelving, and I saw the rolls of paper towel wobble above our heads, right before her lips hit mine. I didn’t like coffee until I tasted her mouth. When she was done kissing me she drove me home. She was my tenth grade English teacher. Three weeks later, I lost my virginity in the back seat of her Chevy Suburban. She was so wet I thought she’d peed herself. We had sex three more times after that: in my bedroom at home, in her bedroom while her husband and kids were out, and in a state park where we almost ran out of gas on the way back.