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Three hundred thousand just to pay for all the things we’ve bought in the past, never mind what we’ll need in the future.
I’m beginning to see the whole picture, the one Nathan’s been trying to make me see for a while.
I’m also beginning to see that Nathan can’t do this alone. I’m going to need a job, too.
It’s a bold decision and a good plan, but getting a job won’t be that easy. At least, not getting a job doing anything serious that will help pay serious bills. Sure, I could work in retail. I could probably get a job today at Nordstrom’s as a sales associate. I know fashion. I’m good with people. But being a sales clerk, whether it’s at Nordstrom’s or Ann Taylor, won’t make a dent in the debt.
Each night for a week, I scan the classifieds. I overhear some of the moms at school talk about various home businesses. Tupperware. Creative Memories. Pampered Chef. Candles. Erotic toys. I look into several of the different opportunities but am more depressed by the opportunity than encouraged, especially when I discover nearly all require some kind of up-front financial investment.
What I need to do is find a good part-time position in my field. I studied communications and public relations in college. I worked for a PR firm here in Seattle after I married Nathan (not that I’d want to work for them again since all the owner did was hit on me nonstop), but there’s no reason I can’t get back into PR.
Confronted by a dwindling checking account and the sickening realization that we have no savings, I decide I need to put together a new résumé, a very good résumé, and make immediate, albeit painful, budget cuts.
I reduce the housecleaner from weekly to biweekly. She cries that she can’t afford to be cut back. I calmly remind her that just months ago when she insisted on a pay raise, she threatened to quit if she didn’t get it because she had so many families who wanted her, and they were all paying more.
I call the gardener, and I cut him back from weekly to once a month. He’s upset, but fortunately he’s cursing in a foreign language and I don’t understand, and with a polite thank-you, I hang up.
Annika’s a different story. It’s hard to cut back her hours, especially with Nathan gone, but she’s a huge cash drain, and if I keep her at her current hours, we’ll have nothing for groceries soon.
Annika also complains at the reduction of hours. I offer to keep her at the same number of hours we’ve had her but reduce the pay. Grumbling, she opts to take fewer hours, and when she presses for an explanation, I tell her that with Nathan away I want to spend more time with the girls—which is true, as the children are missing Nathan terribly. They’re all more cranky than usual, and Jemma is particularly volatile.
Bottom line, I’d rather die than let everyone know we’re struggling financially. People would talk. And people can be so cruel.
As today is one of the days Annika doesn’t work, I now sit with the girls in the dining room. They’re tackling their homework while I face my laptop and slowly try to put together a résumé. It would have been nice if I could have found a copy of my last résumé, but no such luck. We’ve had so many moves since then that I’ve either tossed it out or buried it in a box in the attic.
It takes me three hours to put together the pieces of degrees, internships, and jobs held since graduating from USC as a communications major. I had two internships in Los Angeles, one while attending USC and one the summer after I graduated. The first was in radio (sales and advertising, which I hated; radio sales is the worst job in the world), and the second was for a talent agency. I loved the talent agency and the perks now and then tossed my way—parties, premieres, fetching coffee for bored stars and coked-up celebrities. Or maybe it wasn’t the celebrities all coked up. Maybe that was my boss. Either way, it was fun and rather glam for a recent college grad. The only downside was they didn’t pay, and I needed a paycheck.
My first paying job in Los Angeles was for a party-planning company. I look them up this afternoon online to get their details for the résumé, and I’m surprised to see they’re no longer in business. Zelda’s company, Invite, did fancy parties that we then worked hard to get good press for. One of Zelda’s parties—a baby shower for a B-list star (but attended by three A-list actresses)—was featured in the April issue of InStyle, and for a month the phones didn’t stop ringing. Zelda was over the moon. We all got a big fat bonus, and then later when the phones stopped ringing Zelda wanted the bonus back. I found out six months later that I was the only one who gave it back.
Nathan in the meantime had gotten a job in Seattle and was already working up there. We were dating long-distance. I hated being in a long-distance relationship, but I didn’t pressure him. I knew how his mom felt about me. I also knew she was trying to introduce him to other girls, rich girls, because as we all know, rich girls have such great values.
Nathan surprised me by proposing on Christmas Eve. We were at his family’s house in Hillsborough. When Nathan dropped to one knee, I swear to God, his mother screamed. It wasn’t a happy scream, either. I’ll never forget her grabbing at his arm, pleading for him to get up.
I guess it is kind of funny in hindsight. At the time, I was humiliated. I cried when I accepted Nathan’s proposal and slipped the ring on my finger. But I was crying for the wrong reasons. I was crying because I knew I’d never be good enough for him, yet I loved him so much that I couldn’t refuse him. Nathan was the first person to ever make me feel really beautiful, not just on the outside, but on the inside, too.
Maybe it’s still not so funny.
I stop typing, close my iBook, take a deep breath and then another.
I look up, and Jemma’s watching me. I give her a shaky smile. “You miss Dad,” she says.
I nod. I do.
“Why did he have to take that dumb job in Omaha? Why didn’t he get another job here?”
All the girls are looking at me now. I gather my pages of scribbled notes, stack them into a neat pile, and lay them on top of my computer. “It was a good opportunity. He’s working hard to take care of us.”
“Still,” she snorts. “It’s lame.”
Brooke’s expression darkens, and she shoves her spelling packet at Jemma. “Don’t call Dad lame!”
“Well, he is if he expects us to move to Omaha!”
“I’d go to Omaha,” Tori pipes up.
Jemma’s jaw drops. “You would?”
Brooke’s lips compress. “I would, too.”
“You’d leave all your friends here and go someplace where you know no one?”
Her sisters nod, and Jemma turns on me. “Would you, Mom?”
I study my girls. I feel as though I’m seeing them for the first time in a long time. “Omaha wouldn’t have been my first choice, no.”
“See!” Jemma crows.
“But,” I add emphatically, “I don’t like living apart from Daddy. I love Daddy. I want us to be together. We should be together.”
“So are we going to move to Omaha?” Brooke asks.
I stand up, move away from the table, as if I can escape the wave of panic that’s always threatening me. “I don’t know. Maybe. We’ll see. Depends if Daddy likes the company. If the job makes him really happy, I think we’ll be happier being with him.” And then I head to the kitchen. I want to eat something. Something bad. Something that will fill me up and make me warm and take away the pain.
Instead, I eat a nonfat light blueberry yogurt and make a cup of tea, using my instant-hot tap, and call Patti.
For five minutes, Patti and I discuss the auction and compare notes. How is procurement going? What about entertainment and decorations? Are the save the date cards now at the printers?
Business concluded, we switch gears. “Are you going to make book club this week?” Patti asks, her voice rising to be heard over a loud whirring noise.
“What are you doing?” I ask as the noise ends abruptly.
“Making smoothies. The boys have football practice from five until eight. Right in the middle of dinner hour.?
?? She hits the blender button again and shouts above the din. “So what did you say about book club?”
I wait for the blender to stop. “I don’t think I can go this time. Nathan’s away, and I don’t have child care.”
“It’s probably time to replace Annika. She’s becoming less and less reliable.”
“Yeah,” I answer, unwilling to admit that I’m the one who has severely curtailed Annika’s hours rather than the other way around.
“In that case, just bring the girls here.” The sound of Patti scraping the blender competes with her voice. “Our kids get along great. It’ll kind of be like The Brady Bunch. My two boys and girl with your three girls.”
“I don’t want to create work for Don. Tori’s still a baby. She can be a lot of work.”
“Not to worry. I’ll tell Suze she’s the baby-sitter for the night and will promise her five dollars for helping watch Tori. Suze will love it. It’ll make her feel like one of the big kids.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive. Oops, it’s late. I better run. If the boys arrive at practice late, the coach makes them do extra laps.”
“Bye.”
“Bye. See you tomorrow night. Bring the kids early and we’ll drive to Jen’s together.”
“Deal.”
After I hang up, I start downstairs but end up pausing on the curving staircase to look out the tall, multipaned window that stretches from the second floor to the entry.
It’s so gray and drizzly. Typical November day, but it’s not November yet, just the middle of October, and I’m not ready for the winter rain. Not ready for the months of dark clouds and gloom.
Grabbing my raincoat, I tell the girls I’m heading outside to get the mail.
Brooke looks up from her math workbook. “But it’s raining.”
I tug on my black slicker and pull up the hood. “I know, but if I wait for the rain to stop, I might have to wait all year.”
The girls laugh, and there’s something so innocent about their laughter that a lump fills my throat. I’ve tried so hard to protect them since they were born, tried to keep them from knowing about bad people and bad feelings, but it hits me almost violently that I can’t protect them from the truth. Can’t protect them from reality. And the reality is, we’re in trouble. Big trouble. And it’s not just money trouble, either.
