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“But Milly . . .” he whines.
“Dean didn’t sleep here last night, but he’s slept here before. He’s my lover, my friend, and I’ve loved him longer than I’ve even know you. Don’t ever call him a fling, or disrespect him again. From what I heard as I came down the stairs, you let yourself into this house with keys you’re no longer supposed to have. Don’t do that again. If you do, I’ll call the police without even thinking twice about it.”
“What has happened to you? You used to be such a nice woman.” And this time, I can’t control my laughter. It erupts from me and Milly shoots me a look. So, I try to stop it. It’s hard. This guy is unbelievable. Does he know Milly at all?
“No, I used to be a doormat. And you, being an asshole, have always enjoyed that. I’m glad you decided Rachael’s amazing pussy was worth more than our marriage. I’m free because of it, so maybe it was really an amazing pussy.” And this time she laughs.
“Milly, please, let’s just talk,” he begs, panic infusing his words.
“No. I don’t want to talk.” She looks at me and beams. “I want to go upstairs and go back to bed . . . with my man.”
I want to pump my fist in the air, but I just wink at her. Kevin looks like he might throw up.
She starts to walk out of the room, but looks back at him once more. “Let’s just stick to talking through our lawyers. We have a custody hearing in six weeks and then we can get on with our lives. Don’t come back here unless it’s to pick up Anthony or drop him off.”
She gets to the door and crooks her finger at me. And I’m no fool. I grab the man who is a fool and walk him to the door, push him out, lock and engage the alarm.
I pop my head into the living room and see that Anthony has drifted off to sleep on the couch.
Then, I run up the stairs after my woman.
28
* * *
I’m not a good son. I live with this knowledge and yet, I don’t know how to do any better for my mother. She still lives Sedona, Arizona with her boyfriend, Jean-Luc. She has resisted all of my efforts to get her to move to the East Coast. I wish I could say this wasn’t a relief. But, I can’t. I love my mother, but our relationship has been strained for my whole life. Since my father’s death, it’s become even more distant.
I blamed her and lashed out. She blamed his old employer Enron, that brought their whole world crashing down when it collapsed. But apparently, she blamed Milly as well, and we have to talk about that. I know it will be less of a conversation and more of a confrontation, which is why I want to do it face-to-face. I don’t know when or how that will happen. We barely speak on the phone and I only see her when I make an annual obligatory trip to Sedona. Even then, I stay at a hotel, we have dinner on Friday, lunch on Saturday, and then I leave.
We have never been particularly close. She wasn’t exactly a doting mother. But when my father died, both of us lost our reason to pretend we were a family.
It was bad enough he lost his job and his retirement savings, but the loss of his income left them unable to pay the significant debts she had racked up while trying to keep up with the Joneses.
They had been able to keep up with the payments thanks to my dad’s very sizable income. But, with that gone it was impossible.
My dad committed suicide a month after Enron collapsed and our relationship has never been the same. She paid off her debts with his insurance policy and was still left with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her life
.
I have always been wary of women who are obsessed with shopping, money, and who see their husbands or significant others as a walking cash point. So, that I ended up with Nicola was an irony of epic proportions.
That it took me so long to see the similarities between her behavior and my mother’s was an act of willful blindness.
My mother still shops but manages her income by using a monthly pre-paid card that is set up to only top up on the first of the month.
She calls me from time to time to ask me to send her money so she can shop until her balance is reloaded. It’s usually the only time I hear from her. Well, then and the anniversary of my father’s death. She hasn’t remembered my birthday in more than ten years. I have to walk on eggshells around her because she takes almost everything I say as an accusation or admonishment.
So, seeing her name on the screen of my phone now is a surprise. It’s almost the first of the month, and I just gave her some money last week.
My father died in January, that can’t be why she's calling, and my birthday isn't until September.
I sigh, preparing myself for what I'm assuming isn't good news before I answer.
“Hello, Mom.” I try to sound pleased to hear from her.
“Dean! Hi, it’s Mom! How are you?” she yells, like she thinks I'm at a concert and she has to scream to be heard.
“I’m fine. I’m in the car. I can hear you just fine,” I respond, trying not to sound reproachful.
