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“Keri?” I ask, somehow keeping my voice even; meanwhile, I wanted to screech the bitch’s name at the top of my lungs and demand to know who the hell she is and why he’s talking to her.
“Yeah. Keri. The new office manager,” he says like I already know this.
“When did you hire a new office manager? And where did MaryEllen go?”
He gives me a look like I’ve lost my mind. “Babe. MaryEllen retired three months ago. We had a party for her. We hired Keri before MaryEllen left so that she could train her.”
“MaryEllen retired? You had a party for her? How did I not know any of this? And where did Keri come from? How old is she? Is she married? Does she have kids? Why haven’t I ever seen her before?” I ask as I frantically look around the table, sure that the rest of my family would be as clueless. Unfortunately, they’re looking at me like I’m the clueless one.
“Yes. We had a party for her. She worked for us from the moment we started the company, so of course we had a party. You were gone. Remember? You said you had to go to that design show and that we could handle it. How do you not remember any of this?”
I wince and feel a little sick to my stomach. Earlier this morning I was mad at him for not sharing everything about his business and here I am, forgetting major changes that he’d tried to include me in. “I don’t… I really don’t know. Honestly, how do I not remember this?”
“No clue,” he says, annoyed. “And, by the way, you’ve never seen Keri because you haven’t been by the office in over four months. No, Keri isn’t married. No, she doesn’t have any kids. She’s about twenty-five-years old, I think,” he tells me, his voice a scary brand of Barrett I haven’t heard in a long time. He knows what I’m thinking. He knows that I’m questioning him. And, truth be told, I guess I am.
“How do I not remember any of this?” I ask again, still looking around the table at every single family member who is looking at me like I’m ten shades of crazy. Which, again, I guess I am. I somehow missed something huge that happened in Barrett’s world. How did I not realize these things: One, MaryEllen retired? Two, he has a new office manager, a female, who I’ve never met. Three, it’s been four months since the last time I was at his office?
I feel like the crappiest wife in the history of crappy wives.
“Babe. Relax. It’s been a crazy few months. No worries,” he says and shrugs his large shoulders. From the look in his eyes, it’s clear he’s placating me so we don’t have a huge argument in front of the kids at the dinner table.
“Yeah,” I mumble. Still, I’m more than a little perturbed by the fact that he has an office manager that I’ve never met and that she’s young, beautiful, has the perfect body, laughs at all his jokes… always listens when he talks. Just perfect.
Well, Fudgcicles.
My mind is running away from me, and all I know is her name.
* * *
Shortly after dinner is eaten and the dishes are cleaned up, Grady and Maggie both disappear into their bedrooms to take care of their homework. I settle onto the couch with a load of laundry with Harper next to me cuddled close. I’ve just started folding a second load when she panics and realizes that, even though I had already asked if she had homework and she said no, she does, in fact, have a page of spelling words to tackle.
“Dad! I forgot I had spelling homework!” Harper says, her voice at a high-pitched level only bats could hear. It’s also her accusatory tone, as if it’s his fault that she forgot she had homework.
“Harper! I forgot Mommy asked if you had homework just an hour ago!” Barrett responds in his own high-pitch voice, mimicking and mocking her, for which she shows no appreciation. I almost snort while listening to them.
“Dad! Stop it,” she says with a foot stomp. “What am I gonna do?”
“Well, Harps, probably your spelling homework.”
“Da-a-d,” she whines, not appreciating Barrett’s sarcasm.
“Go get your backpack and meet me at the table. I’ll help you go through them. Won’t take long. Just relax.”
Back to the table Barrett and she go while I try to continue to work through the mountain of laundry. Another load folded and another shriek is heard through the house.
“Mom! Where’s my Friday shirt?” Maggie yells from somewhere in the house, sounding like Cher fromCluelessasking Lucy where her white collarless shirt is. Why would Maggie have remembered that she needed that one specific shirt to be washed and cleaned and ready for Friday before now? That would take all the fun out of the evening. I suppose using the wordfunmight be a bit of an exaggeration.
“Come in here and talk. No need to yell through the house.”
A moment later she appears looking frazzled. “Mom. My Friday shirt. Where is it?” She asks me like I should have a clue what her Friday shirt is, in a tone of voice I don’t appreciate. She has too many school-pride shirts to count, which is usually what she wears on Fridays, so I haven’t got a clue what she’s talking about.
I raise my eyebrows to let her know that I don’t care for the way she’s speaking to me and she, in turn, mumbles, “Sorry, Mom. Do you know where my Friday shirt is?”
“What shirt, baby girl?”
She huffs at me for not reading her mind and knowing what she’s talking about and replies, “Cole’s old football sweatshirt that I cut up? That one.”
Barrett’s voice booms through from the kitchen moments before he appears with his hands on his hips and a confused expression covering his face. “You cut up one of Cole’s sweatshirts? Why on earth would you do that?”
