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She’s filling my glass again. I probably should tell her to stop, but the drink takes the edge off this shit show. I’ve got nowhere to be, nothing to do, until I fly out of here tomorrow. “What time do you have the plane scheduled?”
Tish throws her hands in the air. “Why? Ready to get away from me?”
“No, of course not. Just a lot to deal with back home, that’s all.” I know my speech is slurring. I tell myself to talk slowly. I tell myself I’m happy to be here, drinking on the deck, watching the moonrise. Pretending everything is fine. Meanwhile, my inbox is piled high with emails. What does she expect? I just took a company public.
Then a word comes to me, the word to describe Tish: selfish.
“When did you stop loving me, John?” She’s put sunglasses on, big black-rimmed sunglasses. She looks a little like a fly. Which is funny. I hear myself chuckle. I cover my mouth.
“What are you talking about, honey?” I gulp some more margarita as Tish’s face blurs and then comes into focus. My phone vibrates under my thigh. I can’t take the chance of looking at it, not with Tish staring at me. I need to say something. “I love you.”
“I think that’s past tense. You’ve made it very clear today that you’ve moved on, that our relationship isn’t working. I believe that’s exactly what you said. I know the signs, remember? You did this with me, too. It’s a shame, John. You shouldn’t go backward in life. Kate is a mistake. She’s not as perfect as she seems, remember? You left her for a reason.”
I left her for a stupid reason: to screw you. But I’m not talking about this. I’m too drunk. We will talk in the morning. I will leave here tomorrow, with or without her. And I will file for a divorce. All of this is clear, and then the deck sways.
“Do you remember why you left her?” Tish asks.
I won’t answer that. “You think I have the bandwidth to sell my company, hang out with you, and start something up with my ex-wife?” I am too drunk. I need to stand up, get some blood flowing, but I’m not sure I could without toppling over. I try to reach for Tish’s hand, but she pulls it away.
Tish stands. She’s mad, I realize, really mad. “It’s time to stop the lies. I know all about your plans to dump me for her after the sale went through. Which it did. Yesterday. But surprise, I swooped you away to Telluride. One step ahead of you, John.”
Tish disappears inside the condo, and I take stock of my predicament. It’s funny. That’s all I can think. How did she know? And when I think that, I start to chuckle. And then, before I know it, I’m laughingso hard tears spill from my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I’m laughing so hard now I can’t catch my breath.
The deck sways under my feet again and I gasp for air as I stand, trying to follow Tish inside. I’ll do it tonight. I owe it to her to tell her I’m finished.
CHAPTER 11
TISH
I pull the chicken dish out of the oven, an ugly flowery pot holder covering my hand, and poke at the center with a fork. All I need to do is reheat it, but I’ve been known to ruin a dish simply by giving it too much heat. I know, I’m intense about everything. Plus, I never cared much for cooking or for lingering around in the kitchen. I like food from cans and drive-through windows, and most recently, from my favorite gourmet restaurants in town. I mean, lobster dinner for two delivered to your door is a delicious option, especially since John thought I made it from scratch, the fool.
I hear him outside, talking to himself and laughing. I guess he’s drunk. I do make a mean margarita, and with the altitude and the lies he’s holding inside, he’s probably a wreck. I should keep up appearances and get some food in him before he passes out. I can’t believe he won’t admit what he’s done wrong, especially since he’s buzzed. But he acts all innocent and loving.
“I’m starving out here. Something smells good.”
Charming that he yells to me like a servant. For some reason the phrasepretty please with a cherry on toppops into my head. I chuckle.
“I’ll be right out,” I yell back. I grab the dish and shove it all into the microwave, push the reheat button, and close the door. I should have used it all along. The microwave dings, and voilà, a perfectly reheated chicken enchilada dish can be served. I’m glad I had the housekeeper freeze some meals. They come in handy at times like this when your husband gets trashed, fast, with a little help from yours truly.
I still can’t believe I have a housekeeper—sorry, house manager—for each home. How far I’ve come since childhood. I think of my mom. Another woman in her house wouldn’t have lasted a day. I barely survived.
I start to laugh, imagining my mom with a house manager of all things. But then I see my first stepdad. Just before he’s going to throw something. Just before all hell would break loose. John sort of reminds me of good old Dad about now. Bellowing orders. I don’t remember him much. Mom replaced him with another like she did my real dad. But I remember his anger, things breaking, me hiding.
I was always hiding when I was a child.
I place the glass dish on the island. I just want to stop this, stop John. Them. Back with Kate? How dare he? He will not humiliate me like this.Theywill not humiliate me like this.
I cut the enchilada and use a spoon to coat his meal with salsa. John should eat. I cooked dinner. He will have food in his stomach. It’s date night.
I walk to the deck with a smile, enjoying the dark silhouette of the mountain, like a serpent guarding the town. I place the plate in front of John and note how he’s sloping to the side. Gross.
He’s on the phone. “John, who are you talking to?”
“Oh, hi, Tish. It’s nobody,” he slurs, still leaning to the right.
“John, it’s time for you to say goodbye. It’s time to eat something. You’ve had too much to drink.” I use a commanding voice, and he snaps to it.
“Tish says I have to go now. Bye-bye.” He stabs at the “End” button.
