Marriage Made Me Do It: An addictive dark comedy you will devour in one sitting. Ashley Fontainne
enough to realize we missed a week.”
Carol’s pale face scrunched in disgust. “I can’t go next Friday, Aunt Becca. It’s freshman orientation at college.”
Annoyed by Rebecca’s audacity to speak for me, I added: “If you want to go see Grandma, I’ll take you. She won’t remember our visit, or even who we are, but that doesn’t matter. We’ll know.”
Liz set the dish towel on the counter then walked over and put her arm around my shoulder. “I haven’t seen your mom in weeks. I’ve just been wrapped up with helping Richard study for finals. How about I take Carol, and you rest? This has been a difficult time for you, and I need to add some credits to my friend jar. Okay?”
Leaning my head against Liz’s shoulder, I sighed. My God but did she smell good. The expensive perfume was heavenly. “I don’t know how I’d survive without you, Liz. You keep being so wonderful, and soon, I’ll move you from number two to one on my list of favorite things, beating out Moscato.”
Carol bristled, crinkling her pert nose. “Hey! Where do I rank? It sounds to me like I’m third, right behind booze and a best friend.”
“I know, I didn’t even make the top ten,” Rebecca slurred.
Wrong, L.B. You’re number one on my list—the list of people I hate.
Turning my gaze to my beautiful daughter, I almost popped out a rude comment. I stopped short when I noticed genuine sadness behind her eyes, wishing I could open my mouth and suck the words back in. “Oh, honey, you’re on a list all alone. It’s called my reason for living list.”
Picking up her phone from the counter, Carol did something she hadn’t in a long time: She smiled. “Nice save, Mom. I’m going to meet Cheri and Ellen to go over Cheri’s college applications, okay? I’ll be back before midnight. Promise.”
Nodding, I leaned over and hugged Carol’s neck. Though she wore designer perfume, she still retained the scent of my child, imprinted the moment I held her for the first time. “Thanks for all your help, sweetheart. Not another minute after midnight.”
Carol returned the hug then disappeared down the hall. In seconds, the front door slammed and she was gone.
Rebecca stood and almost fell over. She caught herself, snapping off two fake nails, cussing a blue streak. “Dammit! I just had them done!”
“Rebecca, let me drive you home. I’m heading out too. Roxy needs to rest.”
Waving her bloody fingers in the air, Rebecca dismissed Liz’s words, flinging droplets of blood all over my clean kitchen. I contemplated grabbing her by the head and using her fake hair to soak it up.
“I live one block away. I’m fine,” Rebecca responded with her usual nasty tone.
“No, you aren’t. I insist,” Liz replied, snagging Rebecca’s purse from the counter. “Roxy doesn’t need to bail you out of jail or plan another funeral for a sister. No arguments.”
Stifling a laugh, I smiled while Liz lured Rebecca to follow her by jangling the keys to the SUV in front of her face. My twatwaffle, wealthy sister looked like a dog on an invisible leash. Better yet, the way she stumbled over her feet almost made her look like a shuffling zombie. Dammit! Where’s my camera? This would be a perfect chance to snap an unflattering picture to hold over her head for years.
“And this one here, children? That’s your great-aunt Becca, so drunk she could hardly stand. Yes, she’s the same one I told you about before—the one whose nose literally fell apart after snorting cocaine! Remember, kiddies, don’t drink or do drugs!”
God, why did it have to be Rachel who died? Why?
When the door closed and the SUV roared to life, exhaustion slammed into me so hard I considered curling up into a ball on the kitchen floor.
Instead, I grabbed a bottle of Moscato, bypassing Carl’s study without a second glance, and headed out to the pool. Once I reached the hot tub, I turned on the jets, shed my clothes (Rule Number—oh, hell, I’m too trashed to remember the number. No matter. We nailed the rule for having an eight-foot privacy fence surrounding our lush backyard so nosy neighbors are barred from seeing our nighttime shenanigans). After pouring a full glass, I slid into the warm bubbles, letting frothy water soothe my sore muscles.
Roxy’s New Rule Number One: Always maintain a constant supply of wine and the jets on at full blast to keep from going insane.
Nailed it!
The hot water and the additional wine helped ease the turbulence inside my heart. After the third glass, the wetness on my face wasn’t from the steam.
I cried for the loss of Rachel. Dad. Mom (even though she’s still breathing, her mind is gone, same as being dead) and how angry I am at the world. An entire life spent pursuing the American Dream, trying to do the right thing, and look where I landed? Mourning the loss of my favorite sister; drunk in a hot tub; a child heading off to college, leaving me alone with a porn-addicted spouse; a remaining sibling I hate; a mother who doesn’t even know her own name, and a wasted life.
“Want some company?”
Carl’s voice in the dark made me spill my wine, which pissed me off. Only one full glass remained inside the bottle. “You scared me!”
Naked as the day he was born (just with a bigger gut), glass of bourbon in one hand, a stogie in the other, Carl slipped into the seat next to me. “Sorry. I thought you heard me walk out here.”
I considered a smart retort, but the part of my brain in charge of witty comebacks was soaked with too much wine.
“I’m sorry about earlier, babe. Really.”
“Sorry for trying to bang me in the bathroom or practically dry-humping Coco in the hallway?”
Oh! Guess the witty retort section sparked to life for a brief second.
“I wasn’t trying to upset you. Believe it or not, I was trying to make you feel better. I know how much you loved Rachel and how much responsibility you’ve shouldered during the last two weeks. I just, I don’t know. Ever since you got the call from the hospital Rachel was sick, you’ve changed. You disrupted the service by making Benny leave, which isn’t like you. And that little display of anger in the bathroom and your new smart mouth? All the years we’ve known each other, you’ve never, ever, been a violent person or said such rude things. I’m concerned about you.”
I snorted. “Hmmm. Guess alcohol and grief don’t mix well.”
Carl stared up at the stars, puffing away on the cigar. The smell made me want to vomit. If my hand-eye coordination was better, I’d reach over and stuff the expensive Cuban down his throat. Let him see what it’s like having something hard forced down the ol’ windpipe.
Instead of making my husband experience a blowjob with a cigar, I kept my hands busy by gulping down the remainder of my wine. He was right, though I certainly wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing with what he’d said. Sick, warped thoughts about others had remained inside my head for over forty years. I put on the serene face and polite act I was taught from an early age, keeping my ugly, hateful thoughts to myself and enjoying them when they took over my dreams.
Until today.
Oops. If I didn’t watch myself, my demerit jar would overflow.
Carl interrupted my maniacal thoughts. “The last few years have been stressful for you, Roxy. Carol grew up, which ended the role of room mother and taxi service. Your dad passed away. Then Claire went downhill and we had to put her in a memory care facility.”
“We?” I countered. “I don’t recall you helping, or anyone else for that matter.”
Sighing in frustration, Carl continued. “Carol’s leaving the nest, and now losing Rachel. Maybe you should go see a therapist or something? Work through the angst?”
“I’m