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"So we can turn around and go to the benefit." I fought the urge not to cringe. I still needed to buy a
dress for that thing.
"Sweetheart "
"I know, I know. That's fine."
He looked at me dubiously. "You're sure?"
"Absolutely." I wasn't thrilled, but I had work of my own to do. "Just don't be surprised if you come
home to find I've bought a new couch."
"Would probably serve me right."
"Probably would," I agreed.
Twenty minutes later, we were dressed and climbing into the cars. Allie and I went in the Odyssey and
Stuart and Timmy in the Infinity. I'd have both kids after mass, but for at least a portion of the morning, I
could listen to the news rather than Radio Disney.
I'd hoped to catch up with Father Ben after mass, but to my surprise, he wasn't there. The bishop
presided over the service, which he often did on Sundays, but usually Father Ben participated in the
mass. Today, though, Father Ben was no where to be seen.
Mass ended about noon, and after we all filed out and said a few words to the bishop, Stuart kissed me
and the kids good-bye, then left with a promise to be home by seven. Today, of course, I didn't care if
he was late. I'd much rather stay home in my jeans and eat peanut butter sandwiches than mingle at a
benefit, especially when I'd be as much on display as my husband.
This time, however, I was certain my husband would be on time.
Once Stuart was gone, I left Timmy on the playground with Allie while I went and found Delores. "Father
Ben?" she asked, in answer to my question. "He went down to Los Angeles last night. Said he wanted to
do some research in the archives."
"Did he say what he was working on?"
"Not a word."
"Right. Thanks."
I stifled the urge to call Father Ben's cell phone, and instead went to find my kids. He'd let me know
when he had something concrete, and in the meantime, I had my hands full getting my house back in
order.
Not too surprisingly, Allie didn't object to my plan to spend a few hours at the mall. And once I offered
to throw in a new outfit from the Gap, she even agreed to take charge of her brother and do some of our
holiday shopping while I did some shopping of my own.
I hit Pottery Barn first, but couldn't justify spending that much on a sofa, no matter how comfortable it
might be. Especially since I knew I'd have to spend the next two years hiding it under slipcovers if I
wanted it to stay even remotely clean. I tried to find a store priced for the middle-income-with-toddler
set, but soon learned that all the major furniture stores were located outside the mall in their own
freestanding buildings.
Nice for them, bad for me. Because now I was trapped in a mall with a teenager who'd just begun to
shop. And even though I'd only agreed to buy one outfit, I knew my daughter well enough to know that
choosing said outfit could take upward of four hours.
That's when I remembered that I needed an outfit, too. I'm not sure how I'd forgotten, actually. Wishful
thinking, I suppose. If I had nothing decent, maybe Stuart wouldn't take me.
I scowled, annoyed by my train of thought. This election was important to Stuart. Which meant it was
important to me, too. And yes, I was irritated (which is the politically correct way of saying that I was
completely pissed off) by his more and more frequent absences from hearth and home. But that was
between him and me. The election was between us and the voters. Because, whether I liked it or not, I
was a political wife now. And I wasn't about to let my spite ruin his chances of getting elected.
In other words, my mission was to buy a dress. A this-candidate-has-a-great-wife-let's-vote-for-him
kind of dress. With matching shoes. And, just because I wouldn't mind having my husband home on time
for a change, I figured I'd take a page from Laura's book and swing by Victoria's Secret as well.
The perfect dress came in every size but mine, but the almost-perfect dress fit beautifully. A twist on the
little black dress, this number sported a tight waist accentuated by a red belt, a fitted bodice, and a skirt
that swished when I walked and flared when I turned. I'm by no means a clotheshorse, but put a couple
of these in my closet, and I might be willing to convert.
Of course I bought the thing. I even bought a pair of matching black pumps. I considered buying a new
wrap, but decided I'd done enough damage to our credit card. And, yes, I was injuring our credit card.
My original plan to spend my Forza money on a dress dissolved in a puff of smoke about the time that
Stuart announced he was a no-go for Allies beach party. And when he wasn't there after the robbery?
Well, that's when the shoes were added to the tally. Highly unreasonable, but it felt really, really good.
So good, in fact, that a full two hours passed before I caught up with Allie and the munchkin.
Even buying for herself and Timmy, Allies splurge totaled significantly less than mine. We stopped at the
cookie stand, then parked ourselves on a bench as she gave me the rundown of her purchases (with the
notable exception of the Christmas goodies). Although she went through each item in intricate detail, it all
boiled down to clothes and toys. The toys being the far more interesting, where I was concerned.
"You bought him an arsenal?" I asked looking up from the shopping bag into which I'd been peering.
"I thought it would be fun," she said. "Water pistols for Timmy and Stuart. And the super-squirter things
for you and me."
I pulled out one of the pistols and tested the action. Not bad for a cheap, cartoon-licensed plastic toy.
And I had no doubt that these purchases would provide the family at least an hour of entertainment. After
that, I imagined they'd get lost somewhere in the backyard, then broken by the lawn-mower come
summer. I'd been through this before.
But I didn't complain. An hour is an hour, and the idea did sound like fun.
As soon as Timmy finished his cookie, we toted our shopping bags to the car, Allie pushing the stroller
and complaining about how difficult it was to shop with Timmy underfoot. I kept silent. Somehow, I
thought that was best.
We hit the furniture stores next, and while Allie tried hard to keep Timmy from bouncing on every single
cushion, I hijacked a salesman and seriously upped his overall sales average. By the time we were back
out the door and into the van, starvation was looming. We pulled into the first McDonald's we saw. Not
exactly thrilling for either Allie or me, but it made the munchkin (who'd been slowly descending into
crankiness) happy. Considering how loud the boy can wail, I'm all about staving off crankiness.
The line for the drive-through was insane, so I pulled into a slot, foisted my purse on my daughter, and
told her to get me a Big Mac, Timmy a cheeseburger Happy Meal, and her whatever she wanted. She
left, seeming perfectly happy about that plan.
When she came back, though, I couldn't help notice that she seemed significantly less happy. Downright
moody, actually. Since frequent mood shifts are par for the course when one lives with a teenager (my
moods and hers), I didn't think too much about it. I did ask, though. But she cut me off neatly with a
surly, "I'm fine. I'm just tired. It's no big deal." Then she stuck her feet on the dash, sank low in her seat,
and closed her eyes.
Great. Fight crankiness on one end and get hit with it on the other. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]