I remember when I was only a few weeks pregnant with Anastasia, I got lightheaded and passed out in the kitchen while making dinner for Brian. When I came to, he was leaning against the counter with his phone to his ear on a business call. He didn’t even help me up from the floor. When I got back to my feet and began checking myself for any bruises or other injuries, he finally hung up the phone and said distractedly, “Sorry, that was a really important call. You seem to be okay now. What time will dinner be ready?”
Plugging in my KitchenAid mixer, I start dumping all of the ingredients for the frosting into the silver mixing bowl, when a framed picture of Brian and me on our wedding day that sits in the middle of the island catches my eye. I think about how charming he was when I met him.
Me, an eighteen-year-old, working two jobs just to be able to pay rent in a rundown apartment building that wasn’t much better than the trailer park, and still barely getting by. And him a senior in college with a trust fund who showered me with gifts and dinners at fancy restaurants that I’d never imagined in my entire life ever setting foot in. How he walked into the gas station where I was a cashier on the weekends, to fill up and grab a pack of gum, and asked me out on a date before I’d finished ringing him up. How he swept me off my feet and promised to give me the world, take away my troubles and make me forget my past.
How I got pregnant six months into our relationship and had to give up my dreams of doing something substantial with my life, even if I didn’t know what that was at the time. How I put my life on hold to raise our daughter while he worked long hours, learning everything about Castle Creative. How I let him continuously shoot down my idea of going to college to earn a degree once Anastasia was old enough, because he said taking care of the household should be my top priority. How every time I signed up for another charity, organization, or event because I couldn’t handle being alone in the house all day once Anastasia was in school full time, he’d call all the backbreaking, stressful work I did “cute hobbies.” How every time I questioned him when he came home smelling like someone else’s perfume, or didn’t even come home at all, he’d tell me I was being dramatic and insecure.
How I came home six months ago to an envelope containing divorce papers on the table in the foyer, and his dresser and his side of the closet completely empty. And how I wouldn’t even care that he hasn’t contacted me since that day if he’d at least made an effort to reach out to his own daughter during that time.
Which he hasn’t.
Which means I’m stuck in this limbo of trying not to care and caring entirely too much about a man who threw us both away without a second glance.
Lowering the beaters, I flip the switch on the mixer and a loud whirring sound fills the room as I lean over the counter and grab the frame, staring down at the couple in the picture.
Before I even think about what I’m doing, I chuck the frame into the mixing bowl, the quickly spinning beaters splintering the wood and shattering the glass in a loud cacophony.
Flipping the switch on the side of the mixer to the highest speed, I cross my arms and stare down into the bowl with a smile on my face, wondering if there’s a pack of matches anywhere in this house and realizing I kind of like the influence Ariel had on me.
Chapter 3: Life Sucks. Men Really Suck.
“There must be some mistake. Run it again. I know there’s a few hundred dollars available on that card,” I tell the cashier at the grocery store, lowering my voice and looking nervously over my shoulder, completely mortified that someone I know might see me.
The woman running the register gives me a sympathetic smile and swipes the card again, wincing before handing it back to me.
“I’m sorry. It’s still saying declined. Do you have another card we could try, or maybe just cash?” she asks softly.
I’d already given her all three of my credit cards, and each of them came back with the same message. I feel tears prickling the back of my eyes as I dig into my purse for money, knowing darn well I’m not going to find anything more than a few dollars and a small handful of change in there, nowhere near enough to pay for the bags of groceries currently sitting at the end of the conveyor belt.
“I’m sorry, I . . .” My words get caught in my throat, and a tear slips out of my eyes and down my cheeks as I continue to search through my purse, just to give myself something to do so I don’t have to look up and see the pity in the cashier’s face.
“Cindy, there you are! I’ve been looking all over the store for you. You dropped your cash in my front seat when we went for coffee this morning.”
Lifting my head, I come face-to-face with the one person I definitely don’t want to be a witness to this humiliating moment.
Ariel smiles at me and gives me a wink as she shoves a handful of bills at the cashier.
“I swear, you’d lose your own head if it wasn’t attached to your body.” Ariel laughs like it is the funniest thing she’s ever said.
“I don’t need your money,” I whisper as the cashier takes the money from Ariel’s hand and cashes out my order.
I actually do need her money, but it’s humiliating to admit that out loud, especially to her. A woman who slept with my husband and knows all of my secrets.
“Quit your bitching,” Ariel says under her breath with a huge smile on her face aimed at the cashier.
The woman hands Ariel her change, and she shoves me toward the exit, grabbing my bags and telling the cashier to have a good day.
As soon as we get outside, Ariel hands the bags over to me and I do whatever I can to look anywhere but at her face. I have never felt such shame in my entire life. I want to run to my car and lock myself inside so I can sit there and cry, but I can’t make my feet move.
“Why did you do that?” I whisper, sniffling as I juggle the bags in my arms and stare down at my feet.
Ariel is the last person I would ever expect to do something so nice for me, especially after the way I’ve treated her since she moved in, and the way I behaved when she was in my home last night.
“He took everything when he left, didn’t he?” she asks quietly.
I want to hate this woman, considering she slept with my husband, but if what she said last night was true, he deceived her as well. Maybe not as much as he hurt and betrayed me, but as much as I hate admitting it, that means we have something in common.
I nod my head instead of speaking, afraid that if I open my mouth I’ll break down in tears right here in front of the store.
Ariel sighs, crossing her arms in front of her, kicking a rock off the edge of the curb with the toe of her flip-flops.
“I’m sorry. And I’m also sorry for that shit I said last night about how you wouldn’t know anything about real problems.” she tells me with a shrug.
She nervously shifts from one foot to the other while I stare out into the parking lot, watching an elderly woman try and back into a handicapped parking space six times without hitting the cart-return next to the spot like it is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.
“I don’t know what to say,” I mutter, feeling uncomfortable and awkward that this woman and I are having a moment while the weight of all the grocery bags hanging from my wrists make the muscles in my arms burn.
“Just say thank you like a good little girl. Come on, you can do it,” she jokes with a laugh.
“Thank you,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “I’ll pay you back.”
I don’t know how exactly I’ll pay her back, but I will.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you tonight at the Halloween party. I’m bringing moonshine, so make sure you’re ready to get white-girl wasted!”
Ariel gives me a small wave as she heads out into the parking lot, leaving me standing on the curb with my armful of groceries. My first instinct is to tell her that she wasn’t invited to the Halloween party tonight, but I quickly clamp my mouth closed before I can yell out to her as she hustles toward her car. I don’t want to be the person she accused
me of anymore—someone who sits up in her home judging people.
* * *
Fairytale Lane has been closed off from traffic with a few barricades blocking the entrance to the street. Caroline and I spent all afternoon setting up tables down the center of the street, covering them in orange tablecloths and putting up decorations. The street looks amazing, with orange and white lights hanging from every tree along the sidewalk and luminarias with flickering candles in them lining the curb all the way down the street on both sides.
Neighbors and their families are milling about, laughing, eating, and having a good time as I make my way down the tables. I straighten plates heaping with baked goods, reposition containers filled with potato chips and line up Crock Pots warming everything from chili and rigatoni to nacho dips and chocolate lava cake, making sure the signs I made noting which items are not gluten free are in front of the appropriate dishes.
I smile and wave at my neighbors, feigning a happiness I certainly don’t feel. After getting home from the grocery store and making a quick call to my credit card companies, I found out Brian had canceled all of my credit cards. I wanted to lock myself in my bedroom and curl up into a ball on my bed and cry, but I couldn’t do that. The party must go on, and I just have to keep smiling and nodding, hoping I can get through this thing without losing it completely. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know how I’m going to pay my mortgage, and I certainly don’t know how I’m going to pay Ariel back for the money she lent me, let alone buy more groceries when I run out of the things I bought today.
“Cynthia, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. The street looks wonderful, as usual. And your costume is adorable. Helen told me you had some trouble at the grocery store this afternoon.” My neighbor Alexis walks toward me with a conspiratorial smile and stops next to me, the fringe of her black 1920s flapper dress swishing around her knees.
Glancing down at my long, pale, blue-and-white satin ball gown with glitter tulle accents, I nervously run my fingers over the black velvet choker around my neck before smoothing the sides of my hair that leads to a high bun and straightening the blue headband on top of my head and give Alexis a nervous smile.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Have you tried my gluten-free cupcakes yet? I’ve gotten a lot of compliments on them this year.” I point two tables down, where my cupcakes, which absolutely no one has touched, are piled on a pumpkin-shaped plate.
Alexis moves closer and rests her hand on my forearm.
“Helen said you were having some money problems and that immoral woman a few houses down actually helped you. Is that true?” she whispers loudly, causing a few heads to turn in our direction.
I smile uncomfortably and shake my head at the people staring in our direction before addressing Alexis.
“Her name is Ariel, and she’s a very lovely woman,” I inform her, refusing to dignify the money-problems comment with a response.
“Well, Helen was very concerned when she saw you speaking with her and said something about how she paid for your groceries. I just couldn’t believe my ears when she told me that. I said, ‘There’s no way Cynthia would ever speak to that woman, let alone take money from her.’ The idea is just preposterous! But Helen was adamant she saw it all happen. Is everything okay with Brian? Did he lose his job? He’s never missed one of our Halloween parties, and I’m just so worried about you, Cynthia. You know you can tell me anything, right?” Alexis asks, giving my arm a gentle squeeze.
It’s amazing how Ariel calling me out for being judgmental has suddenly made me hyperaware of it in other people. The smile on Alexis’s face is the fakest thing I’ve ever seen, and her eyes are wide with curiosity, not concern. Not to mention the cringe of disgust on her face each time she mentions Ariel. It makes me physically ill wondering how many times I looked exactly like this when gossiping about Ariel, or anyone else for that matter.
I grit my teeth and continue smiling at her, knowing I most certainly cannot tell this woman anything. I’ve known Alexis since she and her husband moved onto Fairytale Lane nine years ago. We go to our weekly book club meetings together, she’s on the PTA with me, her daughter is the same age as Anastasia, and I always enjoyed her company when we would get the girls together. I considered her a friend and someone I could talk to about almost everything, but suddenly, standing here in the middle of the street, listening to her pretend to be concerned for me when I know she just wants gossip to spread around to the other neighbors, I’m seeing her in a new light. I’m seeing her the way Ariel sees me. As a stuck-up busybody who judges people. And I don’t like it.
“Everything is fine, Alexis. Brian is out of town for work and, silly me, I brought the wrong purse with me to the store.” I lie easily, wishing I had the courage to tell this woman that my personal life is none of her business.
“Honey, you can be honest with me, it’s okay. People have been talking and, well . . . it doesn’t sound like things are too good for you right now,” Alexis says with fake sympathy.
Nausea blossoms in my stomach, and I press a shaking, sweaty hand there to calm my nerves. This is exactly what I didn’t want—people talking and spreading rumors, even if they are true. I’m embarrassed that I let something like this happen. That I let a man I thought I loved take advantage of me and leave me with nothing. I want a hole in the ground to open up and swallow me whole so I don’t have to stand here knowing everyone is talking about me behind my back and making me look like a fool, unable to do anything but take it because I’m not the type of woman who would make a scene, even though I desperately want to.
“Hey, nosey. How about you mind your own fucking business?”
My head whips around and my eyes widen in shock when Ariel comes up next to us, wearing a sexy, skintight, sequined, red-and-green mermaid costume, pointing a red Solo cup at Alexis.
“Excuse me?” Alexis asks indignantly, pressing a hand over her heart.
“You heard me. Your husband is ten martinis deep, slurring his words and trying to cop a feel of Kathy Maben’s fake tits in her Wonder Woman costume a few houses down. How about you worry about your own shit instead of sticking your nose in Cindy’s?” Ariel takes a swig from her cup while still glaring at Alexis.
Alexis looks back over her shoulder and sure enough, her husband, Bob, is standing in the front yard of one of our neighbor’s houses and has his hand out toward Kathy’s chest, his body swaying from side to side.
“Hey, Alexis, I heard Bob doesn’t get enough blow jobs at home, care to comment on that?” Ariel asks in a loud voice, stopping more than a few conversations between people around us as they all look in our direction.
“How dare you?!” Alexis shouts, pointing her finger at Ariel.
“Oh, I dare. How does it feel, honey, having someone air your dirty laundry for everyone to hear?”
Alexis shoots Ariel a dirty look before turning away from us and hastily making her way down the sidewalk to her husband. Ariel and I stand there silently and watch as she marches over to Bob, grabs his arm, and drags him away from Kathy.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” I whisper, staring at Alexis when she stops, turns to face Bob, and starts wagging her finger in his face, her mouth moving so fast that I can only guess what kind of tirade she’s letting loose on him right now.
“The blow job thing? Sorry about that. I know she’s your friend, but she’s a bitch. You can tell just by looking at her that she’s never had a dick in her mouth. Poor Bob,” Ariel says with a sigh and a shake of her head.
“No, not that. I mean, I can’t believe you stuck up for me like that.”
Ariel turns to face me, perching her hip on the table next to us, causing one of the plates of cookies to tip, spilling a few of them onto the table. I quickly move forward and pile them back onto the plate.
“Look, we might have our differences, but I know what you’re going through, okay? I got fucked over by my ex-husband too. It’s not fun. Es
pecially when you live on this street and you’re under a microscope all the time,” she says, looking right at me as she brings one hand down to the plate of cookies and flicks a few of them off the pile I just made.
With a huff, I pick them back up and restack them.
“Your ex cheated on you with God knows how many women and fled the country with someone almost half your age too?” I ask, taking a step back and admiring the nice, neat cookie pile.
“My ex is a performer for a major cruise line. Our wedding was a Phantom of the Opera theme. He cheated on me with God knows how many men. I probably should have seen it coming when he insisted on singing show tunes at our reception,” she informs me, reaching down and knocking the cookies back off the plate.
“Will you stop messing up the cookies?” I demand, pushing her away from the table.
“But it’s so fun watching you get pissed off. Sweet milk of magnesia, you’re anal. Here, drink this,” Ariel demands, shoving her red Solo cup at me.
“What is it?” I question, taking the cup from her hand and peering down into it to find it half full of clear liquid.
“Water. Just shut up and drink it.”
Feeling quite parched after what just occurred with Alexis, and with my nerves completely shot knowing everyone on this street will know about it within the next five minutes, I bring the cup to my lips and tip it back, swallowing the entire contents at once.
As soon as the liquid hits my throat, the burning I feel makes my eyes water, and I bend at the waist, coughing and sputtering as Ariel pats me on the back.
“That wasn’t water!” I yell through my coughs, pounding my fist against my chest.
“No, it was vodka on the rocks. But the ice melted, so technically there’s water in it,” Ariel says with a shrug as the burning in my throat finally goes away and I can breathe again.
“Oh, my goodness. I cannot be inebriated around my neighbors and their children,” I say, looking nervously up and down the street, hoping no one saw me just take a large shot of vodka.