Page 14 of Sex. Love. Marriage.
Kate smiles at Ashlynn. “Says the porn star.”
“Says Google.” Ashlynn blinks rapidly, her lashes getting tangled together and causing her to have to physically separate them. She definitely has lash extensions.
“Yes, because everything on Google is a fact. I’m curious…” Kate reaches out and touches Ashlynn’s eyelashes. “Are those real?”
In the process of trying to touch Ashlynn’s eyelashes, Kate jabs Ashlynn in the eye. She jerks her head back. “They’re extensions.”
Kate waves at us. “It’s been fun, ladies, but I must tend to my fucked-up life and pretend I’m okay with it turning to shit.”
Her comment catches me off guard. You know when you’re feeling sad about your own life, you think to yourself nobody else in the world feels this way? It’s a lie. Everyone is unhappy at one time or another.
We’ve circled back around to Kate’s house where she grabs her empty bottle of wine and tries to get her dog to leave Ashlynn. It’s a battle. I have to physically restrain Sevi, who’s now screaming because the dog left. That wakes up Fin, and then Hazel starts whining about her feet hurting and saying we’ve walked for like, ever.
After a few minutes of struggle, I have Sevi strapped into the stroller again, Fin occupied with my phone, and Hazel on my shoulders. Seriously though, moms should be labeled as superheroes because look at me wrangling three kids without a sweat. Lies. All lies. There’s sweat pooling between my breasts and I’m thinking, by the smell of me, I might have forgotten to put on deodorant.
Charlee disappears into her house, as does Ashlynn, and I’m left with Gretchen. She notices me staring at the garage where my husband is laughing at something Jason just said.
“Just give the poor guy some.” Gretchen nudges me.
“Who?”
I’m met with an eye roll. “Yourhusband.” Just then, Hazel kicks her in the face. “It might help you out too.” She glares at my daughter. “That hurt.”
“Whoopsie” is all Hazel says, then goes back to kicking her legs and basically kicking my tits every time she does it. Instead of telling her to stop, I keep walking. “Hold still. I braid your hair, Mama. It’ll be pretty.”
While I get tit-kicked every two seconds and my hair pulled, I think about what Gretchen meant by that. Might do me some good? Obviously, I’m transparent and they can see I’m really struggling.
“Are you happy?” she finally asks.
“Ish.”
“What?”
“I’m happy-ish. I want to… you know… but after everything I have to do in a day, I’m so tired.” I draw in a deep breath remembering I still have dishes to do and lunches to prepare for tomorrow. And a baby to give a bath to. “I doubt anything will happen tonight anyway.” I motion toward the garage we’re slowly approaching. “He’s drunk.”
“You know… a bad sleep is a sign of a bad relationship,” Gretchen notes.
I smile politely and look down at my children. Finley is now wide awake and has taken off her diaper and is holding it. Sevi is still in full-on freak-out mode because the fucking dog left. And I’m pretty sure Hazel is trying to hide a bird in my hair or something. “No, toddlers are a sign of bad sleep.”
I can’t help wondering if she’s right though. Do Noah and I have a bad relationship? We’ve been through some rough shit, and I did throw out the word separation, but can I honestly say it’s a bad relationship? It’s not abusive or toxic. We’re the ones destroying it. It’s like kids who become violent. They didn’t start out that way. It’s a product of their environment. Our marriage has become a product of our circumstances.
(Never take advice from your drunk neighbor. Or pills.)
REMEMBER WHEN BONNERsaid he had something to show me?
He lied. He just wanted me to drink with him because apparently drinking together looks less like you’re an alcoholic, which he argues he’s not despite having an actual bar in his garage. Who am I to judge? I hide a bottle of Jameson in the bathroom and pretend I’m constipated at least twice a week. Clearly, I’m not qualified to judge anyone, ever.
So, there I am. Drinking in Bonner Slade’s garage. It’s not all that bad, and he hasn’t tried to kill me yet, so my first theory on him secretly being a hitman hired to kill me by Kelly’s high-school boyfriend is out the window. Unless of course, he’s just befriending me to draw me in, but then again, whatever. I have life insurance. Kelly and the kids will be fine.
Women usually want to know what men talk about when they’re with other men. Or maybe you don’t give a shit at all. I assure you, though, with a guy like Bonner, it’s not what most men talk about. Back home, our nightly barn talks with my buddies usually involved funny things the kids did or recent cattle sales, or even when to harvest.
In California, and Bonner Slade’s garage, the talk is centered around his ridiculous car. And then we, as in me, Steve, and Jason ask how someone of his age can afford something like this if he doesn’t have a job.
“I have a job,” he tells us again. He keeps saying that yet none of us can get it out of him what he actually does. “But my wife bought this car for my birthday.”
Intrigued, Jason peeks his head up from around the hood. Oh, sorry, you’re probably wondering who the fuck Jason and Steve are. Jason was married to Kate, my wife’s friend from up the street. They’re divorced, but he’s still living with her. I find that super weird, but whatever. Who am I to judge them?
And Steve, well, this guy I don’t know much about him other than he runs every morning in what appears to me to be his wife’s shorts but might actually be a speedos. Nice guy but definitely something off about him. Bonner jokes that he’s going through a midlife crisis. I’d have to agree with that one.
