Page 28 of Too Old for This
Stephanie:Have time to talk? Call me when it’s convenient.
I make myself a bologna sandwich on white bread with mayo and mustard. Unhealthy, yes. But comfort foods are rarely about health. I used to make two of them every morning—one for me to take to work, one for Archie to take to school.
Yes, if I had more time and money, I would have grilled chicken and chopped up veggies and put it all between two slices of whole pita. But our life was bologna and white bread.
I hope Stephanie has her own comfort food. She needs it more than I do, now that her ex-husband is getting remarried and having a baby with someone else. Unlike me, Stephanie is a woman who was born to be married. She stayed home with the kids until they went to school and then went back to work part-time, something she has continued to this day. Olive is seventeen, Noah is almost sixteen, and Stephanie has a lot of time on her hands. She picks up on the first ring.
“Hi.”
I wait, but she doesn’t call me Mom like she used to. Not today, maybe never again.
Fine, fine. It’s all fine.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Archie told you, didn’t he?”
“He did.”
Long pause. I can almost hear her fighting with herself, debating how much to say about my son. No doubt, she is sitting in her professional-grade kitchen, the one she and Archie built in their California home. The dishes are done, the floor is mopped, no clutter on the table. At the age of forty-five, she is without a partner for the first time in over twenty years. All the cleaning in the world won’t change that.
“Go ahead,” I say.
Stephanie exhales. The relief comes out hard. “I can’t believe she’s pregnant. And that they’re getting married.”
“Yes. They are.”
“I never thought this would happen. I thought…I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that he would come to his senses? Realize he was…”
Stephanie goes on and on. She just wants someone to listen. Her rage isn’t directed at Archie. It’s reserved for Morgan.
The slut. The whore. The bitch.
In that order.
“You’ve met her, have you?” Stephanie says.
“Once. Archie brought her up here.”
“What do you think of her?”
Morgan was exactly how I had imagined: young, pretty, clueless. She had no idea how much pain her relationship with Archie caused, and he certainly hadn’t told her. The visit wasawkward, with Archie trying his best to show me how perfect they were together and me trying to believe it.
“I think she’s very nice,” I say.
Her anger turns to sobs. I stay on the phone and listen, waiting for her to tire herself out. She runs through just about every emotion, finally coming full circle to the woman I know she is. Efficient, organized, on top of everything. If she wasn’t, I wouldn’t have let her marry Archie.
“I was thinking of bringing the kids up to see you,” she says. “But I suppose they’ll be up there for the wedding.”
“Yes. I’m not sure when it will be, though.”
“Maybe we should wait, then. They’re so busy, and I don’t want to take them out of school twice.”
The way she says that feels weird. And ugly. Almost like she is punishing me for what my adult son has chosen to do. But I keep my mouth shut. Soon enough, she’ll learn what it feels like to be blamed for everything her children do. That’s not a lesson I need to teach her. Some other woman will.
“I’m putting together a package for Noah’s birthday,” I say.
“You’re sending presents?”
