Page 3 of My Wife
He came potty trained, so I figured he’d know how to do this too. Then again, he also came with a pet hermit crab and a ratty plastic bag of clothing, so go figure.
When I start brushing my teeth, he’s still frozen. I repeat the directions, showing him, but he doesn’t budge. Looks like it’s going to be one of those days. So far, we’re seventeen out of twenty-two. At this rate, I’m not going to win the Father of the Year award.
Letting out a huff, I take the toothbrush and clean his teeth for him, saying, “You’re going to have to learn how to do this yourself at some point. Even chickens know how to brush their teeth.”
He remains impassive … I can’t read this kid, not like my brother, who I know like a book. He’d challenge me and say something like,Chickens don’t have teeth, genius.
Who am I fooling? I know next to nothing about barnyard animals or fatherhood.
Get it together, Ellis.
After an agonizing ten minutes of morning preparation, we’re out the door and downstairs. I knock on the glass door to Mrs. Kirby’s Sewing & Alterations studio. Her Maltese yaps.
To the kid, I say, “Listen, don’t paint his fur with lipstick again. Mind your manners. Be good. Got it?”
He just looks from me to the door to me again.
I’m like seventy-five percent sure I can trust Mrs. Kirby, an older widow, not to blab about my situation. She thinks I’m a handyman and not a professional hockey player because I once fixed a shelf for her.
She opens the door and says, “You’re five minutes late.”
Also, she’s what my mother would call persnickety, but stuff like that doesn’t penetrate my ironclad exterior.
My response: a grunt.
But she’s right, which means if I even hit one traffic light, I’m going to be late to practice after being in the sin bin for two weeks. Let’s just say there was an incident.
I say, “I’ll be back by four.”
“And not a minute after. I have to get home to make Elizabeth her supper.”
The Maltese yaps as if that’s the magic word.
Mrs. Kirby passes me a piece of paper. “This is the bill to reimburse me for Elizabeth’s grooming. Darlene said it was a lot of work getting the lipstick out of her fur.”
I pull out my wallet and pass her the cash.
Mrs. Kirby keeps her hand out and I realize she wants payment for babysitting up front.
I slap a large bill into her palm. “I’ll give you the rest when I pick him up.”
“At four,” she repeats.
“At four,” I confirm.
Patting the kid on the head, I make my getaway. I rush down the hall, take the stairs, which will be quicker than the elevator, and race through the parking garage.
For the next few hours, I have my life back.
2
JESS
Technically,I can’t claim that I’ve been left at the altar. I haven’t made it that far. Yet.
While I wait in the dressing room, dubbed the “Bridal Suite” for today’s purposes in one of Los Angeles’s old Art Déco theaters, I tell myself Rexlan is stuck in traffic. That he’s having a wardrobe malfunction. It could be that he forgot to feed the dog. Not that he has one. Perhaps he was pet-sitting and failed to mention it to me.
Once, I suggested we get a puppy. From the other room, his mother shouted a resounding no because of the skinks—specifically the lance skin, a legless kind. They’re a type of lizard that looks like a snake. She has them in abundance. At first, I thought it was a bit eccentric. This is LA, after all, but it’s a bit odd how she’s built her life around lizards.
