Page 27 of Pick-Up
“Thanks, Cliff.”
“Really. You’re an incredible talent. And it’s wasted on those corporate videos.”
“I appreciate you saying so. Does that mean you might be able to help?”
I hold my breath.
“Oh, no. Definitely not,” he says. “I’m booking months in advance these days.”
Like I was trying to schedule a facial with a celebrity aesthetician. He is all booked. And I am all fucked.
“You know how it is,” he added.
“Do I?”
There was a time when I would have called Cliff on his shit. On how selfish he was being. On the fact that it wouldn’t kill him to miss a couple of days of wellness smoothies to be with his children. On the fact that he had kids only to leave them—and me—to fend for ourselves. But somewhere along the way I realized that my ex-husband was acting like a douchebag because heisa douchebag. And no amount of protesting or courtroom shenanigans would change that.
Sometimes it still breaks my heart. For Nettie and Bart, who have yet to fully surrender to this truth.
“Send the kids my love though,” he said. “Tell them I can’t wait to see them over spring break!”
“In five months?”
“My accountant is sending the child support checks on time, right? You have enough diaper money?”
This just makes me exhausted. I drag a hand down my face. “Cliff, Bart hasn’t worn diapers in two years.”
“Right. I knew that. Just, you know, diapers, so to speak.”
How had I ever wanted to have sex with someone who said “so to speak”?
“Anyway, I better run. The unsolicited phone call has thrown me off my game. It really is an intrusion. I need to get centered before this exec arrives.”
“Centered. Right.”
“But, hey, Sash. You’ve got this! You’re incredible, baby. Love and light.”
How had I ever wanted to have sex with someone who said “love and light”?
With no other recourse, I hung up the call, rested my “incredible” cheek on the kitchen table and stayed in that position until Larry jumped up and sniffed my face for signs of life.
When I ran into Celeste at pick-up in her amazing rust-colored romper, I had no intention of asking her for help. But, as we made our way beyond the throngs of parents and kids and stopped on the corner to chat as our kids played some invented game called “hot dog tag,” I was already complaining about my situation.
“And so I have no idea what to do. I basically either have to give up the job or leave the kids with a stranger. Which I don’t love and theydefinitelywon’t love.”
“Your ex-husband is kind of the worst.”
“Kind of?”
Celeste shrugged. “Just leave them with us.”
I stared at her. “Yeah, right.”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Wait, really?”
“Really.”
