“I’ll figure it out. So what if I haven’t typed up a résumé since the Clinton administration? Who cares that I didn’t finish my degree because I was working as his receptionist to help pay down his school loans? I have skills, and I’ll get what I earned in this marriage, even if none of my labor counts for the Social Security Administration.”
I giggled, but the sound came out harsh.
“Punk, please. My mom probably has twelve divorce attorneys on retainer right now. Surely I can useoneof them.”
Again I faced the laptop, mad at the woman there who didn’t see this coming, who was stupid enough to believe in a man who’d never believed in her. “Mitch, you’ve wasted a lot of things, including, but not limited to, my love, my goodwill, and my best years. But you ain’t seen nothing yet. Here’s to you, Mitchell Quackenbush!”
I lifted my glass in a mock toast.
After draining it, I took the leftover piece of fabric from Cassidy’s dress and slung it over my shoulder like a sash. The world was fuzzy enough and my words slurred enough that I needed to wrap this up. “Looks like a different kind of Mom Scouts starts tonight, and I’ll begin with my Divorce Badge. I can put all kinds of badges on here. This doesn’t have to be an end. This can be a beginning.”
The woman staring back at me had glassy eyes and a goofy smile, but I thought I could actually see a flicker of hope now. “Yeah. A beginning.”
I hesitated only a second before going through the usual litany of like, rate, review, subscribe, tell a friend, tell your dog, et cetera. Then I had one last idea.
“Enough of this pity party. From now on, I’m going to work hard to figure out who I am and what I like and what I need. Feel free to join me. This is Vivian Quackenbush, self-proclaimed headmistress of the Mom Scouts, signing off!”
It was rather difficult to edit and go through all the steps it took to properly post a video, but I somehow managed it in spite of how the office spun around me. Since I couldn’t curse on my video and still expect to be monetized, I allowed myself a cathartic “motherfucker” as I hit the final button that would make my video go live.
Righteous Indignation Badge acquired.
Chapter 8
I had set my alarm for seven. On a Saturday.
This was a mistake, a huge mistake, a colossal mistake because I was hungover.
You have got to stop drinking so much wine. Or at least remember to drink your Alka-Seltzer before bed.
Nevertheless, I got up because I’d sent myself a note the night before. It said, “New and improved Vivian needs to kick her asshole husband out of HER house.” Okay, so it really said, “Kickboxer tour as should au jus benefit out of FOUR house,” but I was fluent in Vivian’s-fat-tired-fingers texting.
I sat up, remembering that I was in the guest room sleeping on a futon. My body ached in odd places, and I groaned. No more futon for me. I wasn’t the one sleeping around and wrecking good marriages, so I would be reclaiming the new queen mattress with five-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets that I bought at five in the morning on a Black Friday using a coupon because I was a good steward of our money.
Lucky jumped into my lap, and I idly petted her as I listened for any noise. Faintly, I could hear Mitch’s snoring. There was another layer to the silver lining I was trying to imagine: not having to put up with his snoring. I could feel more than hear that Dylan wasn’t home, but I knew that because Abi had texted last night to say that she had invited him to sleep over.
She was a good neighbor and an even better friend for that.
Carefully, I went to the kitchen, stealthily pulling out a cookie sheet and a large metal serving spoon. No need to wake the former Master of the House just yet. I crept down the hallway but paused with my hand over the doorknob.
Vivian, this is going to hurt you more than it hurts him.
True, but I currently had two headaches. If I could get Mitch out of the house, then I’d be down to one.
Wait a minute. Why did this have to hurt me? I crept back to the coat-tree by the front door and extracted a set of Thomas the Tank Engine earmuffs that had been there for, well, a very long time. With the cookie sheet under my arm, I maneuvered the earmuffs over my head.
With a deep breath, I proceeded to the bedroom and tiptoed over to his side of the bed.
He continued to snore.
He looked innocent, peaceful almost. It was hard to believe that a man with such a worry-free face would ever betray me. My heart tugged at me.
This is your husband, the man you promised to love forever no matter what.
Yeah, well, he promised me, too, and we all saw where that got us.
Suddenly the urge to smother him with my pillow was strong. Fortunately for him, my hands were full.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
