Phase one of Operation Get Mitch Out of My House was underway, and phase two was about to begin.
Chapter 13
Thank goodness for all the cleaning I’d done on Thursday. With Mom arriving that afternoon I needed only her essentials: clean sheets on Dylan’s bed, her favorite coffee, and a new bottle of Jack Daniel’s for her nightcap.
Could I change the locks? Mom could answer that question, but if I thought too long about the impending divorce, then I might break down. I would have to do something I’d often watched my mother do: put all my feelings into the mental drawer I’d thought about earlier. At the rate I was going, I would have an entire mental chest of drawers. Maybe I could compartmentalize all my emotions and deal with different drawers on different days.
Next, I would figure out how much money I had and how much money I needed—that included deciding whether I wanted to ignore the views and comments on my video or to wade through the bad to get to the good.
Vivian, I know who you really are. Be careful.
Nope. Wasn’t going to think about that. Probably someone messing with me so they could take up headspace, but my mental chest of drawers, my emotional chifforobe if you will, was full, thank you very much.
Back to business.
I’d already made an appointment with a lawyer, but she hadn’t been able to see me quite as quickly as I’d hoped.
Finally, once I was sure the divorce was proceeding as it ought, then—and only then—would I go back to my mental chest of drawers and start examining its contents.
At 4:31 p.m., I flopped on the couch for a well-deserved rest. Exactly one minute later the doorbell rang. I sat frozen. I had wanted Mom to come, but now what? Now I’d have to admit some things I didn’t want to admit.
She rapped on the door lightly, and I stood to answer it. We looked at each other through the glass. Finally, I reached for the storm-door latch and gestured her in.
She put her bag down and wrapped me up in a hug I hadn’t known I needed. Tears spilled down my cheeks in spite of my vow to put every last feeling away.
“It’s all going to be okay,” she said, her words as comforting as her Chanel No. 5.
“How do you know?” I asked.
She chuckled. “I know lots of things you’ve never thought to ask.”
I pulled Mom out to arm’s length. She was just a hair shorter than the last time we’d seen each other.
Of course, I probably was, too.
Her hair now had more salt than pepper, but she still wore it in a chic short cut that screamed efficiency along with her sweater set and designer jeans.
Maybe Mitch left because I didn’t do as good a job of keeping myself up.
“Or maybe Mitch left because he was an asshole,” Mom said.
“How did you ...?”
“Baby, I can see the question on your face. You’ve never been much for poker.”
Interesting words considering I’d thought the same thing earlier.
Mom led me to the dining room table. “Come on, let’s go ahead and talk this over so we can make a plan and do what we need to do to make you feel better.”
“I kinda have a plan.”
“Oh,” she said as she took a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from her purse.
Guess I hadn’t needed to buy a bottle after all. Oh well, I’d also treated myself to some bourbon.
“Wait. I thought you said to never drink my feelings!”
“This is for medicinal purposes, carefully dosed to take the edge off,” she said as she disappeared into the kitchen to get a couple of highball glasses. “Besides, that was me hoping you would do as I said and not as I actually did.”
