I should probably not be okay with this plan. I did some soul-searching.
Nah, I was great with this plan.
“Fair enough. Carry on.”
“Wanna watch someJeopardy?”
I sat down on the couch. Of course I wanted to watchJeopardy. When Mom and I couldn’t agree on anything else, we could agree on that.
Besides, Mitch hated the show with a passion, so it would be a bonus if he came in while it was on.
We swept the Bible category. Mom took all of “Potent Potables,” but I was pretty sure I’d give her a run for her money in another month. We were halfway through “Foods that Start with K” when Mitch showed up.
“What is a kumquat?” Mom said at the same time Mitch asked, “Vivian, what the hell?”
“Hello to you, too, dear. What is kimchi?”
He went to the kitchen, muttering something under his breath about decency.
“Hey, what—”
“Shhhh,” Mom said. “I want to hear the last clue before we go to Double Jeopardy.”
“I was just wondering—”
“What is the limbic system?” Mom shouted. As the commercial break started, she slumped back against the couch as if she’d done a workout. The vinyl made a farting sound as she lifted one bare leg and then another.
“Is there anything to eat?” Mitch asked through his teeth. “Also, could you put on some clothes, please, Heidi?”
How dare he ask my mother to put on clothes? And who did he think he was to ask me where the snacks were? The corners of my mouth curled up in a Grinchian smile. “I think there’s still some banana bread by the fridge.”
He rustled around in the aluminum foil. I tried not to giggle because Ken Jennings was back introducing the categories for Double Jeopardy.
Mitch coughed, spit something out, and muttered something along the lines of his favorite question, “Vivian, what the hell?” I allowed myself a snicker even as Mom shouted, “What is the Firebird?”
I didn’t dare turn around, but Mitch ran a glass of water and made a big production of getting the awful taste out of his mouth.
As he entered the living room, anger rolled off him in waves. “You did that on purpose!”
“Shhh, Mitchell, I missed that answer about baseball,” Mom said.
“That’s it! I’m leaving!” he bellowed, slamming the door behind him.
I immediately jumped up to put eyeballs on Lucky, but she was on the other side of Mom, who was idly petting her.
“What is Operation Overlord?” Mom said with a smile.
I might be grinning, but I couldn’t help but feel I’d won only a battle, not the war.
Chapter 15
The next morning I woke up at seven to talk with Rock 105 out of Dallas. By that time, I’d become a meme and a GIF. The meme was a photo of me in all my drunk, bloodshot glory saying, “My chicken salad is ah-mazing, y’all.” Someone else had made a GIF of the moment in the video where I waved one hand around and sloshed wine in the other before saying “whatever” and then taking a gulp of wine. At least I didn’t have towatchan endless loop of me being a drunken idiot. For the next six hours, I spoke with radio stations across the country until morning drive time blessedly came to an end in all time zones.
Mom brought me a grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch somewhere in there.
Then I began the arduous task of returning calls to reporters and bloggers. Finally, I braved my email to see if my channel had been monetized. Not yet. I got about three in and decided I should find something better to do with my time, so I made a video about how I hadn’t caved to my husband when he asked for my laptop. I said it was my I Won’t Back Down Badge. I sang that last one in the style of Tom Petty.
The minute those few words of the chorus left my lips, a warm embarrassment washed over me, but ... it wasn’t that bad. My voice didn’t sound that bad.
