At that thought I started ripping shirts and dresses from hangers. Soon my closet contained more empty hangers than clothes.
I did not like the color blue.
I liked the color red.
Yet my entire closet had been full of blue blouses and blue dresses—even blue shoes. And who in heaven’s name—other than Elvis or Carl Perkins—needed blue shoes? A blue belt? Nope. It all had to go.
I streaked through the house to the kitchen and got a couple of garbage bags. I was so intent on ridding my closet of blue things that I didn’t realize Mom had followed me until she said, “Vivian, what are you doing?”
“I’m getting rid of all the blue. What’s it to you?”
My words came out harsh, but Mom answered with a measured, “Okay.”
To her credit, she didn’t ask why. She didn’t take the bait, even though I was clearly spoiling for a fight. Feeling guilty for biting her head off, I felt the need to answer her unspoken questions. “I like red, but Mitch says red is a color for sluts.”
“Ah.”
Then my mother, who I was beginning to think might be an angel in disguise, stepped into the closet with me and helped me get rid of every last shred of blue. I was left with a mostly empty closet but a much lighter soul.
“So, a shopping trip may be in order,” Mom said. “What are you going to wear tonight?”
“I’m going to wear that red sweater I bought for Christmas and a pair of jeans.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Mom said. Her tone was extra soothing, as if she were afraid I might be having a breakdown.
Maybe I was.
But cleaning out my closet had to rank low on the list of destructive things I could do, so I was going to take it as a win. We could call it earning my Marie Kondo Badge.
“I’m mostly ready, so I’ll just get these bags out of your way,” Mom said. “Where do you want me to put them?”
“In the foyer, where they can think about what they’ve done.”
I put on my Christmas party ensemble, pleasantly surprised that my pants were a little loose. I had a chat with myself. “Vivian, you’re the only one who would see this as a Christmas party ensemble. It’s not an ugly sweater. It doesn’t even have sequins. It’s fine.”
From there I took the time to apply makeup and curl my hair. I even sprayed some perfume at my pulse points. Anyone who looked at me tonight would see a well-put-together woman who was going to get through her divorce just fine, thank you very much.
On my way out the door, I fed Lucky once again and made sure her water was at an acceptable level. I paused just inside the garage, causing Mom to run into me.
“What?” she asked.
“Even the damn van is blue.”
“I thought you loved the Mystery Machine,” she said.
“I wanted something smaller, sportier. Mitch bought this.”
“Well, it’s going to come in handy tonight, and I can’t condone your getting rid of it right this minute. You’ll need to save your pennies if you want a new car.”
I sighed and headed for the driver’s seat. “I know.”
I tamped down an ounce of resentment. In the past I would’ve thought she was taking Mitch’s side, but now I knew how she really felt about him. I knew she was looking out for my welfare.
Once I picked up Rachel and Abi, we were off on my latest adventure. Little did I know that I was going to earn my Grace Under Pressure Badge as well as my Spreading My Wings Badge.
Chapter 18
Sal’s Singalong was, as the kids said, a little sketch. It sat at the shabby corner of a mostly empty strip mall, and we all paused for a few seconds before pouring out of the van like a group of incognito clowns. I pressed the keys into Mom’s hand. She’d generously offered to be our designated driver.
