“Why?” Gilda asked.
“The last time I tried to build a fire was at a condo we rented last winter in Vermont. I didn’t know that you had to open the flue. Hell, I didn’t even know what a flue was, so I ended up setting off fire alarms as the entire apartment filled with smoke.”
“Where was your husband?”
“Out skiing with the girls. When they got back, they made me feel like I was completely useless. It was not one of my finest moments.”
“Yeah, I hate when my family gangs up on me. I always remind my girls that I wiped their asses, and they need to treat me with a little more respect.”
Thinking about lack of respect, my mind drifted to the earlier part of the smoke-filled condo day. Ronnie, Zelda, and Hazel had been getting ready to ski. I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. I wanted to tell them that I loved them and to have a great day, but instead I overheard a conversation. I held my breath as I listened.
“Why doesn’t Mom ski with us anymore?” Hazel asked.
“I used to carry her skis, and then when you two came along she had to carry them herself,” Ronnie said.
“But we carry our own stuff,” Zelda said.
“True, but it took a few years before that happened.”
“We always had to wait for her at the bottom of the hill,” Hazel said.
“When you two became better skiers than Mom, she gave up for good.”
“We get in so many more runs now,” Zelda said.
“But there’s no hot chocolate breaks without Mom,” Hazel said.
“You can have hot chocolate at lunch. We’re here to ski. Besides, it’s more fun skiing with just Dad anyway,” Zelda said.
“Won’t Mom be bored by herself all day?” Hazel asked.
“Nah, you know how she always complains that she never has time for herself,” Zelda said.
“But isn’t she alone all day when we’re at school?” Hazel asked.
“Your mom manages to keep herself busy—she does yoga, meets friends for lunch, orders in dinner . . .”
Ronnie had made me sound as if I did nothing. But the worst part was that he allowed the girls to giggle at my expense.
Whenever Ronnie disappointed us by not showing up for dinner or recitals or sporting events, I had made a point of not saying anything derogatory about him.
I could see Ronnie on his knee, buckling his boots. He stood up and said, “If you’re ready, I’ll race you to the lift.”
I clearly remembered now that when I finally exhaled, it had come out as a sob. “I’m okay with good-natured, clever teasing,” I said, turning to Gilda, “but it hurts when I overhear my daughters making fun of me, and my husband not only doesn’t stick up for me, he eggs them on.”
Gilda had entertained me with camp stories all day. My favorite one was when the Swans snatched the sneakers off the porches of the younger girls and swapped them with the older girls’ shoes. Gilda went on, “It caused mass confusion, but I thought it was so simple yet ingenious. When Marilyn got wind of it, she ranted on about calling parents and punishing the girls. Mindy finally got her to calm down and had to explain to her that pranks are what camp is all about.”
As we were seated in the dining room of the restaurant, I thought when it was first decorated, it would’ve been considered classy. Now it just reminded me of an aging lady in need of a facelift.
“I had a great time today, I haven’t laughed so much since I got to camp,” Gilda said, holding up her wine glass. “Cheers.”
I had been able to let go and relax on our excursion. No campers, no bosses, no wild animals, and no husband. We’d both spent the day giggling—from trying on silly hats at the secondhandstore to sharing stories about our daughters to commiserating about our husbands—both attorneys.
We clinked glasses. “You’re fabulous company,” I said.
“You’re much more fun than those alpha chicks, Bethany and Mindy,” Gilda said.
Gilda wasn’t wrong in her description of them. They were the women I looked to for advice and I wanted to impress during the day and make laugh in the evenings. I said, “Mindy’s always helpful, insightful, and even-tempered, which I appreciate. Bethany says she has my back, but I’m never exactly sure where I stand with her.”
