6. Elizabeth
Six
Elizabeth
“I can’t believe you’re using your one kid-free day to hang out with me.” Lisa peals out of my driveway and heads toward the Highland Park bridge. We’re heading to the mall together, just the two of us. I try to think if we’ve ever been able to do this before.
Whenever we’ve gone to the mall together, it’s been for the boys’ Pinewood Derby competitions or to take turns watching the kids while we bought them all school shoes.
Lisa’s husband, Ashish, has all three of her boys out for a bike ride today.
Lisa claims she needs new clothes for work, but when she called to see if I was up for a trip to Nordstrom, I suspect she really wants to outfit me for the job search she’s certain I’ll rock.
“Who else would I spend time with?” I bat my eyes at her and sip my coffee.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, turning onto the highway at the end of the bridge. “Sexy McStretch across the street, for instance.”
I cluck my tongue at her. “Geeze, Lisa, we haven’t even spoken since that day in the driveway. He keeps really different hours from me, I think.”
“I’m mostly kidding,” she says. “How did pickup go for Jake yesterday?”
I roll my eyes and tell her how Todd was four minutes late, which of course set Jake on edge.
He gets very frustrated when schedules are not kept, and Todd of course refuses to acknowledge that time commitments are important to Jake, even if they’re just going to get pizza and watch Star Wars together.
“I mean, I know I don’t have to explain to you how Jake is working so hard on his rigidity.
” Lisa nods. “But come on! The kid just moved to a new home and you’re going to be late? ”
We curse Todd together. Jake hasn’t checked in yet today, and I try to remind myself that he would call if he felt upset. No news is good news. She must see me twisting my hands together around the coffee cup, because she reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze.
We walk toward Nordstrom from the parking lot and are immediately greeted by sales staff. I expect Lisa to shoo them away, but she asks for the personal shopper. My jaw drops. “Don’t look at me that way,” she says. “You haven’t dressed for an office since you were pregnant.”
The personal shopper appears, dressed impeccably of course. She looks like Anette Bening. “My friend here is going back to the world of work,” Lisa says.
I grit my teeth. “I thought we were here to boost your wardrobe.” Lisa waves a hand.
Anette, whose actual name is June, beams. “A capsule wardrobe is just the thing,” she says.
“Say what?” I have a vague memory of hearing this vocabulary word somewhere online in the past, but Lisa’s right. I’ve been wearing faded jeans and turtlenecks for decades.
June walks briskly toward a rack of black pants and points. “We’ll get you situated with five to eight pieces you can mix and match so you’ll have a week’s worth of office wear. What’s the office dress code?”
She looks at me expectantly and my jaw drops again. Lisa pats my arm. “We’re still in the search portion of the job hunt.”
“Oh!” June grins and claps her hands. “Then we need to get you interview outfits, too!”
Two hundred dollars later, Lisa is hugging June and exchanging business cards.
I’m impressed and surprised by how far I could stretch my money with June’s help.
Between the clearance racks and a few store-brand tops, I really do feel like I could walk into an interview on Monday looking put-together.
Lisa bought me two chunky necklaces, too, so I can even accessorize differently if I have to re-wear something sooner than anticipated.
“You don’t think all this is too young-looking,” I ask her, gesturing at myself.
She and June agreed I should wear the fitted black pants and scoop-neck green top home.
I feel very aware of the shape of my body, on display for all to see.
Long, shapeless tops have been my norm ever since Jake’s birth.
It was kind of a train wreck, and I ended up having several different surgeries. I’ve tried to draw everyone’s attention, including my own, away from my midriff ever since.
“Liz,” she breathes. “You’re radiant. You’re free and you’re starting fresh. That body of yours walked the hell out on an asshole and drove a damn moving truck to a new life! It deserves clothes that fit it.”
I flush under her blunt praise. Lisa never bullshits. I love that about her. She reminds me so much of me when I was younger. How I was when I was with Kellen. Have I changed so deeply? “You’re right,” I say, exhaling a big breath. “I have done some great things with this body.”
She grins, stopping in front of one of those bath and body frou-frou shops. “I have an idea for your body.” She drags me inside, where I’m assaulted by the fruity smells of all the lotions and sprays.
“What on earth?” Lisa stops in front of a bath display table marketing fizzy balls, exfoliating scrubbers and… “A facial massager?”
Lisa scoffs. “I don’t know why they don’t just call it like it is. It’s a damn vibrator, Elizabeth. And you’re supposed to use it in the tub while you’re all relaxed and smelling good.”
I gasp, and then hate myself for doing so. ”It’s not really for that!”
Lisa rolls her eyes. “You think women really need ‘five variant speeds to lift, firm and tone’ your pores? Please. You’re going to buy this and you’re going to get off and it’s going to be amazing.”
I peer at the package. “I’m not even sure I know what to do with it,” I admit, biting my lip. How pathetic does that sound? Fifty years old and I’m so out of touch with anything sexual that I’m not sure how a vibrator works. “I’ve never owned one before.”
Lisa nods. “Well lucky for you, this ‘facial massager’ offers 7,000 vibrations per minute. There’s really not much to it, babe. You hold it between your legs and wait for the fireworks.”
“I don’t know…”
“Then you definitely need it,” she says, shoving it in the crook of her arm and grabbing a bag of bath fizzies. “Go home and use it tonight while Jake’s gone.”
An hour later, after she drops me off and makes me vow to use the massager, I dump everything on my bed.
I stand in the room, sparsely furnished but mine.
This week, I managed to find a few pieces of furniture for free online.
As autumn nears in Pittsburgh and all the young people move in and out of the universities, apparently everyone purges their household items. My zippy little hatchback managed to get me a dresser and two night stands, plus a dining set.
I realize, despite the hectic busyness this week between getting Jake to and from day camp and setting up our new home, I’ve been really happy. It feels so strange to not feel like I’m holding my breath or walking on eggshells at home that I hadn’t noticed until now.
I pinch my arm, just to make sure I’m awake. Sure enough, this is really my life. On my terms. I walk through the house making sure all the curtains are drawn and the doors are locked, and then I fill the bath.
I feel my heart race as I consider what I’m about to do.
How many years has it been? Todd and I haven’t slept together since we conceived Jake, and much too long had passed before it occurred to me that that was a problem.
By the time I was crawling out from my postpartum depression, I was in fight or flight mode all the time helping Jake.
There hadn’t been any time for me to think about sex. Even with myself.
I swallow thickly as I plunk the fizzies into the tub and undress.
My fingers trail along the scar tissue on my lower abdomen, still numb after all this time.
Part of me—a big part—worries that my pleasure parts will be numb, too.
But then I remember that I’ve had a few dreams here and there.
The sensations have felt real. Always shy of any sort of big finish, but there was enough there that I’m not totally terrified that my body is broken in that way.
I slide into the warm water and lie there for a few minutes.
The fizzing bubbles are nice, and the lavender mint scents are my favorite.
I chew on my lip and look around, chastising myself because of course the house is empty and locked up tight.
I click on the massager and it tingles in my hand, the vibrations as powerful as the packaging alluded.
I giggle and touch it to my face, and I’m certain that’s not at all what this is intended for.
It feels so strange on my skin. I can’t imagine how it will feel down below.
Awkward in the water, I bump my breast as I try to lower the massager to my sex, and I yelp when the vibrating tip catches my nipple.
I put it back against my breast, on purpose this time, and a moan escapes my lips. Oh my.
My pulse quickens and I breathe faster, swallowing as I lower the device. I rock my pelvis out of the water a bit. The packaging said it’s safe to use in water, but the last thing I need is to electrocute myself. Imagine the headlines: 50 Year Old Woman Dies Trying to Get Off.
When the pink massager connects with my clit, it certainly feels like I’m being electrocuted.
But definitely not in a bad way. “Oh my,” I say, out loud this time.
I move the toy to the side, just above my clit.
That feels better. Better than better. I moan.
I start to circle the toy, not touching my clit directly but hovering around it until, suddenly and with a rush that causes me to scream, I come.
I come and I come, my legs twitching and water splashing out of the tub onto the floor. Panting and groaning, I come until I drop the massager into the water, and I laugh as I root around trying to find it to shut it off. “Holy shit,” I say. I drain the tub and sit in it, staring.
I should have been doing that every day, I decide. “No better time to start,” I tell myself.
I dry off and slip into my pajamas. I shoot Jake a text to say I love him and can’t wait for him to come home tomorrow.
I climb into bed with a smile on my face, realizing it’s true.
Who knew orgasms made everything so much better?
A lot of people knew, apparently, based on the package insert for the “facial massager.” I throw the box and the instructions away and fall asleep, content and eager to start the next day.