Chapter 5
MY RIDE-OR-DIE
Before Rory the Platonic slipped out of bed the next morning, I thought he might at least snuggle with me for a moment.
Some sort of loving encouragement after monumentally dissing me.
I didn’t even get a kiss. Li’l Rory might as well shrivel up and die.
The Poultry Hater didn’t need that useless appendage anymore.
Still feeling awful, I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and glanced around the room.
Rory had set out his work clothes on the chair next to our bed.
His black socks were curled up into a ball.
My first act of the morning would be a grand victory.
I unraveled the socks and walked over to his drawer.
Finding a navy pair, I unraveled them as well and then mismatched them.
The shades of black and navy were so close together that he might not notice it all day, but I would know that I had the first win.
I thought of one more move to brighten this sexless day.
While he showered, I snuck into the bathroom and removed the two towels from the rack.
He hated to step out of the shower and find there wasn’t a towel handy.
Well, he would hate it today for sure. If he didn’t want to share his penis, then he could dry off with the bathmat for all I cared!
Downstairs, I put on a pot of water, placed a paper filter into the Chemex carafe, and pushed the grind button on our burr grinder.
As the machine ground fifty grams of freshly roasted, single-origin beans, I scurried to the fridge to search for a bite of protein.
Something more than air was required this morning.
I needed to start my day with something of some substance.
I ate half a boiled egg. A whole would have been too much.
You couldn’t look like I did eating a whole of anything.
“Good morning, dear,” Rory said, sweeping into the kitchen as I sat down with my cup of coffee a few minutes later. The scent of after shave trailed in with him.
“Hi,” I said, forcing some enthusiasm into my voice.
He poured himself a cup and topped it with organic cream.
I wasn’t even adding cream to my coffee anymore.
Couldn’t start the day with carbs or sugar.
A half egg and black coffee for this skinny girl.
If I got hungry later, I’d have a bite of air.
Maybe a celery stick if I couldn’t take it anymore.
Let’s just say I’d eaten more celery than any other human in the state of Vermont that year.
With ranch or blue cheese dressing? you’re asking.
Of course not. We’re talking naked stalks of celery.
“I have a giant day today,” he continued. “Tossed and turned all night thinking about how I would accomplish everything. I swear it never stops. What are you doing today?”
“Well,” I said, thinking about it for the first time, “I’m meeting Erica in a little while.”
Rory nodded, knowing he needed to tread carefully.
He didn’t like my best friend. In fact, he’d often said I was a different person after hanging out with her.
He bit into a banana and said, “Don’t let her rub off on you too much.
I like you just the way you are.” I almost lied and told him she was coming over for dinner tonight but decided that would be too cruel.
Last time we’d tried that, we’d all barely gotten out alive.
He didn’t say anything about the towels.
I wondered if he was losing patience with me, wondering if I was off my game.
When I rose to top off my cup, I confirmed that he was wearing mismatched socks.
Would he go all day like that or would one of his harem girls notice and save him?
If she did, what the heck would she have been doing looking at his ankles!
And if he knew, it would drive him crazy wondering how many people had noticed his embarrassing mistake.
He’d probably send a harem girl out to buy new socks!
Nevertheless, the small victory was immensely satisfying.
I smiled brightly and walked up to him as if he hadn’t rejected me last night.
A rejection, mind you, not too long after he’d tickled the fancy of the prettiest girl in the room, a woman he’d see again shortly at the office.
I let all that go and gave the Dream Killer a peck on the cheek.
“Let me know if I can pick up the slack in any way.”
“All right, all right, you don’t have to placate me. I know you have your hands full too.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Sweetie, this year is about you. I’ll have my years, but right now, we’re going for something big. For you. That’s okay with me. When you win, I win.”
He smiled and kissed me on the forehead. There’s my Rory.
On his way out the door, I noticed the tiny fold I’d purposely ironed into the back of his collar.
Those little things were no big deal, but when you’re in public office, people do notice every detail.
There he went, off to set the world on fire with mismatched socks and a misplaced crease in his collar.
He had no idea. I hoped that one day we’d laugh at the things I’d done in an effort to save our marriage.
“Oh, I know you didn’t have more work done,” I said, bursting through the doors of our favorite Vietnamese nail salon, escaping the bitter cold.
My best friend Erica was already in one of the leather chairs, sipping on sparkling wine, while a technician wearing a surgical mask washed her feet in a basin. Another technician worked on a customer several chairs down.
I hung my jacket on the rack and walked toward Erica.
She looked at me like I’d insulted her, but I knew I could get away with it.
That’s why we were best friends. We were both bulls in a china shop, and we’d been born without filters.
When we were together, there were no lines you couldn’t cross.
At least mostly. We’d gotten in our tiffs over time, but I never treaded carefully around her.
Truth was, until Rory’s public life, I never tiptoed on glass around anyone.
But I’d learned, over the past few years, to remember that I represented the city of Burlington as the mayor’s wife.
As dull as it sometimes was, I at least tried to run my words through a quick check before letting them leave my tongue.
Not with Erica, though. She and I go way back.
She and I gave birth to sons at about the same time.
For a long time, Jasper and her son were great friends, but they drifted apart as Jasper moved more into the music crowd.
There was nothing bad between them, but they didn’t share a lot in common and didn’t hang out like they used to when they were younger. Erica and I, however, were inseparable.
When you move to a new town, you say goodbye to everyone.
I’d lived in New York quite a while and had left a lot of good friends.
It was difficult saying goodbye, and it had been hard to establish myself in Burlington.
I met people all the time, but it took a while to make connections.
When I’d first moved here from the City, Rory hadn’t planned his political career yet, but his law practice was up and running, and he was socially active.
He knew politics were in his future. So, yeah, I met tons of people and lots of women, and I participated in book clubs and bridge clubs and all that jazz, but it wasn’t until I had Jasper that I met other moms. Being a mom defined me, so connecting with other moms offered more intimate and easy relationships.
Erica and I met at our sons’ daycare. Since I’m not the shyest person in the world, I started the conversation. We talked about mom things: the best places to buy kids’ clothing, the best doctor, what to do with the kids every day until school starts, our favorite books and toys.
Rory had gotten along with Erica’s husband, and the four of us sometimes had done couples things together.
Then, about the time the boys were turning eleven, Erica’s marriage fell apart.
Not a gentle falling apart like mine with Rory.
Erica’s marriage became extremely volatile.
The couple could not agree on anything, and they slogged through a vitriolic divorce.
I was there for Erica in every way. I had the attitude that to be a good friend, you needed to be there when the other one reached the worst of her valleys.
Most of the time, all Erica needed was someone to listen to her.
I’d stood by a sad woman for two years, and she loved me for that.
Last year, however, Erica had found a man on .
I could hardly believe it. She’d spent months going out on disappointing dates, and she would tell me the most hilarious stories.
We would enjoy a mani-pedi or have lunch at the club, and she would split my side with stories about the awful guys in Burlington I couldn’t believe existed.
We could have started a calendar: The Dreadful Men of Burlington, Vermont.