Chapter 9
Natalie
Nat: Miss me yet princess?? :))
Candace: It’s only been a few hours.
Nat: Is that a yes?
Candace: My ears are ringing, and I feel hungover. Any more magic cures from former roommates?
Nat: Babe we gotta get you out more! ;) What’s the big adventure today?
Candace: Meeting at the bank, grocery shopping, and the carpets are being cleaned.
Nat: That cannot be your adventure…what did I just say?? You’ve gotta get out. Go do something that's actually fun and report back.
I must’ve hit a nerve with that one because eight minutes go by without a response.
Seriously, though, what’s enticing about this domestic lifestyle?
She’s bored out of her fucking mind, and she knows it.
She’s just been brainwashed into thinking she’s enjoying herself.
In what lifetime is a meeting with a financial advisor an adventure?
She obviously has money, so what is she even discussing? How not to lose it?
I hear pots and pans clatter from the kitchen along with the faint smell of coffee and Megan’s obnoxious rapping.
Living with her means you don't need an alarm–I'm not even sure she sleeps.
Someone could break in at any hour of the night and find her sitting there.
Either reading about serial killers or crocheting lingerie for her grandma.
All I know is that when I wake up, I find the furniture moved and leftover food rotting.
“Good morning, star-shine, the Earth says hello,” she sings.
“When are you gonna stop quoting that movie?” I groan, wishing the coffee maker would speed up so I can pour this shit directly into my eyeballs.
“When it stops being funny. So, how’d it go last night with my replacement?”
She’s stirring eggs with some kind of sausage, and it smells like skunk. “Someone’s dramatic this morning. When did I say Candace was your replacement?”
“When you took her to see my favorite band, duh.” Her apron says, kiss the cook and I’ve got no idea where she got it because she can’t cook anything.
“Not this again. Move on, buttercup. Find a new cause to fight for. Let’s revisit hugging trees.” Once my steaming hot coffee is in my hands, I leave her alone and check my phone. No new messages, and it hits like a ton of bricks.
The day flies by, and thankfully, these students aren’t half bad.
Their parents are a pain in my ass, but as long as I don’t open or respond to their incessant emails, I’m happy as a clam.
Still no word from Candace, and I’ve gone back and forth half a dozen times, wondering if I should check in and see what she’s doing. Will that make me needy? Fuck it.
Nat: What’s up?
I stare at my phone for what feels like an eternity, and nothing happens. Thankfully, there’s a meeting today–ew I’m nauseous admitting that. Two hours and counting.
I could not have raced out of my classroom fast enough, hauling ass to their office, hoping she’s there alone.
My heart literally skips a beat when I see her in front of the printer.
Gone is the tight black mini dress, and in its place a beige corduroy dress and a cream turtleneck. It’s cute and screams Candace.
The air is thick with tension, so thick a knife couldn’t penetrate it. Her hair’s noticeably shorter, hitting just above her shoulders.
“You look nice, new hair?” I smile, teasing her a little.
“Look, I’m sorry if my life doesn’t entertain you.” She turns off the printer with a sharp jab. "I'm not twenty-two. My days aren't filled with rock concerts and back alley nose piercings." My lip throbs from how hard I’m biting it, picturing her spanking me with a ruler, demanding I crawl to her.
“Take it easy, Princess. All I meant was, don’t you want every day to be like the one we had? Throwing caution to the wind, hanging out of cars and giving the finger to the patriarchy?”
“I’m not a Princess, and no, I don’t. Not everything can be all peace and love.” She waves two fingers around her face. “My life doesn’t look like yours, and I’m not trying to become someone I’m not.”
Letting out a deep sigh, I take my seat at the table letting her finish her printing. "You look really good when you let your hair down, and I wish you did it more often. This whole Stepford PTA wife thing can’t be fulfilling. I wanna see you enjoy your life and try new things.”
“I’m a mother. You wouldn’t understand the responsibility that brings. Our lives are completely different.”
This is taking a turn for the worse. At this point, I’ll take Megan’s roadkill over this no-win conversation. Thankfully, my worst nightmare walks in and saves me.
“Oh, you haven’t been let go yet? I thought you should know I’ve filed complaints that apparently Principal Martin hasn’t read through yet.” Betty smirks and sets her planners down.
“Complaints about what? My God, get a fucking life,” I snarl.
“For one, look at your shirt,--Nothing wrong with a little junk in the trunk. That’s extremely inappropriate for a professional.” She points, as if I don’t know what it says.
“Betsy, get fucked,” I snap. “I’m in no mood. If you’d rather, I’ll just take my shirt off so you can ogle at my titties for the next hour.”
That shuts her up, as the rest of the suburban mob wives enter, updating everyone on what fancy restaurant their husband took them to as an apology for golfing all day.
We discuss the bake sale next week, and like an idiot, I volunteer to bring a carrot cake. Betty started planning for prom, which isn’t for another seven months, and Candace ignored me the entire time.
I followed her out, hating the way our discussion went. “Wait up. Come on, talk to me,” I pleaded.
“If we’re going to be friends, you can’t change my life.” She turns around, stopping me dead in my tracks. “I’m sorry if what I fill my calendar with bothers you, but it’s not up for discussion.” She stands her ground firmly.
“I’m sorry.” I hold up my hands. “Seriously, I am. Nothing about you bothers me. We are friends, and as my friend, I wanted to see what you’re doing tomorrow night.”
“It’s family movie night. The girls and I order pizza, and they rent a movie.” Her face relaxes, and her shoulders fall.
I lower my chin and look up at her with my best sad puppy eyes. “Do you have room for one more? Can I crash if I promise to behave and not make fun of the movie choice or your weird, healthy snacks?”
By the grace of God and my irresistible charm, I got the movie night invitation.
If I thought book clubs were scary, I was wrong.
Walking into the home of middle school girls is downright terrifying.
Not spending Friday night with Candace, though, was out of the question.
I’ll take every chance I can to hang out with her.
Two girls stand with their arms crossed at the foyer, waiting for me as I walk up. They must hang out with their aunt because their attitude is one and the same. Shit, be cool. What the fuck is cool to a middle schooler?
“So, you guys like The Shining?” I wince a little, not my best work.
“Our mom said she invited a friend. Don’t you teach at our school?” The brunette with the short bob speaks first.
“I do. I teach English, and in my spare time, I sell the fur of polka-dotted puppies. If you let me in, I’ll give you a good deal.” They nod and let me in. Either that or the chloroform they’ve got is ready for me.
“So, I heard you took our mom to a concert. What’s your favorite band?” The longer-haired blonde twin asks, but stays close to her wombmate.
“Umm…I’ve got a bunch. I like The Used, Taking Back Sunday…”
“Do you like Avril Lavigne?” The brunette interrupts. If I get this wrong, they might bury me in the backyard.
“She’s cool, I guess, in an angry older sister kind of way.” I shrug.
“We have her new CD upstairs. Do you wanna listen to it?” I don't miss the excitement in their eyes. It reminds me of when I was their age and dying to get my hands on a new album. Of course, I didn’t have parents who bought me shit, so I had to save the coins I found in the couch.
“Sure, do you guys have speakers or anything?” I look around at Candace’s museum and doubt she has anything cool here.
“We both have boomboxes, you can come with us. Our mom is on the phone in the office. She said we should entertain you.” The brunette pushes me towards the stairs, a definite sign of approval.
Our feet echo through the tiled home on our unconventional tour.
A gallery wall with gold frames lines the hallway to their bedrooms. Mostly baby pictures and a few of them with Candace.
My eyes home in on one in particular. It’s Candace, pregnant.
Her belly swollen, her shirt not able to fit.
She’s not looking at the camera, just admiring her giant baby bump.
There’s never been a maternal bone in my body, but admiring this picture gives me this fantasy of what it'd be like raising a baby. Shit, what the fuck is with this house?
Twenty songs later, and the girls have shown me their entire collection.
They went through a detailed description of why TRL had the countdown wrong this week, and why Weezer should’ve been higher on the countdown.
During their briefing, all I could think was how cool these kids were, and who birthed them because it sure as hell wasn’t their mother, the woman allergic to punk rock.
“Having fun?” Supermom’s leaning up against the doorway, quietly observing. Similar to last week, she’s in a cream-colored linen set, with her tousled hair down.
“Yes, Nat’s so cool. She knows everything about music and even said we could go to a show with her sometime. Can we, Mom?” Kate—the long-haired twin—leans forward, practically begging.
“We'll talk about it later. Can I steal Nat for a minute, girls?” She motions for me to follow her out.
She leads me to a bedroom next to their room, if that’s what you want to call this.
The bed is at least a California king, with a massive pink paisley comforter.
A dozen white plush pillows are stacked perfectly against the headboard.
This bed is screaming for me to jump on it, but I keep that part locked up for now.
There’s a leather sofa in the corner, next to a full-length gold mirror and an antique bookshelf.
My eyes roam for a book I’d recognize, but it’s mostly historical romance and a few about middle age and divorce.
“Sorry the phone call took so long. It was my lawyer.” She frowns, adjusting the throw pillows on her already immaculate bed.
“Is everything okay?” I grab her hand, purely out of instinct, and caress her fingernails.
Her eyes are red and puffy, and under the warm bedroom light, I can see how tired she is. I never noticed when we were standing in the hallway, but the bags under her eyes are dark, as if she hasn’t slept in a week.
“My ex requested to stop alimony, along with child support. It’s been months since he’s been in the same room with our girls, and apparently, with his new wife pressuring him for more children, he feels he shouldn’t have to pay for Kate and Madison now that they’re almost teenagers.
Without it, I won’t have anything. He’d be hanging me out to dry. ”
“Wait, he can just stop payments on his own kids? That makes no sense. They’re his. Wouldn’t you wanna stick it to him? Sell this house, do your own thing, and rock the shit out of single motherhood?”
“Where else am I going to get the money to pay for all of this?” She looks around at her overpriced furniture and divorce literature.
Her body language tenses, and I know right there I’ve lost her again. It’s not that I’m intentionally being a troll. She doesn’t need all this shit. We’re surrounded by expensive, rich people stuff, and she acts like there’s no other life outside of this.
“Babe, you don’t need alimony. You can sell this house and find something smaller, follow your own dreams.” Her fingers leave mine, and she goes back to fluffing the pillows.
“What am I without this life? This is all I’ve ever known, and I don’t know who I am without it. What if I do as you say and cut off payments… what if I’m not enough for my girls?” Her voice breaks.
Tears fill her eyes. “Why would you think you’re not enough? You're everything to those girls, they love you.”
Wiping away the dripping mascara, she pushes away from me, heading to the bathroom. When she comes back with a tissue, she’s more put together and is blotting her face. “Sorry you had to see that. I think we should raincheck movie night. I just want to curl up in bed.”
“Then let's do that.” I slip off the boots I forgot to take off and unzip my hoodie, throwing it onto her leather sofa. “Come on, get into bed.” I push her towards her giant mattress and unfold the comforter.
Without hesitation, she gets in and unfolds the other side for me, shuffling around pillows until there’s one for each of us. “You don’t have to stay. I’m such a mess. This is so embarrassing.”
“You look beautiful, and it’s not a problem. I’ll just stay until you fall asleep.”
“Thank you,” it’s barely a whisper as her eyes shut, letting sleep take over. The smell of her detergent is a familiar floral scent. It’s sweet, cute, and I wanna cuddle up in it, so that’s exactly what I do, with absolutely no intention of leaving.