Chapter 38
Candace
My beautiful girls, who look so grown up in their matching pink dresses, are the first thing I see when I walk in.
They’ve still got four years of high school to endure, but the school allows the middle schoolers to attend dances with their friends for more opportunities to socialize.
Thinking about one or both of them bringing a date next time they’re here scares me to no end.
Their dad probably hasn’t given it a second thought, and I’ll be home alone, pacing and counting down until they’re walking in that door at curfew.
It’s exhausting being the only parent concerned for the future.
When Nat was around, I had someone to lean on, but she’s gone, and it’s back to sipping wine and sobbing over the baby books.
I’m so proud of them for not being afraid to be themselves.
They’re singing at the top of their lungs to a song that Nat would not approve of, and laughing with their friends.
None of this has been easy on them, but at least they’re not sulking in bed like their loser mom, who went and switched up her sexuality one day.
Can I seriously not go ten minutes without thinking of her?
Speaking of the devil’s mistress, as I turn towards the food table, there she is.
Breathtaking as ever, shoveling frosted cookies into her mouth to avoid supervising.
Her shiny hair is up in a high ponytail, showing off a high-collared gown that was made for her body.
Giving each other compliments definitely crosses the line, and I refuse to do that.
So, as far as she’s concerned, I’m unbothered and think she’s hideous.
“Candace, there you are. Excellent.” Betty squeezes my wrists and praises me like I’m one of her children.
“You and Natalie will be in charge of the food table for the first few hours, and then we’ll switch and have you observe the dance floor.
We can’t have anyone dancing closer than three inches from each other. Do I make myself clear?”
Before I can interject, she’s patting my back and moving on to her next victim. Great, so much for staying away from each other.
Nat whispers, "Nice dress." While I locate a spot near the cookies, keeping an arm's length distance from her, yet staying inside the zone I was assigned.
“Oh, I didn’t think we were talking after you threw me out of your apartment,” I hiss back.
“Sorry, what I meant was. I like your dress. Did your mommy pick it out for you? I hope you got it approved at the town hall meeting before you left.”
Her words dig through my skin like a dull knife, and I know she’s trying to get a rise out of me. This is what she wants: all my attention on her, no matter what. If I do as my therapist says and ignore her, we can make it through the night unscathed.
“Do you ever stop talking? You’re honestly the most toxic person I’ve ever met.” Well, so much for going unscathed.
“Honey, if I’m the most toxic, clearly you haven’t met your parents or those half-wits you call your friends.” Her condescending tone comes out so naturally, proving she really is the devil’s mistress.
Her words sting like venom, but I’ve become accustomed to the pain since we started this nightmare of a relationship. She ignites an uncontainable fire within me. I’d love nothing more than to rip her to shreds, instead of being the bigger person like I’m supposed to be.
“You’re honestly claiming you’re not toxic? You burnt down my house because you didn’t get your way. That level of a tantrum needs to be studied. Might I suggest therapy?” I growl, keeping my voice at a dull roar.
“If I burned down your house, it wouldn’t have been because of a tantrum, Princess. It’d be a wake-up call to get your life in check and quit obsessing over shit that doesn’t mean shit,” she whisper screams, her face now flushed with anger.
“There’s no way I heard you right. You’re blaming me for this? I supposedly needed a wake-up call, and because of that, my daughters and I are homeless. Explain how that makes sense.”
My heart races as she steps closer, a sharp, spicy scent infiltrates my nostrils, reminding me of the mornings I’d wake up next to her smelling like a goddess. It's a mix of all the patchouli her roommate sprays and something spicy like a man's aftershave.
“Listen to me real close, babe. Your life is one big fucking lie, and you know it. You were hiding inside a big ass house pretending to be housewife of the year while all your useless shit was sucking the soul out of you.” She says, directly into my ear, making my throat close up. “We were doomed from the start.”
“I can’t believe how you’re taking this, acting like it’s no big deal. What would happen if I came in and lit your house on fire, destroying everything you love?”
“Absolutely nothing because what I love isn’t in my house.
But, be my guest, I bet Megan left the door unlocked, so knock yourself out.
It won't matter one bit. My stuff doesn’t define me.
I’m not using it as an escape to bury myself in a hole so people don’t see me in all my forms. The only thing you actually loved in that house was your kids, and they weren’t even in there that night. Tell me I’m fucking wrong.”
One day, when I’m much older and wiser, I hope to forget my actions tonight.
Acting on impulse once again, I take every ounce of anger I’m holding onto and grip the clear tray of cookies, keeping my aim right for Natalie.
The cookies spill everywhere, after bouncing off her dress, and she doesn’t even budge as a mess of desserts surrounds her, all eyes on us now.
“Are you even listening to yourself? How can you honestly believe the stuff you’re saying to me?” I cry out, gripping my hair tight, pulling it over my face.
Nat’s head shakes, and she chuckles before responding. “Is that the best you can do? Throwing cookies, come on, supermom. All you’re doing is further embarrassing yourself. If you’re going to make a statement, make a fucking statement.”
Before I can even move or comprehend what’s happening, she grabs the base of the glass punch bowl and pours the icy contents down the front of my dress, leaving me freezing cold and wet.
“Ta da.” She bows, giving me a sinister smirk. “Show’s over, you did a wonderful job. Maybe your best performance yet. I almost saw the real Candace.” She winks, and as I’m lunging for her neck, Betty grabs my waist from behind, holding me back.
“Are you two out of your minds?” she scolds.
I turn to look at her and notice that the majority of the kids have stopped dancing to watch us.
“This is a school function, and you're both acting like drunk teenagers. This is so unacceptable and very unlike you, Candace. You should be ashamed. I obviously expect this kind of behavior from Miss Reynolds.”
“Oh, obviously,” Nat mocks, further escalating things.
“Both of you will stay after and clean this gym up yourselves. I hope while you do, you’ll wise up and reflect on your actions. You’re supposed to be an example, and this is how you behave? What would your family think, Candace?”
The accusation makes my eyes wince. My family? “My family is in this room with me, and anyone else who claims they care about my well-being can kindly fuck off.” I pull away from her grasp and head to the bathroom to clean myself up.
As I’m leaving the dance floor, I hear Nat make one last dig, further burying herself in the PTA graveyard. “Is she going to get fired for saying a bad word?”
The door shuts behind me before I could hear the rebuttal from Betty, but I’m sure it would’ve been a good one.
Natalie
Oh, don’t look at me like that. Obviously not my proudest moment, but how good did she look, soaked in punch? If only that dress were white. Come on, I’m kidding. Sort of.
Betty blathered on for another fifteen minutes.
How she has it in her to yell without stopping is a superpower I wish I had.
Most of what she said went in one ear and out the other while I crouched down, picking up the cookie mess Candace made.
Basically, I’m irresponsible and immature, and I should not be allowed near children– Blah, blah, freaking blah.
Once she ran out of breath to degrade me any further, she shifted her attention to the teenagers dancing too close to each other, freeing me to watch the dessert table.
I was given strict instructions not to move from my post until the dance was over.
We only had about forty minutes to go before these horny teenagers had to find somewhere else to make out, leaving me plenty of time to examine how my conversation with Candace could’ve gone differently.
Did I take it too far? Yeah, of course I did.
Did I think it’d end with her running to the bathroom drenched in fruit punch?
Obviously, not. Pouring a gatorade bucket on someone has always been a dream of mine, too bad I didn’t aim it towards Betty and her permed hairstyle, still sticking around from another decade.
How did Candace endure this for so long?
Yes, she’s like some of these women. Deep down, this isn’t her.
I know that girl like the back of my hand, and although she loves being around her girls, she’d much rather be back here with me, laughing at the ridiculous ways these women embarrass themselves, all in the name of competition for world’s best housewife.
When we’re alone together, I’d imagine our future and what it’d look like. I never saw myself spending Monday mornings gardening in hopes I’d outdo my neighbors’ landscape design. I also didn’t picture wearing an apron and heels waiting for my muffins to finish.
I’d close my eyes and imagine us holding hands, watching Kate and Madi play in the pool, or helping pick out school clothes.
We’d disagree on comfort versus trendy, and she’d win because she’s the boss.
Coffee dates at the farmers’ market would be a weekly stop, so we could go back to our table where we first hung out, and guess who’s a couple and who’s with their sugar daddy.
Naturally, we’d both take the girls to concerts as often as possible, and I’d educate the crap out of Candace on the difference between bass and guitar.
Yes, she actually thinks it’s the same instrument.
I always hoped we could find some middle ground and live in a small coastal town with a house that’s walking distance from the beach but only a short drive into the city, so we could still rock out whenever our favorite bands came into town.
Obviously, my daydream hasn’t come true yet, thanks to this epic disaster we, well, I’ve created.
Making things right and getting back together won’t be easy, especially since I can’t stop pouring gasoline on the fire burning inside her.
It tastes like hot vinegar going down my throat, admitting failure and accepting that we really are done.
I want her back and I’ll do whatever it takes to get her to see that, even if I’m the one that’s got to crawl on my hands and knees begging.