Chapter 39
Candace
Istare at myself for too long in the mirror, wondering if anyone’s ever been as humiliated as I am right now.
I sure hope not, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.
Staring back reflects a woman I’m utterly disgusted to look at.
I thought once you’ve hit rock bottom, you’d only go up.
So, why is there a giant hole forming beneath my feet, and when will I finally stop falling to my death?
“What were you thinking?” I mumble to the empty bathroom.
To be honest, I don’t know which part to answer first. What was I thinking, getting into a relationship with someone as young as Natalie?
Or, what was I thinking, throwing a tray of cookies at her like a feral toddler.
My ex-husband is right; maybe the girls are better off with him.
I’m a sinkhole, dragging down everyone in my path.
I’ve gotten so stuck down here, I can’t even remember how I fell in.
My eyes look older and tired, and my soul’s worn out and begging for just a slight break.
No one’s left to love me, and this heartbreak is eating me alive–my ghostlike reflection proves it.
The PTA room catches my eye as I walk down the hallway, dreading my reentry into the dance.
I’m well acquainted with the announcement board hanging outside the room.
I’ve printed hundreds of flyers over the years announcing graduation and volunteer opportunities for seniors.
Passing the hallway every day, admiring my work, gave me a new purpose I’d been looking for once my girls were older.
There was once a time when I lived for this work, staying up late planning dances and teacher appreciation lunches.
This room holds some of my fondest memories.
All the weekends I spent away from my family to hang balloons and streamers in the gym, getting it ready for a party, feel like wasted time now.
I guess I didn’t realize how much of my life I was ignoring to pour myself into something that never filled my cup, and yet nothing ever stopped me, until I met Nat.
This room feels empty and cold, when it used to be one of my favorite places, full of chatter and moms making a difference in their child’s education.
The adult interaction was something I’d missed after staying home raising my girls, and finally having this little clique made my life feel complete.
It may seem sad to someone looking in, but it genuinely felt like the perfect life.
When you’re in the midst of the daily grind, the routine doesn’t seem so bad.
What’s wrong with a weekly book club and a standing appointment at the nail salon?
Who wouldn’t want an on-call personal trainer and a special membership to a country club?
Even when Greg left and most of the perks left with him, I continued on as normal.
Believing these tiny insignificant details added up to happiness.
I see it clearly now how strange it all really was.
Instead of grieving the loss of a marriage and a future I had once planned out, I dove headfirst into homemaking and becoming the best mother I could be, all while pretending I was still the best housewife.
Every time Court opened her mouth to comment, I ignored it, never truly seeing what she meant until now.
There’s a stack of pink notebook paper left behind that I sort through, wondering what terror Betty will bring forth next.
Not to my surprise, they’re applications for next year’s PTA.
Is she having moms apply? When I first started, we volunteered.
There are dozens of applications filled with the most heinous questions.
How many children you have at school makes sense, but your income bracket isn’t something any of us needs to know.
Neither the college you attended, nor the hair salon you frequent.
Good grief, I rub my temples as a piercing headache forms.
Grabbing the stack, I do the greatest thing I’ve done all day and toss each one in the shredder.
These women are about to be picked apart by the harshest judge in town, and for what?
A spot at that ugly brown table, signing up for the harvest festival, and baking brownies for Secretary's Day? Nothing about this is for the kids, and I wonder how long it’s been that way, and I’ve been too blind to see it.
The door squeaks behind me as my last paper shreds. Nat walks in nonchalantly, as if she was headed here all along. In fact, she doesn’t even seem surprised that I’m here.
“Shredding incriminating information?” she asks, leaning up against the door, looking cool as ever despite the throwdown we just had.
“Betty’s having moms apply, and I couldn’t stand by and watch. Is the dance over?” I shut down the shredder and leave behind a trash can full of pink paper that brings a small smile to my face.
“Yeah, the kids bailed when Betty made them turn off Lil Jon. Those kids have terrible taste, but I’d leave too if some mom on a power trip was telling me what to do.” She winks.
“We’d better get started so we’re not here all night,” I suggest, but she remains still, blocking the door.
Reaching behind her, she flicks off the main light, leaving only a soft glow coming from the hallway. “I think I'd rather have my way with you in the dark, give your dress more time to dry.”
When she walks closer to me, grabbing hold of my dress, all reason flies out the window, and all I see is her. “Is this dress the only thing wet right now?” she whispers seductively.
“You mean the ruined dress you're responsible for?” I’m glad some part of my consciousness is still there preventing me from sinking to my knees for her.
“I’d like to think I’m responsible for ruining more than your dress.” Her hand skates across my breasts, and my nipples harden, missing her touch. “I hope I’m responsible for ruining you for anyone else.”
“Nat, please. Stop,” I whisper, hoping I sound serious and that I didn’t actually just whimper as her fingers wrap around my body.
Catching me completely off guard, she rounds her hand behind me and slaps my ass, leaving a sting. “Fine. Go out there and clean up all that shit, while you talk yourself out of wanting me as much as I want you.”
“We’re done. Do you understand me? There’s nothing left. It’s long gone.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Princess. If we’re done, then don’t you dare look at me in that gym.
Don’t think about what it’s like when my face is between your legs.
Better yet, keep your focus on sweeping and not on the last time I had you all to myself, squirting all over my bed like a cheap whore. ”
“You’re disgusting. I’m embarrassed I ever let you near my body.” I push away, hurrying away from her.