A Bitch Named Karma. Stephanie Haefner

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СКАЧАТЬ it belonged. It smelled like Pine Sol, the same scent she’s used since the dawn of my existence.

      I heard Andy’s obnoxious snort of a laugh over the noise of the TV. My twin, a complete loser, still lived at home and still worked at the same pizza joint he’d worked at in high school. How did we come from the same womb? We shared amniotic fluid, for God’s sake!

      I brewed myself some strong coffee and flipped on the tube. Mom’s Victorian-style floral couch lent little in the way of comfort, but I curled myself up on it anyway. As I caught up with the ladies on The View, my eyelids slowly closed. I pushed them open only to repeat the same sequence three more times before giving in completely to my exhaustion.

      “Alexandra, honey,” I heard first, then Oprah’s voice lecturing her viewers on the dangers of fad diets.

      “Sweetie, wake up,” the mousy voice spoke again and I felt my arm being gently shaken.

      I peeked one eye open, then the other.

      My mother’s beaming face stared at me, her perfect white teeth matching the pearls around her neck. “What are you doing here, dear?”

      “I need to stay a few days, okay?”

      “Of course! Is everything all right?”

      “I don’t want to get into it.”

      “Okay. You know you can stay as long as you like. Your room is always ready for you.”

      Most parents, upon gaining an extra space in their home, convert it to an exercise room or sewing room. Not my mother. When I left fourteen years ago, she kept the room for me, but returned it to its feminine glory of pink walls and floral print bedding—the décor of the days before I had a say.

      At exactly six on the dot, we gathered at mom’s formal dining table for a traditional Marshall Family meal: meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Mom and Dad exchanged small talk as we ate. I knew the topic of conversation would turn to me eventually.

      “So, dear, where is Zachary? It’s been ages since we’ve seen him. How is he? I thought of him just the other day. I came across the cutest birthday card at the supermarket. It had a cartoon on the front of it with a golfer and I know how much Zachary likes to play golf. I couldn’t remember the exact date of his birthday, but I planned on calling to ask you.” Clueless to the fact that I’d tuned her out, she could babble on and on about the most mundane things. “So, has there been any talk of a wedding for the two of you?” she asked next.

      I stared at her as she awaited my answer, her eyebrows raised in anticipation. I knew what she hoped and prayed for. In my mother’s eyes, I was an old maid.

      “No, Mom. He’s been having an affair with Brenda behind my back for months.”

      “No! He wouldn’t do that! He’s such a nice boy. Are you sure?”

      “Yes, Mom. I walked into my apartment and saw his penis inside her.”

      My use of the “p” word at the dinner table flabbergasted her. She never could handle my bluntness. “Oh, well, um...” She stood and cleared away some dishes from the table.

       “Do you need to be so graphic with your mother?” Dad asked once Mom had entered the safety of her kitchen oasis.

      “Hey, I could have told her I walked in and saw him fucking her brains out. I thought my original statement had significantly more tact.”

      He just shook his head.

      Andy, as usual, laughed his ass off as he shoveled more food into his mouth.

      * * * *

      For the next few days, I threw myself the biggest pity party ever. I borrowed some of Mom’s perfectly matching sweat suits and basically sat my ass on the couch and didn’t move, drowning my sorrows in high-calorie, high-fat, high-carb foods. Dr. Pepper and Chester Cheetah soon became my best friends.

      I watched old re-runs of Jerry Springer and new episodes of Judge Judy, flipped on some soap operas to see if anyone’s life came even close to the grand level of patheticness of mine. Some came close, but not quite.

      My cellphone rang only once, though I refused to answer it. Rachel left me a voice mail begging me to call her so she could apologize. I didn’t feel like hearing it. I prayed to hear The Rembrandts I’ll Be There for You ring tone, the special song for Marcus. Not only did the words fit us, but we’d made a date every Thursday night from 1994 though 2004 to watch the ins and outs of our favorite “friends” on TV.

      I wanted to talk with Marcus, but sheer terror prevented me from calling him myself. He’d been right about the night we were together. I was vulnerable, but even worse, I wanted to get back at Zak and I’m sure he knew that, too. My insides churned when I thought of what I’d done. If only he’d forget it ever happened. I longed for our together-forever-always-be-there-for-you friendship but deep down, I feared a permanent annihilation.

      Mom walked in the door with armloads of groceries. “Alexandra! Guess what?” she said enthusiastically.

      “What is all the excitement?” I asked gaily, but she didn’t pick up on my sarcasm.

      “I was at the market, trying to pick out some oranges, when Pastor John came up to me. He said ‘Hello Maryanne, orange you glad to see me?’ Isn’t he so witty? I invited him over for supper tonight so you can meet him.”

      My dull, “Hooray” didn’t phase her one bit.

      “He’s been our pastor for six months now and we haven’t had him over yet. He’s only thirty-four you know, never been married. Such a shame. It’s so hard to believe this nice man is having a hard time finding a woman to spend his life with. He told me he loves to play tennis. Remember when you played tennis in high school?”

      “Mom, you can’t be serious. Are you really trying to set me up with your pastor?”

      “Oh, no! I simply thought he’d enjoy a meal with our family.” Her animated face glittered like a tinsel-covered Christmas tree. I knew my mother. At that moment, images of Pastor John and me walking down the aisle were flashing in front of her eyes. I could even hear the wedding bells chiming in her brain.

      An hour later, I forced myself out of the indent I’d made in the couch to freshen up for dinner. I looked in the mirror, noticing a chocolate smudge on the hot pink sweatshirt I wore and decided on a wardrobe change. Mom lent me one of her button-down sweaters and a pair of slacks. God help me, I was wearing slacks. The waist came up so high I could almost tuck my boobs into it and the pleats and tapered legs did nothing to show off my figure.

      Pastor John arrived right on time, bearing a bottle of sparkling grape juice. He rattled off another corny fruit joke as Mom showed him into the dining room. She giggled like a schoolgirl and I searched for an inconspicuous place to throw up if need be.

      Mom introduced Pastor John to me and his eyes popped out of their sockets as they casually glanced at my boobs. Isn’t it against the rules of heaven or the pastorhood for him to look at my chest? He shook my hand leaving it covered in sweat.

      We sat for dinner and Pastor John and Mom kept their conversation going. He tried to come up with as many witty food jokes as he could and Mom ate up each and every one.

      “Alexandra, СКАЧАТЬ