Second Chance. Elizabeth Wrenn

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СКАЧАТЬ buying the house something new, and then only on deep discount. A table runner. A colored glass vase. I bought virtually nothing outside of meeting our basic needs for nearly a year so we could buy a new dining table. Our minimalist kitchen remodel meant years of extra saving, since we prioritized college and retirement, living much closer to the bone than Neil’s income might indicate. But it would have cost us money for me to work whatever odd job my un-degreed self could have landed. Just under two years at the University of Wisconsin – one year as a Humanities major (why not just stand on the roof of the chancellor’s office and shout, ‘I have no idea what I want to do with my life!’?) and part of another taking a few art classes – didn’t get a person far. Call it housewife, homemaker, or domestic engineer, there’s still no paycheck, so I always felt like I was spending someone else’s money. My value to my family was my time, like beach sand: warm, inviting, fun to grab big handfuls, squeeze it and let it slip through their fingers before they ran off over it.

      Phantom Girl handed me the credit slip. I signed my name and handed it back to her. She stared at the credit card and then at the slip. ‘Ma’am?’ she said, sliding both back toward me again.

      I stared at my signature. I had a feeling of shrinking downward and backward through a tunnel, a roaring in my ears. I hurriedly scratched out Deena Hathaway and signed my married name of twenty-three years, Deena Munger.

      ‘Sorry. Spaced out there for a minute.’ I could feel the damn blood rising in my cheeks again. Lately, if I wasn’t flushed for one thing I was flushed for another. Or welling up in tears. It was a nearly perpetual emotional bath of one sort or another.

      ‘Can I see an ID, please?’ she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

      I handed her my driver’s license, the worst picture of me ever taken, just last month when I’d had it renewed on my birthday. I stared at my license after she handed it back, wondering if she would call security. I didn’t even recognize myself in this photo. But she smiled, completely satisfied that the haggard woman with the dazed expression in the photo was me. She handed me my plummy robe in the pink striped bag and with a practiced smile said, ‘Have a nice day.’

      At the food court, Matt’s friend Josh offered to bring everyone home later. Prior to my arrival, they’d all decided that after lunch they’d go to a movie, then after that head over to Josh’s for Ping-Pong and pizza. Having suffered the boys’ blatant confused, then amused, stares at my pink striped bag, I escaped without further questioning, or joining them for lunch.

      At home, I hung the robe in the back of my closet and stuffed the bag into the trash in the garage. That way Neil would not find it and start asking questions, either about the cost or why buy that at Victoria’s Secret.

      I was heading up to the bedrooms with an armful of the kids’ textbooks and papers, which had been strewn about the living room, when I noticed the bouquet on the dining room table. An unusual bouquet, to say the least. Smiling, I set the schoolwork on one of the stairs, a little ray of warmth shining deep within me as I headed back down. There were four colorful new dish towels rolled up and stuck into one of my glass vases, tied up in a bow with one of Lainey’s hair ribbons. Neil must have taken a nearly unheard-of hour off – even on a Saturday – to bring them home to me. A piece of junk mail, pulled from the recycling basket, no doubt, a note scrawled on the back, was taped to the vase.

      Sorry about the dish towel, D. I got these at the dollar store, two for a dollar, a good deal, I think.

      Thought maybe we could have lunch but you weren’t home, and nothing was prepared, so I left. Meet me for dinner – we’ll splurge, go get some pasta at Guiseppe’s. It’ll have to be late, I’m meeting a guy from the Washington Square Health Foundation at 6:00 for drinks. I’ll meet you at 7:30 at G’s. xo N.

      I suddenly had a cacophonous orchestra of emotions playing in me. A trumpet of delight to be asked out on a date by my husband; a sweet flute trill that he’d shown and expressed remorse, especially in such a creative way. But there was also an entire off-tune strings section that he’d called attention to the price, and didn’t ask so much as inform me of dinner plans tonight. A certainty that I’d have no plans. I shrugged off the strings. I didn’t have plans, and Neil hadn’t made a gesture like this in a long time. I smiled again, picturing him picking out the dish towels, debating whether to spend the extra dollar on ribbons or bows and deciding he could use one of Lainey’s. Ah. I remembered now that Dollar Mania was right next to Guiseppe’s. That was probably why the evening plan had occurred to him.

      I started getting ready at six p.m., showering, styling my hair as best I could, given that the cut was about four months overgrown. I even tried to put on a bit of mascara, but the tube was mostly dried out and came out in clumps, which I had to pull off with a tissue, pulling out several eyelashes in the process. I slid a pair of tan slacks from their hanger in the closet and was stepping into them when I saw my blue dress, probably the only dress I owned that would still fit me. Neil was always complaining that I never wore a dress anymore. I rarely had call to, plus, pants were more comfortable. Especially elastic-waist pants. I fingered the dress, navy blue with big white flowers, a little tie in the back. Hopelessly out of fashion. But he’d made a big gesture; I wanted to make one back.

      I wondered if it was still warm enough out to wear it without hose. I hated hose. I looked at my stubbly white legs. It didn’t matter if it was eighty degrees out; I shouldn’t inflict these legs on the gentle patrons of Guiseppe’s, not that the restaurant was at all fancy, but still. I dug around in my drawer and found an old pair of stretchy blue tights. They’d do. I hung the slacks back up and took the dress off its hanger, laid it carefully on the bed. I pulled on the tights, the elastic waist loose to the point of being scalloped. Not exactly reliable-feeling, but way more comfortable than hose. I slipped the dress over my head. It was even tighter on my stomach than I’d thought it would be, and it made me look older than my not-quite-fifty years. Sighing, I spritzed on some ancient White Shoulders, wrote the kids a note in the kitchen, and headed out.

      I got to Guiseppe’s at 7:15. I sat listening to the radio, debating whether to go in or wait in the car. Despite my recent craving for solitude, I hated to be at a restaurant alone, conspicuous and uncomfortable. But as I watched a couple go in, I thought I’d better put our names on the list.

      At the door, though, I stopped, my hand on the wooden door handle, greeted by a large handwritten sign in bright red marker, misspelled and apparently randomly capitalized.

      SpeciaL: Tonight onLy! ALL ouR Terriffic

       spaGhetti You can Eat: $3.95 aduLts, $1.95 kids Under 12.

      Another little sigh escaped, and I immediately chastised myself – it didn’t matter that the bargain was what had made Neil choose this restaurant. It was the thought that counted.

      Unfortunately, Guiseppe’s was not terribly crowded and the hostess seated me straightaway at a table for two. I ordered a glass of Chianti, and while I waited for it, I sat trying not to look as uncomfortable as I felt, sitting all alone. I wished I’d brought a book. I studied the menu, just to look like I was doing something besides waiting, although I wouldn’t dare suffer Neil’s silent recriminations by ordering anything other than the ‘Terriffic’ Saturday special.

      My wine arrived and I sipped it, looking out the window. There was really nothing to look at. A bleak little strip mall with a bleak little parking lot, yellowed weeds growing up through cracks in the asphalt along the edges. Then a girl about ten, walking a dog, crossed the street. They came into the parking lot. It was a funny-looking curly black mutt – maybe cocker spaniel and poodle. Suddenly it was sniffing the ground almost maniacally, hot on the trail of something, pulling the girl this way and that; she СКАЧАТЬ