The Breakup Club Part 16
"Larry, I have better things to do than watch you eat a piece of dry fish," I said before running out of the door.
"Happy New Year!" a couple called to me, blowing their noisemakers.
The moment I was outside, I threw up in a garbage can on the street like Jill Clayburgh in An Unmarried Woman. And then I reached for my cell phone until I remembered that Miranda was probably getting ready for the party at her friend's. She didn't need me to bring her down tonight.
"Eeeee...woo...uhh mahhhh," I sobbed to no one in particular.
I didn't call anyone. Not Miranda. Not my parents. Not any of my friends. Suddenly I couldn't imagine forming the words. Larry is leaving me. Larry told me he wants a divorce.
New Year's Eve had fallen on a Wednesday, and Futterman had given us Friday as a holiday, so I still had two more days before I had to show my face to anyone I knew. Amelia had spent yesterday, New Year's Day, with her friends, so I'd spent the day walking aimlessly in the cold.
I don't love you, Lucy.
Today was Friday, the second day of January, and any minute now, Larry was going to come home and tell his daughter that he was leaving, that he wanted a divorce, and then he would be gone. One minute Amelia's life would be what it was, and the next, something completely different. And I was powerless to protect her from it.
He rang the doorbell like an idiot, and I ran to answer it.
"Don't you think she'll wonder why her dad rang the doorbell?" I whisper-yelled at him.
He ignored that and said, "Wish me luck." He hesitated for a moment at her bedroom door, then tapped and walked in.
I stood just outside her door against the wall, my eyes closed, my breath held. You've got to hold it together for her, I ordered myself. You've got to let her know we'll be okay.
"Amelia" he began, and that was as far as he got before he burst into tears and sank onto the floor, sobbing. He got up and waved his hands dramatically. "I can't do it! I can't tell her!" He covered his eyes with his hands. "Honey, your mother will explain everything. I'm so sorry, sweetie. I love you." And then he was out the door with the last of his suitcases.
Oh G.o.d.
"Mommy?" Amelia asked, her voice broken. "What's going on?"
"Come sit with me on the love seat," I said.
She stretched out a curl and wrapped it around her finger. "No. I want you tell me right now. Right here."
"Amelia, before I say anything, I want to make one thing very clear. Your father"
"Loves you very much," she screamed. "This isn't about you! It's about me and your mother! I'm not divorcing you, I'm divorcing your mom! I know all about it and it's bulls.h.i.t! I hate him and I hate you!"
She ran into her room and slammed the door, screaming and sobbing, and my legs gave out and I dropped to the floor. I grabbed the console table for support and got myself up and went into her room.
"Get out!" she screamed. "Get out! I hate you!" She started throwing things, her clock, her phone. Her h.e.l.lo Kitty alarm clock hit me on the forehead, and a trickle of blood made its way down my face.
"Mommy?" she screamed when she realized what she'd done. And then she ran into the bathroom and locked herself in, sobbing hysterically.
Did I go in there? Did I drag her out and hold her until she calmed down? Until we could talk? Did I call Miranda and ask her to come over? What the h.e.l.l was I supposed to do?
"Amelia, let me in, please. It's just a little nick. I'm fine."
"Then go away!" she screamed.
"Amelia, I'm hurting as bad as you are."
I had no idea if I was supposed to say that, if I was supposed to be strong for her and see her through this. I had no idea what Dr. Phil would advise.
She opened the door. "Then why didn't you stop him!" she screamed at me. "Why did you let him leave us!"
"There wasn't anything I could do, Amelia. It was his decision."
"That's not true! You could have done something! You could have opened the china cabinet and set the Thanksgiving table with good dishes! You could have poured orange juice into a nice pitcher instead of putting the carton on the table! You could have done South Beach with Daddy. You could have dressed better. You could have dressed like Samantha Perlmutter's mother, and then maybe Daddy wouldn't have left." She ran into her room and slammed the door.
Samantha Perlmutter's mother dressed like Britney Spears. She wore cropped sweaters and miniskirts with knee-high boots. She was partial to rhinestone studs and shaking her b.u.t.t.
"Amelia" The door opened before I could say anything else, which was a good thing since I had no idea what I wanted to say.
"Look at you!" Amelia said. "Your hair's a mess and you're wearing gray sweats and mismatched socks! How could you even walk around the house like that? Don't you care how you look?"
No. Because my husband told me he wanted a divorce. This was how you looked the day after, and the day after that. I was sure I'd look even worse tomorrow.
"Amelia Masterson," I said through gritted teeth, "I know you're upset, but don't you dare talk to me that way! Don't you dare insult me."
"It's not an insult!" she yelled. "It's the truth!"
The door slammed again.
"Amelia, your father won't come back just because I break out the good china and wear three-inch heels and get my hair highlighted!"
The door opened. "How would you possibly know?" The door slammed.
I let out a very deep breath and again ordered myself to stay in control. Amelia was twelve. In the throes of adolescent angst and ident.i.ty crises. This was no time to lecture her.
I'd simply have to show her just how wrong she was.
Chapter ten.
Miranda "I'm not going to say a single word about my wedding," Emmalee trilled over our soup-and-salad combos on Friday night. "If you hear me say one word, you have permission to squeeze this ketchup bottle all over my sweater, which I bought at Jeffrey last weekon sale and it was still a fortune."
If you thought I had drama-queen tendencies, meet Emmalee. Emmalee's let's have dinner, we've haven't gotten together in so long, which turned into let's just grab an early bite because Ted's in the mood for sushi later, was due to Gabriel calling Ted, her fiance, with the good news two weeks ago. I'd say Emmalee's phone call and concern were just a tad late.
Emmalee spooned a tiny drop of dressing on her salad. "Georgie told me you seemed so down in the dumps on New Year's Eve. You didn't meet anyone at her party? She said she invited a few cuties for you."
Yeah. A few cuties. There was Mike, who kept asking me if I liked the hummus dip. Four times. That was his small-talk ability. And I clearly liked the hummus, since I ate the entire bowl. There was John or JimI wasn't sure of his namewho stared at my chest any time we spoke and never once looked into my eyes. Then there was cute Ed who burst into tears when the clock struck midnight because he missed his parents and hated New York and wanted to move back to Oklahoma.
"I still can't believe Gabriel is engaged to someone else!" Emmalee said, munching romaine leaves. She peered at me. "Are you okay?"
I shrugged. I might be more okay if I hadn't spurred him on in the first place.
"Ted and I are in the biggest fight," Emmalee went on without waiting for my answer. "The minute Gabriel told Ted he was engaged, Ted told him that of course his fiancee was invited to the wedding. I felt so funny about itthat's why I didn't call right away." She slapped her hand over her mouth. "Oops, I'm not supposed to mention my wedding."
"You know what, Ems? Forget Gabriel. I mean, forget him in the same sentence with me. I've been paired with another usher at your wedding. That's all that matters. I'll be fine. In fact, I'm almost glad he's engaged because now I have to get over him, right? There's no hope left."
Annoying tears filled my eyes. s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t! Emmalee wasn't the friend with whom to even think about crying. She was a when-we're-going-through-the-same-thing-we're-best-friends kind of friend. And when we were both in serious relationships, we were fun friends. Now, we were something else. But we had both been through breakups before, not as bad as this one, and she'd been there for me then (albeit because she was brokenhearted too and what does misery love?). But I'd always remember that tiny bit of Emmalee who could be a good friend.
"Speaking of hope, Miranda," she said, picking the croutons out of her salad. "Ted and I were finalizing the seating arrangements last night, and we realized that if we put you at the singles table instead of at the wedding party table, you'd be engaged in no time! There will be three single guys at the wedding! And one is really cute. The other two are okay, well one is okay. But they're all nice. The cute one isn't as nice as the just-okay one...."
If I walked away, would she even notice, or would she still be talking by the time I got home?
"Are you sure you're still okay with being a bridesmaid?" she asked. "I'll really understand if you can't handle it. I can't even imagine how painful it must beon all counts."
She was becoming so unbearable that I wanted to be her bridesmaid just to spite her.
Please drop a piece of romaine lettuce soaked in Caesar dressing onto your Jeffrey sweater. Nothing would make me happier at the moment.
No such luck with the lettuce and dressing. "Because, and omiG.o.d, Miranda, please don't take this the wrong way, but I was talking with Georgie, and she sort of made a good point that you might get really upset at my wedding when you actually see Gabrielespecially because his fiancee will be there too."
Phone the press! She cares. She really cares!
"And then my pictures will really suck," she continued, tucking her blond hair behind her ear. "I mean, if you're not smiling and glowing and looking thrilled, the entire bridal party shots will be totally off. The wedding party shots too. Do you think you'll be able to smile?"
"Am I smiling now?" I asked.
She c.o.c.ked her head at me. "Yeah."
"Do I absolutely hate your guts right now?"
No response. Nervous stare.
"I'm kidding," I said, even though I wasn't. "I'll be fine, Emmalee. Your pictures will be fine. Don't worry about me."
"Miranda, are you sure you're okay? Because you seem kinda mad right now, and this is what I'm afraid of. My wedding is my day, you know? And it's only six weeks away. I just want everything to be perfect."
"Emmalee, you know what?" I said, standing up and slipping on my coat. "You're right. I can't deal. I really don't want to mess up your pictures, so I think I'd better drop out of the bridal party."
"I totally understand," she said, her hand on her mouth in mock concern. "I'm sure I can return your bridesmaid's dress. It's a good thing we didn't do alterations yet!"
Emmalee's bridesmaid dresses were gorgeous. Long red velvet, strapless. No bows. No pouf. Just beautiful. It just figured it was the kind of dress you actually could wear again.
The second I turned the corner onto my block, I spotted Amelia's telltale puffy hot-pink down jacket. She was sitting on the stoop of my apartment building, throwing rocks at a tree trunk. She kept missing, though, and hitting the nice parked car instead. A Lexus.
I glanced at my watch. It was almost eight o'clock. What was she doing out alone at this hour? And was that a suitcase next to her?
"Amelia?" I called out as I neared her.
She grabbed the suitcase and stood up. "I'm never going home again! I'm moving in with you." She was crying. "I can move in, right?"
Whoa boy. "Meems," I said, putting my hands on her shoulders. "First tell me what's wrong."
"Daddy left. He told Mom he wants a divorce and then he left. Suitcases and everything. Just like Lizzie's father." She broke down into sobs.
Oh no. No, no, no. Oh, Lucy.
I hugged Amelia tight. "Meems, come inside. It's cold out here."
For the past hour I'd been crying over Gabriel and the world's most insensitive bride when my sister's husband had walked out on her. When my beloved niece's dad had left.
I am a self-absorbed loser. I am over you, Gabriel Anders. Miranders is no more. I will never even think your name again.
I grabbed the suitcase and led Amelia upstairs. "Does your mom know you're here?"
"I don't care what she knows," Amelia said. "It's her fault he left."
"Why do you think that?"
"Look at her!" she yelled between sobs. "She looks like my math teacher who everyone makes fun of. If she looked like Samantha Perlmutter's mother, Daddy wouldn't have left. Why couldn't she have tried?" She broke down into sobs.
R-ring!
I glanced at my cell phone. Lucy. I took the phone into the kitchen and answered.
"If she's there," Lucy said, "just say wrong number so she doesn't know it's me. I'll be there in five minutes."
"Wrong number," I said. I hated hanging up. Are you okay? I wanted to ask. But how stupid a question was that? Of course Lucy wasn't okay.
When Lucy arrived, Amelia refused to look at her. In twelve-year-old fashion, she sat on the sofa, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression stony.
"Let's go home, Amelia," Lucy said, reaching out her hand. "I'll make some hot chocolate and we'll talk things through, okay?"
Amelia grabbed her hand away. "No. Not okay! There's nothing to talk about! I hate you and I hate Daddy!"
I'd never seen the look on Lucy's face before.
"Well, I love you, Amelia," Lucy told her. "My heart happens to be broken right now and I know yours is too, and I thought we would get through this together."
"Why is your heart broken?" Amelia asked, eyeing her mother nervously.
"Sweetheart," Lucy said. "Your father broke up with me. That's what it means when one person in the marriage wants a divorce."
Amelia's lip trembled. Divorce was a difficult concept for a twelve-year-old to wrap her mind around. But any adolescent understood breakup.
"That's why he left," Lucy went on. "Because he doesn't want to be my husband anymore. He will always be your father, though. He doesn't have to live with you to be your father, Amelia. He loves you and always will."
Amelia started crying again, but this time she flew into her mother's arms. "Why did he have to leave? Why?"
Tears rolled down my cheeks. Lucy just held Amelia tight. "Let's go home, sweetie, okay?"