Melanie Gideon - Wife 22

Bunny staggers backward and sits down on the bed.

“Bunny?” I say.

She gazes blankly at the wall.

“You don’t look well. Should I get you a glass of water?” I ask.

“You’re living in a dream world. You cannot survive on minimum wage, Caroline. Not in a city like San Francisco,” says Bunny.

“Of course I can. I’ll get roommates. I’ll waitress at night. I’ll make it work.”

“You have a master’s degree from Tufts in computer science.”

“Oh, okay. Here it comes,” says Caroline.

“And you are absolutely crazy not to do something with it. It’s your job, no, it’s your responsibility to do something with it. You’d be making twice, three times the income right off the bat!” she yells.

“The money isn’t important to me, Mom,” says Caroline.

“Oh, the money isn’t important to her, Alice,” says Bunny.

“Yes, the money isn’t important to her, Bunny.” I sit down next to her on the bed. “And maybe that’s okay for now,” I say gently. I put my hand on Bunny’s knee. “Look. She’s young. She has nobody to support but herself. She has lots of time for the money to be important to her. Caroline’s going to be working for an organization that really makes a difference in women’s lives.”

Bunny glares at both of us defiantly.

“You should be proud, Bunny, not angry,” I say.

“Did I say I wasn’t proud? I didn’t say that,” she snaps.

“Well, you’re certainly acting that way,” says Caroline.

“You are pushing me into a corner! And I don’t appreciate it,” shouts Bunny.

“How am I pushing you into a corner?” asks Caroline.

“You’re making me out to be somebody I’m not. Some ungenerous person. I can’t believe-I mean, what in the world? Me, of all people,” says Bunny indignantly, then, suddenly, she covers her face with her hands and groans.

“What now?” asks Caroline.

Bunny waves Caroline away.

“What, Mom?”

“I can’t speak.”

“Why can’t you speak?”

“Because I’m mortified,” whispers Bunny.

“Oh, please,” says Caroline.

“Be nice. She feels bad,” I mouth to Caroline.

Caroline sighs heavily, her arms crossed. “Mortified over what, Mom?”

“That you’re seeing this part of me,” says Bunny in a muffled voice.

“You mean Alice is seeing this part of you. I see this part of you all the time.”

“Yes, yes,” says Bunny, her hands dropping to her sides, looking absolutely miserable. “I know you do, Caroline. Mea culpa. Mea culpa!” she cries.

Caroline starts to melt when she sees her mother’s genuine distress.

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Bunny,” I say. “It’s not that black and white. Not when it comes to your kids.”

“No, I’m a hypocrite,” says Bunny.

“Yep,” says Caroline. “She’s a hypocrite.” She leans in and kisses Bunny on the cheek. “But a lovable hypocrite.”

Bunny looks at me. “How pathetic am I? Not even half an hour ago I was lecturing you pompously about how you should let your kids go.”

“There’s only one way to let them go that I know of,” I say. “Messily.”

Bunny picks up Caroline’s hand. “I am proud of you, Caro. I really am.”

“I know, Mom.”

She strokes Caroline’s palm. “And who knows, maybe you could give yourself a little microloan, if you need it. One of the perks of working at Tipi. If you find it difficult to live on the salary, that is.”

Caroline shakes her head at me.

“But, Alice, I have to tell you, if either Zoe or Peter shows any aptitude for math or technology, you really should-”

Caroline puts a finger on her mother’s lips, silencing her. “You always have to get the last word, don’t you?”

Later that afternoon I check Lucy Pevensie’s Facebook page. There are no new messages or posts. Yossarian is not online, either.

I scroll through my Facebook news feed.

Nedra Rao

It’s the 21st century. Is there nobody capable of making flattering bike shorts for women?

47 minutes ago

Linda Barbedian

Target! New sheets for Nick’s dorm room.

5 hours ago

Bobby Barbedian

Target! Not on your life.

5 hours ago

Kelly Cho

Is afraid the chickens are coming home to roost.

6 hours ago

Helen Davies

Hotel George V Paris-ahhh…

8 hours ago

Lately when I read my feed I feel such a mixture of worry, irritation, and envy, I wonder if it’s even worth having an account.

I’m antsy. I open a Word file. A minute goes by. Five minutes. Ten. My fingers hover over my keyboard. I nervously type “A Play in 3 Acts by Alice Buckle,” then quickly delete it, then write it again, this time in caps, thinking capital letters might give me courage.

The sounds of Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” drifts into my bedroom from downstairs. I look at my watch. It’s 6:00. The cutting board will be pulled out soon. Peppers will be washed. Corn will be husked. And somebody, most likely Jack, will take his wife for a spin around the kitchen. Others of us-William and I-will be reminded of middle school dances and drinking cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer in the basement of the neighbor kid’s house. And the youngest of us, Zoe and Peter, and perhaps even Caroline, will download Marvin Gaye onto their iPods, feeling like they are the first ones on earth to discover that earthy, sexy voice.

I put my fingers on the keyboard and begin to type.

William walks into the kitchen. “Are you hungry for lunch?” he asks.

I look at the clock. It’s 11:30. “Not really.”

He rummages around the cupboard, pulling down a box of crackers. “Do we have any hummus?”

“Second shelf. Behind the yogurt.”

“So. News,” says William, opening the fridge. “I got a job offer.”

“What? William! You’re kidding me. When?”

“They called yesterday. It’s in Lafayette. Great benefits. Health. Dental.”

“ Who called yesterday? You didn’t even tell me things were serious with anybody.”

“I was afraid it would fall through. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. It’s an office supply company.”

“Office supplies? Like Office Max?”

“No-not like Office Max. King’s Stationery. It’s a mom-and-pop shop, but they’re growing. They’ve got two stores in the Bay Area and plan to open two more in San Diego this year. I would be direct mail marketing coordinator.”

“Direct mail? As in flyers, postcards, and mailers?”

“Yes, Alice, as in what people usually throw in the recycling bin before even looking at it. I was fortunate to get it. There were dozens of applicants. The people seem nice. It’s a perfectly fine job.”

“Of course it is,” I say. “But William, is this what you want?” Were office supplies his big dream?

“What I want doesn’t matter anymore,” he says quietly.

“Oh, William-” He holds up his hand and cuts me off.

“Alice, no. Stop. I owe you an apology. And if you’ll just shut up for a second I can give it to you. You were right. I should have tried harder to make it work at KKM. It’s my fault I was laid off. I let you down. I let the whole family down. And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

I’m stunned. Did William just admit to me he may have had something to do with being laid off, that it wasn’t just all about redundancies? Did he just say it was his fault? He leans over the sink and looks out the window into the backyard, chewing his lip, and as I watch him I feel the last bits of anger over the Cialis debacle drain right out of me.