Short Stories – sparkledame

Good on Paper

“Mom?”

“Yes honey,”

“I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”

“No one does. And if anyone tells you they do, they’re lying.”

“But for real, I’m spiralling.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not ready to go away to college.”

“Ya, I kinda got that vibe from you.”

“But the idea of staying home is horrifying – no offence.”

“None taken.”

“Dad will lose his mind if I defer. He thinks I’ll turn into a meth addict if I don’t go straight to school.”

“He will lose his mind, he’s an epic worrier. But he’ll get over it.”

“And the competition for internships is crazy, like I should be interviewing now. My year off needs to look good on paper.”

“Fuck that.”

“That’s your advice, fuck that?”

“Fuck good on paper.”

“Again, not the kind of guidance I’m looking for here mom.”

“Rosie you’re seventeen years old, you’re allowed to take some time to just live – sometimes spiraling, sometimes having the time of your life.”

“That’s such a Gen X thing to say.”

“Maybe it is, but it’s also the truth. Listen, your grades are excellent, you’re in three school clubs – which I know you hate – you have a part-time job, you volunteer and you sell vintage on Poshmark. That’s enough. You are enough. Take a fucking break, live a little.”

Sal took a long sip of wine, trying to keep herself from raging. The fact that her daughter was worried about how her year off school would look on paper was everything that was wrong with the world.

“But what does that break look like? I need a plan. I’ve never not had a plan.”

“Go to Ireland and meet your relatives! They would love to have you stay with them. They literally say that every time we’re on group chat.”

“Dad told me your extended family is nuts.”

“They are kind of, but the right kind of nuts. They’re loving, colorful, live out loud kind of people. In fact they might be just what you need.”

“Live out loud? What the hell does that mean?”

“It means living boldly.”

“But I’ve literally never met any of these people.”

“Exactly, that’s the fun of it, it’s an adventure.”

“What would I do there?”

“Are you kidding me? You’ve heard me talking about them at dinner. Aunt Mary owns a boutique hotel. Maura’s clothing store is super chic – Bono shops there. Eileen’s farm is so damn cute it’s like made for Instagram. You could intern for all of them and they would give you real work to do, you would learn so much.”

“Okay okay, this does actually sound kind of cool. But who’s Bono?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“So you really think I could make this work?”

“I do. And it would be really fucking good on paper.”

“Okay, let me think about it. It’s not the worse idea ever.”

“Thank you my lovely daughter, you’re so kind.”

Where Do We Go From Here?

With over 1000 emails in her inbox, Jessica felt completely defeated. She began deleting, realizing – to her embarrassment – that she subscribed to some very dubious self-help newsletters. Within twenty minutes she was down to 400 emails, flagging them all with different colors just for fun.

Color-coded flagged emails. What a ridiculous world we live in.

Scrolling to the bottom, she found a bunch of old photos. Most of them were of Jessica and her now deceased three dogs.

“Three Dead Dogs, a memoir by Jessica Sholmes,” she said out loud, as if she was the book reviewer for The New York Times.

Her first dog, Lexie, had been a chunky low-rider who ate anything and everything. Once, unbeknownst to Jessica, she had scarfed the tiny end of a smoked joint from underneath a park bench. At home, she sat on the couch dazed and unresponsive.

“She’s dying! She must have eaten something poisonous!”

At the emergency vet hospital the Doctor said:

“Don’t worry. She’s just high. She’ll make a full recovery.”

For the love of god.

Their second dog Leroy, who overlapped with Lexie, had been a 100 pound Boxer mix who thought he was Jessica’s husband. He barely tolerated her actual husband, Jim, always giving him side-eye:

“I’m her real man and don’t you forget it.”

Every night Leroy tried sleeping between them; they’d eventually given up trying to get him off the bed. He slept horizontally between their two bodies, creating a “no touch” zone, forcing Jessica and Jim to wave goodnight to each other from across the king bed. Lexie insisted on sleeping with her head on Jessica’s pillow. If Jessica so much as coughed, Lexie nosed her face, staring at her as if she was watching over her puppy.

Oh my god our dogs are crazy. We are crazy.

Lexie and Leroy died a couple years apart. Her husband insisted they take a dog break so they could visit Portugal and Spain. But they never traveled. Well, unless you count that one trip to the country where they stayed at the crazy Bed & Breakfast. The owners, two pointy looking sisters who wore matching denim smocks, forced Jessica and Jim to eat their gluten free heart-shaped pancakes for breakfast. Sitting with them for the entire meal, they spoke non-stop about their beloved long-deceased parents.

“Oh My God these ladies are complete freaks. I bet we don’t make it out of here alive,” Jessica had whispered to Jim.

Eventually she convinced Jim to adopt another dog, this time an elderly American Staffordshire named Jerry. Jerry loved UPS trucks and regularly jumped in the open passenger side when they were parked on their street. One beloved driver had even taken him for a spin around the block.

When Jerry died, Jim had declared:
“No. More. Dogs.”

Jessica was crying now. Jim called out:

“You okay in there? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine. Everything is fine. I’m just going down memory lane looking at dog photos.”

“You know what we decided: no more dogs. From now on it’s just you and me babe,” he said from the living room.

“Yep, I remember. No more dogs. Just quality time together,” she answered, her voice quivering.

“Should we order pizza tonight? I have a hankering for pepperoni pizza,” he said.

“I’ve never heard you use the word hankering. But sure, why not. As long as we order a salad too so I don’t feel like a completely failure.”

“Perfecto.”

Jim loved using the word perfecto and it drove Jessica fucking nuts.

Leaving her dead dog photos, Jessica went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. Not 5 ounces. I mean really, who the hell drinks a 5 ounce glass of wine? She poured a real person glass of wine, which was probably closer to 10 ounces. Sitting down at their kitchen table she flipped through Parenting Magazine.

“Jim? Why is Parenting Magazine on our kitchen table?”

“I have no idea. It just came with the mail. I ordered the food, it’ll be here in 30 minutes.”

“K.”

Jessica looked at photographs of happy looking couples with their children.

She wondered if she had any good eggs left. She was forty-four. They were probably crappy eggs. Underdog eggs. Eggs that you didn’t really want hatched. But they could adopt. I mean they were fortunate enough to have plenty of money. They had a nice house with a backyard and there was a good elementary school within walking distance of them.

Jessica sipped her wine. If they adopted a baby she would have to become a 5 ounce glass kind of woman. Or maybe it was the opposite: maybe once the kid was asleep you drank a stiff scotch, watching Netflix with the baby monitor next to you.

Over pizza and salad they discussed which new Apple TV series to watch that evening.

“What about adopting a child? Not necessarily a baby, but a young child. Or, even an older child. I mean why should we discriminate? It’s so much harder for older children to get adopted.”

“Did I miss something? We were just deciding which show to watch tonight and now we’re talking about adopting a fucking kid? How many glasses of wine have you had?”

Jim looked angry. Like scary angry.

“Is this because you were reading that stupid Parenting Magazine? What the hell is wrong with you Jessica? Adoption is a serious issue, you just don’t bring it up casually over pizza on a Saturday night. And last I remember we decided years ago not to have children. For fuck’s sake.”

Getting up abruptly from the table, Jim took his plate to the living room where he turned the TV back on.

Jesus. That anger was intense. True, she had not properly segued to the topic, she had just sprung it on him. But still, his reaction frightened her.

After cleaning up Jessica went upstairs to her office. She googled “adopting a child in Seattle” and started pouring over websites. She discovered a highly respected Adoption Coordinator who acted as a kind of personal assistant to help navigate the complicated system. Jessica set up a meeting with her. First consultations were one hour and cost $200, non-refundable. Fine. Done and done. She would meet with the coordinator and get a feel for the whole process. Of course she wouldn’t mention that her husband had gone off the rails at the mere mention of adopting, that would tarnish their file forever.

The next morning Jessica awoke to a note on the bed that read, “Gone Fishing. Back Tonight. Jim.”

Wow. He was mad.

Of course Jim didn’t fish, so he’d probably gone off on a day trip somewhere where he could sulk and rage, maybe to a small town pub.

The Sunday farmer’s market was on and Jessica hurried to get there in time to score one of their delicious strawberry scones. Everyone else went for the fresh organic produce, but Jessica went for the baked goods. Of course she piled her basket high with leafy green things too, but tucked underneath were scones, cookies and croissants.

Back at home Jessica made herself coffee, then sat outside with her plate of carbs. As she finished the scone her memory flash-backed to ten years ago:

She and Jim had met and married in their mid-thirties, the last in their circle to wed. A blind date had led to a year of intense dating, leading to a six month engagement, culminating in a beautiful outdoor wedding.

Holding her coffee mug, Jessica froze:

She had fallen in love with Jim on their very first date. He smelled like ivory soap and made her feel like the most dazzling woman on planet earth. After sleeping together on their fourth date, while lying in a tangle of grey striped sheets, Jim had revealed that he did not want kids. In that moment all Jessica wanted was Jim, so she had answered:

“Me either. But I would love to have dogs.”

Fucking Ivory Soap Smell. Go Fuck Yourself.

She started crying.

Jessica had always wanted a child. Ever since she could remember she had wanted one child, not two, not three, but one. One had always seemed civilized, like you could still have a life and not be run completely ragged. She had never not wanted a child. She had never not wanted a child until the night she told Jim she did not want a child.

Fuckety Fuck Fuck Fuck.

Still crying, Jessica picked up her cell, calling her mom:

“Darling, are you okay?”

“Ya, I’m fine, it’s just-”

“Ok good because our mimosas have arrived, I’m out for brunch with the girls. Can I call you later?”

“Should I adopt a child?”

“Oh My God, girls – they’re adopting a child! Congratulations! Finally I’ll be a grandmother!”

Jessica could hear her mother’s friends in the background clinking glasses.

“Delilah said she wants to throw you a baby shower-”

“Mom, I just asked if you think I should adopt a child. I didn’t say we were adopting one. I’m actually having kind of a meltdown right now, I-”

“Sweetie, just do it. What are you waiting for? I’ve practically got one foot in the grave. I’ll call you later and of course you can count on your father and I to babysit once a week. Well, maybe once every two weeks. Love you. Byeeeee!”

Jesus Christ.

“FUUUUUUUCK!” Jessica yelled a little too loudly.

Her neighbour, Dorothy, poked her head out her back door.

“Jessica, what’s all the ruckus about?”

“I just realized that I want a child even though ten years ago I told Jim that I didn’t. Now I don’t know what to do.”

“Can you accidentally get pregnant?” Dorothy suggested, taking a puff of her menthol.

“Not really. I use an IUD and they rarely fail. Plus, I think my eggs are past their due date.”

“Adopt then. Adoption is a wonderful thing.”

“I know right? That’s what I want to do, but Jim-”

“Oh never mind Jim, he’ll come around. Remember when he didn’t want you planting those rose bushes because he hated thorns? But he ended up loving them. It’ll be the same with having a child.”

Dorothy took another puff then waved good-bye.

Okay, but I can’t take advice from anyone who still smokes Menthols.

Jessica texted her best friend Michelle, asking her to call when she had time. She knew Michelle was currently overwhelmed with her in-laws visiting, a new puppy and two kids under eight.

“Love u. Will call asap. Freak scene here. My in-laws r insufferable. Hope u r ok. Xoxo.”

Jessica finished her coffee while further researching adoption and found several helpful blogs and websites.

Trying not to fret about Jim, she spent the day keeping busy. Catching up on some work, vacuuming, planting daisies in the front yard, dropping off some cookies to Dorothy and then later making Jim’s favorite meal: spaghetti and meat balls.

Jessica’s eyes were puffy from crying on and off throughout the afternoon. At seven o’clock, when Jim still wasn’t home, she lay down with a warm flaxseed eye pillow.

Michelle called back:

“What happened?”

“I think I want a child.”

“Well of course you want a child. You’ve always wanted a child – one child – since we were like twelve years old. But in your haze of mad love you told Jim you didn’t want kids and you’ve kept up the lie for ten years.”

“When you put it like that it sounds awful, I sound awful.”

“You’re not awful, you were just wildly in love and scared of losing him. And over the years you buried your desire for a child so deeply that you kinda convinced yourself you never wanted one in the first place. But it sounds like you’ve just had some sort of amazing emotional breakthrough – what happened?”

“Well, I know this sounds insane, but I think the breakthrough was triggered by reading Parenting Magazine-“

“You bought Parenting Magazine?”

“No no, it randomly appeared in our mailbox. So I started flipping through it and it just brought it all up for me.”

“Like a sign from the universe. Not that I believe in that crap, but-”

“I know, it does kind of feel like a sign from the universe, even though I don’t really believe in that stuff either. And so I started thinking about my eggs which are, you know kinda old-timers and then it just came to me: we should adopt – maybe even a child because they get overlooked. So I brought it up over dinner.”

“Nice timing, out of nowhere.”

“I know, I know. Jim is furious. He left early this morning and hasn’t returned yet.”

“Well, that is Jim’s MO – he just disappears – he’s passive aggressive. He’ll come back tonight, don’t worry.”

“Hopefully. But the thing is I’m really serious. I’ve already booked a consultation with an Adoption Coordinator.”

“That sounds like a made up job title.”

“No, it’s a real thing. She comes highly recommended. The adoption paperwork is insane, she helps facilitate things.”

“Can she convince your husband to adopt? Cause that would be a real thing.”

“Very funny.”

“Sorry. Listen, you’ve been watching Sandra and I raise our kids so you’ve seen the challenges up close. You know that raising a child is fucking hard. But it’s also the best thing ever and you would be an incredible mother. Not gonna lie though, I’m a lil’ worried that your emotional breakthrough might blow up your marriage. I don’t think Jim will change his mind.”

“Let’s see. I’m so drained. Thanks for talking love. Good luck with the in-laws.”

“Good luck with Jim. Keep me posted. Love you.”

Watching a few episodes of the old Charlie’s Angels, her go-to comfort show, Jessica kept her ear tuned to the door. Surely Jim would come home, if not for Jessica then for his Monday morning zoom meeting.

Later, showered and in bed wearing Jim’s vintage New Order tee-shirt, Jessica prayed to God:

Dear God,
I know it’s been awhile and I apologize for my delinquency. But I’m in a bit of a situation here and I’m wondering if you can help me out. Can you please bring Jim home safely? I’m starting to worry that something happened to him. Like maybe he went to the country and did that thing he likes to do where he pretends he’s an outdoorsy Patagonia guy even though he’s totally not. And maybe he walked in a dangerous part of the forest and was attacked by a bear or a pack of wild dogs. I just need him to come home.
Oh and also – sorry to ask for help with two things – I need him to have had a complete change of heart and be 100% into adopting a child with me. That’s all, just those two things. Thank you so much. I hope you are well and that all your angel friends are well too.
I love you. Good night.

Jessica turned off her bedside table lamp and closed her eyes. She didn’t think she would be able to sleep, but the moment her head hit her Blissy satin pillowcase she was out cold.

At 2:00 AM, after eating left over spaghetti and meat balls and taking a shower in the basement bathroom so as not to wake Jessica, Jim slid into bed.

“You’re home, thank God. I was so worried.”

“I know, I’m sorry babe. I should have texted you back. I just needed some space to – as you always say – process my feelings. I love you, you’re everything to me. I know that sounds corny as fuck, but it’s true. And I just want us to enjoy this beautiful life together. So I booked us a trip to San Francisco at the end of the month, 4 days at a super swank hotel. Just us being happy, silly tourists together. We’ll ride the cable cars, check out the Victorian architecture that you love – it’s gonna be perfect.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you did that, thank you. I can hardly wait.”

They kissed.

After the kiss the silence was not soft and lovely, it was heavy and sad, at least it felt that way to Jessica. All the words left un-said and the emotions that went with the words, were swept under their Crate and Barrel shag rug.

Jessica was now wide awake. The elephant in the room had jammed its long trunk into her heart and as she lay on the satin pillow case, the one that was supposed to prevent wrinkles, she thought:

I asked for a child and he gave me a trip to California.
Where the hell do we go from here?

Photo Credit: “sophsoph” on Pinterest

I Remember You

Sunshine hits my face and for a moment I feel like everything is right in the world.

“Girl, you better figure out your shit today. If you don’t, I’m bringing back the grey and rain.”

Excuse me? Who’s talking? There’s no one on the street except three people down the block waiting for the bus.

Like an idiot I answer the voice:

“I’m going for a walk and doing some self-reflection. Then I’ll be writing in my journal. Does that count?”

“No that doesn’t count! You gotta do more than self-reflect. And toss that damn unicorn journal. You’re lost. Your body is here, but your beautiful, vibrant essence is MIA. Find it. Life is short and frankly you’ve wasted a lot of it,”

“Alright, I get it. I’m on it. By the way, are you The Sun?” I ask the voice.

“Of course I’m The Sun, who else would I be?!”

For the love of God. I get one moment of lovely sunshine warming my face and now the actual sun is harassing me. Nice.

Staring at a tree whose pink buds are just starting to bloom, I suddenly feel like crying, but nothing happens.

Fucking anti-depressants.

Walking through the park I imagine myself twirling and dancing but I’m too self-conscious, even though there’s no one around. Wait, it’s a sunny day – why is there no one around?

“For the next half hour the park’s all yours, so use it!” The Sun bellows at me.

“Okayyyy!” I shout back.

Jesus.

I look around tentatively and then spread my arms wide and start twirling. Slowly, then faster, not whirling-dervish fast, but a joyful, awkward twirl like you might see in a Greta Gerwig film.

A 1980’s modern jazz move that I used to do in dance class pops into my head and soon I’m sailing through the air.

Oh I remember now. I remember this girl.

This girl had the kind of energy that drew people to her, she was an introverted extrovert. She needed days of solitude to recharge, but her energy force was electric and her light was dazzling. Not in an obnoxious way, but in a way that made others want to explore their own light.

This girl loved to laugh and she loved celebrating all of life’s beauty:

“I’ve never seen a coral Peony – my God it’s stunning!”

“Look at that handsome man wearing the 1940’s-style suit, how cool is he?!”

“Come here quick – check out the sunset. Can you believe those colors?!”

Oh yes – this girl – I know you!

I want you back. I’m so sorry I let you go. I’m so sorry I let people stomp on you. I’m so sorry I stopped believing in you.

But I’m here now and I want you to know that I’m grateful. For without you I’m just a shell of myself, like an oyster without a pearl.

I promise I won’t let anyone take you from me again.

I’ll twirl every day and leave a trail of sparkle behind me wherever I go. I will fall madly in love with myself and only those who encourage me to be radiant will be allowed in my sacred inner circle. And if anyone dares try to snuff you out again they will be sorry they ever met me.

I’m dancing for you right now – can you see me? It’s not a beautiful dance because I’m out of practice – but it’s all for you. I love you and I need you.

Please come back to me.

My entire body tingles and The Sun whispers in my ear:

“Good job girl, good job.”

I’m crying now, gorgeous gentle tears, that despite my anti-depressants have broken through. I feel like a 1960’s hippie who’s just experienced her first transcendental experience.

“Thank you,” I whisper to The Sun, “thank you.”

“The Sun Goddess,” an original painting by Wincy Xavier, At Saatchi Art.

A Million Pieces

“So, Janet, how have you been feeling since our last session?”

“Broken.”

“In what way?”

“In what way do I feel broken? You know, like in the typical broken way. Like if you imagine a vase dropping to the floor and shattering into a million pieces. And then maybe imagine trying to bend down and pick up the pieces, but in doing so you cut both your hands and feet on the ceramic shards. So now you’re sitting on the floor surrounded by pieces of your favorite flea market vintage vase and you’re bleeding. The blood is staining the ceramic shards so that instead of their pale oatmeal color they are turning a light rose shade. And as you’re sitting there in pain, both because you lost your favorite vase and because you now have cuts – and because you feel broken – you realize that you actually like the light rose color. So you think about just continuing to sit on the floor and allowing your blood to stain all the pieces of the vase. Because this rose color, it’s so much prettier.”

“I see. Well, that doesn’t sound too good.

“Nope.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the Japanese tradition of Kintsugi? The art of putting broken pieces of pottery back together with gold? It’s built on the idea that in embracing imperfections you can create an even stronger and more beautiful piece of art. Does that idea resonate with you at all?”

“No.”

“Why do you think it doesn’t resonate with you?”

“Well, first of all I don’t have any gold to repair the vase with. Second of all, I’m kind of like bleeding out on the floor, so I don’t really have the energy to repair anything.”

“I understand. I’m very concerned about you feeling broken. Are you having any suicidal thoughts?”

“You mean like taking the broken ceramic pieces and plunging them into my neck or heart?”

“Yes. Or, any other type of suicidal thoughts.”

“Not really. I’m too drained from feeling broken to take any action, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“Okay. Remember in our last session I asked you to keep a Joy Journal? Have you written down any moments of joy from the last two weeks?”

“Let me check…My favorite bakery gave me an extra cupcake, so like I paid for one but got two. I don’t know if that qualifies, but I did write it down.”

“Good. What else?”

“I discovered an affordable eye cream that works just as well as the expensive one I was using.”

“Very good. What else?”

“I saw a very pretty red bird on the bush outside my house.”

“A cardinal?”

“What?”

“Was the bird a cardinal?”

“I don’t know. It was just a pretty red bird.”

“Excellent. What else?”

“That’s it.”

“Nothing else?”

“No. I mean as I told you at the beginning of the session I’ve been feeling broken. So my life hasn’t exactly been joy-packed.”

“Yes, totally makes sense. Listen Janet I have an idea, if you’re open to it.”

“What is it?”

“Let’s pick up all the broken pieces, one at a time. And you name each piece – for instance grief or loneliness – then we’ll explore the emotions that come up for you.”

“I’m open to that. I mean we’re going to be picking up like a bazillion pieces, but okay. I just have one request.”

“What is it?”

“The Joy Journal has got to go.”

Dr. Finkelstein smiled.

It’s Handled

“Did you have a nice time with your father? I like your hair that way, you look pretty.”

“You’re not supposed to give me compliments about my looks, remember? That’s old-school parenting.”

For the love of God.

“Dad took me to that vintage store I’ve been wanting to check out and bought me some rad stuff. Then we went out to lunch with Marie, I like her, she’s cool.”

Who the fuck is Marie?

“Wash those clothes, you never know what could be on them.”

“You’re kidding, right? They’re already clean mom. Anyway, Marie is getting me a pair of jeans from the denim company she works for. Their jeans are made in a really nice, eco-friendly factory right here in LA, not like a sweatshop in Bangladesh.”

“I bet they are. I bet their workers have health insurance and paid sick days and proper lunch breaks and good air conditioning in their work rooms.”

“Mom, chill. Marie is cool. Be happy Dad is not dating a 21 year old actress hyphenate, because he totally could be. All my friends say he’s a silver fox.”

A silver fucking fox.

“We’re having vegetarian lasagna tonight. Does that meet your current eating standards?”

“I actually started eating meat again this weekend.”

Jesus Christ.

“Marie said I don’t have the right blood type to be vegetarian. She said that to maximize my health and well-being I should be eating free range chicken, grass-fed beef and non-farmed salmon five times a week. But lasagna is fine too.”

“Okay then, well I’m going to maximize my health by drinking a glass of wine right now. Go do your homework.”

“I’m not ten. You don’t need to tell me to do my homework. And by the way, I’m getting like almost straight A’s, so maybe just take it down a notch Laurie.”

She did not just call me Laurie. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

Jessie went to her bedroom, grabbing a bag of caramel popcorn off the kitchen counter on her way.

Laurie popped the lasagna in the oven then poured herself a glass of Chardonnay. In the livingroom she watched an old episode of Scandal for the tenth time. There was something soothing about watching the show over and over again. Olivia Pope wouldn’t be dealing with a ridiculous teenager and someone named Marie. Olivia Pope would “handle it,” and then go have sex with Jake, or the President, or both.

Maximize her health and well-being. Go fuck yourself Marie. How is it that Mike is introducing Jessie to the woman he’s dating? Does that mean he’s in a serious relationship?”

Laurie texted him: “Hi. Jessie had a nice time with you and Marie. R u two in a serious relationship? Pls keep me in the loop. Thx.”

Jessie came to dinner wearing a black Joy Division t-shirt.

“So that’s one of the vintage pieces your dad bought you? Do you know the lead singer committed suicide? There’s a documentary about the band if you’re interested. He suffered from horrible depression.”

“Good lasagna mom,” said Jessie, ignoring her mom’s comments.

“Thanks, I’m glad you approve.”

“Mom, I don’t want you to freak out or anything, but I got the feeling that dad and Marie are really a thing. Like really together. I’m just giving you a head’s up.”

“That’s sweet of you, but don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I want your father to be happy – I’m glad he’s met someone.”

Wow. That was fast Mike. We’ve been divorced for less than nine months and you’re already in a serious relationship.

Later that evening Mike texted back:

“Hi. Yes, Marie and I are together, we’ve been dating exclusively for five months, I was going to tell you. She wants us all to get together for dinner. Can you do Friday night? I’ll have my assistant book us a table. Thx.”

Five months? Dinner together?

After throwing in a load of laundry Laurie went out by the pool to smoke a cigarette from her secret stash.

“Sounds great. Looking forward to it!” she texted back to him.

FUCK.

“Why did you say sounds great and looking forward to it?! You cannot go to that dinner alone, we need to find you a date,” said her oldest friend Molly the next day.

“No, that would make it worse. It would make me seem desperate and sad and I’m not desperate and sad, I just wasn’t prepared for a ‘Marie’ yet” answered Laurie, checking on the non-farmed salmon.

“Gotta go. Jessie just got home and tonight she’s bringing a friend with her. This morning she actually told me what to wear and asked me to “act normal,” at dinner. Love you.”

“Oh Lordy. Love you too girl.”

Laurie had followed her daughter’s instructions and worn her high-waisted jeans with her hippie blouse tucked in and her large gold hoops. She had even put on mascara and lip gloss. Last time Jessie had a friend over she had been more than just a friend, so she was expecting the same this time.

“Hi mom, we’re home and I brought an extra guest!” yelled Jessie from the hallway.

“All good!” Laurie answered as she set another place and added more salad to the bowl.

As she put out an assortment of drinks for the kids to choose from, she poured herself a glass of wine.

“I’ll take one of those too if you don’t mind,” said a deep voice.

Who. The. Fuck. Is. That?

The most handsome, swoon-worthy man was standing in her kitchen doorway. What was her daughter up to? She wanted to strangle her, kind of.

“I’m Daniel, Emily’s father. Sorry the girls sprung this on you. They’re such operators.”

Laurie handed him a glass of wine, glad that she had put on mascara and lip gloss.

“Not a problem. I should have known something was up when Jessie told me what to wear for dinner,” she said laughing.”

“Can I do anything to help?” Daniel asked.

“Thanks but everything’s done. Let’s go outside for a few minutes and relax.”

From the cupboard Laurie grabbed a bag of Salt N’ Vinegar chips:

“These go really well with wine.”

“I like the unicorn pool floatie,” Daniel said.

“Me too. Jessie is mortified by it, but she’s mortified by most of what I do and say, so you know…” said Laurie crunching on a chip.

“God these chips are good,” said Daniel with salt stuck to his upper lip.

Those lips. Wow. Stop staring Laurie, you freak.

Daniel continued:

“Is it wrong to say I hate teenagers? I just want to fast forward to the college years or whatever this generation is going to do instead of college. I can’t take it.”

“I know, it’s brutal. Jessie has started referring to me as Laurie.”

Daniel laughed hard, almost spitting out his wine.

The laughter and chatter continued until the oven alarm went off and they went inside for dinner.

“So girls, how was school today?” asked Laurie.

“The usual,” answered Jessie.

“I love the usual,” said Daniel, digging into his salad.

Jessie took a selfie of Emily and her.

“No phones at the table,” Laurie said. “Also, are you two a couple?” She could feel Daniel hiding his smile.

“No. We’re trying to make Emily’s ex-girlfriend, Sarah, jealous” said Jessie.

“Got it. Well hope it works.”

“Are you guys ready for your science test tomorrow?”

“Of course we are Dad,” answered Emily, rolling her eyes.

“Just two more years,” whispered Laurie to Daniel. He tilted his head and smiled at her.

Laurie caught Jessie sneaking a photo of her and Daniel.

“What are you doing? I told you, no phones at the dinner table. Stop it already.”

After dinner Daniel and Laurie cleaned up and continued chatting:

“Thanks again for dinner, it was delicious. And sorry about the ambush…”

“It was my pleasure. I had a lovely time.”

“I would love to bring you out to dinner, no teenagers, just us. Are you free Saturday?”

I’m free right now. Kiss me. Please kiss me.

“I would love that.”

Later that evening as Laurie was finishing some editing work, Jessie stopped by her office. Leaning against her mother’s desk with a popsicle in her mouth, she said:

“Did you like Emily’s dad? Isn’t he cute? I thought he was your type.”

“You are quite the little trickster,” said Laurie, grabbing Jessie into a playful bear hug.

“I knew you would like him,” Jessie said, giggling like a little girl. “I just knew it!”

“You are an amazing young woman, you know that? Don’t ever forget it” said Laurie, kissing the top of her head.

Friday night, at Fia in Santa Monica, Laurie and Jessie met Mike and Marie for dinner. Marie had that effortlessly slouchy-chic look: a satin slip dress under a belter cardigan and vaguely western ankle-boots.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Marie said as she extended her hand.

“Likewise,” answered Laurie smiling.

“I ordered you a Chardonnay,” Mike said kissing her cheek.

“Thanks.”

A tray of drinks and appetizers arrived and they all raised their glasses.

“To getting to know each other,” Marie exclaimed.

They clinked glasses and Laurie took a long sip.

“Dad, I wanna show you something,” Jessie leaned into him so he could better see her phone screen.

“So, I hear you work for an eco-friendly denim company, that sounds really interesting.”

“It is. It kind of combines my two passions: fashion and the environment.”

“Who’s this?” Mike asked Laurie as he was looking at Jessie’s photos.

Laurie looked as Jessie flipped the screen to show her.

“Oh that’s Daniel, Emily’s father. They were over for dinner the other night.”

“Mom is going on a date with him tomorrow night,” said Jessie proudly.

Marie looked at the photo:

“Wow, he’s handsome. He looks like Mark Ruffalo.”

Laurie sipped her wine and smiled.

Yes he does.

MAE

Mae dropped off her boss’s lunch in the usual place: in her office, on the lucite coffee table, in front of the greige velvet sofa. It was one of those frightfully uncomfortable modern sofas, like you were literally paying $10,000 to get back pain. Her boss’s lunch was always the same: Nicoise Salad, plain iced coffee & half a vanilla cupcake. The restaurant, “Lola’s,” knew Mae and they knew her boss and they always cut the cupcake in half before putting it in its plastic, planet-killing container. Then they gave Mae the other half which she would eat on her way back to work.

Mae ate her own lunch three floors down in a tiny, empty office that had one of those really good office chairs and a small desk. Mae had stumbled upon this perfect, private oasis when she accidentally took the elevator to the wrong level. The entire floor was inexplicably vacant, though occasionally a tall janitor would walk by and they would wave to each other. Mae loved the quiet. In fact this secret lunchroom was Mae’s favorite thing about her job.

As she munched her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, (layered with plain Lay’s chips – the only way to eat a PB & J), she pondered her future. She was 25 years old and she had no real life plan. She didn’t even have a Pinterest board for inspiration. No “If You Can Dream It, You Can Do It” quotes, no “Bucket List Travel Destinations,” no “Dream Weddings.”

As Mae fixated on her lack of a life plan, she started perspiring, one of those cold sweats. Her heart starting beating quickly and a wave of dizziness swooshed over her. She lay down on the carpet and placed her cold Diet Coke can on her forehead.

“OMG I’m going to die here in my secret lunch spot and my body will be found by the tall janitor. And all anyone will say, is, ‘she was that 25 year old girl with no life plan.’”

She moved the cold can to her wrists and then to her neck. She started feeling better, but decided to stay lying down for a few more minutes. As she rested with her Diet Coke can on her left temple, she realized that in fact she was not a complete loser. Being 25 and not having a life plan was not that bad. Being 35 and not having a life plan would be bad, really bad. Like you’d basically be a failure. But Mae still had time to get her shit together. Her first step would be to start a Pinterest “Life Inspiration” board this weekend.

“R we still on for tonight?” she texted her friends Becky and Nicole.

“Of course girl, #thursdaynightmargaritas” Becky texted.

“See u beauties at 6:30” answered Nicole.

Mae got up and tidied her lunch area. She always made sure to keep it spotless and take her trash with her. Back at her cubicle, which was stationed right outside her boss’s office, she started answering emails and checking phone messages.

“Mae!”

“Coming,” Mae called out, as she grabbed her iPad.

“I have a dinner right after work. Totally forgot about it. Fucking Carolyn Rosenhip. Can’t stand her, but she’s the wife of a good client, so I have to go. I usually keep an extra outfit here, but it’s at the cleaners. You need to pick it up – corner of Queen and John. And I need a gift. I want a box of those chocolates from that local shop that was written up in the New York Times; their chocolates look like colorful little balls. Get me their most beautiful box. Also, my bronzer has vanished. The only one I like is by MAC. Buy me two – it’s called, ‘Finely Spun Golden.’ You know what, get yourself a bronzer too, you look a little pale.”

“Oh that’s so generous of you, but it’s okay, pale is kind of my look.”

“I’m not saying you have to Kardashian yourself, but a little bronzer, just a touch would do you some good. I can’t have my assistant looking 90’s heroin-chic. I’ll text you if I think of anything else.”

“Okay, I’ll be back soon.”

Getting to do errands for her boss was Mae’s second favorite thing about her job. While other assistants grumbled about errand-running being “beneath them,” Mae thought of it as a perk. She loved getting out of the office and going shopping. Then Mae had a horrible thought: what if the fact that she thought of errand-running as a perk, was actually an indicator that Mae had no ambition? A person with no ambition would also be someone with no Life Plan. Fuck. Mae would have to discuss the issue with her girls tonight.

After picking up the swanky dress and knee-length jacket with embellishment from the cleaners, she headed to MAC. There she met the most beautiful makeup artist named Sammi.

“So, we’ve got the two bronzers for your boss, what else can I help you with. Do you want to try one of our new lip stains? I think Raspberry Smash would look really good on you,” he said.

“Actually ya, that would be great, I need a new lip color, but put that on a separate bill. Also…my boss wants to buy me a bronzer, in fact she insisted on it. She said she didn’t want an assistant who looked 90’s heroin-chic.”

“She did NOT say that. First of all, that whole early 90’s vibe was a dope look. Plus, what kind of boss forces you to wear bronzer? Pretty sure that’s not even legal.”

“I know, right? But I have to get one and I have to be wearing it when I get back to work.”

“I can’t even…but let’s keep it positive. I’m trying to change my energy vibration because I’m becoming a Light-Worker. It’s important that I always stay in the light and not put negative energy or words out into the universe.” Mae had absolutely no idea what a Light-Worker was, but she nodded knowingly.

“We’ll do a highlighter for you instead of a bronzer, your boss won’t know the difference and I think you’ll dig the look. You’ll need a brush too, which your boss will buy. I’ll get you sorted, don’t worry” assured Sammi.

Mae left MAC feeling amazing. She felt happier and prettier and kind of bouncier – like a fairy or good witch had sprinkled joy-dust all over her. In Mae’s eyes Sammi was already a Light-Worker and she felt lucky to have met him.

Her Uber driver was not very chatty, so she spent the ride over to Persephone’s Chocolates people watching on Queen Street West. There were so many colorful characters, including a gorgeous Goth Girl wearing a long black lace dress and black Granny boots. Mae wondered if Goth Girl was only allowed to date other Goths. What were the Goth rules? What if she fell madly in love with an Adidas sweatsuit-wearing person? Would the other Goths shun her? Would she be kicked out of their scene? So many questions she would never know the answers to.

The chocolate shop was heaven. Each chocolate ball looked like an expressionistic painting, as if Monet had breezed in and quietly spray-painted them all. This is why Mae liked doing errands for her boss: she got to peak inside a high-end world, often filled with great beauty, like the chocolates.

The store manager was excited about Mae’s boss buying a gift. Whitley Communications was highly regarded both in Toronto and across North America, famous for re-branding dying companies.

Using his own communications savvy, the store manager put two small boxes of chocolates into an elegant bag, one for Mae’s boss and one for Mae, sliding his business card beneath the ribbon on each box:

“Anytime your boss needs a special gift, or if you have a large corporate event, I look forward to assisting you. Please send my best and thank you to Mrs. Blackwell.”

“I will. Thank you so much.”

On her ride back to the office Mae was suddenly tired. She opened the window, leaned her head against its edge, closed her eyes and let the wind scatter her L’Oreal Rose-Gold highlights. The rest of the afternoon was chaotic, so Mae’s tiredness had nowhere to go but away.

“I told you a little bronzer would look good, huge improvement. Huge. Now I have a very chic-looking assistant.”

By the time Mrs. Blackwell swished out of the office to her dinner, Mae barely had time to freshen up and catch the streetcar. Thursday nights the girls always met up at their favorite Mexican hangout, “Rosalita’s.” The vibe was flea market-chic meets old school Mexican grandmother’s house, with all eighties music.

Nicole and Becky were already seated with their margaritas, chips and salsa and a drink for Mae.

The three of them had been friends since junior high and knew each other inside out. Occasionally they fought like sisters, but mostly they were just there for each other. They were there for the un-important stuff like, “what should I wear on this date,” and they were there for the important stuff like, “can you sit with me while I pee on this stick? I think I might be pregnant.”

Becky was complaining about her new girlfriend, Violet, whom she’d only been dating a month.

“You have an epically long list of grievances against your girlfriend and it’s only been one month. I say move on or lighten up,” said Nicole in her usual super direct way.

“I agree with Nicole. And to be honest, I’m not a huge fan of Violet – she’s too agro with her veganism. Last week she ripped me to shreds for ordering a pepperoni pizza on movie night. And we were at my apartment! Who does that?”

Nicole laughed.

“You girls are a total delight tonight,” said Becky, glaring at them.

“Listen, I need to ask you something,” said Mae as The Smith’s ‘Girlfriend in a Coma’ played in the background.

“Que paso?” Nicole asked

“Do I need more of a Life Plan? I know we’re only 25, but like should I be doing more for my future? Am I just floating along too casually?”

“Yes, you are. You’re acting like my mom did when she was our age and she’s a Generation X-er.” said Nicole flatly

“You do need to get more on it girl, 25 is the new 30,’ said Becky.

“OMG. I can’t believe you two have been thinking of me as a slacker character from Singles. When were you going to tell me?”

Their second round of margaritas arrived with their usual dinner, The Taco Platter, which they always shared.

“Listen, calm down,” said Becky. “We just thought that you were figuring things out.”

“But I thought that’s what our twenties were for – figuring things out,” said Mae trying to keep her voice calm.

“Once a week Becky volunteers at her local shelter. She’s also taking an on-line class in Social Work at U of T. And she sells a curated selection of early 90’s fashion on Depop. That’s all in addition to her regular job. She’s making things happen for herself, moving things forward,” said Nicole before devouring her fish taco.

Mae took a long sip of her margarita, this conversation was not going as anticipated.

“Nicole is prepping for grad school, researching schools, starting to fill out applications. Plus she has her weekly internship and ‘Wellness With Nicole’ is blowing up on IG – she’s got 10,000 followers!” said Becky approvingly as she scooped up guacamole with a chip.

“But what are you doing other than work?” asked Nicole looking her straight in the eyes.

Mae stalled for a moment by taking a long sip of her margarita.

“Well, I’ve been keeping this a bit of a secret because I feared being judged, but the truth is…I’m training to become a Light-Worker.”

Other than the sounds of crunching tacos, the slurping of margaritas and The Smiths playing in the background, there was complete silence for about ten seconds. Then, Nicole said firmly:

“Ok then, well you’ve already got a Life Plan, you’re totally fine. You’re becoming a Light-Worker. You’re working towards your future, that’s great news.”

“I feel like the beef tacos are a little too spicy tonight,” said Becky.”

Half and Half

“Make sure it’s exactly half and half. Half Pomegranate, half Original flavor. Last time it was 3/4 pomegranate. And go to the Pinkberry on Montana Ave, it’s the only one I trust.”

“Got it.”

“My new Ferragamo loafers have to be dropped off at Roberto’s, he needs to put a protective sole on them. You do that with expensive shoes. But I guess you wouldn’t know that, you wear Nine West, I mean no offence, but…”

“Non taken.” you privileged narcissist bitch

“At Whole Foods get me the snap peas and sesame tofu and a ginger kombucha. And Jett needs to eat too…maybe the barbecue chicken, potato salad and some kind of cupcake. Large containers for him, small containers for me.”

“Can I get you anything else while I’m out?”

“No that’s all. Except gas, you know I always like my gas topped up to 100% full.”

“I sure do.” you freak

In the Range Rover Emily cranked KCRW then let out a death-metal loud scream:

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

She chewed CBD gummies as she ran errands in Santa Monica. Using voice memo she left notes for herself for the screenplay she was working on. It was about a personal assistant who falls in love with her boss’s 18 year old son and the two of them plot to kill his mother.

Her phone rang.

“And it goes without saying don’t forget to pick up Jett from school at 3:00. I gave you snacks for him, they’re already in the car. Gotta go, my acupuncturist is here.”

God it would be so fun to stick needles in you

“I’m on my way to pick him up now.”

“Get in loser we’re going to Taco Bell. I mean unless you want this rotting apple, melted cheese sticks and nuts that you mother packed for you.”

“Why the fuck does she pack me the same snack every single day?”

“And the nuts are always from Starbucks.”

They laughed as they pulled into Taco Bell’s drive-thru.

“How do you eat this five days a week? It’s gnarly.”

“How do you work for my mom five days a week? SHE’s gnarly.”

They drove a couple blocks and stopped at a park where Jett liked to eat outside so he could smoke a little weed before going home.

“So was school scintillating today? Did you finally talk to Ben? Are you guys ever going to get together?”

“We hung out for like a minute at lunch. His parents are going away this weekend so he’s having a party. I’m gonna feel the vibe out then.”

“Cool. But just be careful and safe and all that shit. Your crowd is wild, you know that right?”

“Don’t worry Mama Emily, I won’t do anything other than weed, I never do. It’ll just be dope to spend some time with Ben. It’s not like I can have him over to the house, Mom would lose her shit.”

“Honestly Jett, I don’t think she would. Your mom fucking loves you. I mean she packs you after-school snacks every damn day and she does it herself. I know she drives you nuts, she drives me nuts too. But when it comes to Ben she would be okay, trust me on this one.”

“Ok, I’ll think about it…want some? Jett offered Emily his joint.

“No, I’m good. I gotta get you home and we need to pick up Pinkberry for your mom.”

“Jesus Christ.”

He took a final drag and tossed his Taco Bell wrappers in the garbage.

In the car Jett blasted Led Zeppelin, they were his newest obsession. They drove with the windows down with Jett’s right leg sticking out and his shoelace blowing in the breeze.

“Want anything at Pinkberry’s?”

“Maybe like a bowl of those rainbow colored toppings, no yogurt, just the toppings and some gummy bears and chocolate chips too.”

“Can’t tell that you’re high at all.”

Jett gave her the peace sign, put on his Warby Parkers and turned up the music.

“I love living in Southern California” said Jett as he ate his bowl of Pinkberry toppings. “But like when I go to college, I want to go far away. I guess like New York? I mean where else is there to go?”

“Don’t be so elitist.”

“What do you mean? I’m not elistist. I feed the homeless once a month.”

“Los Angeles and Manhattan are not the only cool, interesting cities in the U.S. Think outside the box. Maybe The University of Texas in Austin. Austin is super cool and liberal. Plus, I think it would drive your parents crazy if you went to college in Texas, so there’s that added bonus.”

“Love that idea, gonna research it tonight, thx Em. By the way, what happened with that guy Ron?”

“His name is Jon and I’m not dating him anymore.”

“Why? He sounded like halfway cool.”

“He has a pet rabbit.”

“What? Who the fuck has a pet rabbit?!”

“But wait, there’s more. We were watching Netflix and the rabbit, whose name is Stacey, sat next to him the whole time on the couch. And he petted her over and over and over. Like OCD petting. Like I’m surprised she has any hair left petting.”

“Come on,”

“Jett, I shit you not. That damn rabbit sat with us for two episodes of Designated Survivor and I swear to God she was giving me side-eye the whole time, like “get away from my man” kind of energy. So so epically creepy.”

“That’s wack and you can never ever see him again. That dude would for sure chop you up and feed you to Stacey and then mom would have to hire a new personal assistant.”

“Thanks for the love Jett.”

“No problem.”

“Alright, let’s do this, pop some gum because you smell like hot sauce.”

“I’m on it.”

“Emily where have you been? You’re late! We’ve got to go over next week’s calendar before you leave. Next week is challenging. I’m hosting a small dinner which I forgot to tell you about. I’ll pay you time and a half of course. Jett did you eat your snack? How was school? How was that wretched Mrs. Taylor? I’m going to talk with your principal if she doesn’t start treating you better.”

“Hey mom, what’s up? Mrs. Taylor is all good man, nada to worry about.”

“Half hour of video games then homework. I don’t want you up half the night finishing your math. And call your father. You didn’t call him yesterday and he was livid. Livid.”

“My yogurt is melting, give it to me Emily. After you put everything away meet me in my office. I am just so stressed. I mean I just have too much on my plate, what with hosting dinners and appointments and Jett and planning the new guest cottage. It’s simply too much. Women are expected to do too much in our society, it’s not fair. And bring me a glass of Rose, there’s a bottle chilling in the fridge, I need something to take the edge off.”

Wow. Just wow.

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

After putting the groceries away Emily went into Mrs. Jeffries’ Birkin, grabbed a few Ativan and slipped them in her pocket. Then she poured her a glass of wine, taking a few sips for herself first.

“Emily? I’m not getting any younger.”

Sent from my iPad

Must Wear Beige

“Oh for the love of God, I don’t want to go to this bridal shower today. Why do I have to? Steven – why do I have to go to this godforsaken shower?”

“You owe me,” yelled Steven from down the hall. “I went to that hideous work event with you so now you have to go to my partner’s third wife’s bridal shower.”

“But she’s a nightmare! Major narcissist, faux listener, gossips 24/7 & only wants to talk about her farm to table lifestyle blog – which by the way is hilarious because she doesn’t even cook, so what exactly is she bringing from farm to table? She’s going to be a horrible mother, just horrible.”

“Why don’t you write that in her card, I’m sure she would love those words of support.”

“Very funny. That whole group are like the Nouveau Millennial Stepford Wives. And I just ‘can’t’ with the beige theme. I mean the invite actually said “Must Wear Beige” – who does that? And you know how washed out beige makes me look.”

“It’s a rough life hon, I feel for ya,” Steven said as he skipped down the stairs.

“Okay, focus Susan focus. I know I have a light caramel shift-dress in here somewhere, that will have to do. And my cream vintage sweater with the sequins and rhinestone buttons, that’ll look good together.

“Steven?”

“I’m downstairs, what?”

“These girls are very minimalist, can I get away with rhinestone buttons and sequins?”

“Have you lost your mind? You are a grown-ass woman, wear what you want! As long as it’s not hot pink or lime green, you’ll be fine. I mean you’re twice the age of these women, so who cares?”

“Nice. Thank you for reminding me that I could me this woman’s mother. Like I’m not feeling ancient enough. They’ll all have that perfect glow-y skin & thick eyebrow-look and I’ll just be sitting there like their plump grandma wearing a loud sparkly sweater.”

“Actually I think her grandma and her mother are going to be there, so you can hang out with them if it makes you more comfortable.”

“So funny I forgot to laugh. I’m going to murder you.”

“How? How are you going to murder me.”

“I can’t tell you, it’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Ha!” Steven said as he rounded the corner into their bedroom with a glass of wine for her.

“Drink this, it’ll make you feel better and I’ll bring you over so don’t worry about driving.”

“Thanks,” Susan said as she took a large sip.

“You can add some lip balm to your cheeks to get that glow-y look you mentioned. I read about it in The New York Times Style Section.”

“You read a beauty article about using lip balm on your face?” Susan asked.

“Yep. I know you’re not a huge fan of makeup and beauty stuff, but some of these products are amazing! Last week I bought a facial exfoliating cream and I love it. My skin looks brighter and it’s softer. Not that you ever noticed.”

“I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“By the way, don’t forger her name – it’s Astamaria – last time you called her ‘Astralmaria.’”

“I did not, you are such a liar!” Susan said laughing.

Steven kissed Susan’s neck and whispered, “don’t let those gals get to you, you’re my Queen and you’re beautiful as fuck!”

Stanley

Stanley awoke from a long luxurious sleep, stretched and then set out walking. He turned down the alleyway behind Greenwood Avenue and headed to the grey duplex with the blue trim, number 105. The back gate was open, so he strolled in. He was hungry and was looking forward to having lunch with Mrs. Blackwell. He sat on her deck for about five minutes, enjoying the mid-day sun while waiting for her to appear. Then he decided to take a stroll through her backyard since she was obviously running late.

Mrs. Blackwell had recently added new planters which were filled with pink flowers that smelled like delicious candies. He also noticed a new herb garden, each herb had its own little sign: “basil,” “oregano,” “mint.” He took a little taste of the mint, it was lovely and made his mouth tingle. In the back corner of the yard Mrs. Blackwell had moved her porch swing, which had received an update with bright new yellow cushions. Stanley decided to wait there since it was out of the sun and under the shade of a big leafy tree. He settled in for a mini-nap while Mrs. Blackwell finished up with whatever was making her late for their lunch date. He dozed happily, enjoying the swaying of the tree’s leaves above him – it was as if he had his own “garçon” fanning him. The sweet garden smells made his stomach gurgle, he could hardly wait to eat.

“Stanley!” called out Mrs. Blackwell. Her voice was soft, with a hint of a Southern twang. Mrs Blackwell had grown up in Texas and though she had lived in Toronto for twenty-five years she still considered herself a die-hard Texan, she even had a “Don’t Mess with Texas” plaque on her front porch. Stanley headed over to the deck and joined Mrs. Blackwell at the patio table under a huge umbrella which she had opened to shield them from the sun. She had set out two plates of food, iced tea (she was Texan after all) and water. She smiled at Stanley, thankful for his company. Ever since her husband Earl had passed away last year she had been terribly lonely. Having a daily lunch companion who lived right in her neighborhood had lifted her spirits and put a little spark back in her step.

She sprinkled salt on her fresh avocado and tomato sandwich and took a small dainty bite. “A little slice of heaven!” she said. Stanley was focused on opening the shell of his giant peanut and extricating the nut. He tried his best to eat as little of the shell as possible. He chirped away happily as he finished his peanut and moved on to his walnut. Mrs. Blackwell loved to watch Stanley eat. It was like watching an artist at work, he ate so speedily, yet with such grace. She told Stanley about her busy morning. She had baked a cake for a friend’s birthday, cleared out her husband’s bedroom closet – which she had been procrastinating about – and called her doctor about the arthritis in her left knee which seemed to be getting worse. Stanley chirped and swung his tail around in sympathy.

As per usual, Stanley took the last few nuts and stuffed them in his mouth. Mrs. Blackwell knew his habits well. Now he would be off to hide the nuts for later and hopefully, if his memory served him, he would remember where he had hidden them. “Good-bye Stanley! See you tomorrow!” called out Mrs. Blackwell. Stanley chirped and scurried away quickly. It was crucial that he bury his nuts before other squirrels noticed that his mouth was full. Otherwise he ran the risk of having them secretly follow him and then steal his delicious, organic, Trader Joe’s nuts. It was a tough world out there, but at least he had his good friend Mrs. Blackwell, she was a gem.

Sally

Sally folded her socks into perfect little balls then lined them up in soldier straight lines. Next she tackled her underwear drawer, folding them in half and placing them in piles according to style: hipster, bikini, briefs. She used plastic dividers that she had bought at the dollar store to separate them. After adding lavender sachets to both drawers, she sat down on the edge of her bed and took a long sip of Chardonnay.

Sally had just finished reading “De-Clutter & Manifest your Dreams!” by Dr. Bryanne Goodwyn. Dr. Goodwyn – a Lifestyle Psychiatrist – wrote that a disorganized home reflected a chaotic psyche, a psyche unfit to receive the universe’s abundance. Therefore, in order to manifest one’s dreams, a person had to first get their home in order. “De-Clutter & Manifest your Dreams!” had come into Sally’s life at the perfect moment. She had been struggling with how to talk with her boyfriend, Derek, about the fact that he had not yet asked her to marry him. But since reading Dr. Goodwyn’s book, Sally realized that she was partly to blame for the fact that she still didn’t have an engagement ring. Sally’s closets, drawers and cupboards were completely disorganized, there wasn’t any room for Derek’s belongings. The message that Sally was sending him was: “You’re not important enough to me for me to make space for you.” Thank God for Dr. Goodwyn, it it were not for her book Sally would’t have realized that she could manifest her dreams, which included marrying Derek.

After organizing all nine dresser drawers and emptying out three of them for Derek, Sally decided to take a break and work on her visualization board. Dr. Goodwyn recommended creating a visualization board for all the things that one wanted to manifest in one’s life. Every morning she advised focusing on the board while repeating these words: “I have de-cluttered my life to make room for my dreams. I am deserving. Thank you universe for your eternal love & please help me on my journey of manifestation.”

Sally’s visualization board was massive, she had a long Manifestation List. The top left corner was dedicated to her wedding, with photos torn out of bridal magazines. It was going to be a summer wedding, the theme – Rustic-Chic, with flowers in mason jars and long, country farm tables. Her dress, designed by Jessica McClintock, was strapless with a sweetheart neckline and was ivory – not white – lace.

The top right corner of Sally’s visualization board was dedicated to her obsession with Corgis – the breed of low-rider dogs that the of Queen of England was famous for owning. She wanted two of them and she had already located a breeder in a nearby state. Their names would be Petal and Charlie. Unfortunately Derek didn’t like dogs, he preferred cats. In fact he took care of his neighborhood’s feral cats, about fifteen of them, leaving food and water out every night and building elaborate cat hang-outs on his front porch. During the winter months he even had specially heated covered cat beds. Sally had some serious visualization work to do on this issue – there was no way in hell that she was going to be known as The Crazy Cat Lady and she didn’t want Petal and Charlie getting fleas or worse, from the wretched creatures. Sally drained her glass of wine and walked over to the fridge to pour herself another one. For a brief moment she worried that perhaps Derek was mentally unstable. The feral cat caretaker thing was a bit much – I mean what kind of person does that?

At eight o’clock sharp the phone rang. It was Derek, he always called her at 8:00 PM on nights when he had to work late. “Guess what?!” he asked happily. “What?!” cried Sally, trying to contain her excitement. “Remember how you told me about that de-cluttering book you were reading and about how in order to manifest our dreams we had to first get our house in order?” Sally was pleasantly surprised that Derek remembered her telling him about Dr. Goodwyn’s book. She always figured that he kind of tuned her out when she started talking about her newest self-help book. “Yes, it’s such a great book, really empowering,” Sally said. “I know, it’s amazing! I read the whole thing in one sitting. Then I took the day off work today and re-organized my entire condo. I gave away eleven bags of stuff to The Salvation Army.” Sally felt a little irritated at the idea that Derek had co-opted her book and one-upped her by de-cluttering his entire place, Sally had only finished her bedroom. “Wow. Congrats to you,” she said, “How do you feel?” she asked. “I feel SO good! Organizing and purging was somehow like the jolt that I needed to move forward with my life. I see things more clearly now.” Sally held her breath, this was the moment she had been waiting for. Although a marriage proposal over the phone was not ideal, the important things was that it was happening. She took a sip of wine as Derek continued. “I’ve realized that my dream is to open a cat sanctuary. I’m taking a six week intensive training course on Animal Rescue, it starts next week in Denver. My neighbor, Mrs. Jubas, is going to take care of my feral cats while I’m away.” Sally exhaled. You have got to be kidding me, she thought. “Sally, I have you to thank for this incredible turn of events in my life. If you hadn’t told me about Dr. Goodwyn’s book, I never would have de-cluttered and manifested my dream. I hope that you manifest all your dreams too. Sally, are you still there?” Not only was her Rustic-Chic wedding not happening, but Derek was a better Manifestor than her. Sally turned off her phone and walked over to her visualization board. She tore off all the wedding pictures, but left up the sections entitled “Dream Home,” “Health & Beauty,” and “Career.” She also kept her Corgi pictures up. Tomorrow she would call the Corgi Breeder. Fuck Derek and his stupid cats anyways.