The Aftermath, Gail Schimmel [sneezy the snowman read aloud .txt] 📗

husband who wants to make me happy. I know Janice is excited for reasons I don’t really get, but she’s excited, and her husband did that for her. Maybe he even knew exactly what she needed to get out of the trip. Daniel used to be like that with me. He was always surprising me and whisking me off to interesting places. And it would always be fun because he’d be attentive and amusing and sexy and charming. Recently I’ve been thinking so much about the bad side of Daniel that I’ve forgotten the things I fell in love with – the humour, the spontaneity, the quirkiness. Life with Daniel was never boring. I can’t say the same about life alone.

I’m so deep in thought I don’t see Laurel till she’s almost on top of me.

‘Dear Lord,’ she says. ‘I just bumped into Janice.’

‘Yes.’ I smile. ‘She’s going to make sure she bumps into everyone this morning.’

Laurel laughs. ‘I wish I’d known that a week in Italy was a viable alternative to a girls’ night. I would’ve dumped you like a hot potato.’

‘Then I’m glad you didn’t know. I had fun. Even if the hangover and the fallout from Facebook have been terrible.’

Laurel suddenly freezes. ‘Sandy’s coming,’ she hisses. ‘Do I look okay?’

‘You’re mad,’ I say, because I don’t really know what I think. It’s not that Sandy is a woman; it’s that Laurel is married, and my husband also left me for another woman.

Laurel cocks her head. ‘You don’t approve?’ I’m not sure if her tone is amused or defensive.

‘It’s hard for me,’ I say. ‘Remember, I’m the cuckold in my situation. I think you need to make a decision.’ I’m smiling but I know I look sad. ‘I guess I don’t approve of the lies. I suppose that proves everything you always thought about me.’

Laurel glances up to make sure Sandy is still far enough away. ‘I actually agree with you, Claire. I just don’t seem able to implement it.’

‘That’s always the bummer,’ I say. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

‘Coffee later?’ says Laurel.

‘Lovely,’ I say, and I mean it. ‘Call me when you can.’

We give each other a quick hug, and then Laurel walks towards Sandy, and I head back to my car. And just as I start to breathe a sigh of relief that I can get on with my day, I bump into Tiffany.

‘Hon,’ she says, ‘you’re just the person I needed to see.’

My brain darts around – have I promised to do something for the fete that I’ve forgotten about? Have I promised to support some cause?

‘We’re having a little dinner party on the fifteenth,’ says Tiffany. ‘I’d love it if you and Daniel could join us.’

Of course this isn’t the first social obstacle I’ve faced. In the last few months, I’ve been to two dinner parties, pretending that Daniel is busy at work or away. I’ve been to a lunch on the same pretence, and made excuses for a few other invitations. But suddenly I’m tired. I’ve never had much patience for people who lie, and yet here I am, living a lie every day. And why? Because I’m scared of what people will think? And then I have the gall to judge Janice. I’ve always thought I don’t really care what people think, that I’m secure enough in my own self. I guess that’s not really true after all, because why else have I kept such a big secret?

I make a decision.

‘Tiffany,’ I say, ‘I would love to come to your dinner party – you always throw such a fabulous do. But Daniel and I have separated, so he won’t be able to join. I understand if that throws your plans and you don’t want me to come alone. So let me know.’ Tiffany’s mouth falls open, but I don’t let her speak.

‘Gotta go, chat soon,’ I say, almost running away.

I know Tiffany will spread this news faster than I can say ‘Boo’, and some people are going to be upset that I haven’t told them personally. So I quickly type a message on my phone and send it to about ten people I consider reasonably close friends: Just to let you know, Daniel and I have split up. I haven’t wanted to talk about it, and still don’t really want to. But just so you know. Xx. I push send. And wait.

Julia

I wake up feeling that strange grogginess that comes, ironically, from too much sleep. My bladder is bursting – I don’t think I’ve slept through the night without a bathroom visit for the last four weeks. There’s a pain in my ribs. It feels like the baby has wedged his foot into my bones, which can’t be possible because, depending on which source you read, he’s only the size of a banana or a mango. I don’t know who regards bananas and mangos being a similar size – is my baby a fat mango or a skinny banana? I grab my phone as I run to the toilet, wanting to look up the baby’s developmental stage of the day. Could his banana feet be stretched out of his mango body and hooked in my ribs?

But there’s a message from my mother that makes me sit down hard on the toilet seat.

Thanks. I love you.

I must have misread who the message is from – maybe it’s from Daniel, or a friend. But no. It’s from my mother.

My mother has never in my life told me she loves me. I mean, I know she does, in so far as she is able, which isn’t very far. Alice says I don’t give her enough credit, that her whole life is a testament to her love for me, and that some people can’t express emotions. Which is crap, because she tells my dad she loves him every time she says goodbye. But even if we’re giving her the benefit of the doubt, she still never says it to me.