I did this lying on my couch with a glass of wine. I sometimes read. I sometimes stared at the sea.
I then had another glass of wine.
And then another.
As I did it, I realized I liked doing it, reading, sipping, staring at the sea. So much so, I didn’t think to have dinner.
And finally, I fell asleep on the couch and when I woke up there hours later, I didn’t do what I would have done simply because my mother would decree it wasn’t appropriate to sleep in your clothes on your couch.
I didn’t drag myself to bed.
Instead, I closed my eyes and went back to sleep in my clothes on my couch.
I didn’t sleep great and woke up with a pain in my shoulder.
Regardless, for some reason, I woke up feeling satisfied.
*
I waited until Tuesday afternoon to text the kids and let them know I was doing a house sale to get rid of some of the old in order to start anew. I invited them to come over and go through their things should they wish to get rid of anything. And I shared the proceeds would go to the local junior boxing league.
I didn’t want to text them the day before, the Monday after they left, because I didn’t want them to get the feeling with me again being in the same town, I’d suffocate them with pathological communication. Nor that I’d pester them with good intentions.
I just wanted to seem normal.
And I hoped that was normal.
*
It might have been normal, it might not.
I didn’t know.
Neither of them replied.
*
On Wednesday, I had lunch and made grand schemes for a blowout house sale to benefit the Magdalene junior boxing league with the yin and yang of breathtakingly beautiful blondes.
First, there was the classy, sophisticated Josie, who scarily reminded me of my parents at first. Then I saw her interact with the dazzling but brash, take-me-as-I-come-or-kiss-off Alyssa, who my parents would detest.
After watching that, even if Josie still seemed somewhat formal, it clearly was only part of a complicated personality and the rest was all good.
They’d come without children, which was a little disappointing. They’d also told me there was no way we’d get through this without roping in all the children (apparently, all the junior boxing moms had tons of stuff they wanted to unload and most of them were willing to help).
So blowout house sale it would be.
And two possible friends I would have.
That was good.
*
It was bad that I waited until Sunday to text my own children again to remind them I was having a house sale, it would be that next Saturday, and they had the opportunity to unload old stuff and jump on new. I shared that it’d make me happy if they replied sooner rather than later as plans were in full swing (and they were, both Josie and Alyssa had jobs, but they also both had more energy than I felt was natural, coupled with a driving desire to make huge amounts of money).
I also invited Auden and Pippa to come to the house sale if they felt like it.
I did this, but again, neither of them replied.
*
The next week and a half I designed, had printed, put up and gave out fliers, put ads in various papers, opened my door and accepted a multitude of drop offs from a variety of moms of budding boxers. I even talked the local radio station into sharing the event and made plans to offer refreshments (for sale, of course) in order to make this house sale all it could be.
When Alyssa came by to drop off her items and she caught sight of some of the things I was letting go, I also sent Alyssa home with two boxes of free stuff she had to have. We had a good-natured fight over the fact I wouldn’t let her pay for any of it but she only gave in because she left three filled boxes that she intended to pick up on the big day and pay for, which she’d marked on the sides with a Sharpie, “Alyssa’s, touch and you’ll be hunted! Dig me?”
During this time, I let my children be.
*
Two days before the house sale, I texted the kids to remind them it was happening and again to invite them to come if they wanted.
*
They didn’t reply.
Chapter Three
Clean Palette
The evening before the house sale, I was in my kitchen, running on empty.
I was ready…mostly.
There were items all over the place with some stacked at the doors to put out in the front yard and on the deck. These items were arranged (and then rearranged, and in some cases re-rearranged) so they were displayed attractively. They all had price tags. There were signs directing folks to rooms with more stuff for sale.
And I was in the kitchen baking.
I’d found some cute plastic bags with happy designs on the sides at a craft store that I’d decided to put my snickerdoodles in and then tied them with big, bright extravagant bows. Same with my chocolate chip cookies. Also with peanut butter cookies with mini Reese’s cups shoved in. They were lying all over the countertop, on tiered plates (plates that were for sale) or on platters (also for sale).
They were all bagged, tagged and ready.
And I was currently working on my meringue-frosting-topped cupcakes with pastel flower sprinkles. Cupcakes that were delicious, but with that glossy dollop of white icing decorated with sprinkles, they were also kid magnets.
I’d sell out of those in fifteen minutes.
Guaranteed.
I’d made big vats of lemonade and iced tea I was going to put in my fancy crystal (for sale) and not-as-fancy-but-still-fancy glass (also for sale) drink dispensers. I had bottles of water chilling in the fridge in the garage with bags of ice in both my freezers that I was going to put into attractive buckets and also sell.
Now, it was eight o’clock and I’d been going nonstop since the day before—no, actually for the last week.
I’d dropped into bed the night before at midnight. But I needed to go to bed that night and I’d needed to do that two hours ago.
Instead, I was arranging glossy frosting blobs on cupcakes and I had a dozen more in the oven baking.
Those were the last ones.
Then I’d get a glass of wine, a shower and hit my bed.
If after that last dozen I had all that in me.
On this thought, my doorbell rang and for once, I didn’t exult in the beautiful chimes.
No, I fought the urge to throttle whatever late-arriving mom of a budding boxer who was going to dump a load of crap that I had to tag and arrange after eight o’clock the night prior to the big day that we’d advertised I was opening my doors at seven in the morning.
I dropped the spoon in the bowl and made my way to the door, seeing through the shadowed panes there was more than one body out there and one of them was not a mom of a budding boxer, but the dad of one.
That figured and I should have known.
Men didn’t know any better.
I flipped the locks, opening the door arranging my features so they were pleasant, not murderous, and then completely arrested.