Puffalumpa
May, 2001
“Why do you care?”
“What do you mean, why do I care? They’re my best friends!”
“Is it that you feel like they lied to you or is it that you consider it a betrayal that they hung out with the other woman?”
“Kayla isn’t ‘the other woman!’ It’s not like he left me for her or anything!”
“Exactly, so then why do you care?”
I’m staring at Slutty Co-worker like she’s lost her ever lovin’ mind.
“Did they get to you? Seriously, this isn’t like you to be alllllll let go and let God-ish.”
Wrapping her arms around me she lovingly says, “I’m just screwing with you, hunny. I’d be pissed too. Maybe you should just give it some time to work itself out though. Men are big f*cking babies, and sometimes it’s just easier for the women they’re with to let their poo-poo baby shit go away on its own rather than do something about it. Sure as hell explains why I’ve never wanted to be in a relationship. Committed men are way too much work if you ask me.”
I wonder if that means it’s only a matter of time before Leo’s too much work for me. Dammit, why are thoughts like this suddenly haunting me? What am I so afraid of?
“So, how come I’ve never met these best friends of yours?”
“Are you kidding? I’m doing you a favor. They’d hog tie you, blindfold you and take you to some secret science lab in the desert to test you for a new strain of venereal disease! Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”
Or, more like I’m doing myself a favor by keeping my two worlds separate, but she doesn’t need to know that.
Focusing back on work, Slutty Co-worker points to a box in the corner that Barbara Cooper dropped off before any of us arrived to work this morning.
“Are Megan and I ever gonna get to meet that woman?”
“Let’s just give her a little more time to adjust to the production deadlines before I scare her with a face to face introduction. Lord knows, meeting you could set her back years in therapy!”
With that, I head out to Kendall’s daycare. It’s my day to pick her up at two-fifteen. On the way, I leave Barbara a message thanking her for the delivery and that I’d like her opinion on other handmade crap we could offer in the studios. She calls me back within minutes of the message, giving me her ideas and sounding as nervous as the first time I talked to her in Dr. Maria’s parking lot two months ago.
“Oh, and Barbara, I have one more thing to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
“My partners really want to meet you. They’re impressed with the work you’ve done so far and like me, want to talk to you about being more involved with the business.”
“Will you be there when I meet them?”
“Of course! And, I promise…you’ll love them.”
Pulling into Kendall’s daycare, “Actually, there is one more thing I should tell you.”
I can’t even hear her breathing on the other end of the phone. That’s how quiet she is.
“I have a three-year-old Goddaughter. In fact, she’s my best friend’s daughter…the friend of mine who died.”
Still not a peep.
“I think you need to know that Kendall…that’s her name…is with me a lot. I hope this won’t be hard for you if you decide to work with us.”
After a long pause, Barbara slowly speaks. “It’ll be very hard for me.”
Thinking that’s that and I’ll never see Barbara ever again, she continues, “But, maybe not any harder than crocheting again. I guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”
“I’m so glad you’re willing to give this a shot! I’ll call you next week to arrange a meeting!” And then I hang up in just enough time to grab the call coming in from Leo on the other line.
“Hey, baby! Put on some of those cute shoes of yours and meet me in the city for drinks!”
Staring at the entrance of The Happy Hearts daycare center, my all at once unhappy heart sinks.
“It’s my day with Kendall.”
“Oh, damn, that’s right. A bunch of people are meeting after work, and I wanted to show you off. Next time, I guess. Tell Kendall that I got us some night vision goggles so we can get all Rambo-like next time we’re snipe hunting.”
Not that thirty-one is old or anything, but the sounds of the children streaming out of The Happy Hearts daycare center and the fact that one of them is preventing me from getting my drink on tonight makes me feel…thirty-one. If it was my own child causing the road block to my fun, I’d get a babysitter, but…I am Kendall’s babysitter. With a long sigh, I tell Leo to have a good time without me…even though I don’t mean it.
I feel sorry for myself for ten minutes, exactly how long it takes to sign Kendall out of Happy Hearts and strap her into the car seat that I still can’t figure out how the hell to use properly. Seriously, the child only has one head and yet there are four straps and three buckles to work with. It makes me wonder what strange/horrific accident must’ve happened once upon a time to have necessitated all of this equipment. After Kendall talks me through the process for the millionth time and I’m able to give my little mini-Kelly a kiss, all misery over missing out on happy hour with my super sexy investment banker boyfriend at some totally hot bar in San Francisco flies out of the sunroof. Looking at Kendall in the rear view mirror, I let the good times roll.
“What’s the plan, Stan? Do you wanna go back to the yoga studio, go to the park…get some fro-yo? You name it!”
“Puffalumpa!”
“Puffa…what?”
Waiving a piece of paper at me, “Get my Puffalumpa, Ki-Ki!”
I open the note and sink down into my seat as I read it.
Don’t hate me, but can you drive to Kurt’s house and get Kendall’s stuffed animal? She left it there yesterday and she can’t sleep without it. She was up all night! Thanks a million! Craig
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me! Mustering up all of the fake happiness I can, “Sure, sweetie! Let’s go rescue your Puffalumper.”
“No, Ki-Ki! It’s Lumpa!”
No. It’s more like, Puffa-I’m-gonna-f*cking-kill-Craig-Lumpa! I never knew where Kurt moved after we sold our house in Danville, and I didn’t want to know. I’m the type of person who functions better when I can’t visualize the realities of people I could potentially be jealous of. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be married to Kurt anymore. But, just knowing he bought that Porsche after we split up and that Kayla’s driving around in it in all of her 34-D cup glory was enough to make me lose sleep. I’ll shit my pants if anything else in Kurt’s life is better than it was when he was with me. And, given the fact that Leo doesn’t think I shit, going to Kurt’s new home poses even more of a nuisance than my jealousies.
Rounding the corner to the address that Craig supplied, I pull over in confusion.
“Oh, you’ve GOT to be bleeping kidding me!”
Must keep the language clean; kid in the car.
“What, Ki-Ki?”
“A flipping gate?”
“Can I pwess da buttons?”
“Is this really Kurt’s house, Kendall?”
“Yep! Ku-Ku’s house is soopa fun!”
For some retarded reason, Kelly thought it would be cute if Kendall had special names for Kurt and me as her Godparents. Hence the Ki-Ki and Ku-Ku bullshit.
I’m in freaking Orinda! How the hell can Kurt afford a house with a gate in this city? Doctors and lawyers can barely do it! How can a moderately focused, overgrown child with a job that never paid as much money as mine, afford all of this? Beyond irritated, I hit the button on the gate expecting to hear his gloating voice. Instead, I get the luxury of hearing someone else’s stupid one. Jesus, shouldn’t she be the one in daycare right now?
“Oh, hey Kayla, it’s Chrissy. I’m here to pick up Kendall’s Puffa…thingy.”
Kayla’s silent for a long time before the line eventually drops and the gate slowly opens. Apparently Kurt communicates with this chick as much as he communicated with me. It’s obvious by the look of pure shock and terror on her face that she’s completely surprised I’m here. The poor child is still scared to death from the one and only time I ever encountered her, when she was riding bikes with my ex-husband and my dog at my then home in Danville. I remember nearly fainting when I saw her bra dangling off of the edge of my wedding picture. I guess since she can hang her bra wherever she wants in this house, I’ll take it easy on her…this time. After I slowly roll into the driveway, the big boobied dummy cautiously walks up to my car window.
“Kurt didn’t tell me you were coming.”
I’m immediately reminded of how stupid this girl is by her outfit. Pink sweat pants with some lame word printed across her ass, a white tank top with glitter splattered all over it, and of course, a big freaking bra that’s visible from every direction.
“You’re surprised about that?”
“Yeah, since he tells me everything.”
I’m sure he tells her everything she can comprehend, which probably isn’t much. Seriously, I wonder how this girl got into Stanford. Must come from money. Ahhhhh, maybe that explains this house.
“If you’ll just give me the stuffed animal, I’ll let you get back to…” I want to say Sesame Street, but figure I’ll be the bigger person for a change… “Whatever you were doing.”
“I was making dinner.”
“I don’t really care, Kayla. I just need the Puffaloompy.”
“Ki-Ki! I told you, it’s my Puffa-lumpa!”
Given the fact that five minutes ago I thought I’d die if anything in Kurt’s life was better than it was when he was with me, I’m actually surprised I don’t feel an ounce of jealousy about this place now that I’m staring at it. I mean, I can see the sparkling pool beyond the rod-iron fence, the private tennis court to the right of the four-car garage, and clearly the residence is a good four thousand square feet. I’m even a little surprised that I’m not jealous of the fact that Kayla is evidently some kind of stay-at-home-something or other- a gig that Kurt was never supportive of me landing. But, what’s not surprising is the overwhelming amount of rage that exploded inside of me when Kayla handed Kendall her stuffed animal. She extended her head inside of the car and said, “I miss you sooooooo much, and I can’t wait for our next pizza party!” And then she planted a HUGE kiss on her forehead.
OH NO YOU DIDN’T, BITCH! It’s one thing to be living the life I’d been planning for myself since I was sixteen, but you DON’T get to smooch on my dead best friend’s daughter! Taking control of the situation the only way I know how, I start to shut the window on her head. Sadly for me, she manages to wiggle out just as it’s about to close in around her neck. So much for taking it easy on her.
Doing all I can to control my smile, I begin to gush, “Oh my goodness! I’m soooooo sorry Kayla, I hit the wrong button!”
“NAH-UH! You did that on purpose! I’m telling Kurt!”
Part of me wants to call her a tattle tale, but that would reduce the conversation to the second grade level she’s clearly accustomed to. Although…I wonder what level a window closer person is? Probably a higher level. It involves mechanics and critical thinking and stuff.
Knowing full well she’ll do anything she can to prevent me from speaking to Kurt ever again, I apathetically reply, “Alrighty, I’ll be home later tonight if he needs to talk to me about it.”
As I drive away, Kayla picks up a basketball and with boobs bouncing everywhere, she starts shooting basket after basket after basket, never missing a shot. I think she’s trying to show me how much Kurt must love her awesomeness, but it only makes me happy for him...and wanting a boob job. The whole scene has me cracking up in my car, but I stop the second the gate opens to let me out. Suddenly everything’s not so funny anymore.
Don't I hold you like you want to be held
And don't I treat you like you want
And don't I love you like you want to be loved…
And you’re running away
(Don’t I Hold You, Wheat)