“Ron, this is Vivs. Vivs, this is my friend Ron.”
Ron just smiled this time, but it was Vivs who formally put her hand out. Ron shook it.
“My grandpa says you can learn a lot about a man by his handshake,” Vivs informed him. “Yours is wet.” She wiped her palm on her black pants.
“Oh. Sorry about that,” Ron mumbled.
“Vivs!” Laura frowned at her sister. “Maybe he just washed his hands.”
“Who’s hungry?” I jumped in before it all went south.
“I am!” Ron said, a little too enthusiastically. “How about you guys?” He looked toward the girls. Laura nodded like a bobblehead. Vivs ignored him and turned to me.
“What are we having?”
“Lasagna.”
She made a face like it was the worst thing I could be serving, even though it was one of her favorites. I gave her my stone-cold stare.
“Cut it out,” I said quietly.
Ron picked up the bags he had dropped by the door.
“Hey, I brought you guys something.”
He handed the girls identical lime-green gift bags tied with pink ribbon.
Laura stepped forward and took the bag shyly.
“Thank you so much. I love it.”
“You haven’t even looked at it yet.” Vivs rolled her eyes and held out her hand to take her bag from Ron.
“Thank you.”
“It’s hard to buy for people you’ve never met, so if you don’t like it you can exchange it,” he assured them. I gave him a “You’re doing great” smile.
The girls simultaneously opened their bags to find matching pink Gap sweatshirts and a large Hershey kiss. The perfect gift for Laura and the absolute last thing my newly goth devil child would want.
Laura gave an overexaggerated gasp. “Oh, pink is my favorite color! Thank you so much.” She immediately put the sweatshirt on and gave Ron another hug. Meanwhile, Vivs and I were in an evil stare-down. Her big brown eyes registered contempt, and my eyes said, “I dare you to say anything but thank you.”
I laugh when I think about it now, but at the time I was convinced that I would never see Ron again. But he showed up the next night just before dinner with a black Gap sweatshirt for Vivs. That didn’t win her over completely, but it was a glimpse into the thaw of what was certainly the brief ice age of her tween years.
I look up and see Nina waiting for an answer.
“I guess it was about two months. We had a rough start with the girls, remember? Vivs and that goth phase?”
“Oh, my God, the one she couldn’t quite commit to?” Nina and I crack up at the memory of Vivs acting all dark and dangerous until a Backstreet Boys song came on the radio. Then she would forget herself and start singing her head off. When our laughter turns to sighs, I look directly at Nina.
“Are you sure about this?”
“About what? Garth?”
“About Garth, Chyna, everything. I feel like you just got out of the Dumpster. Are you ready to jump back into something? I mean, you barely know him.”
“Are you kidding me? Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had sex? I know I was hung up on Sid, but shit, no one is more ready than me.”
“Well, I’m glad for you, but I think you should wait to introduce him to Chyna.”
Nina nods and finishes her eggs.
“Now, tell me”—she licks her lips—“who bitch-slapped who?”
*
That evening, as I’m making Max’s favorite dinner, skillet tacos, I ponder the events of my day. As if the one-two punch of what I saw in KCK and Nina’s news wasn’t enough, I’d still had an entire day of errands to tackle. I got the minivan washed, took a load of stuff to the dry cleaners, replaced the battery in Ron’s favorite watch, talked to our local kids’ gym about Max’s sixth-birthday party next month, and spent a half hour on the phone with Peetsa analyzing the Dr. Evil/Miss Ward smackdown. Her theory? That Miss Ward has been making eyes at the dashing David Fancy, and Dr. Evil was just protecting her territory. I have to say, it has some legs. If Miss Ward flirted with Ron, I’d definitely be scaring her straight with a few choice words, but physical violence? Not unless she slept with him. But in that case, I’d be saving most of my rage for Ron.
I sigh as I take a sip of cooking wine, so named because it’s the wine I drink while I’m cooking. I look at the clock and realize the boys should be home any minute. Skillet tacos are ready and Chyna is on her way over to babysit. Ron and I are going out to celebrate Valentine’s Day. It isn’t until tomorrow, but Ron likes to take me out for what he calls Scoundrel’s Night. Apparently it’s the night before Valentine’s, when men take their mistresses to dinner. He thinks it’s sexy, and who am I to argue? It’s also a lot cheaper, and you aren’t locked into one of those stupid theme menus that every restaurant seems to think is necessary on February 14.
I grab my wine and sit down at the kitchen-counter office to check my emails. Hmm … Overstock.com is having a Valentine’s Day sale. Nothing says “I love you” like discount furniture. There is a note from my mom thanking me again for the prunes, which apparently did the trick for my dad. There is an email from Laura with the itinerary for our family ski trip to Utah in March, and, to my great surprise and horror, I see an email from Asami Chang. I take a deep breath and click on it.
* * *
To: JDixon
From: AChang
Subject: A question …
Date: February 13
Hello, Jen,
When you were class mom, did you ever hear from Sasha Lewicki, aside from her out-of-office reply?
Asami
* * *
I have to laugh. I want to tell her Sasha and I are best friends and see each other every weekend. But I don’t, because I’m trying to turn over a new leaf and embrace the Asami. I’m also slightly curious about why she’s asking, so my reply is friendly and open.
* * *
To: AChang
From: JDixon
Subject: A question …
Date: February 13
Hi, Asami,
No, I never did, but she sent sushi to the curriculum night party, so I know she exists. LOL!
Jen
* * *
I know, I know: weak joke when you have to put LOL at the end, but since there is no definitive proof that Asami has a sense of humor, I thought I’d spell it out for her. Her reply is almost instantaneous.
* * *
To: JDixon
From: AChang
Subject: A question …
Date: February 13
Jen,
I don’t think she does.
Asami
* * *
I blink three times and stare at the screen. What the hell does that mean? Sasha Lewicki doesn’t exist? I’m working through this thought when the Dixon men come tramping through the door. They spent the morning at the store and the afternoon attempting to ice-skate at the indoor rink. Ron wanted to take Max to the frozen pond, but I suggested that if it was too cold he wouldn’t like it and the whole experience would be over before it even started. If Ron took him to the indoor rink and plied him with hot chocolate, he would definitely be more cooperative.