"No," he said. "Brett just learned that his parents are getting a divorce. His dad's moving out of the house tomorrow. At first, he told me that his big couch was going to be taken away because it was broken. But later on, he told me that his dad was taking it to where he's going to live."
Oh. One of those moments. "So, how does Brett feel about it?"
"He didn't say," said Theo. "But he said he wanted to tell me about it. Because I'm the expert." I have to admit...I had to laugh at that.
"So who's getting the house?" Corb asked, later on. Brett's parents have an absolutely gorgeous home. It's in one of those neighborhoods where all the houses are lovely, because they all look EXACTLY THE SAME. I swear, you could get utterly lost in a sea of conformity.
"Oh, Corb, you know the answer to that!" I replied. "Don't you remember your Desperate Housewives? It's the American way! The wife keeps the house and the husband moves into the crappy apartment."
A few days later, I asked Theo how Brett was doing. "A lot better!" he said. "His mom and dad aren't getting divorced!"
"They're not?" I frowned. "That was a quick reconciliation."
"Oh, they're not getting back together," he replied. "They're only getting separated. Just like you and mom!"
Hmmm. Apparently there are other American ways, not completely detailed in Desperate Housewives...
I don't know. I guess there are many of us that sidestep the truth, rather than confront it head on. Either that, or hope springs eternal. Brett heard the words "trial separation," and decided that was a more convenient truth to accept. And possibly, his parents felt it was easier to let him live in that world for as long as he can.
I know the feeling.
"You're always grouchy on Monday morning," David said to me, at lunch, the other day.
"Am I?" I asked, amused.
"Terribly. You look so miserable to be here. You have a huge frown on your face. I've learned that it's a good idea not to talk to you on Monday until noontime."
AS little bit of knowledge can be a terrible thing. Yesterday morning, I came in early and deliberately waited until David was in his office. Then, I got up from my office, walked to his doorway, and stood there, with an evil grimace straight out of The Ring. I just stood there, waiting, until he noticed me.
I glared balefully in his direction for a minute, then walked away. Then, two minutes later, I reappeared, with a grin on my face and a syrupy voice that only a Disney character could love. "David, it's so wonderful to see you, today! What can I do to make your life better?"
"Die!" he cried out. "You're a pod person! What have you done with Ted?"
Last night, around nine, I snuck away from Corb and the kids, and waited in the parking lot of the local drug store.
A car pulled up beside me. I had been expecting it. I got out of my car and walked over. The driver rolled down the window on the passenger's side.
"Do you have the drugs?" I asked, whispering so that no one could hear.
"Sure do," said the voice inside.
I opened up the door and sat down next to Josie, so we could sort through Ashes' prescription medication.
"So how was your therapist's appointment tonight?" I asked her, after she had instructed me on which little yellow pill to take, and when.
"Great," she said. "He gets there, and first thing, I get a call from you right. Then I received a call from you twenty minutes later, telling me that you actually listened to the message I left. How are we suppoped to talk over all those messages? After that, he went with me to pick up Ashes' medication, and then he went with me to pick up a coffee."
"Thta's some therapist. How long was he with you?"
"Two hours," she said. "I think he's amused by me. He thinks I should be sitting on the other side of the couch."
"When I went into Laundry World just now, I opened up the washer and found a straight edge razor blade inside it," I said. "Isn't that disgusting?"
We talked for a few minutes, about her mother, about her boyfriend, about Friday nights (she wants me to pick up the kids just a bit earlier, before I pick Corb up from work.) "Hey listen," I finally said. "I've got to go help Ashes with her homework."
"You have to?" she asked, amused. "Since when is it your homework to finish?"
"Hey listen," I grinned. "You've got your own little pile of turdies buried on your side of the litter box, you know."
She nodded her head, smiling, and I started to get out of the car. But then, I remembered a story I wanted to tell her, and she remembered a story she wanted to tell me, and I ended up back in the car. We talked until around 9:25.
It makes me feel a bit warm, inside. I think, perhaps, that our kitty litter box isn't quite as smelly as it could be.
And perhaps, although many would fight me to the death on this one, in some instances, sidestepping is just another word for civility.