Favourite Daughter. Kaira Rouda Sturdivant
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it, feel the weight of it deep down in your heart. I’m just like you. That day I was in shock, consumed by anger. It’s understandable, don’t you agree?
I force the memories away and stare into the fireplace. I am looking forward to my little coffee date with Elizabeth James tomorrow. It’s step one in the Jane back in control plan. I need her out of our lives completely so I can reconnect with David and Betsy. She’s a malignant tumor I need to extract.
We haven’t seen each other for more than a year. She’d been wary to meet me, for good reason, but I pleaded with her, one mother to another. It’s just coffee, I’d promised.
I stand up feeling a little dizzy from the wine, but it’s nice. I should be able to go back to sleep now. I turn off the fire, flip off the lights in the kitchen and living room, and walk to our bedroom, following the sound of David’s snores. I slide into bed, praying for sleep. Tomorrow is a big day.
As I try to fall asleep I remember my first ladies’ luncheon at The Cove. I’d taken extra time to curl my hair, to wear my most expensive, best-fitting tennis dress. The girls were home with the babysitter. All heads turned as I walked into the room, the new, hot young mom. We’ve all been there. You think you’re queen of the castle until a new princess arrives on the scene. A silence washed over the four white-tablecloth-draped tables.
“Hello, are you Jane?” A woman with a big smile, huge fake boobs (not done as expertly as mine) and an impossibly large diamond extended her hand. “I’m Sarah. Welcome to the neighborhood.” She broke the ice. Deemed me worthy of their acceptance. I should thank her someday, I suppose.
As Sarah escorted me to the seat next to her at table three, the idle conversation started up around me. I knew I was the topic. Once seated, all of my tablemates introduced themselves. I was invited to a Mommy and Me playgroup on Tuesdays, another woman asked me to be her tennis partner in the upcoming mixer. Another asked me to join her book club. Bunco was every Thursday night. I accepted every invitation.
I had arrived. It’s hard to crack into a group of women like this, let me tell you. Have you tried it? My palms were sweating the entire lunch. But they liked me. I was a great girlfriend. I was.
I think the trouble with me and all of them began when I started winning at everything. Tennis, Bunco, even on my snack day at Mommy and Me. Jealousy is a powerful emotion. Slowly, over the years, invitations stopped arriving. And the moms all started looking older, too. Bedraggled, sunburned, sleep deprived. But I never compromised my looks for my kids. I took care of myself. While they all started sagging, I looked even better. It happens. It wasn’t my fault their husbands would give me approving winks.
It hurts. I was invisible to them during the last few years before Mary died and I’m incommunicado now. I always had my kids and my husband to focus on. But what now? What is a housewife to do when her kids leave home? That’s the million-dollar question. Well, actually, I believe our net worth is much more than that, I can assure you. My eyes pop open again and I stare at the ceiling. Grief has given me time to think, to strategize. When everyone ignores you, and tiptoes around you, you have space.
David’s rumbling snores aren’t the worst part about trying to sleep at night. It’s what I see when I close my eyes. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if she were never found. Then I would never have viewed her face. I wouldn’t be haunted by the nightmare of the half-eaten shoe still laced onto her half-eaten foot. That’s the other nightmare. It’s falling or the foot.
When those images zoom into my head, I open my eyes and I focus on other things, like random accidental deaths. Did you know hippos kill almost three thousand people a year? I know, I didn’t either. See, you’re distracted just thinking about it.
I don’t tell anyone about these two nightmares. I know they’ll fade away in time, like the memories of my mom getting fainter every day. No, it’s best they all think I am fine. Sure, Betsy and David have caught on to some of my routine. Betsy doesn’t join me in the kitchen for late-night chats these days, and David wasn’t wooed by tonight’s impressive table setting. But no one really knows another person, not fully. And I have so many more loving tricks up my sleeve.
Elizabeth James, for example. She will not come near the ceremony tomorrow, even though I’m certain she has been invited. She isn’t wanted or needed by anyone there. David and Betsy won’t even notice her absence, but they will notice the new and improved, sweet-as-molasses Jane.
The three of us will link arms, walk to the front of the service together, our little family. And then, after the ceremony, David will tell me about our new house and I’ll wrap my arms around his neck as he scoops me into an embrace. The crowd will be so happy that we’ve made it through our loss, that we have found happiness together again. It will be smiles all around, like a dream come true. Even Betsy will be happy, her nose ring sparkling as she nods in approval.
But seriously, I’m going to win them over. Surprise both of them. You’ll see.
THREE DAYS UNTIL GRADUATION
6:30 a.m.
My foghorn alarm blares and jars me out of bed. I scamper to the bathroom to turn it off. Shaking fingers jab at my phone. This routine happens every morning. Normal people have a soothing alarm, not this blaring foghorn. But I’m not normal. I’m special. Even though the sound scares me to death every morning. It works, though. I’m awake.
I grab my toothbrush and turn on the water, quickly dampen it before turning the water off again. I’m not worried about California’s perpetual drought. After what happened last year, I’ve developed a fear of water, especially the vast, deep ocean surrounding us. Did you know water covers 71 percent of the surface of the earth? Oceans hold 96.5 percent of the earth’s water. The Pacific Ocean, my view, is the deepest ocean, reaching more than six and one-half miles deep. The California Current moves south along the west coast of North America. I shudder as I tap my toothbrush on the edge of the sink. I learned from the coroner’s office that if you drop something into the ocean north of here, it always drifts this way, even a body.
From the bathroom I glance at David’s empty, cold side of the bed. He’s left for work extra early this morning. But that’s fine. Today’s our coming-out party and he probably has to knock out some things before he can focus all of his attention on me, and Betsy and our remembrance for Mary.
I study my reflection in the mirror above my sink. Not bad. I’m sort of like an actress who’s been on sabbatical and is offered a part: she reluctantly takes it and wins an Oscar. There is work to be done but I can see the beautiful me in there. I slept in yesterday’s makeup. It’s mostly faded away, rubbed off on my pillow, most likely. Dark smudges hang under my eyes from worn-away mascara, but what’s new and a little alarming is the deepening web of wrinkles beside each of my eyes. Botox will get rid of those in an instant.
In the closet, I slip off my T-shirt and stare approvingly at my own body in the full-length mirror. I look a little thin, but you can never be too rich or too skinny. Mom loved to repeat that one. My stomach is flat, a feature that only departed from my physique about three months into my pregnancy with Betsy, and returned shortly after her delivery. And of course, my surgically enhanced breasts are exactly right, a little larger than necessary, but hey, go big or go home. If David and I were to go on one of those island vacations he loves, I could rock a bikini for old times’ sake. I try to imagine it, us, on vacation again. Me in a floppy hat, white bikini, skin warm from the sun, and David unable to keep his longing eyes off my body. He grabs me as we walk into our casita, whispering “gorgeous” in my ear as he pulls me to the bed. Yes, we’ll do that again, soon, perhaps in the new house.
I check the time. I need to hurry to be ready for my coffee date with Elizabeth. Once I’m showered,