seen my husband making another woman into a swizzle stick. I used more swear words than I had since high school. I got drunk before afternoon pickup. Then I passed out on Stephanie’s leather love seat.
When I came to, Gisella was standing next to me with a jug of water.
“Where’s Mrs. Chambers?” I asked groggily.
“Mrs. Chambers took the children to pick Max up from school. She said to tell you she be right back.”
“Oh, my head. Do you have any aspirin, Gisella?”
“Yes, Mrs. Blick.”
I was armed with aspirin and tonic water when Max and Zoe and Graham piled through the kitchen door. Max ran straight into the library and hugged me. He was getting so tall—the top of his head was in line with my chest. I breathed in the avocado shampoo mingled with sweat and playground dirt.
“You smell funny, Mommy.” Max squirmed out of my embrace.
“Mrs. Chambers and I had Mexican food for lunch,” I improvised.
“Tacos?” His blue eyes sparkled. Max loved Mexican food.
“Sort of liquid tacos,” I mumbled. My vision was still blurry. I was not an experienced noon drinker.
“Can I have some?” Max asked.
“Ask Gisella to make you a snack. And Zoe wants to show you her new Wii game. She’s in the family room,” Stephanie instructed, coming into the library.
Max disappeared and I sunk back onto the love seat, my “mommy” strength dissipated.
“How are you doing?” Stephanie asked.
“Thanks for picking him up. I have to practice my tequila shots.”
“Practice makes perfect.”
“A rule my husband lives by. What am I going to do?” I groaned.
“What do you want to do?” Stephanie perched on the love seat next to me.
“I love Ross and Max loves his school. But it’s such a small town. No one stays in Ross when they get divorced.” When Ross couples divorced, they moved away. The houses and mortgages were too big for single parents.
“Don’t even think about moving. Max has lived here his whole life. You belong here.”
“But how can I walk by La Petite Maison every day and think about who Andre is screwing now?”
“Andre can move. He can open another restaurant in San Francisco.”
“He loves the restaurant. I think he would rather part with Max than with the restaurant. Obviously he would rather part with me.”
“I told you, I don’t think Andre will want a divorce. In his way he loves you.”
“He has a very odd way of showing it.”
“He’s French, Amanda. You knew that when you married him. Remember that movie Le Divorce with Kate Hudson? She went to Paris to visit her sister, and ended up having an affair with a sexy married Frenchman.”
“That’s a movie,” I told her. “They do lots of things in France they don’t do here. They drink their coffee black and they eat dinner after nine p.m. Andre used to give me all that crap about French marrying for life and Americans divorcing too easily. But I don’t believe it.” I shook my head. “Any Frenchwoman who is in love with her husband couldn’t stand knowing he is unfaithful.”
“They say Paris is the city of love,” Stephanie replied.
“Maybe mothers teach their daughters not to marry for love, maybe they arrange marriages to carry on the family name or combine vineyards. The wives take lovers and the husbands keep mistresses and everyone’s happy.” I was on a roll. “You don’t know what it’s like, Stephanie, to see your husband kissing another woman, screwing another woman. You can’t turn your head away from that.”
“I’m not condoning it. I’m just saying Andre may have been brought up differently.”
“We live in America. For the past ten years Andre’s been celebrating July Fourth, not Bastille Day. And Andre knows how I was raised. San Francisco society is very conservative. I went to an all-girls school till eighth grade where we had to wear uniforms. At the boys’ school they wore ties and blazers, and if they saw a Hamlin girl walking down the street in uniform, they
When I came to, Gisella was standing next to me with a jug of water.
“Where’s Mrs. Chambers?” I asked groggily.
“Mrs. Chambers took the children to pick Max up from school. She said to tell you she be right back.”
“Oh, my head. Do you have any aspirin, Gisella?”
“Yes, Mrs. Blick.”
I was armed with aspirin and tonic water when Max and Zoe and Graham piled through the kitchen door. Max ran straight into the library and hugged me. He was getting so tall—the top of his head was in line with my chest. I breathed in the avocado shampoo mingled with sweat and playground dirt.
“You smell funny, Mommy.” Max squirmed out of my embrace.
“Mrs. Chambers and I had Mexican food for lunch,” I improvised.
“Tacos?” His blue eyes sparkled. Max loved Mexican food.
“Sort of liquid tacos,” I mumbled. My vision was still blurry. I was not an experienced noon drinker.
“Can I have some?” Max asked.
“Ask Gisella to make you a snack. And Zoe wants to show you her new Wii game. She’s in the family room,” Stephanie instructed, coming into the library.
Max disappeared and I sunk back onto the love seat, my “mommy” strength dissipated.
“How are you doing?” Stephanie asked.
“Thanks for picking him up. I have to practice my tequila shots.”
“Practice makes perfect.”
“A rule my husband lives by. What am I going to do?” I groaned.
“What do you want to do?” Stephanie perched on the love seat next to me.
“I love Ross and Max loves his school. But it’s such a small town. No one stays in Ross when they get divorced.” When Ross couples divorced, they moved away. The houses and mortgages were too big for single parents.
“Don’t even think about moving. Max has lived here his whole life. You belong here.”
“But how can I walk by La Petite Maison every day and think about who Andre is screwing now?”
“Andre can move. He can open another restaurant in San Francisco.”
“He loves the restaurant. I think he would rather part with Max than with the restaurant. Obviously he would rather part with me.”
“I told you, I don’t think Andre will want a divorce. In his way he loves you.”
“He has a very odd way of showing it.”
“He’s French, Amanda. You knew that when you married him. Remember that movie Le Divorce with Kate Hudson? She went to Paris to visit her sister, and ended up having an affair with a sexy married Frenchman.”
“That’s a movie,” I told her. “They do lots of things in France they don’t do here. They drink their coffee black and they eat dinner after nine p.m. Andre used to give me all that crap about French marrying for life and Americans divorcing too easily. But I don’t believe it.” I shook my head. “Any Frenchwoman who is in love with her husband couldn’t stand knowing he is unfaithful.”
“They say Paris is the city of love,” Stephanie replied.
“Maybe mothers teach their daughters not to marry for love, maybe they arrange marriages to carry on the family name or combine vineyards. The wives take lovers and the husbands keep mistresses and everyone’s happy.” I was on a roll. “You don’t know what it’s like, Stephanie, to see your husband kissing another woman, screwing another woman. You can’t turn your head away from that.”
“I’m not condoning it. I’m just saying Andre may have been brought up differently.”
“We live in America. For the past ten years Andre’s been celebrating July Fourth, not Bastille Day. And Andre knows how I was raised. San Francisco society is very conservative. I went to an all-girls school till eighth grade where we had to wear uniforms. At the boys’ school they wore ties and blazers, and if they saw a Hamlin girl walking down the street in uniform, they
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