Bargains

Nick's home from New Orleans. The heat's on in the house. He has a cold. Amazing how quickly things resume in families. He's back on the couch, and the living room looks like a bedroom once again. I'm getting to the end of the term and really feeling the stress. I need to take a step back and plan, but I'm too stressed out to make myself do that. All my neurons are firing in different directions (ping ping ping). I'm dealing with the immense load of work on my plate by skipping meetings, sleeping in, and going to movies and out to dinner with the kids. Lilly and I are sitting in the cafe of our independent movie house playing a lot of scrabble. Well, darn it, I just kind of want to revel in them.
The big signal is my deteriorating chess game. And my level of irritation. I played chess with Jay yesterday in the Dakota. He was trying to figure out how to upload something on YouTube. 37 minutes, and it still didn't work. But we got in a nice chess game, which I lost.
Chess is weird with Jay. Mohammed and I used to play every day. He usually beat me, but we took a lot of pleasure in our games. Jay and I played once, 3 weeks into our relationship. He beat me. Then he wouldn't play with me any more: "You're not really a satisfying chess partner for me." He informed me. I couldn't get another game out of him for 3 years. Then I took extra special care to kick his ass. Then he wouldn't play with me because he was intimidated. "You let me win that first time." So I have to judge my game carefully--it has to good enough so that he feels challenged, but poor enough to let him win. What a pain in the ass. Why can't we just fucking play chess? The problem with this relationship is that so many simple things are conditional.
As I'm writing this, Lilly's rooting through the refrigerator. "What are you doing?" she asks.
"Writing."
"Do you have a blog?"
"Yes," I say tersely. Then I feel guilty. Here I've been writing about reveling in my children. But it's only a 1/2 hour. I only allow myself a 1/2 hour. Set the timer. Stop. It's like the chess game. I have to gauge my pleasures carefully.
She pulls out a chinese food container. "Is this still good?"
"I don't know. Have you decided it's time to clean out the refrigerator?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. You're writing. I'll leave you alone."
Lilly puts the chinese food back in the fridge, pulls out a 1/2 empty yoplait whipped yogurt container, starts to eat it. Sticks it back into the fridge. Pulls out another one, and using the same spoon, starts to eat that one.
Note to self: don't eat open yogurt in fridge. She's hanging on the door, in the way that breaks the door. I'm just trying to stay focused.
"You want a piece of toast?"
"No thank you."
We went to get Indian food at Patel's Palace yesterday. My old junior high frenemy, Rita called, leaving an enthusiastic message on my answering machine. "Haley Patton!" She yells, in her friendly Texas drawl (she lives in Texas now), "I can't believe you're still in town. I'm visiting my mom--give me a call." I call her on the way to the restaurant. I've picked Lilly up from voice lessons, snuck in a quick glass of wine with Jay during the lesson, and am driving in the freezing rain. She arrives in blue sparkly cashmere. Her ass is a lot bigger, but she's still beautiful. She must be happy. Girls' butts get bigger when they're happy. Her hair is long and blonde now. Her eyes are still the same sapphire blue (they have always been the most astounding color--since the age of 8). She was the blankest, most boy obsessed thing in junior high and high school. And then she went away to Texas and became a prosecuting attorney. I mean, from what I heard, she was just a barracuda. Who knew?
She's rich now, she married some older oil lawyer. She's sporting a huge sapphire and diamond affair on her left hand, the precise color of her eyes. 10 years ago, I remember having coffee with Rita on Christmas Eve, listening to her sob over same older oil lawyer.
She gives me a hug. All perfume and pokey hair. "Oh," she gushes. "Just look at you! I love your hair. It's so soft and lush. I want my hair to look just like yours! And these are your kids--oh my gosh, they're so big."
"That's quite a ring." I say. I know she wants me to. She wants junior high adulation. She wants the no holds barred envy that only a 13 year old can deliver.
"I know! You never know what life is going to give you! Think about how miserable we were ten years ago!"
We have a nice dinner. We eat everything in sight, and Rita joins in. She tells us about her trips and her life--it's not too bad.
"I've been to Italy, too," Lilly chimes in.
"You have? Oh that's wonderful! Where did you go?"
Lilly rattles off the list. The two of them talk Italy, which is sort of thrilling to Lilly, I think, to have something in common with this beautiful, rich creature perching at our table. Lilly brings up the leather gloves she bought me in Florence.
"Oh!" Rita says. "I know just where you got them. " She describes it. Describes the alley off the square, the little hole-in-the wall shop. Lilly nods, glowing.
"I hate to tell you, "Rita goes on, "but that place is such a rip-off--" and she launches into a whole story, oblivious to the sort of polite tension that has formed around Lilly's mouth. Lilly paid 80 euros for the gloves (on my credit card) but she really felt she was giving me something beautiful and precious.
Dinner winds up. Nick dips early to see his girlfriend. I pick up the tab, after a brief tussle. We say our goodbyes and leave. I put on my ugly hat, the one Jay got me for our first Valentine's day from Mexico and my beautiful, buttery leather gloves.
Lilly rubs them a second. "They're so soft."
"They feel like skin," I agree--"and they're warm."
"I've never seen anything like them here..."Lilly says.
"No, I haven't either. Maybe she was talking about a different shop."
"It sounded like the same shop."
"Maybe she's wrong about the shop. Have you ever seen anything like these anywhere over in this country?"
"No."
"Me either."
Lilly rubs my hands in the gloves again. Smiles. "They're so soft."
"They're beautiful."
We walk back to our car in the freezing drizzle, arms around each other's waists.