“I can’t believe it’s this hot in February. Usually I can deal with hot weather, but this is crazy.”
The sudden heat wave has followed months of cooler weather, and we’ve had no time to acclimate.
“I know. It should be illegal.” Marcy tears the wrapper off her popsicle. “You’re right. It’s melting already.”
“How’s Doug?”
“I hate him.” Marcy always says this about her husband. “He’s going to make me lose my marbles.”
“What’d he do now?” I’ll be on her side no matter what, though I often think she overreacts or exaggerates innocent situations.
“Do you know what he got me for Valentine’s Day?” she demands.
I shake my head. I’m trying to keep up with my dripping popsicle.
“Just a card. That’s what.”
“What did you get him?” I ask.
“That’s what he said.” Her eyes go wide with indignation. “That’s beside the point. It’s their job to worship us. Do you know all the stuff I do for him every day?”
“Okay. Okay.”
“Are you really going to go there, Vera? Valentine’s Day is the day they get to show us how much they appreciate us for doing things for them on a regular basis like cooking their damn dinner and washing their damn clothes.”
I nod and slurp at my popsicle.
“Among other things,” she huffs. “Does he ever step foot in the grocery store?”
“Does he?”
“Not as much as I do. That’s for sure.”
“Uh huh.”
“Sometimes he vacuums, and he takes care of the yard. I hate mowing.”
“You each have your chores,” I say helpfully
“But I do way more than he does,” she asserts.
“You’re a great cook.”
Marcy waves her popsicle stick. “Exactly. What would that cost at a restaurant? Do you know how much money we save by eating at home every night?”
“Women always do more than men,” I say.
“That’s my point. Working, housework, shopping, not to mention taking care of the kids.” She leans back on the couch as if the thought has exhausted her. “And they have one day to show their gratitude, you know?”
“I hear you.”
“A card. How much effort does that take?” She says. “All the romance is gone. That’s what happens once you get married.”
I finish my popsicle and set the bowl on the coffee table.
“What did Prince Charming get you?” She leans forward with a smile.
I grimace. It’s still a sore spot. “He didn’t get me anything.”
“Nothing?” She raises her eyebrows. “The romance is already gone?”
“He said he doesn’t believe in made-up holidays, and it’s just a marketing thing to get people to spend money, and he spends money on me all the time because he takes me out every week,” I say defensively. She doesn’t like him, and I constantly find myself defending him.
“Hmmm.”
“Well, he does spend a lot of money every time we go out,” I point out. “And he says he’ll buy me things if he feels like it and doesn’t like to do what’s expected.”
“What about your birthday?” she asks.
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that’s different.”
“Of course he did.” She shakes her head. “Did you get him anything?”
“A card.”
“Was it romantic?”
“He doesn’t like that stuff. He’s just not like that.”
She sets her bowl containing the popsicle stick on the coffee table. “That cooled me off a little.”
“Your mouth is orange.” I laugh.
“Yours is red. It probably looks better than mine. I probably look like a clown.”
“Where’s Doug today?” I’m glad to change the subject.
“Hanging out with his dad. They’re doing something manly with tools.” She leans back on the couch. “At least I know where he is.”
“You can trust him,” I assure her.
“How do you know?”
“Doug’s a good guy. You wouldn’t have married him if he wasn’t.”
“Yeah, but they’re all guys. You can’t trust them. It’s in their genes.”
“I trust Brad.” I instantly regret saying that to her.
“I wouldn’t. Especially him,” she remarks.
“What does that mean? You haven’t even met him yet,” I object. “Why don’t you like him?”
“Because you’re in love and he’s not.”
That statement makes me pause, but I don’t let myself reflect on it for long. “You don’t know how he feels about me.”
“Oh, I can read this guy a mile away.”
“You haven’t even met him!” I repeat emphatically.
“Yeah. And why is that? I bet he doesn’t want to meet your friends.”
“He never said that, but I don’t want you to meet him with your attitude.” I sit back on the couch crossing my arms.
There are a few moments of silence as I stew.
“Okay. I’m sorry. You’re right. I haven’t met him,” she concedes. “I could be wrong about him. I hope I’m wrong.”
A slight breeze momentarily drifts through the open sliding glass door toward us. For a few seconds there’s respite from the stifling heat, and then the air turns heavy and stagnant again. The heat makes me grumpy and listless.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Marcy says.
“I know, but I’m happy right now. We found that little dog and it’s like it’s our dog.”
“Don’t make me throw up.”
“Shut up! I’m happy.” I shove her shoulder.
“Good. I hope you have lots of puppies together.”
We look at each other and burst into laughter. It takes us a few minutes to get it out of our systems. This is the upside of our close friendship. We call it therapy when we laugh till we cry. It’s a good stress release, and I consider it crucial to my state of mind.
I turn to her as I wipe my eyes with my fingers. “So really what’s going on with Doug? Is something going on?”
“I don’t know.” She holds a blue and green throw pillow against her stomach.
“What do you mean? What happened?”
“Nothing. I don’t trust men. You know what happened with my mother and father. He had that girlfriend for years. You just can’t trust them.”
“But that doesn’t mean…”
“And my first boyfriend, Lance, in high school. Remember how he lied to me? He broke my heart.”
“Lance.” I remember Lance. I wave my hand. “That was high school. Everyone’s an idiot in high school.”
“Especially Lance.”
“Especially Lance.”
“But not us. Girls don’t cheat. Guys do.”
“Well, they have to cheat with someone,” I reason. “So girls are just as bad.”