What a Girl Needs (19 page)

From what I can tell, the Novaks went out of their way to pick out the most mundane, soulless house available in the entire city. It’s like a part of me dies every time I enter it, and yet, here I am in the pink death room, lamenting my house. From its mossy brown carpet with baby blue walls, to its summery-yellow kitchen, complete with ochre appliances and earthy-green cabinetry, our house is a “before” shot in every room.

I feel as if the Novaks placed me into the house to test my meddle. Like some kind of Philadelphia poverty experiment a la
Survivor
. At one point, I’d started to decorate it, but I abandoned the project when paint and curtains fixed nothing and only made everything else appear more depressed. It was all just lipstick on a pig, and I wanted to scream out, “Why do you hate your son this much?”

Of course, Kevin said this was ridiculous—that maybe I was a little paranoid. “My parents struggled when my dad went through his residencies,” he’d told me. “They didn’t want us to have to endure that, to suffer like they did. This is their way of saying they want us to have it easier.”

Since my own generous salary had evaporated, it seemed like a sweet offering. Until I walked into the house and my soul started to be sucked away.

“Ashley?” My mom sticks her head in the room and smiles. “It’s so good to see you dreamily staring up at that ceiling. I miss that. You spent many hours in here, staring at that ceiling and listening to your dreadful music.”

I sit up on my elbows. “I miss that, too. It’s peaceful in here—well, except for the decapitated deer, I suppose.”

“I just wanted to tell you, I unplugged the DVR. It will take your father long enough to figure out why the television won’t come on—maybe he’ll miss the news.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I nod. “Do you think a house can suck the life out of you?”

She exhales deeply. “No, Ashley. How can a building, an inanimate object, suck the life out of anything?”

I didn’t know the answer to that question. I only knew that the house in Philadelphia affected me in ways that made no earthly sense. “Just pondering.”

“Well, dinner will be ready in an hour and I need you to be on your best behavior for our guests.”

“I’m not thirteen, Mother. I’m a lawyer. You don’t have to tell me to act appropriately. Besides, it’s Fish and Clara, right? They’ve known me since I was a child.”

“Exactly. You are rather opinionated, and that doesn’t always make for polite dinner conversation, and I shouldn’t have to remind you that you’ve been on the news for two separate incidents on your first full day in California.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll concede that.” I flop my legs on the futon.

“Did you get a hold of Kevin?”

I shake my head. “I texted Kay I wouldn’t be there for dinner. Maybe I can crash here on the futon until I think of what to say to her.”

My mom’s lips flatten, and I sense her disapproval, but she comes in, lifts my feet and sits beside me. “You and Kevin will be moving on soon. Wherever you end up, take the bar. The worst thing for you is sitting around. This is just a time of waiting, Ashley. You’re not used to it, and maybe it’s what you need to learn. Patience. Lord knows you’re going to need it as a mother.”

“I’ve been patient, Mom.”

“You’ve gone after what you wanted your whole life, and right now, your goals are on hold. It’s all right to be bored once and while and take the time to figure out what’s next—the only other alternative is studying for the bar exam as a hobby. Even if you don’t stay.”

“Do you think Kevin and I should have kids by now? I mean, at least a bun in the oven?”

“Ashley, Kevin’s too busy to have children right now.”

“He’s too busy to have a wife right now,” I mumble.

“Don’t start pouting and feeling sorry for yourself. It won’t feel that way when you have your own goals again, Ashley.”

If
I have my own goals again. After my hair and retail fiascos, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m safe in the world.

“This too shall pass.” She pats my leg. “Get ready for dinner.”

Why do I feel like everyone is proverbially patting me on the head? I’m jobless, and if I return to Philly, will anyone notice except for Rhett?

She stands in the doorway as if she’s about to say something profound and I wait for it. “Philadelphia isn’t good for you. You’ve lost your sparkle. If you’re trying to be Mrs. Novak the first, it’s never going to happen. You’re simply not that shallow.” My mom stops and catches herself. “I don’t mean shallow, I mean—”

“It’s all right, Mom. I know what you mean.”

“Ashley, you’d last one day in the Junior League crowd without telling the women something you’d regret. I know you.”

For some reason, I’m offended. “I’m totally that shallow. I could do the Junior League.”

“Do you even know what the Junior League does?”

“No, but I’ve seen them put on fashion shows. Are you trying to tell me I couldn’t organize a fashion show?”

“There are people out there Ashley, who like the norm. Who do everything to uphold the norm and the typical ways of society and proper etiquette. You are not that person.”

I grimace.

“You’re a fighter. If there’s a wrong in the world around you, you want to correct it and make things right. It’s why you can’t let Kay marry Matt without her knowing the truth. It’s why you tried to help Seth and Arin. You need a battle. Find one before that sparkle disappears altogether. That’s your calling, darling. You’re not a shrinking violet. You’re not the kind of woman who can hold her tongue and do as she’s told.”

“That really sucks. The Bible says I should be that kind of woman. Submissive.”

My mom laughs. “Ashley, when you were younger and just starting to go to church in high school, you told me the story of Queen Vashti and Esther, do you remember?”

I shake my head.

“Esther’s obedience was praised—she won the first beauty contest of her day to wed the king after Vashti was banished.”

“I remember the story, Mom.”

“Vashti, on the other hand, had told her drunken husband that she wouldn’t be leered at by his friends. Vashti stood up for righteousness, too, and demanded respect because the King dishonored her.”

“It would be so much easier if I just had a gentle soul like you do, Mom.”

“Ashley, don’t you see? From that early age, you didn’t admire Esther the same way you did Vashti, even though the whole point of the story is to admire Esther. Those women were called to different paths. Maybe Kay is called to the path of Esther, and Matt’s learned from his mistakes. You don’t have to assume the worst.”

I don’t, but I totally do.

The doorbell rings and interrupts us. My mom hustles out to get the door and I call after her, “Let’s not forget, Vashti was banished from the King’s presence. That’s hardly a love story for the ages.”

There’s a rush of voices, and Kevin’s voice rises above the fray.
Kevin?

Shoot. Now I’m hearing voices! Just bring me the strappy white coat already.

‡

A
t the sound
of my husband’s voice, I migrate toward my purse and yank out lipstick and apply—as if I’m some kind of Stepford wife. It scares me when my mom’s voice in my head is reflexive. I drag a hairbrush through my tresses—which thankfully is back to its normal color, and therefore, offers less of a visual pointing to my temporary insanity. The color-fix took an hour in the salon, where I understood next to nothing. Language barriers did not stop my stylist from trying to upsell me other products. Eventually, I gave into the cheapest option: Eyelash extensions. They make me feel like a flirtatious gorilla flirting with a Silverback from across the jungle with my coquettish gaze.

“Ashley! Ashley!” my mother shouts, and I snap back into reality.
Kevin is really here.
His voice is not just a figment of my imagination. My husband. The man who rarely makes it home for dinner—the man who I haven’t been able to reach by telephone, has flown across the country without so much as a word? A sick feeling permeates my stomach, and all Matt’s words come back to haunt me.
Is your marriage in trouble? You say he’s not ready to start a family? Is he not ready to start a family with you because this marriage was a mistake?

“I’m being ridiculous! He’s taken a vacation after all!” I say aloud and open the bedroom door and step into the living room. “Kevin?”

My raging joy is quickly extinguished by the sight of my sister-in-law Emily standing beside him. Yes,
that
sister-in-law—the one I left Philadelphia to avoid. She, and her tiny belly, are wrapped in a red skirt with a tight, navy-striped shirt and strappy, yellow sandals. I can’t help but admire her fashion prowess in the midst of pregnancy—even if her appearance does upset me greatly.

“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out shaky. I don’t make a move toward my husband. “I thought you were swamped with the study and surgeries. I haven’t heard from you since Monday night.” It comes out naggy. I hadn’t meant it that way, but the shrew rises up in my voice regardless.

“An emergency came up.” He takes a few long strides across my parents’ living room and engulfs me in a hug. To my surprise, I stiffen. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” He gazes at me with soft eyes, and I melt into his chest.

“She’s not glad to see
me
,” Emily quips, while she rocks back and forth on her sandals, gripping her belly.

“Of course I am,” I lie. “It’s simply out of context. I’d be surprised if Kevin was at our own house in time for dinner—much less dinner here on the West Coast.”

As Kevin tightens his arms around me, I’m finding my bearings. His appearance makes no sense at all. Kevin is not like me. He’s not impulsive. Every decision takes painstaking analysis, and that’s why his sudden presence rocks me to the core. But I realize as I wrap my arms around his waist and inhale his scent, how much Tiffany’s experience shook me, and I haven’t processed the event yet. My body involuntarily shakes at the realization of what I could have lost.

He tugs at my arm. “Ashley, what happened to your wrist?”

“It’s a long story. I fell. You know how klutzy I can be. I missed you,” I say with my grip clenched around Kevin.

“It’s only been two days, sweetheart.”

“Did you hear about Tiffany’s?” I ask him. “Is that why you’re here? Were you worried about me?”

“Did you buy yourself some jewelry?” he asks with a smirk.

“No.” I shake my head. “No jewelry.” I show him my sparkling wedding ring. “This is the only jewelry I have need of.” I clasp him again with a pathetic desperation.

“Oh brother. Are you two for real?” Emily asks. “Get a room. Seriously.”

Really? The pregnant wonder is going to tell me to get a room?

My mom hugs Emily. Read: Shuts her up. With Mom’s hand on the tiny belly that contains my future niece or nephew, she changes the subject. “Look at this little tummy. I know you’re not supposed to touch, but I can’t help myself,” Mom says. “We’re going to have a baby in the family!” She looks toward me as if to register it’s my turn to have a baby, but I stare up at the popcorn ceiling until the moment passes.

Emily smiles awkwardly. Her figure is still as statuesque and just as glorious as if she stepped off a Paris runway. Her crown of blonde hair is decidedly darker—a fact that I can’t miss.
Emily’s not dyeing her hair.
Is it possible my spoiled sister-in-law has a maternal instinct after all?

“Ashley,” my mother trills. “Look at Emily’s bump.” Mom frames it with her hands. “She doesn’t even look pregnant! Oh I don’t know how you girls do it today. In my day, we were all as big as a house and the maternity clothes were like circus tents with bows.”

I sigh.
Story of my life. Being around skinny, wispy women who carry babies as easily as if they’re opening a can of soup. I should have been born during my mother’s era, when it was okay to be plumped up like a microwaved hot dog when one was pregnant.

Mom yanks her hands away. “Oh, you’ll be staying for dinner. I’d better set two more places.”

“No, Mom,” Kevin says. “Don’t worry about us. We can eat at a restaurant. We don’t want to put you out.” He gives me that look where I know he needs to talk. I’m glad that for once, the drama in Kevin’s life has nothing to do with me.

“How offensive to tell your mother-in-law you’ll eat at a restaurant. You’ll eat here with your family. Come in and make yourself at home. Ashley, offer them something to drink.” Mom trails off to the kitchen, mumbling reminders to herself, just as my father opens the door from the garage.

Dad is with his hunting friends, Fish and Clara Bowman. All three of them are wearing camouflage shirts, as if they’ve stepped out of a
Duck Dynasty
episode.

“Ashley,” my dad says, as if he saw me yesterday. “You remember Fish and his wife, Clara.”

“Good to see you both.” I raise my hand in a wave, but I don’t step away from my husband. I’m still too fearful over why he’s here and I don’t want to let him go. I certainly don’t want to remain back in California and let him leave me again. Which is probably codependent and a whole list of Dr. Phil subjects wrapped into one small feeling.