[2013] Note to Self- Change the Locks Read online

  Yes! Just keep drinking the wine, Mom. Suddenly, the prospect of my mother embarrassing me to death seemed so much more desirable than her blowing my cover. If Simon would just cooperate and stay out of view, I may be able to escape this conundrum unscathed.

  Once we entered the bathroom, my mother slumped on the couch in the rest area. I ignored her as I splashed water on my face. Thank God she hadn’t seen Simon. In her intoxicated state, I didn’t know what she was likely to shout out. I felt my stomach lurch at what came to mind. We definitely could not have the wedding at this place if Simon worked here.

  What the hell was he doing here anyway? What was a trust fund baby doing waiting on prospective patrons of a wedding reception hall? It made absolutely no sense to me.

  “You know,” my mother garbled, as she joined me at the counter and started picking through the basket of toiletries, “That guy out there looked just like your Simon.” She sprayed the deodorant in the air causing me to choke and wheeze at the same time.

  “What did you say, Mom?” I attempted to chuckle. Okay, take it easy, Elizabeth. Deep breaths. Tell her she is mistaken.

  “Simon. That waiter looked like Simon!” She stared at me. “Remember? Cheery old chap?” She attempted a God-awful English accent.

  “Oh, sure he did, Mom. But that’s impossible,” I explained, taking the spray can out of her hand.

  My mother poked through the basket until she found a hand lotion. She squeezed way too much of it into her palms as she asked, “He still lives around here doesn’t he? Why is that impossible?”

  I licked my lips which were beginning to chap. Yes, Elizabeth, do tell. Why is that impossible?

  “Well, you see, Mom,” I found myself blurting out with absolutely no filter between my brain and mouth whatsoever, “That can’t be Simon because Simon is dead.”

  Simon’s dead? Nora’s right, Elizabeth…you really have lost your marbles. Why don’t you scoop more lie on top of your lies and add some more sprinkle full of lies and top it off with a cherry on top of a lie?

  My mother gasped as she covered mouth with her hand, causing the excess lotion to splatter on her cheek, the wall, and the mirror. “Oh my God! When? Oh my…how?” She swatted at me, lotion flying off her hand. “Elizabeth, why didn’t you tell me?”

  My poor Mom looked like she was going to burst into tears. On top of the lie I was going to have to deal with her being distraught by it? This is definitely my punishment for my sins, that’s for sure.

  I sighed, wiping the lotion off her face with a tissue and continued to build on my fantasy world. I might as well make this story a good one.

  “He died last year. Right before I met Austin. That’s why I never told Austin about Simon.” Ah, there you go. Work that fib in there. Kill two birds with one stone. You’re getting really good at this, Lizzie. Just hope Mom never shows up to your apartment unannounced because she’ll have a heart attack when she sees the “ghost” of Simon.

  My mother dropped back down on the couch, completely aghast at the news. “How terrible! Right before Daddy died?”

  Oh, yeah. That must have been about the same time. This could work.

  “Well, I never told you because it was actually the same day, can you believe that?” I can’t believe it, why in God’s name would she believe it?

  My mother’s hand flew to her mouth again, sans lotion this time. “Oh Elizabeth! You must have been devastated!” My mother then added, “I know you never wanted to share the intimate details of your divorce, but I assume you two parted on amicable terms.” She smiled weakly at me as she took my hand. “You two were so good together, I couldn’t imagine that it was anything other than a case of getting married too young.”

  So good together? Oh, Mom you have no idea. You wouldn’t think we were so good together if you knew.

  I had to remind my inner voice that it was my doing that nobody, other than Nora, knew why Simon and I had gotten divorce. It was too painful and humiliating. I didn’t want anyone in my family or any of my friends to know someone I had given my heart and soul to, cut me that deep.

  Avoiding my mother’s eyes, I rummaged through my bag for a stick of gum. Finding it, I pulled the fuzzy lint off the wrapper and shoved it in my mouth.

  “Yeah, that was it,” I mumbled, staring at myself in the mirror. Every time I opened my mouth and blurted out something untrue, it got easier and easier. But I felt worse and worse each time.

  My mother stroked my hand lovingly as she struggled to not sway. “I guess I can tell you this now, but I had always secretly hoped that you and Simon would find your way back together someday.”

  “Well, he’s dead so that’s not possible,” I snapped quickly. And he hurt me.

  “And you’re marrying Austin now,” my mother pointed out. And I’m marrying Austin. Don’t forget about Austin, Elizabeth!

  I beamed at her, perhaps a little too broadly. I caught sight of my smile in the mirror and nearly scared myself with my enthusiasm. “Yup, I’m marrying Austin!”

  My mother stood up, squeezed my arm, and started toward the exit. Then she thought better of it and rushed back to my side, looping her arm through mine. “I’m sorry for bringing up such a painful subject, dear. I’ll be sure never to talk about Simon again.”

  Perfect, I thought, pushing open the bathroom door. As we walked toward the table, I could see Simon collecting the dirty dishes. He hurried away when he spotted me. Or, more accurately, he ran away when the evil daggers I was shooting in his direction caught up with him.

  My mother tugged on my arm, stopping me in my tracks. “Just one more thing, Elizabeth. How did he die? He didn’t die of a venereal disease or something like that, did he?”

  “Mom! That’s gross!” I chastised her like she was my child eating boogers or something. Sometimes I didn’t know where she got these things.

  My mother shrugged. “Well we had a lecture about venereal disease at the senior center last week.”

  There was so much wrong with that statement. First of all, my mother wasn’t even a senior yet, but she would go over to the senior center for lectures, just to get out of the house and mingle with other widows and widowers. And why they were having lectures on VD for seniors, I didn’t even want to think about. Instead, I wanted to assure my mother that Simon was good and dead.

  I caught a glimpse of my ex-husband scurrying into the kitchen. “He got hit by a bus,” I told Mom through clenched teeth.

  Twelve

  As I heard the front door creak shut, I leapt out of bed. I tiptoed toward the bedroom door on my freshly pedicured feet and leaned my ear against it. I heard the closet in the hall open and shut quietly. Opening the door a crack, I saw Simon creep toward the couch, arms full of linens. Licking my lips evilly, I stepped out of the bedroom and stood with my hands on my hips, waiting in the shadows for Simon to turn around.

  When he did, I stepped toward the couch and yelled, “Boo”. Simon let out a sharp girlie-like scream, throwing the blankets and pillows in the air. I smirked as he stood there, panting and clutching his chest.

  “Bloody hell, Lizzie! You scared me nearly to death!” Simon gasped as he reached over to switch on the lamp. His face was white as a sheet.

  “Good. Just like you practically scared me to death before.” I took my hands off of my hips, strode over to my ex-husband and shoved him in the chest. He teetered backwards slightly, but didn’t fall on his bony ass as I had hoped.

  “Scared you?” He appeared genuinely confused.

  “What the hell were you doing at the Manor, Simon? Are you following me? Living with me isn’t enough? Are you trying to destroy my life by stalking me, too?” I shoved him once more for good measure.

  “No. I’m not. I had no idea you were going to be there.” I glared at him skeptically and he added, “Honest.”

  “Then what were you doing there?” I narrowed my eyes at him. After all this time, I still couldn’t believe a word this man said.

  Simon sig
hed as he closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I was working there. I’ve been working there.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” I grumbled. “But why? Why aren’t you looking for a job in your field?”

  Whatever field that would be at the moment. Simon had been an ad executive when we met, but he had also dabbled in computer technology and the last I knew, he was taking college courses to be a nutritionist. But as a trust fund baby, Simon didn’t really take the idea of working seriously. “Why are you working as a waiter?”

  “Why does anyone get a job, Lizzie? I needed money.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I scoffed, not really believing it. “But why aren’t you looking for a job as a nutritionist? You did finish that course, right?”

  Simon nodded as he plopped down on the couch. “I did. And I actually liked that. I’m taking some courses in anatomy and physiology now, too. I want to be a personal trainer and nutritionist.”

  “Okay well that’s all fine and dandy, Simon, but why are you working as a waiter? Why aren’t you looking for a job that uses your expertise?”

  “I am looking, Lizzie. But I can’t just sit around and wait for that dream job. I need the money,” he reiterated.

  I scoffed. “Oh please. Don’t you have enough in your trust fund to live on for a few years? If not forever?”

  Simon’s pale face turned crimson. “Not exactly,” he stammered.

  “Oh please! You even gave me enough in the divorce settlement that I didn’t have to work for months after I lost my job. I’ve able to live off that and my freelance work for quite a while. You can’t tell me you don’t have enough, if I even have enough.” I folded my arms across my chest. I was really getting tired of Simon and his bullshit.

  “I didn’t have any more after that,” he mumbled as spread the blanket on the couch.

  “You didn’t have any more of what?” I asked with annoyance, picking at a stray thread on my pajama pants.

  “Mmmm, mmm, mmmmm,” Simon said inaudibly.

  “What? I can’t hear you if you mumble, Simon.”

  “I didn’t have any more savings after I gave you money in the divorce,” Simon finally repeated.

  I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. “How could you not have any money? You told me you had millions.”

  Simon grimaced. “I may have exaggerated slightly.” He held his index finger and thumb close together.

  I lunged toward him and he ducked, resulting in me hitting him square in the shoulders. “You asshole! You lied to me!”

  Simon held up his hands. “Wait, you told me the money didn’t mean anything to you.”

  “It didn’t,” I stammered.

  Okay, had I been thrilled to learn Simon had some extra cash? Absolutely. But that had never been what our relationship was about. And I was never one of those women, like, eh hmm, Michelle, who wanted to stay home all day and do nothing. I just wanted to be comfortable and not have to stress about money.

  I had watched my Dad scratch his head and moan and groan way too often while he worked on the checkbook. I’d come down for a snack before bed some nights and he’d be sitting there with Mom at the kitchen table, scotch in one hand, calculator in the other. I could always tell how serious the situation was by the kind of scotch he was drinking. The older the scotch, the faster I needed to hightail out of there.

  Mom didn’t actually do anything with the checkbook; she was usually there for her weekly grilling. “You spent over two hundred dollars at the grocery store, Elise? What in the hell costs that much?” And my mother would sputter something about growing children and my father would sigh and gulp his scotch. And then he would move on to the next item which would usually make her cry and he would take another swig of his drink and dismiss her.

  Don’t get me wrong. We never went hungry and we never had holes in our shoes or anything like that. But, we didn’t have many toys, we didn’t often go out to eat and we never, ever went on vacation. The only childhood vacation I could ever remember was the time my grandmother took us all to Disney World. My father grumbled the whole time about how the prices were astronomical until my grandmother told him to “stick a sock in it, he wasn’t paying for this vacation, damn it”. Being told off by his own mother shut my dad up for sure. So did her death five weeks later from the liver cancer she never told us about.

  But money most definitely was not the most important thing to me, and Simon was just being a jerk trying to make it like it was.

  “The point is that you lied, Simon.”

  “I exaggerated. I didn’t flat out lie. After our honeymoon and our trips to Paris and Italy and the wedding itself, I was down a considerable sum.” He face clouded as he leaned back on the couch. “And when Mum got sick, my brothers didn’t want to put her in a home. They thought she was fine living on her own. They weren’t the ones chasing after her when she got a hold of a butcher’s knife and threatened to castrate the mailman because he looked like a boy who dumped her when she was young. They weren’t the ones picking her up off the floor when she fell at three in the morning.”

  Simon had been very good to his mother. He was the one who always took care of her. She hated me, so I tried to stay out of her way, but Simon was a dedicated son. We were still together when she started to really show signs of the early onset Alzheimer’s. Simon’s brothers had been in complete denial of her ailment because she was only sixty years old at the time.

  They refused to help pay for her assisted living costs because they thought Simon was being unreasonable. Jake was the oldest and in charge of his mother’s money. He wouldn’t let Simon use any of Mrs. Collingsworth’s money for the assisted living facility. Simon decided to use his own money.

  “Are you sure? It’s your money from your father,” I had asked one rainy Sunday morning as we lounged in bed together. In actuality, it was closer to noon, but Simon’s mother had a bad night and we both were at her house from midnight to close to four in the morning, convincing her that the neighbor was not trying to steal her husband and tie her up with a jump rope. It had been a particularly exhausting expedition, at the end of which, Simon’s mother had turned to us and acted like a completely sane person, asking us if we wanted to come for Easter.

  I could see the drawn out expression on Simon’s face that morning and I knew he had had enough. “It’s fine,” he told me, dismissing the notion that he was wasting his money. “Besides, it’s my mum. It’s what my dad would have wanted me to do with it. And there’s plenty more anyway.”

  When we got divorced later that year, I thought nothing of asking him for alimony. And he didn’t even put up a fight. His lawyer slid the paper across the table and he signed it without even looking at me. Not that I had wanted him to look at me at the time.

  “So when we got divorced?” I asked as Simon sat on the couch.

  “That was the last of my money.” Simon stared down at the carpet as he kicked off his right shoe.

  I was stunned. “Why? Why did you give it to me then? Why didn’t you fight me over it?” I stammered.

  “I wanted you to have it.” Simon told me quietly, pulling off his left shoe.

  “Bullshit,” I cried, startling him. “You must have gained something from it. There’s no reason you would agree to give me the money without a fight. At the very least, you would have told me that it was the end of the money.” I stared into his steely gray eyes. “You would have tried to make me feel guilty.”

  Simon shook his head as he pulled off his socks one at a time. “No. I didn’t tell you because you wouldn’t have taken the money if you knew the truth. And I truly wanted you to have it.” He gazed up at me, with his eyes full of moisture and sincerity. “I needed you to have it.”

  And suddenly, it became clear. This was guilt money. He gave it to me to ease his feelings of remorse. He figured that if I took the money, he didn’t have to feel as bad for what he did. This realization angered me even more than his lies.

  “I’m going to give you
that money back,” I stated firmly.

  Simon shook his head vehemently. “No. I don’t want it back.”

  “Why not, Simon? Then you’ll have to feel repentant about what you did?” I leaned toward him and got close to his face. “I. Hate. To. Be. Lied. To.”

  Our noses were practically touching. I could practically taste his minty breath. I tried to avoid breathing it in. I closed my eyes, but I could still smell it, feel it. The spearmint singed my nose hairs, unearthing a memory from my mind.

  I felt Simon’s hands on my cheeks as he drew my face toward him and then without any resistance from me whatsoever, he kissed me, lightly on the lips. My heart froze, my mind halted completely. I wanted nothing more than to live in that moment for eternity. The moment Simon’s lips touched mine, time stopped and none of the past mattered any more. It was as if we had travelled back in time, before we were married, before the incident, before it all went to shit. But it only lasted for the briefest of seconds.

  He pulled away and spoke, shattering the magic. “I never, ever, stopped feeling awful about what happened, Elizabeth. And I never will be able to take it back. But if I could somehow, make you see—”

  My eyes snapped open and I snarled, “I don’t want to see whatever you want to show me. All I know is my husband betrayed me.” I backed away from Simon and the couch. I whispered sadly, “All the money in the world can’t change that, Simon.”

  I turned on my heel and marched straight into the bedroom. I closed the door softly and climbed back into bed. There I cried myself to sleep, wishing for that one moment when everything was all right and knowing, it would never be that way again.

  Thirteen

  Sitting at the kitchen table, I gazed out the window at the pigeon on the ledge, trying desperately to make sense of the story I was writing. I had been staring at my sticky notes for the better part of an hour and so far, I only managed to type one paragraph on the laptop in front of me. Damn story seemed so promising in the coffee shop two weeks ago, and now I felt as if I had completely lost my inspiration.