“Cake,” said Mercy. And then added, “Please.”
Bad Mommy praised her for her please and then cut her an extra large slice.
While I was finishing off my coffee, the dregs of sugar rolling around in my mouth, Darius Avery arrived home. I heard the bang of the front door and loud squealing from Mercy as she threw herself at him. He came into the kitchen a minute later with her perched on his hip, a briefcase in his free hand. He was better looking up close. Bad Mommy grew visibly flustered when she saw him, her cheeks flushed with color, and her eyes … dare I say … sparkling? I watched them, remembering my first observation of him in the drive. He’d looked happy. Now they all looked happy, and I suddenly felt like I was intruding on something private I wasn’t supposed to see. I shifted on my stool uncomfortably until she remembered I was there.
“Oh, Darius, this is our new neighbor, Fig,” she said, fussing with her hair. “She moved into the Larrons’ old house. I invited her over for a piece of my terrible cake and coffee.”
Darius set his briefcase down. Mercy turned to look at me like she was just noticing I was here again. I made a face at her and she smiled. My heart almost burst open right there.
“Hello, Fig. Welcome to the hood,” he said, leaning forward to take my hand. I noticed he had a particularly crooked smile that was quite infectious if you zoned in on it. I looked away quickly when I felt myself blushing.
“Hello,” I said, standing up. Cake crumbs sprinkled from my lap to the floor. How embarrassing. I made to pick them up, but Darius stopped me.
“Don’t bother. We have a Roomba.”
“A what?”
He pointed to a little round machine in the corner. “A little robot vacuum.”
“Oh,” I said.
“How did you enjoy my wife’s terrible cake?” he asked, rolling his eyes.
I’d been right about the grey at his temples. I saw it all now, the slight salt in all the pepper. He was not too tall, probably six feet even, with the type of broad shoulders women went on about. I wondered how many female clients he had, and how they were able to concentrate when he was looking at them.
“It was probably the best cake I’ve ever had,” I said, honestly. “And as you can see, I eat a lot of cake.”
I patted the extra weight around my belly. Bad Mommy blushed, turning away so we couldn’t see her face.
“My wife is modest about almost everything she does,” he said, looking at her with affection. “And she does almost everything better than anyone else.”
She shot him a look over her shoulder as she put the coffee mugs in the sink, and I suddenly felt sick. Had anyone ever looked at me like that? No, probably not. George spent most of our marriage looking at the television. I was ripe with jealousy.
“I better go,” I said, tugging on Mercy’s little foot. She smiled at me before yanking it away. “Thanks so much for having me.”
“Fig, you should come to our girls’ night next time we have one,” Bad Mommy said, drying her hands on a dishtowel and walking around the island to stand in front of me. “Some of the girls in the neighborhood, every other Friday night. That way you can meet some new people. Get out of the house.”
Darius was nodding his head even as Mercy tried to stick her fingers up his nose.
“That would be lovely,” I said. “What time?”
“We meet over here at six o’ clock,” she said, shooting Darius a look. “Six,” she emphasized again. He bobbed his head guiltily.
“Sometimes things run late at the office,” he said. “Jolene gets really upset if I’m late every other Friday at six o’clock.” She threw her dishtowel at him and he caught it with a smile. When he winked at her I got butterflies.
Yup, I felt sick. More and more by the minute. I edged my way to the door and the Averys followed me.
“Goodnight then. I’ll see you on Friday.”
They stood waving at me all the way back to my house. What a perfect fucking family. Tonight, I decided, I would have two shortbreads.
I watched them arrive from my bay window. Hens, six of them, though Bad Mommy told me the number always varied depending on who was free to come. Three of them were skinny, and the other three were skinnier than the skinny ones. I tugged on the floral top I’d chosen. It was the only going-out shirt I had, unless you counted my Christmas sweater collection, but you couldn’t wear sequined Christmas trees in July, could you? At the last minute I changed into a light sweater with blue snowflakes on it. They were all wearing skinny jeans or tight dresses that showed off their rumps. The only thing I had that remotely resembled skinny jeans were the workout pants I bought to steal the Averys’ mail. I pulled them out of the wash, giving them a sniff before I put them on. Looking at myself in my full-length mirror, I smiled. All I needed now was something for height since I was on the short side. I settled on black sandals I’d bought a year ago and never worn. I ran a brush through my hair one last time and put on some lipstick. I wished I hadn’t been binge-eating shortbreads all week, promising myself I’d work it off later. Fuck them. I was beautiful just the way I was. George had put me down for years. I wasn’t going to let a bunch of skinny bitches do the same. I marched out of my house, almost forgetting to lock the front door in my determination.