I answer, already exasperated, “How do you get nail polish out of grout?”
“Good morning to you, too. Dare I ask why?”
“No, don’t. But think of something quick, I’m getting high from the fumes.”
“Nail polish remover,” she says matter-of-factly as I eye the bottle already in my hand.
“Hold on a sec, okay?” I place the phone on the countertop and pour the remover on the worst spot before coming back to Grace.
“Great! Now I really feel high. The girls are going to walk in and find me passed out, naked on the bathroom floor and instead of calling 911 they are going to paint their damn nails!”
Grace snorts as she laughs and I visualize her holding her belly. The sound is contagious, so I go with it and laugh too. If I don’t I’m going to cry. “It’s actually working. Thanks, Grace.”
“That’s what I’m here for. So...”
“So...what?” I ask, confused, wondering what I managed to miss this time in my state of self-pity.
“Didn’t you get your mail yesterday?”
Shit! I actually haven’t gone to the mailbox in a few days. God only knows what’s waiting for me. “No, why? Who moved, got engaged, had a baby or died that I forgot to acknowledge?”
“Nothing like that, you’re good. But Lisa emailed me last night. Come to think of it she probably emailed you too. Guess you haven’t gotten around to checking that either.”
I haven’t showered in two days. Email is certainly not a priority right now. “Nope. Haven’t gotten to that either. Why, what’s up?”
“I’d rather you see it for yourself. Go get yourself and that bathroom cleaned up, get the mail, and I’ll be expecting your call.” She hangs up and I shake my head while letting out an over-exaggerated sigh. I don’t have time for this. But I’m definitely intrigued.
I forgo the cleaning and the shower, but decide to put on the pajamas I threw off earlier and run to the mailbox. When I open the box it’s overflowing. Bills, catalogs, credit card offers, what looks like a ‘thank you’ card from a birthday the kids just went to. And then I see it.
A shiny, gold square envelope addressed to Ms. Mia Page Murphy. There is no return address label and no one has used my maiden name in forever so I am immediately curious about this mysterious parcel.
I rush inside, throw the pile of mail on the table in the entryway, and head for the kitchen with the single envelope in hand. I rip it open, like Charlie did with his last chocolate Wonka bar. But instead of a golden ticket I come face to face with something far more enticing. My very own ticket of sorts—to a trip down memory lane.
I glare at the invitation with an ear to ear grin.
Class of 1997
You are cordially invited to
Westmont High School’s ten year reunion
at the Westmont Country Club
On Saturday, March tenth, two thousand seven
at eight o’clock in the evening
A million and one thoughts bombard my mind, the first being that I always imagined my husband would escort me to my ten year high school reunion . In all the years I’d pictured it, I loved the idea of flaunting Declan off to the girls who made me feel less than worthy of his type and the guys who never gave me the time of day. I’d planned to bring along brag books with my favorite photos of the girls to boast about my perfect life with my perfect family. And everyone would fill my head with compliments about looking so good after two kids and snagging such a hot hunk of eye-candy.
But right now my marriage is in limbo and toting Declan along to my reunion might give him the wrong impression. Or worse, the strain between the two of us would be visible on the outside and I’d be judged by everyone for it. I’m not prepared to put on an act in front of these people so I decide I’ll be going stag to this thing. Too bad the invitation indicates “no spouses.” I would have brought Grace along as my plus one. She might not have gone to my high school, but she was definitely one of us.
I hear the pitter patter of Cara’s footsteps upstairs and I know it’s a matter of seconds before she winds up in Charlie’s crib to wake her too. A phone call to Grace will have to wait so I decide on a quick text to let her know I received the invitation.
She replies back with something I hadn’t even thought about:
Better get something hot to wear for your reunion with Noah! I’m taking you shopping next week!
I’m not quite sure how I let that scenario slip past me, especially after just dreaming about him. I shrug it off; even throughout all the erotic dreams, I never thought of Noah as anything but an old crush. Someone who crept into my dreams every now and then to remind me of the past. And while remembering the past was sometimes fun, my present and my future belonged to Declan. He was the man who held the key to my heart and, unlike him, I was content with who I’d chosen to spend my life with and how that life had turned out.