My ex-husband and I weren’t officially divorced. That would happen a few years after paying each of our lawyers enough money to move up several tax brackets. Eventually, we’d fire them and file for divorce at the “Legal Grind”, a coffee shop that offered coffee, donuts and divorce. At this time we were separated with restraining orders. Ex, had a new girlfriend, Audrey, and I had a new boyfriend. We were all too old to be each other’s girlfriend or boyfriend, so I think we referred to our partners as, partners. At this point in the evolutionary scale of learning about myself, I didn’t completely understand that the root of my problems came from my inability to say NO. Never wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings, I rarely did what was best for me.
I’d never met Audrey so I found it peculiar when she called to invite me and my partner to her Hanukah party. In an overly friendly manner I quickly answered, “I’d love to come”, while thinking I’d rather suck eggs. Had I been honest I would have said, “Audrey, it’s been really nasty between me and Ex and I think we’d both rather swim in shark infested waters dressed as wounded dolphins than spend an evening together at a Hanukah party”. But I was a people pleaser by nature. I didn’t want to appear rude and most importantly, didn’t want to disappoint my seven year old son who had been disappointed enough.
In the back of my mind I was intrigued by the idea of blended families. Audrey, her ex-husband, and his new wife would be there. Maybe we’d all bond at this Hanukah celebration amidst dreidels and chocolate coins. I ignored the voice that told me angry ex-spouses and fried potato latkes don’t mix. But I couldn’t say no. In fact, I offered to bring some food.
I asked my boyfriend/partner if he’d come with us to Audrey’s party. He had no problem answering,
“NO”
He knew what he did and didn’t want to put himself through. I did not.
Before going to Audrey’s party I tried to stop thinking of her as “Audrey 2”, the man-eating plant in Little Shop of Horrors. I didn’t want to slip and call her that. Unless I had to.
I spent the next week thinking about what food to bring to the party to impress the girlfriend of the man I hated. I decided on a big salad with elaborate fixings. That, I thought, would show her and her extended-blended family what a good cook I was.
As the time neared for my son and I to leave for the party, I had not grocery shopped, showered or dressed. Instead, I sat on the couch thinking of excuses that would sound legitimate when I called Audrey 2, to cancel. Telling my son we weren’t going to the party, and watching the tears well up in his eyes prompted me to splash water on my face, get dressed and get us both out the door and headed to the party. I’m most comfortable wearing jeans and a t-shirt. That night I wore a black dress and high heels that pinched my feet the minute I put them on.
My son and I stopped at the market to pick up a salad from the salad bar. The salad bar was closed.
“Can’t we bring popsicles?” my son suggested.
“Not tonight honey. It’s Hanukah,” I said, hoping he’d stop talking.
I ran awkwardly down the grocery aisles, my feet throbbing and heels click-clacking on the market floor. I pulled bags of lettuce off the shelf as though they were giving it away for free. Next, I ran to get canned Parmesan cheese - the kind I never buy. I grabbed an expensive ceramic, ovenproof baking dish and high-tailed it, click, clack, to the checkout line with my son trailing behind.
While we drove to Audrey 2’s house, my son bit-open the bags of lettuce. As he spit out the plastic I said, “Let me see the dish”. It was covered with a layer of dust. Parked near Audrey 2’s house, fifty minutes late for the party, I cleaned the baking dish with crumbled newspaper from the floor of my car. With a look of disdain I thought not possible for a seven year old, my son asked, “Isn’t that dirty?” Not answering I pierced open the Parmesan cheese with my car key and doused the lettuce in cheesy powder. “Let’s go”, I said, and we ran down the street to Audrey 2’s house.
While running, lettuce pieces flew out in all directions from the uncovered dish. My son picked up the lettuce and based on the five-second rule, put the lettuce pieces back in the casserole dish. Standing outside Audrey’s house, looking at the bowl of dirty lettuce, it suddenly hit me. I didn’t want to spend time with these people. I wasn’t ready to blend. I had no idea how I was going to fake goodwill toward Ex. I certainly knew I wasn’t doing my son any favors modeling a lunatic for him. Then clear as a bell, I knew that next time I’d just say NO! Easy as that. I guess some people have to run down the street in heels with dirty lettuce flying in all directions, to learn that lesson. I took a deep breath, put my free arm around my son and knocked on Audrey 2’s front door.
“Happy Hanukah”, my son and I said in unison as she opened the door.
“Welcome”, she said, as she took the salad. “What a nice salad. You shouldn’t have.”
The party turned out to be pleasant. I nodded a quick hello toward Ex while he sat playing piano. I think he nodded in return, but was probably nodding his head to the beat. Audrey 2 had nice friends and we talked standard party talk until Audrey offered to take me on a private tour of her home. When we reached the bedroom I meaningfully put my hand on her arm and shook my head from side to side. Suddenly channeling my grandmother, I said, referring to Ex…
“Audrey, Audrey, Audrey. WHY a musician?”
And she replied, “Because I’M a musician. My ex-husband is a musician. And all of my friends are musicians."
Fair enough.
I wasn’t invited back to the next Hanukah party. In fact, I can’t remember if Ex and Audrey actually made it to the next Hanukah together. There have been lots more Audrey’s who have come and gone. One special woman became a friend, and my son and I recently attended her wedding. Ex and I are pleasant to each other and the best news yet is, I occasionally flat-out say, NO. Oh, and I’ve stopped bringing dirty lettuce to parties.
When I’m not running late.
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