Diary of an Alcoholic Housewife (37 page)

I learned on my thirtieth birthday, almost ten years ago, that I had to tell Charlie exactly what I wanted to avoid disappointment. I’d told Charlie I didn’t want a big party on my thirtieth, so he planned nothing. As my birthday got closer, I told him I wanted to do something nice, just the two of us. Charlie booked a room downtown at the Hotel Nikko. We had cocktails at the bar and took a cab to Shaw’s Crab House for dinner. When our taxi pulled up in front of the restaurant, Charlie turned to me and said, “I don’t have any money.” I paid for the cab. After dinner, the waiter placed our check on the table, and Charlie fished out a gift certificate my sister had given to us for Christmas and paid the bill with it. He then said he was too tired to go anywhere but back to the hotel, so we hailed a cab, which I paid for, and Charlie passed out in our hotel room. I spent the next hour in the bathroom scrutinizing my drunk naked body for signs of age while knocking off mini bottle after mini bottle of vodka from the mini bar.

A month ago, when I told Charlie I wanted the watch and handed him the magazine, he looked at the ad, snorted disgustedly, and chucked the magazine onto a side table. Last Sunday, while we were at church, my watch fell off my arm, hit the floor at Charlie’s feet, and I was unable to put the band back together. Days later, Charlie asked, “Do you have any thoughts on what you’d like for Christmas?”

“Yeah,” I snorted sarcastically. “You know my broken watch? If you don’t get me the watch I want, I’m buying it for myself.”

“Do you still have the ad?” Charlie asked sheepishly.

“The magazine is in our bedroom somewhere.”

Tonight, I decided to ask Max which color he thought I should get and began leafing through the magazine looking for the watch ad.

“Dad must have ripped it out,” I told Max.

“Why do you always blame Dad for everything?” Max asked.

“I don’t,” I said defensively. “He probably ripped it out because he’s going to order it for me.”

Charlie walked into the room.

“Did you rip the watch ad out of the magazine?” I asked him.

Charlie left the room and came back with the page. I gave Max an I-told-you-so look and handed him the ad.

“Which color?” I asked Max.

“Pink,” he said. “It’s your favorite.”

Back in November, I told Charlie I wanted the blue one. “You know,” I said, “I believe I would prefer pink.” I looked up at Charlie and he looked panicked.

“You may not have a choice,” Charlie said. “I think they shipped it.” He disappeared.

“At least it’ll be a surprise on Christmas: blue or pink,” I told Max.

I called my mother and thanked her for watching Van last night.

“You know, forty-two children in Illinois have died from the flu,” my mother said. “I saw it on the news. They say you can be contagious for six days after symptoms subside.”

I can always count on my mother for the worst news. Max had a wicked sinus infection several years ago that landed him in the hospital for a couple of days. After his release, I had to take Max to his pediatrician for two painful injections of the antibiotic Rocephin—one in each thigh. Before Max’s appointment, my mother called to tell me she’d seen a documentary on an Indian boy who’d received antibiotic shots in his thighs and now crawls on all fours because the injections deformed his legs.

“I’ve been a basket case worrying about Max’s infection, and now you tell me this crazy shit?” I howled. “I wouldn’t share that story with my worst enemy.”

I knew better than to worry about the injections crippling Max, but when I took him in for his shots, I asked his doctor about the hideous side effects my mother warned me about. Max’s doctor put her hand to her mouth and tried not to laugh.

I knew better than to worry about Van keeling over from the flu, but when I called Liv to tell her Van and I wouldn’t be at her Hanukkah party tomorrow night because he’s sick, I told her what my mother said about the flu being deadly contagious even after the person seemed well. I was thinking about keeping Max home, too.

“I’ll call Max’s doctor tomorrow and let you know what she says,” I told Liv.

[Monday, December 22]

I called Max’s doctor and told the nurse what my mother had said about the flu. The nurse stifled a laugh.

“Tell Grandma that just isn’t true,” she said. “If your child has been fever free with no fever-reducing medication for twenty-four hours, your child is not contagious.”

I called Liv and told her Charlie and Max would be at her Hanukkah party tonight.

“Why don’t you and Charlie tag-team?” she suggested. “Have Charlie come for a while, then you come?”

When Charlie got home from work and began getting ready for the party, I mentioned Liv’s idea.

“I don’t want to go at all under those circumstances,” Charlie said testily. “You just go. I really don’t mind staying home.”

Passive-aggressive asshole. Fucking martyr. When I had asked Charlie what he wanted for Christmas, he sourly said, “Nothing. There’s really nothing I need.”

“How about a hair shirt?” I asked. “You’d get a lot of use out of that.”

Charlie snickered. “I could use a new gym bag and a pair of gym shoes. But that’s it.” We were standing in the kitchen and Charlie was pouring himself a cup of coffee. I saw the one lone plastic travel mug we owned in the cupboard behind him. Charlie had lost all of our stainless steel ones.

“I know,” I said, “I’ll get you travel mugs for Christmas.”

“Doesn’t that just sum it up,” Charlie said. “You get an expensive watch and I get coffee mugs.”

“And the hair shirt,” I said.

“Take Max to the party tonight,” I sighed. “I socialize more than you do, just go.”

I got out the chopped liver I’d picked up from Kaufman’s Deli in Skokie, scooped it into a nice crystal serving bowl, and stacked the Hanukkah presents I’d wrapped on the table. “There you go,” I said. Charlie picked up the liver and presents, and he and Max left for the party.

I put Van to bed and popped open a bottle of nonalcoholic sparkling wine I’d purchased for Christmas Eve. I took my champagne glass out on the deck and had a smoke. It felt like old times, me standing out there drinking and smoking. I spent a lot of time doing that. I’d even convinced myself it was healthy: Smoking got me outside looking at the stars and breathing fresh air, even in the most frigid weather. But it felt weird this time. I don’t want to smoke and drink on my deck and get messed up every night. I was standing in my old groove. I stubbed out my cigarette and walked inside.

[Tuesday, December 23]

Charlie and Max got home from the Hanukkah party around eleven last night. There was a plate loaded with Hanukkah dinner that Liv had made up for me in the refrigerator and a plate of Hanukkah cookies on the kitchen counter.

“We had a great time,” Charlie said.

“Good,” I said.

“The kids played dreidel, we read the Hanukkah story, lit candles, opened presents,” Charlie rattled off. “The kids played like crazy and the adults ate and drank like crazy.”

“Liv tap danced,” Max said. “She put on her tap shoes and went to town. Seth was embarrassed.”

“What about Reed?” I asked.

“He was going like this,” Max said. Max rolled his eyes and looked away.

“Yeah, I can picture it,” I said. “But Liv’s a pretty good tap dancer.”

“Did you ever tap dance?” Max asked. “Oh, wait, Nana didn’t let you dance.”

“Nope, couldn’t dance,” I said. “Adventists don’t dance. It’s one of their rules. I wanted to take ballet, and I’d put classical music on and dance around the house once in a while, but that was it.”

Max frowned. “That Nana.”

“It was a great party,” Charlie said again. “A lot of fun, great food. There’s a plate for you.”

“I saw it,” I said irritably. I was thinking,
I’m so glad you had a great time with the friends I made, the chopped liver and gefilte fish I ran to Skokie to purchase, and the presents I shopped for and wrapped.

I went to a meeting later, and during my drive back home, decided to celebrate my upcoming fortieth birthday with a yoga party for my girlfriends. Surprisingly, I’ve been feeling happy about turning forty. I look young, I’m in good shape, and I’m grateful to have lived this long. Life is good. However, I’m not sure I should mingle my sober friends with my nonsober friends. On one hand, I think it would be interesting, but on the other hand, the “How-do-you-know-Brenda?” question is sure to come up.

I began making scalloped potatoes and pumpkin crème brulee for Christmas Eve dinner. I scalded the milk and cream, placed ramekins of liquid crème brulee into a roasting pan half full of water, and slid it into the oven. I started thinking about what Renee had said at the meeting earlier.

“I don’t know when it happened, but I don’t feel weird anymore,” Renee said. “I don’t feel like a freak lurking on the fringe of things. I can participate in everything and have a good time.”

That’s how I feel. Renee and I got sober about the same time. Maybe it takes a year for life to feel normal again.

Tracy had said, “I have to babysit my personality. I spend a lot of time every day trying to have the right thoughts and the right responses. About the only time I’m not working on it is when I’m grocery shopping—and God help me if someone bumps my cart.”

I thought about the time a guy cut me off while I was driving and I yelled, “Douche bag!” with Van in the back seat of my car. A couple of minutes later, Van sweetly repeated, “Douche … bag?”

Charlie walked into the kitchen. “I’m going to bed,” he said.

“I’ve been home with sick kids for weeks and working my tail off to get ready for Christmas,” I complained.

“I was going to take Max to open soccer tomorrow,” Charlie said. “Why don’t you take him instead, get out of the house?”

“Are you insane?” I shouted. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. People are coming over at three. I’ll be busting my ass. Like hell. You’re taking Max to soccer.”

I was proud of myself for not calling Charlie a douche bag.

[Wednesday, December 24]

My plan was to have dinner cooked by three, leave the food warming in the oven, take everyone to church for the four o’clock Christmas Eve service, come home, eat, open presents, and have dessert. Thank God Van has been feeling good and fever free for twenty-four hours. Paula and her family and my parents arrived, and everyone but my father was dressed for church. My dad was wearing corduroy pants, a flannel shirt, and moccasins.

“I’m not going to church,” he snickered and poured himself a stiff Maker’s Mark. “I’m gonna stay here and take a nap.”

I looked at him and shrugged.

“I’ve been hunting since five this morning,” he added.

I put my mother’s food in the oven to warm and set my sister’s appetizers aside. As we were getting ready to leave for church, I saw my father eyeing Charlie and Max in their suits and ties.

“Looks like Brenda’s got her men in line,” he sneered.

“Yep,” Charlie said cheerfully.

“If I’d known everyone was going to be wearing a tie, I would have worn one, too,” my dad said, looking guilty and left out. He walked into the TV room and lay down on the couch. “Why don’t you leave Van here with me?”

“Van wants to go to church,” I said. “They have a fun kids’ room at church and he’s looking forward to bringing Riley there.”

“You want to stay home with Papa?” my dad asked Van.

“No, I’m going with Riley,” Van said.

My father shrugged and took a belt of his drink.

After the service, my sister began serving appetizers. I took the food out of the oven and began grilling the fish. My father started teasing Riley. He took away the blanket that Riley drags around like Linus.

“Give that back!” Van yelled, sticking up for his cousin.

“I’ll give it back if you come over here and give me hugs,” my father told Van and Riley. Van and Riley wouldn’t hug him and my dad stomped out of the TV room and poured himself another stiff drink in the kitchen.

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” my dad shouted. “The kids don’t want anything to do with me. The only one who’s my buddy is Max. He’s the only one who’s going to keep getting the tree houses and motor scooters!”

My sister and I made Van and Riley hug their jackass of a grandfather and things calmed down. The rest of Christmas Eve was fine.

After my family left and the kids went to bed, I wrapped my last few presents and stuck them under the tree. I wasn’t drunk and tired. I wasn’t going to lie down on the couch, pass out, and wake up at two in the morning with
White Christmas
blaring from the TV. It felt good.

[Thursday, December 25]

I woke up Christmas morning without a hangover. Charlie got me the watch I wanted, in blue. It’s beautiful. I’m glad it wasn’t the pink one. He also got me a laptop computer and a wireless keyboard and mouse. He really outdid himself. It’s the first time Charlie got me big presents for Christmas. We never buy each other big-ticket items. I felt guilty for under gifting. I gave Charlie a pair of Nikes, an Under Armor gym bag, a package of sexy underwear, and two travel coffee mugs.

After breakfast, I checked email. My editor at the
Chicago Reader
loves my Healing Rooms story. Cool. We went to Charlie’s brother’s house in the afternoon and spent the holiday with Charlie’s family. Not once did I want a drink. It was a great day.