The Other Woman (22 page)

“He…said yes, Ritchie,” I whisper in a hoarse voice.

He cocks his head. “He said…”

I nod and laugh through my tears. “He said yes.”

“Whoa, that’s fantastic! When?”

“Tomorrow, 10 a.m.”

“YES!” He gives me a hug. “I’m so happy for you. Man, I was worried. Have to admit. Fuck, this was stressful for me.”

I hug him back. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you.”

“Hey,
you
did it, Rival. Now, let’s go give Arena the good news.”

He holds my hand, and even though I'm wearing heels, we run toward Arena. When I can’t keep up with him, I stop to take off my heels.

“Wait there,” I say, as I walk backward.

“Why?”

“Wait. Just wait.”

He squints at me.

“Just wait.”

After I get about a thirty second lead on him, I break into a run and yell, “Race you to Arena!”

“What? That’s not fair,” he says as he tries to catch up with me.

Ignoring the curious stares of passersby, we run like two happy kids to give our mum some good news.

****

SCARLETT

“She visited you at work?” I shriek, horrified that she would dare do something so underhanded and visit him when I’m not around. On a Friday afternoon. Of course I’m disturbed – seducers never take anything or anyone for granted, remember?

“Yeah. She looked really good,” Bradley says. “Like she’s lost weight. Her hair – it looked good. And she looked…like, sexy.”

Sexy
. “Really?” Ding! Ding! Ding!

“Yeah and like, her legs, they were really brown. Her eyes…and she ran a fifteen-kilometer marathon, and her hair – fantastic.” He throws out his hands. “Can you believe it? I’m stunned at her progress.”

Fantastic
.

“Me too,” I say in a surly voice as I listen to my man brag about his wife. “You know I ran a
couple
of marathons, right?”

“Oh, yeah, I know. You’re amazing.” He smiles. “In
every
aspect – but Rival, she’s like a new woman.” There he goes again. “She’s seeing the kids tomorrow.”

“WHAT?”

He shrugs. “She asked, and I said yes.”

“Bradley, are you nuts?”

His wave is dismissive. “She’s okay, Scarlett.”

I am furious at his nonchalance, and even more furious that he could wax lyrical about the way she looks. The last time I saw her, she looked like something the cat dragged out of a trashcan. Well, tomorrow I shall be there to see just how
sexy
and
fantastic
she really is.

****

SCARLETT

It’s Saturday morning, and since my motto is to always be prepared (even though I’ve never been in the Scouts), I wake up an hour earlier than Bradley and creep out of my room to the TV room where the kids are already awake watching Sponge Bob make an idiot out of himself once again. (Who writes these children’s stories? Seriously.)

“Now, Holly,” I say, picking up the TV remote and pausing the TV show, “you need to keep an eye on Phoebe in case Rival becomes a bit rough and abrupt, okay?” Holly’s always been a little protective over Phoebe, and I know that if I put it that way, she will do exactly like I want her to do.

She cocks her head at me.

“Well, you do remember how negligent Rival was when she abandoned you guys at the mall and went to sleep off her drugs? I’m just worried she may
harm
you guys, that’s all. Especially Phoebe, who is too little to defend herself.”

Holly squints at me. “What’s neg…neg…?”

My sigh is weary. These kids know so little. Surely a four-year-old should understand what
negligent
is. Now I remember why I don’t like children. Speaking to them is sometimes like speaking another language. However, I have to exercise patience and work on these kids, because Rival has, in a matter of hours, successfully inveigled Bradley into seeing the kids, sneaky bitch that she is. Imagine what she will do with these innocent children?

“Well, Holly, let’s just say she may hurt Phoebe. Hug her too hard. Even hug you too hard. Squeeze you and injure you.”

Fear shadows Holly’s face as she looks at her younger sister. “What…must we do?”

“Well, I guess we have no choice but to keep our distance.”

“What does that mean?”

God! I’m ready to explode. It’s way too early for this. “Well, Rival shouldn’t carry you or hug you at
all
. When she does, just jump away like this.” I demonstrate. “Tell her you want to come to me, okay? It’s safest that way.”

“But I want Mummy to carry me,” Phoebe says.

“
Rival
, not Mummy, Phoebe!
I’m
Mummy, she’s Rival. You can’t have two Mummies, understand?”

Phoebe moves closer to Holly and buries her face in Holly’s back.

“Phoebe, look at me – Rival could have a
needle
from her drugs inside her pocket. Do you want a needle in you? It can really hu…”

Phoebe shakes her head, her bottom lip starting to tremble.

“So then, you need to be afraid, and you need to exercise caution.”

“Oh, I hate needles,” Holly says, drawing both arms to her chest. “What’s caution?”

“Yes, needles are mean and painful,” I say, ignoring her question. “Sometimes drug addicts hide needles in presents. They give it to you and then you prick yourself and there’s blood all over you. Tons of bright, red, scary blood.”

To my delight, Phoebe starts to cry. Holly quickly hugs her.

“Be safe and just say no to her presents, that’s all. And say, ‘I want my mummy,’ and run to me. Just run, okay?”

“Okay,” Holly says, her head bobbing, fear in her tiny face.

Great!

“But don’t mention all this to Dad. He’s stressed out already. Just say you want to go home.”

“Okay, I will, Mummy,” Holly says.

I smile. “Good girl. I will paint your nails if you do as I say.”

“Daddy won’t like that,” Holly says.

“I’ll handle him, and your nails
will
be painted.”

“What color?” Holly asks, excitement dancing in her eyes.

I smile. “Any color you like.”

“Awesome! Rival only lets me paint them with clear polish,” Holly complains.

“Or Tinkerbell,” Phoebe adds. “Pink Tinkerbell.”

“That is not fair at all. You should be able to paint your nails any color—”

“Morning, beautiful girls!” Bradley says, running down the stairs.

“Morning, handsome,” I say and lean in for a kiss.

He gives me the briefest of kisses and turns to kiss the girls.

I hate that about Bradley. He is affectionate, loving, and extremely passionate with me. But the moment the girls are around, he pulls back and avoids kissing me or hugging me too much. When I tackled him about it, he said something about not wanting the girls to feel insecure or jealous.

It irks me that he can be so loving toward them and then give me the bare minimum at times. I’m touchy-feely. I need to touch and be touched, and I don’t care who’s watching.

I seem to remember him being very affectionate toward Rival. Openly engaging in public displays of affection.

“What are you guys up to?” he asks.

“Mummy says Rival is gonna—”

“Oh, the kids are just stressed about visiting Rival, and I’m trying to reassure them,” I say, cutting Holly off.

Bradley’s smile disappears, to my delight. “It’s okay, girls,” he says in a soothing voice, drawing them both in for a hug. “Daddy will be there. Nothing to be af—”

“Me too,” I say and join the hug. “Group hug, group hug!”

Bradley looks at me and frowns.

“I promised them I would be there for them, Bradley,” I whisper. “I can’t let them down now, can I? I made a
promise
to them.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he nods slowly.

****

RIVAL

Today is the day – I’m finally going to see my kids. I’ve bought two heart-shaped pink balloons, two small pink and white dotted balloons, two candy-stripe balloons, two balloons with glitter stars on them, and two fluffy toy kittens that meow when you squeeze them. I was inspired by Mother Cat, Other Cat, and Kit Kat.

Of course, I dress with both my husband and children in mind.

For my girls I wear a white-gold chain with a pendant of a mother angel cradling her baby angel – a pendant Holly and Phoebe bought me for Mother’s Day last year. I have on three silver bracelets with pink butterflies on them – a gift from Holly and Phoebe last Christmas.

For Bradley, who couldn’t stop staring at my legs, I wear a pair of low ride blue jeans that Arena says makes my butt talk, a white top that bunches under the bust, drawing attention to it, and white wedges. My hair is loose and wavy, and my make-up is light. I’ve decided to skip the mascara in case I shed a few tears. Although I promised myself I wouldn’t so as not to upset my girls.

Feeling like I have been kissed by sunbeams, I glide over to the park thirty minutes early, balloons and gifts in hand, and wait for my babies. Wait for them to see me and rush into my arms.

The park is full of kids and parents, and just about all the park benches are taken. So I stand with balloons and kittens and jump every time a car approaches the parking lot.

“How much for the kitten?” a kid wearing a Spider Man mask asks.

With a smile, I shake my head. “They’re for my kids, sorry.”

“How much for the candy-stripe balloon?” A man holding a toddler asks a few minutes later.

“Sorry, they’re not for sale; they’re for my daughters,” I explain.

He looks at his daughter. “Sorry, hon, daddy can’t get it for you right now.”

She bursts into tears.

“Later, baby,” her father says. “I will get you one. Promise.”

“Oh, well, I guess you can have one after all,” I say, unable to stand seeing their distress. Guess I’m also in a good mood.

“Thank you so much,” the father says. “You seeing your kids after a while?”

“Yeah. Almost a year.”

“Oh?” He peers at me.

“I’ve been in a mental institution and I needed to get well before I saw them.” The explanation just tumbles out of me like a sigh. I just can’t help it.

“Well…” the man clams up, his eyes scudding.

I laugh out loud at his dilemma. “It’s okay, I’m fine now.”

“Good luck, then,” he says. “You’re lovely. I’m sure they would’ve missed you very much.”

“Thank you.”

Forty-five minutes later, after countless explanations of, “Sorry, they’re for my kids,” Bradley’s Merc pulls into the parking lot. They’re late, but they’re here. Finally.

My smile dips when I see Scarlett in the front seat of Bradley’s car. How dare she show her face here? It’s an effort to stop my hackles from shooting toward the sky.

Bradley gets out and helps my girls out of their car seats.

Then I see them. After almost a year, I see both my babies, and I find myself fighting back tears. They’re just beautiful. Holly has grown, her hair is longer, and she has lost some of her chubbiness. Phoebe has also lost a lot of weight, and she is no longer using her pacifier.

Bradley, Holly, and Phoebe stand before me. My darling family, ripped away from me, now within arm’s reach.

“Hey, Holly, Phoebe!” I cry, as I place the toys down and hold out my arms, ignoring the curious looks from people around me.

The kids don’t run into my arms, they just stand and watch me.

“Come to Mummy, girls.”

Scarlett gets out of the car and stands next to Phoebe.

Get out of there! Get back inside the goddamn car!

Then slowly, both kids move toward Scarlett and hold her hand. Hurt twines itself around my heart when I see the way they cling to her. Scarlett’s smile is so smug, I battle the urge to lunge at her, put my hands around her neck, and press until she lies lifeless on the tarmac.

But my kids are in front of me – I force myself to focus solely on them. “Come to Mummy, girls,” I coach, arms outstretched. “I have presents. See?”

They shift closer to Scarlett.

“Girls, go to your mother,” Bradley coaxes. “It’s o—”

“Don’t!” Scarlett hisses at him, hugging the girls close.

Bradley frowns, then falls silent.

“They’re scared, Brad,” Scarlett says. “Leave them to do things at their own pace.”

Scared? Of me? How can that be?

“Holly?” I whisper.

Holly looks at me, then looks at the floor.

“Phoebe, honey?”

Phoebe turns and buries her face into Scarlett’s jeans.

No, no, no, no, no, no!

“It’s Mummy, girls.”

Silence.

Bradley steps forward, pries the girls out of Scarlett’s grip, and almost drags them over to me, ignoring Scarlett’s scolding.

Smiling my hurt away, I say, “Holly? Can I hug you, baby?”

She doesn’t answer, but her eyes are fixed on the pendant around my neck. In her eyes I see confusion, and maybe a little hurt?

I hold out a balloon. “Would you like a balloon, honey? Choose any two of them. Go on.” I thrust the balloons at her.

She stiffens and draws both her fists to her chest. My hearts breaks at her outright rejection.

“W…what ’bout the kitten, then? You like kittens, remember? This one meows.”

Holly eyes the kitten, but does not touch it.

“Take it, Hol,” Bradley coaxes.

“No!” Holly says in an angry voice. “She has sharp needles in it, Daddy. She takes drugs!”

I gasp at the fury and scorn in my little daughter’s voice.