More than the Sum (5 page)

Out of the corner of one eye she watched the Waterford Ball drop in Times Square, while tugging at the last few rows of tape.  At the stroke of midnight her transformation of the kitchen was complete, and she was thrilled with what she’d done.

When she and Craig bought the house, the first thing they did was  update the kitchen.  With the help of the Home Depot coordinator acting as arbitrator between them, they ended up with white cabinets, quartz counters in a dark grey/black, and for the back-splash chose small glass tiles in a mixture of taupe tones, with a random touch of black; the original wood floors were stripped and stained a dark mahogany.  The taupe had been a very safe, howbeit boring, color choice.  At the time, she hadn’t cared other than she did not want the small space to seem smaller by dark cabinets, and the taupe was a good contrast with the white. It was the one room in the house that had personality. Even her mother had been complimentary of it.

She backed up, surveying what she had done, pleased to see how the black striping made sense of what was already there, adding depth and drama to the relatively small kitchen; and it added height.  Best of all, she had done it by herself.  Perhaps, she had a bit of her mother’s flair, after all. 

Earlier that afternoon she purchased a demi-bottle of Champagne, feeling it was important to acknowledge her passage into this new season in some celebratory way, even if she was alone. With a ‘pop’ the cork gave way, and she poured its contents into a juice glass, not wanting to use the flutes they habitually used from their wedding.  She had the fleeting thought of using one and smashing it in the fireplace, but concluded it would be too messy and might injure the kitten.  The gesture, she knew, would be more destructive to her than to the crystal.

She bent over to scoop up Shadow, interrupting his furious batting around of a ball of wadded-up blue tape.  Bringing him to her eye-level, she kissed his wet nose, singing out loud, “May auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind” thinking,
I actually think I know what that means now!
  But his eyes remained fixated on the tape-ball on the floor.  “Okay, little kitten, I’m not taking this personally,” she told him, setting him back down, watching with amusement while he declared war on another blue invader.  

Next she would run a hot bath and take a soak in the Jacuzzi, alone with her thoughts—she had a new year to plan.

                                                   
Chapter Six

Happy with the results of her newly striped kitchen Brittany decided to move forward with some other simple, and cosmetic, changes to the house. One Saturday evening, late in January, she lay sprawled across the bed in the master bedroom. The bed was strewn with paint chips and color charts she had been collecting from various outlets for the proposed facelift to the room.  One by one she held them up to the light, wishing she could ask her mother for some help.  If Alma was good at anything, she was good with color, and in spite of her rigidity in personality, her decorating style was eclectic and colorful, made more interesting because of the many art pieces and artifacts she and Ted had collected on their travels. 

How can there be so many different shades of green
?  Brittany wondered.  There was sage, mint, moss, lime. light, dark, each named with exotic names that only added to her confused state of mind.

It hadn’t taken long for her to conclude the next rooms in line for transforming would be the taupe master bedroom and bath, symbolically important in the reclaiming of her house. From there, she would move to the dining and living rooms, having already chosen the color for them.  Their color choice was easier; she would paint them both a pale putty color that blended with the taupe in the kitchen.  The front door was on her list, too; it was old, stained wood, dull and faded from the eastern exposure, soon to be enameled a dark blue-green. 

But, tonight Brittany occupied herself by sorting through various shades of green for the bedroom, trying to decide which one would be given the task of erasing another reminder of Craig while trying, with no success, to distract Shadow from thinking they were for him to play with. 

Even she could tell that any greens mixed with yellow wouldn’t work.  She sorted those samples out, tossing the discarded paint chips to the foot of the bed in hopes her hyperactive kitten would relocate. She flipped over on her back to be immediately attacked by Shadow, quickly bored with the inanimate paint chips, preferring a real live playmate.  She gave up on the chips deciding play time sounded good to her, too.  Adopting him had been a good decision, at least now she could voice out loud some of what was rolling through her brain and not feel totally crazy.  Plus, he made her laugh.

          
Putting her mark on the kitchen was a rather simple fix, despite the laborious taping. But, after experiencing how laborious the process was, she didn’t want the other rooms to become long and drawn out projects, nor did she want to assume the pressure, on top of everything else she was dealing with. So, the following morning she began combing the internet to find someone with good referrals that she could afford.

Jeanne suggested she look on Angie’s List, where Brittany quickly found someone who was both affordable and was available to begin immediately. They agreed he should come over the following weekend to bid the job. 

Now, to her amusement, Shadow was again pouncing relentlessly on the color swatches, tossing them in the air and attacking them like they were rodents needing to be shown who was boss.  His playfulness was catching and she began tossing them into the air with him—soon the room was strewn with the discarded chips, but better still, it rang with Brittany’s laughter.

***

Over four weeks passed and Brittany did not hear one peep from Craig, other than through his attorney’s office. She, per his request, resisted recurring urges to contact him.  She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d given any thought about the possible toll terminating
seven years of their combined lives had taken on her.  A week earlier his attorney’s office called, asking for her to stop by to sign some additional paperwork. With some amusement she could tell Allan Chandler didn’t recognize her in street clothes, after watching his facial expression change when he connected the dots. 

“
Well I’ll never forget the robe and slippers, but wasn’t your hair different, too?” he asked, reminding her that some impressions are lasting.  They both laughed, although his comment bugged her.  Rather than let her irritation show, she told him if he liked long hair she had a baggie full of it that she would be happy to give him.  He refrained from asking her why she retained her hair in a baggie, and for the second time he entertained the fleeting thought that he hoped she was getting some counseling. 

Brittany had taken no notice of him their first encounter, but now had to admit to herself how attractive he was—she doubted she would have recognized him at all after their first meeting.  And he had the nerve to remind her what she was wearing that day!

***

Her emotions leveled off after the first several days of completely breaking down after Craig left.  She credited some of her now neutral emotional state to having been left financially sound, something she knew was unusual and she did not take for granted.  In an attempt to analyze her reactions, or lack of them, she pulled out her old counseling notes along with her journal, to see if there was anything there that might help her process what she was going through. 

While the counseling had served to help her better understand her complicated relationship with her mother, in hindsight she recognized a clear trail of how she had found denial a comfortable place to exist, rather than standing up for herself by addressing issues when they happened. 
Am I in denial now?
  She wondered, thinking it unlikely in light of his brutal exit.

Remembering some of the exercises from her previous therapy, she decided to examine what their life was like during the two years before Craig left. Reviving those memories helped her identify some subtle changes in their habits that, had she been watching for them then, might have been red flags. She could also identify patterns of behavior that had crept in so stealthily neither of them seemed to noticed.

Most notably, they had fallen out of the habit of calling each other during the day to check in, and simultaneously, their interactive dinner times had all but disappeared.  For at least the last calendar year television had replaced conversation during their meals, or Craig was distracted by work he brought home from the office.  She, similarly, would be flipping through magazines or working. 

It had happened so gradually neither of them had noticed that their one deliberated vow to claim that part of the day to focus on each other had disappeared.  Sadly, neither of them apparently missed it.

***

While she was contemplating shades of green, Jeanne called to invite her to join them for dinner the following weekend, insisting they would not take “No” for an answer.  Brittany knew they were concerned she was spending too much time alone and concluded they were probably right.
What gene did I inherit that makes me prefer to seal myself away from outside input?
She wondered, consoling herself that everyone processed things differently and this was normal for her. Plus, the role modeling from either of her parents was to keep the messy parts of life private.  So, because of that, she refused to consider her choices as unhealthy, despite how it might look to some of her friends, and in particular, some friends from work who in similar circumstances, had immediately rushed out to regain the social life they felt entitled to. 

The weekend came all too quickly. While she was dressing for dinner, the phone rang.  It was Jeanne. “Brittany, we didn’t want to surprise you, or have you think we manipulated you, but the dinner plans have changed somewhat. Someone else is joining us for dinner tonight, also—and, no, it isn’t a man.”

“
Well who is it then?” Brittany asked her, a little too crisply, fighting the impulse to be annoyed at the change in plans. Jeanne ignored her tone, going on to explain, “A good friend has been in the area for the last few days doing a seminar. I’m sure we’ve mentioned her to you before; her name is Gloria Zachery.  Anyway, she wasn’t sure she would have time to see us and we had given up on it, but she just called and asked if we wanted to join her for dinner. I told her we had a dinner guest coming over and asked her to join us here instead.  I will understand if you don’t feel like coming, and either way you will get dinner.”  Jeanne added in a pleading tone, “But, please, please come!”

After, what seemed like a very significant pause, Brittany spoke, “Yes, of course I’m coming. She’s your friend and I remember you mentioning her to me in the past.” She added, “I’m coming, but I wouldn’t if she was a he!” 

Jeanne quickly responded, “I hear you, and there’s no fear of that happening, so not to worry.  Matchmaking is way more responsibility than either Randy or I am willing to take on. I’ll stick with food.”  They both laughed, leaving Jeanne greatly relieved that Brittany hadn’t taken offense to the sudden change in plans.

When the call ended, Brittany did have second thoughts. After a brief panic attack, she decided a change of clothes was called for. 
When in doubt change clothes three times, s
he thought, thinking that idea could be a good topic for an article in her magazine. For some reason, the process of reexamining her wardrobe always boosted her confidence.

When she stepped inside the Stone’s living room Gloria walked up to her, offering her right hand and saying, “I am so very pleased to meet you, Brittany. The Stones were certain I would love you on sight and they were right.  I would have felt terrible if you stayed home because of me!”

Any reservations on Brittany’s part vanished. She couldn’t help but like her, relaxing immediately. It was going to be a nice evening, and a much needed night out.

Gloria had dark brown eyes that sparkled with amber flecks, surrounded by lush, long lashes. Her almost black hair was pulled back from her petite, oval face and while she was tiny in stature, she had an irresistible presence, and a boatload of style.  Brittany decided an evening out with friends was just what the doctor ordered.

The dinner was simple but delicious. Jeanne was a fabulous cook, and even the simplest fare always included one spice or distinguishing ingredient that made her guests inquire what her secret was; tonight was no exception. They dined on strip steaks, twice-baked potatoes, and grilled asparagus topped with a hollandaise sauce that Brittany wanted to lick off her plate. What made the hollandaise different, Jeanne told her later, was that she added tarragon. It was a groaning-good dinner.

After dinner the foursome settled in the sectional in the living room to enjoy the fire blazing in the fireplace brownies that were layered with York Peppermint Patties and topped with a generous scoop of peppermint ice cream.

The dinner conversation had, for the most part, been centered on Gloria’s seminars and her busy schedule going forward.  For Brittany’s benefit, she explained what attending one of them would be like. Gloria was the main event, teaching and singing at each event.  Brittany could see what an effective speaker she would be; her joy of life was contagious.  But, she soon found out that the Gloria, who was sitting across from her now, was very different from the Gloria of a couple decades ago.