Or Not to Be (8 page)

10

“
G’night, Anna
,”
Eddie whispered as he kissed my forehead. I opened my eyes in time to see him
remove the book from my stomach. He picked up our sleeping baby boy from beside
me and carried him to his bassinette.

Joey is an infant, barely beyond a
newborn. My body is still pudgy with retained water. Great. I can’t even follow
the time line of my own life.

“It’s all right, Anna,” my mother’s voice
breaks in. “You’re traveling on thoughts and associations instead of on a
forward time line.”

“Eddie looks good here. I always liked him
in his scrubs.”

She makes a noise like “hrmpff” and leaves
me to watch my life, like old TV reruns from which I cannot turn away.

When Eddie came back to turn out the
light, he saw me watching him. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s all right. I had a little nap.
Come here and see me. I miss you.” I yawned and stretched.

He sat on the edge of the bed and held my
hand, and we whispered together.

“How’s the new book?” He picked it up and
checked my page. “Going slow? Do you like it?”

“I love it, but reading makes me sleepy
these days. I have to keep rereading pages to remember where I was.”

“What do you remember?”

“It’s about a mom who disappears and her
odd engineer husband. She used to be an architect. I like it so far.”

Joey gave a content baby sigh and wrestled
his strong arms up and out of his wrap. Eddie and I both froze and waited for
him to settle back down. After a few little grunts, he did.

“Want a glass of wine?” Eddie whispered
and pointed to the door.

“Oh, yes, please.” I wiggled out of the
covers. He took my hand, and we snuck out of our own bedroom.

We snuggled together on the couch in our
quiet house and shared a whole bottle of wine. That’s when I told Eddie about
my bookstore adventure. My life with a new baby was in quiet, slow-motion,
autopilot mode, with long days somehow comprising short weeks, so even a trip
to the bookstore was fodder for analysis.

“It happened again. The guy at the
bookstore asked me to buy a membership card.”

“Huh. Too bad for them. Even I know you’ll
never do that. You’re way too cheap.”

“Well, yeah, there’s that, and I like
being anonymous. If I had one of those cards, they’d know every book I bought.”

“They already do, Anna. You use your
credit card, right?”

Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. I drained my
glass before I triumphantly reported, “Today, I got the discount without the
card.”

“What?” He refilled my wine glass. “How’d
you do that?”

“By being very, very observant.”

He laughed. “You? Observant? You don’t pay
attention to anything.”

“Don’t laugh at me. I was paying attention
today, and it paid off. I saved eight bucks.”

He took a slurp of his wine and covered us
with the blanket on the couch. “Tell me all about it, please.”

So I told him. I’d heard the cashier ask a
customer ahead of me for her discount card. When the lady said she didn’t have
it with her, the cashier asked for her name and looked her up that way. He
didn’t even ask for identification.

So when it was my turn and I was asked for
my discount card, I lied and said, “I forgot to bring it.”

Then he asked, “What’s your last name?”

I
met Eddie’s smiling eyes and confessed, “I said ‘Muckenfuss.’”

“Seriously?
Muckenfuss?”
Eddie mimicked what
the cashier was undoubtedly thinking when he’d asked me to spell it.

“
Yep. Then I spelled it for him, but
I
was nervous that I would get caught. When he asked for my first name, I lost my
nerve and thought I should just give it up and run. What if they were recording
the whole charade on a security camera?”

“You’re sneaky and paranoid. And like an
onion. Year after year I just keep finding more interesting layers of my wife,”
he mused.

“You’ll never know all of me. I’m way too
complex.” The wine was going straight to my head, which I rested on his
shoulder.

“So, he found a Muckenfuss then?”

“Yeah. That’s the funny part. I said
something like, ‘I think it’s probably under my daughter’s name,’ thinking that
would end the panic induced by lying. I was digging in my purse for some cash
when I heard him repeating, ‘Emily? Is it Emily? Ma’am, is your daughter
Emily?’

“That’s when I realized he was talking to
me. I looked up from my mess of a purse with a dumb look on my face and mouth
hanging open and said something smart like, ‘Huh?’

“He said, “You can use your daughter’s
card. We allow family discounts. Is her name Emily Muckenfuss?’

“I said, ‘Yes. That’s her.’ My hand shook
as I gave him some cash, afraid to get caught if I used my credit card.”

Eddie lost it. He doubled over laughing.

“Shh!” I giggled with him. “Don’t wake
Joey.”

“Oh, man, that was so worth the eight
bucks!”

I still felt guilty about it and asked
Eddie’s opinion, hoping for reassurance. “
Was this petty theft? Did it cost
Emily Muckenfuss anything that I used her discount card and I didn’t even know
her?”

Despite
his laughter, he didn’t disappoint me: Eddie took my side. “Nah. It’s the
store’s fault that their lax discount policy doesn’t require having the actual
card.” He hugged me and said, “Anna, the world is immensely improved by your
presence.”

My
husband used to love me. And then, he stopped.

| | | |

A couple of years later
, I was in a different bookstore with my kids in tow.
Bethany had Joey by the hand while we waited in the slow line to purchase a big
pile of books. I switched to the other line, but my presence just made that one
go slower and the other one speed up.

When it was finally my turn, the cashier
asked for my membership card, and I was honest this time to make up for the
Muckenfuss saga and said I didn’t have one. He asked if I wanted one, and of
course I asked if they were free. He said not for most people but it would be
essentially free for me that day. He said the card cost ten dollars and gave a
ten percent discount. Since I was spending almost a hundred dollars, the
ten-dollar card and the ten percent discount would cancel each other out.

Well! This was an entirely new way of
looking at things. No one had ever done the math for me before. I had no frugal
card left to play, so I pulled out my privacy-freak trump card and asked, “Do I
have to use my real name?”

From my shoulder, I heard Bethany admonish
me with a two syllable, “Mom!”

The clerk smiled indulgently and said,
“You can be whoever you wish to be.” He sort of sounded like a wizard. Or maybe
he was my fairy godmother. Bethany stood at my side, agitated and embarrassed,
likely calculating the years until she could drive herself to the bookstore and
avoid her mother’s shenanigans.

As I considered my identity choices—Elvis,
Elizabeth Taylor, Freddy Mercury—I glanced at Bethany and winked. She rolled
her eyes when I said, “I am Martha Washington and I would like to buy a free
membership card.”

He asked for my address. When I asked
whether that had to be correct, he grinned. He was on my team. Bethany pulled
Joey away from me to look at a gumball machine—anything to escape from the hell
of my presence. We settled on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, and the phone number I
used was one from my old apartment in college.

Bethany didn’t waste a minute to tell on
her ridiculous mother to her sane father that night. “Daddy, Mom gave the guy
at the bookstore a fake name to get a discount card!” she announced at dinner.
Joey, wide-eyed two-year-old, nodded his agreement. Their mother was nuts.

Eddie looked up at me from his close study of the slab of
shoe-leathery meatloaf on his plate. “Really, Anna? In front of the kids?” I
caught the sarcasm, the sweet affection in his voice. Bethany did not. She
raised her eyebrows, and her upturned chin made her neck double in length as
she gave me the slit-eyed look she’d learned from my sister.
See? Even Dad thinks you’re wrong
.
I ignored her and addressed her father, my ally and best friend.

“It’s no big deal, Eddie. I got a discount
card for free and didn’t even have to put my real name on it.”

“Or her address. Mom lied, Daddy.” Bethany
never lied. She told the raw truth. Slapped you with it. Well, really only
slapped me with it. Lately, I was the butt of all of Bethany’s accusations.

“You can use the card, too, Bethany,” I
tried to appease her. “For a year. You can get ten percent off every book.” I
suffered yet another eye roll from my daughter. Joey tried to mimic her, which
made me laugh. Nothing angered my daughter more than happy people. Note to
self: remember you are the mom. Do not appease.

Eddie was grinning at me through a
mouthful of baked potato, watching me struggle to avoid catching our daughter’s
bad mood. His anecdote was always laughter. He asked, “What’s your name, Anna?
Muckenfuss again?”

“No, sir.” I smiled at him and said, “I am
Martha Washington, my dear Mr. President.”

He chuckled while Bethany stewed, stuck in
the middle of two parents who enjoyed each other. Her parents, still in love,
made no sense to her teenage mind.

1
1

“
You know
I have trouble in grocery stores,” I reminded Eddie one night after work last
May. With just a few weeks of school left, and the anticipation of summer break
looming like a vanilla pudding-stuffed double chocolate cake, I was exhausted.
“Come with me, Eddie,” I pleaded. “Bethany can watch Joey. Come with me and
help. You can pick the cookies.” I knew how to get the man’s attention.

My weekly trips to the stupid market, as
my sister liked to call it, encompassed three things that I hated to do: shop,
spend money, and waste time. When I was there, I brought a list, and I found my
stuff with record speed and got the heck out. I learned the layout of the store
and zip-zanged through it like the Road Runner. There was nothing I could do
about having to shop for food. My kids loved to eat. But with Eddie helping, I
hoped we could reduce the wasted time.

Eddie, the Cookie Monster, couldn’t
resist. He agreed to come, and we left the house with my long list in his
capable hands.

While I drove, Eddie critiqued my list.
I’m a good driver because I’m so patient. I talk to the other drivers, gently
coaching them, helping all of them to drive better.

“Get the hell off the road, you blue
hair!” I yelled out my window as I passed an older lady in a beige sedan.

Eddie knew better than to comment on my
commenting. That’s why I was driving. When he drove, I couldn’t help but coach
him, too. I drove him crazy from whichever seat I occupied, but he was tactful
enough to bear me in silence and love me anyway.

“There are two kinds of cereal on this
list. Is that a typo?” he asked.

“No. Bethany wants the Cheerios, but Joey
needs the granola.”

“Needs the granola? He’s five.”

“And I’m his mother. Have you been around
the kid when he can’t go?”

He shook his head and smirked as he looked
out the window.

“Do you
see
these people? Driving like it’s illegal to go the speed limit.” I looked for a
chance to pass the dented pickup truck; I was bored with his bumper stickers.

“Don’t beep, Anna. Please.” It was a lot
like having Bethany with me.

“I’m not going to beep, Eddie. I’m just
going to ride real close to let the idiot know he is freaking crawling.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see
Eddie’s foot hit his imaginary brake, just like my Dad used to do when I drove
his giant blue sedan. I smiled and slowed down just a little. My husband
sighed.

“Um, Anna? Do you know we just passed
Walmart?”

“I know. Didn’t I tell you? I don’t shop
there anymore.”

“But it’s right there. What’s the
problem?”

“I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. The
old hag in the deli hates her job. She gets so annoyed when I ask her to slice
cheese. And if I ask for it sliced thin, holy crap, she looks like she might
cry. So no Walmart for me.”