Dear Debbie, page 9
At some point, this is going to blow up in my face. I can’t maintain my friendship with Debbie while sleeping with her husband. One day over dinner, Debbie is going to mention her new friend Harley to Cooper, and he’ll probably choke to death on a carrot or something.
Although maybe that’s what I want to happen. Well, not the choking on a carrot part. But I want Debbie to know that her husband is messing around behind her back. I want her to boot him out the door. Because when she does, he’ll come straight here.
My relationships with married men rarely end well. In fact, the last one, with a man named Edgar, blew up in my face quite spectacularly. But I’ve got a good feeling about Cooper Mullen.
Cooper extracts himself from my embrace and rolls out of bed. In the dim light of the bedroom, I watch him get dressed. He’s over a decade older than I am, but he’s in fantastic shape, and it’s all I can do to keep from pulling him back into bed. He could do better than Debbie. He must know that.
“Will you be back tomorrow?” I ask him.
I wait for the flash of annoyance on his face, but it never comes. “I’ll try to get away if I can.” Then he adds, “No promises.”
It’s not easy being the other woman. I know, I know, cry me a river, but it’s a hard life. We can’t be seen in public, and when all the major holidays roll around, I’m alone. Forget about double dates.
But very soon, I won’t be the other woman anymore.
Cooper is the one. The more time I spend with him, the more certain I am that it’s true. And very soon, Debbie will know it too.
22
DEBBIE
When the porch lights go on, I assume it’s Cooper, back from his fast-food run. Until the lock on the front door fails to turn.
I come out to the foyer and peek through one of the windows overlooking the front porch to see who is out there. I shouldn’t be entirely surprised to find Lexi and Zane standing on the porch together. My instinct is to back away slowly before I have to watch my daughter make out with her boyfriend. It’s the last thing I want to see.
Except they’re not kissing. They’re talking to each other, and even though I can’t hear what they’re saying, Lexi has her hand on her hip, and her lips are turned down. All the while, Zane has a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
Zane pulls his phone out of his pocket, and he’s pointing at the screen. Lexi makes a grab for the phone, and he holds it just out of her reach. The expression on her face makes it look like she wants to scratch his eyes out.
What’s going on out there?
If I quietly crack open the window, I might be able to hear what they’re saying. Not that I want to eavesdrop on my daughter, but… Okay, fine, yes, I want to eavesdrop on my daughter. She’ll never tell me on her own what they’ve been discussing. This is my only option.
But before I can attempt to wrench open the window, Zane reaches out and grabs Lexi’s arm. Even though I’m sure he’s done a lot more than that when they’re alone together, the discomfort on her face is palpable. She tries to pull her arm away, but he won’t let her go. And all the while, he’s got that smirk on his face.
I forget all about the window and go straight for the front door. I pretend like I was on my way out, even though I don’t have my purse, and now that I think about it, I also don’t have shoes on. So it’s not much of a ruse, but it’s enough to startle both of them.
Instantly, Zane releases Lexi’s arm.
“Oh, hello!” My attempt to pretend to be surprised is somewhat short of an Oscar-winning performance but good enough. “I didn’t realize you two were out here.”
“Zane is leaving,” Lexi says tightly.
Zane’s hair is hanging in his eyes, and it makes me want to grab a pair of scissors from the kitchen and snip it off. Actually, I would rather snip something else off, but I’d settle for a haircut, I suppose. Or anything that would wipe that smirk off his lips.
“I’ll talk to you later, Lexi,” he says.
She doesn’t say anything, but after a few beats, she nods.
I step back to let Lexi enter the house and shut the door behind her, having abandoned any pretext of going outside. I’m just glad Lexi is inside and safe. I only wish Cooper would come home too, especially since his location sharing seems to be off. Maybe he’s in a dead zone.
I expect Lexi to run upstairs to her room without another word like she often does these days, but instead, she just stands in the middle of the living room as if she’s not sure what to do next. I am desperate to ask her what happened between her and her boyfriend on the porch, but I know from experience that it won’t go well.
“What are you doing?” she finally asks me.
She doesn’t say it like she usually does. Her typical way of asking me what I’m doing is to say “What are you doing?” Basically, she’s trying to indicate that whatever I’m doing is weird and unacceptable. But now she asks like she’s genuinely curious. And I have to come up with an answer.
“I’m tidying up the living room.” And definitely not spying on you and your boyfriend.
She looks at me with interest. When Lexi was little, she and I used to have a weekly cleaning session. When Izzy was a toddler, the house used to get cluttered, so every Sunday, Lexi and I would clean together. She loved it. I used to let her run the vacuum, and she looked so hilariously adorable trying to push around a vacuum that was almost as big as she was. I’ve probably got hundreds of photos of her with that vacuum cleaner, but it makes me too sad to look at them.
I brace myself for some critical comment from Lexi about my housekeeping skills, but instead, she says, “Do you need any help?”
The living room is already spotless. I vacuum and dust every single morning after I make the beds and do the dishes from breakfast. But if Lexi is offering to help me, I’m not going to turn her down.
“Could you vacuum the floor for me?” I ask her, even though there probably isn’t even one speck of dust on the living room floor.
Lexi’s eyes light up. “Sure.”
She follows me to the closet where I keep the vacuum cleaner and other cleaning supplies. As I am pulling it out, unwinding the cord from where it always seems to get tangled, I decide to take a chance. I know I’m tempting fate, but I’m dying to know what was happening on the porch. More importantly, I need to know if my daughter is in some kind of danger.
So I say as casually as I can, “By the way, how are things going with Zane?”
Naturally, it was the absolute wrong thing to say. I have been a mother of at least one teenager for four years, and I should have known better.
Her eyes immediately narrow. “Why?”
The cord is caught on something, and I give it a yank, trying to work it free. “No reason.”
“Were you spying on me?” she snaps at me. “Is that why you came out on the porch and were being so weird?”
To be fair, I am always being weird in Lexi’s assessment. “I wasn’t spying on you. I swear.”
But only because the window was closed and I couldn’t hear anything.
“So why did you open the front door?” she demands to know.
“I was looking for your father,” I say weakly.
Lexi doesn’t believe me, which is probably fair. She regards the vacuum with sudden disdain. “I don’t really feel like doing chores right now. I’m going to go upstairs.”
“But…” The cord finally pops free from the closet. I brandish the vacuum in my right hand. “Just do a quick lap around the living room. It will be fun.”
“Fun?” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t think being your maid is fun. And anyway, I’ve got homework to do.”
And I’ve lost her.
She stomps up the stairs to her room without another word. I should have been more careful. I should never have brought up Zane. When she’s ready, she’ll tell me. Or maybe she won’t tell me, and I’ll just notice he’s not around anymore.
And if he does anything to hurt her, he’ll be very sorry.
23
An hour later, Cooper comes home.
He’s been gone for two hours total, which is quite a long time for a fast-food run. Fast food is fast—it’s in the name. He walks through the front door, clutching a bag of french fries that have stained the brown paper with their grease. The smell is intoxicating, but I don’t have much of an appetite.
Cooper has been gone most of the evening, and I don’t know where he’s been. Not only that, but it’s not the first time he’s disappeared like that. Always with an excuse.
And he always turns off his location sharing.
I rise from the sofa to confront him. “Where have you been?”
“I told you, I grabbed some dinner.” His eyes avoid mine. “Then I was just…you know, driving around a bit. I had to clear my head.”
“I see…”
“Sorry.” He holds out the bag of fries, and I obligingly take it from him. “If I thought you needed me home sooner, I wouldn’t have stayed out.”
Except that’s another lie.
“I was worried,” I say. “I tried to see where you were, but Findly didn’t show your location.”
“Sorry… I was on some back roads. Probably going in and out of dead zones.”
And another.
I bring the bag of french fries to the kitchen, and Cooper follows behind. I pour each of us a cup of diet cola and pass his across the kitchen table, where he drops into one of the seats. He stares down at the drink, eventually taking a sip, but he doesn’t reach for the fries. Neither do I.
“Cooper,” I say.
“There’s something I need to tell you, Debbie.” He takes a shaky breath. “I…”
I brace myself for whatever is coming. Whatever he has to say isn’t going to be something I want to hear. He’s not going to tell me, Hey, Debbie, I just won the lottery. Let’s go buy a mansion. He drops his eyes, staring down at his hands.
“I quit,” he says.
“What?”
“When Ken told me I didn’t get the promotion.” He’s still looking down at his hands, unable to meet my eyes. “I threatened to quit, and he didn’t budge. So…I did it. I quit.”
That was the last thing I expected him to say. I knew that speaking to Ken Bryant could put Cooper’s future with the company in danger, but this is not the outcome I anticipated. Cooper isn’t the sort of impulsive man who quits when he doesn’t get his way. That buzzing in the back of my head starts up again, and I feel my hands clench into fists.
“It sucks,” Cooper acknowledges. “But…I’m sure I’ll find something else.”
“Did he say why he wouldn’t promote you?” My voice is louder than it should be for this hour of the night. “He must have given you a reason!”
He flashes me a wry smile. “He said I’m not management material. And that he doesn’t need me.”
“Is he out of his mind?” I know what Cooper does at that company, and they’ll be lost without him. “Why would he say that?”
“I don’t know, but he made it clear I would never be a partner.”
This time, I snatch up a few of the fries from the bag. They’ve been sitting in the bag too long and have gone cold. I wonder how long Cooper was driving around with them.
“This is absolutely ridiculous!” I say. “You can’t let him get away with this!”
“I just want to move past it,” he says, “and find something else. This… It could be a blessing. I was never going to become a partner there, so maybe I can find something better.”
He could be right. Cooper deserves better than that job, but all I can think about is how we’re going to pay the mortgage.
“Anyway,” he adds, “we’ve got your salary from Dear Debbie to tide us over until I find something new.”
Oh right, I never told Cooper that I got fired. Today was not a great day for the Mullen family.
I open my mouth to share this little revelation, but I can’t make myself do it. Cooper looks miserable enough, and I can’t bring myself to drop one more thing on him right now.
He’ll look for a job, and I’ll look for a job. Between the two of us, we’ll find something. We’ll be okay.
“Ken made a huge mistake.” I reach to take both of his hands in mine. “You’re his best employee.”
Cooper just shrugs sadly. “Maybe.”
“You are,” I insist. “Trust me, Ken Bryant is going to regret letting you go. Deeply.”
Cooper seems a bit skeptical, but I know what I’m talking about. Sooner than he thinks, Ken is going to be sorry for what he’s done.
24
FROM DEAR DEBBIE DRAFTS FILE
Dear Debbie,
Debbie, I am exhausted! My husband snores like a dang chainsaw! I swear, I haven’t had one full night of sleep since the day we said, “I do”! Every night, it’s the same deal. He falls asleep in two seconds flat, and that’s when the gosh darned racket starts. I have to lie awake and listen to what sounds like a grizzly bear giving birth right next to me!
I’ve tried it all! Earplugs, giving him a little nudge (or not so little shove), and nothing works! If I don’t figure out what to do soon, I’m going to have to pack up and sleep in the bathtub! Do you have any advice to save my sanity?
Sleepless in Hingham
Dear Sleepless,
Snoring is a very common problem in adults, especially men. It’s been estimated that one-quarter of all people snore on a regular basis! And of course, it’s a big problem for the partners they sleep with.
There are several things your husband could do to reduce his snoring. Regular exercise and reduced alcohol intake can help with snoring. Weight loss can also be helpful. Also, side sleeping is less likely to result in snoring, so if your husband sleeps on his back, tell him to roll over!
If none of that works or your husband doesn’t want to do anything to reduce his snoring, there’s a little trick that’s 100 percent effective:
The next time your husband wakes you up from his snoring, take your pillow off the bed, and hold it over his face. Then with your hands, apply medium to firm pressure over the center of the pillow. The noise level may briefly intensify, but I guarantee that within five minutes, the snoring will have stopped. Permanently.
Happy sleeping!
Debbie
25
DEBBIE
I wake up at two in the morning, my heart pounding.
I had considered setting an alarm, but I didn’t want to risk waking Cooper. Thankfully, he is still asleep, snoring softly beside me in bed. In the light of the moon, he looks much younger. He looks just like he did when we first met all those years ago. I still remember how happy he seemed when I agreed to go out with him, like he couldn’t believe his luck.
Cooper doesn’t stir as I climb out of bed. He is generally a sound sleeper, but it helps that I put some opium in the diet soda that I poured him when we were eating the french fries. The colorful flowers in my garden look a lot like windflowers, but that’s not what they are.
Yes, I grow opium poppies in my garden.
Technically, it’s not illegal to grow them in your own backyard. It’s only when the quantity reaches the level of acres and you’re manufacturing opium to sell to others that it becomes problematic. I suspect the neighbors would frown on it, and God knows what Zane would do if he knew. So I tell everyone that they’re windflowers.
Of course, I don’t just grow opium poppies. Really, they’re only a small part of my garden. I’m also partial to lantana with their bright, tropical colors as well as hibiscus flowers with the bright bold red pop. I also have a small patch of dark red Carapichea ipecacuanha berries, which is what they make syrup of ipecac from. It’s quite a powerful emetic.
I started harvesting the opium out of curiosity. What can I say? I get bored easily, especially now that the kids are teenagers and don’t need me every moment of the day. I watched a video about it online, which taught me what to do. You make vertical cuts in the poppy pod in order to “bleed” out the opium. I’ve been doing it for years now, and I’ve accumulated quite the little stash.
I suppose this is what happens when somebody has an IQ of 178 and no job except for writing a weekly advice column. I do write those apps for our phones, but I’ve become so quick at it, they don’t take much work anymore. My brain is screaming for stimulation.
Cooper continues to snore as I get dressed in a pair of jeans and a black sweater. I tie my hair back in a bun to keep it out of my face and creep downstairs to the first floor. I have quite a lot to do tonight and no time to waste.
The first thing I do is grab the three refill packs for the Japanese beetle traps. And then I enter our garage, which is where we keep the shovel that Cooper uses to dig us out during the winter when it snows. Armed with both, I leave the house.
The weather is a bit cool for the sweater I have on. Really, it’s more like jacket weather, but I expect after digging a bit, I’ll have worked up more of a sweat. Anyway, this won’t take long.
I walk down the block to the bottom of the hill where Jo Dolan lives. I pass Rochelle’s house on the way, which is silent and dark like everyone else’s house. I took a stroll by her property at around eight o’clock this evening, and there was no sign of a party. I suspect Rochelle was still vomiting by then.
After a few minutes, I reach Jo’s garden. Under the cloak of darkness, the roses look almost ominous. They look like they might come to life and kill me at any moment. Especially if they knew what I’m about to do to them.
But I’m not too worried about killer plants. What I am worried about is cameras, but I don’t see any of those. I’m fairly sure that Jo isn’t the sort of person who mounts cameras on her property. She really ought to though. It took me less than five minutes to install our door cameras—one in front and one in back—and install the software on my phone to monitor them at all times. It’s a good source of security, and it’s also a great way to spy on my older daughter when she’s on the porch with her boyfriend.
