Free Vanity Fare by Megan Caldwell Page B

his brown eyes. I put the book down and gathered him into my arms. “What is it?”
    “Mommy?”
    I nuzzled his head. He had lost that baby smell a few years ago, but he still smelled delicious. It took concentrated effort not to bite him.
    “Yes, honey, what is it?”
    “Is Daddy ever coming back?”
    My throat closed over. Hugh and I had sat down with Aidan when I felt I could without blubbering, and explained the situation, but six-year-olds being what they are, we knew he’d eventually need a refresher course on Why Mommy and Daddy Are Not Living in the Same Place Anymore.
    I brushed my lips over the top of his head. “No, honey, he won’t be living with us again, but you’ll see him as much as you ever did.” More, now that Mr. Billable Hours had lost his job.
    He twisted his head to look up at me, a sad little look on his face. “I don’t like going to his new house without you.”
    Oh, boy.
    “Why not, honey?”
    “Daddy’s not fun. He just sits and watches TV. And not kids’ shows, either. Football,” he announced in a scornful voice.
    Believe me, I had the same complaint when he was plopped down on the couch every Sunday afternoon.
    “What do you do when you’re there?”
    “That lady gives me cookies. That’s nice.” Ah, bribery. She hadn’t even borne a child—at least, not that I knew of—and she had already learned the sugar secret. What was a smart woman like her doing with a dumbass like Hugh?
    “And what else?”
    He shrugged. “Daddy takes me shopping sometimes. She always comes, too.”
    I hope she pays, I thought. “Do you want me to talk to Daddy about it?” I’d rather eat fried lima beans, or engage in some exploratory dental surgery, but if it’d take that worried little look off his face, I’d do it.
    “I want you to come next time. It’d be fun, then.”
    He gave me a big, winsome smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back. My hero.
    “I can’t come, honey. But I’ll talk to Daddy, promise.” I kissed him again. He snuggled more into my arms.
    “Okay. And Mommy?”
    “Yeah, honey?”
    “When are we going to get Beast?”
    “Maybe next weekend.” Hi, I’m Molly, and I lie through my teeth to my son.
    “Goody. ’Cause no one at school believed we were going to get a hairless cat, and I wanna bring him to show-and-tell.”
    “I’m not sure—Oh, never mind. Okay. We’ll start looking for him next weekend.”
    “I’m hungry.”
    That I could handle.
    I rose from my position on the kitchen floor, tossed Ms. Crocker aside, and headed for the cupboard.
    “Aidan, what do you think about Yam and Mozzarella Surprise?”
     
    She took the paper from me with a look of surprise. “I didn’t ask you for a list this time, Molly, did I?”
    I grinned at her. I liked ruffling Dr. Lowell’s feathers. “No, let’s just say I was inspired.”
    She smiled back and unfolded the paper. She adjusted her glasses lower on the bridge of her nose, then cleared her throat.
    THINGS EVERY NEWLY SINGLE WOMAN MUST DO
Take out a personals ad. One where you lie about your weight, your age, and your desperation.
Fantasize about having sex with every inappropriate man possible. Throw in a few appropriate ones just to prove you’re not completely hopeless.
Purchase inappropriate clothing (not necessarily just to wear during sex). Preferably in pastels. And florals. Hopefully both.
Scour the obituaries, counting how many single women died, and how old they were. Obsess about oncoming death. Wonder if they were wearing pastels when they croaked.
Make lists justifying why the single life is okay.
    “Very nice.” She folded the paper back up and smoothed out the edges, schoolteacher-style. “May I keep this?”
    “Sure.” I shrugged.
    “Am I to presume you’ve done some of these items?”
    “The personals ad. And the obituary thing, but that was only for a couple of days. Then I got skeeved out, so I stopped.”
    “And . . . ?”
    “Nothing yet. I don’t think I’m being too