Free Roll with the Punches by Amy Gettinger Page B

Okay. A woman's body has a few trick features, among them the boob shelf that's ready to catch any random food stain, and make it into a flashing neon sign saying: "Yes, I eat chocolate ice cream, Chinese food, French fries, fudge sauce, and pasta. I'm a carboholic with no willpower and a messy eater, to boot. Call me Miss Piggy."
    So these two round ketchup sauce stains and one big chocolate shake drip stared up now like a big, crooked happy face from the old gray T-shirt I'd thrown on this morning. And oops. I'd spent so long calling doctors that I'd forgotten my bra. And my makeup.
    "What's going on?" Yvette's voice called from behind James. "I was just going to show you—"
    Could life get any worse?
    There she was, standing next to my guy all tidy in a tight tank top, miniskirt, and four-inch heels, holding out a sheaf of typed paper with loopy purple markings all over it. Of all the nerve. A tidy bug with a purple pen had invaded my date! And to cap it off, her chin was purple-ink-stain free.
    Bitch.
    "Rhonda?" she said. "What are you doing here?"
    Normally, I'd have returned the question, but my life hadn't been normal for eighteen hours. I stuttered. Then I spied her purse on the floor of my car and bent sideways, one leg hanging outside the car, still trying to keep eye contact with James while feeling around the car floor, finding everything and tucking it back inside the little bag. The hardest part was zipping it up with one hand. Not working.
    "You need help in there?" James asked.
    "Wait just a sec." Twisting almost flat onto the seat, I yelled inanities over my shoulder while I finished zipping it up. Finally, I sat up and held the little purse out to Yvette like a bargain basement gift. "Look what I found in the hospital room. Unopened.”
    Open mouth, insert foot.
    But as I sat up, triumphant, my left foot, still trailing the pavement, kicked something small toward James. He retrieved it.
    "Hey, that's Pregnant Plum Lip Smear," Yvette said. "Just like mine."
    James smiled at my contortions. "Are you okay?"
    Yvette took it. "My purse? With a …tail?" Oops. It had somehow escaped again.
    My flushed face went redder.
    Sweet James laughed and covered for me. "Rhonda, how's your mother? Can I visit today? I'm nearly done here."
    Hah! My mother trumped Yvette's free consult.
    "No, she's in surgery. I was just going back up Newport when I saw your car here."
    Yvette said, "His car's not here. We came in mine. Parked in back. You know, this lipstick …"
    They'd come together? During my date time? How dare Yvette try to steal my rocket man when he'd just returned to the writing group and I'd lined him up for kitchen island sex? This woman was the living symbol of my life falling down around me. Since I'd met her the evening before, she'd had a hand in every catastrophe my life had served up, from casually trying to steal James to almost letting me suffocate to consorting with Jackson. I opened my mouth to ask about him, but a wave of anger flamed from the pit of my stomach to render me speechless.
    Yvette held out the lipstick with a mean grin. "Rhonda, are you telling me you stood in line and paid a mint for this rare, expensive shade?"
    A Pregnant Plum pause followed.
    James grinned at her. "Rhonda's switched to plum lipstick? Imagine that." He looked way too happy with Yvette, and now he was laughing with her at me ! I wanted to strangle both of them. How had I ended up deserting my mother for these two clowns?
    James said, "Rhonda. You look upset. Are you okay?"
    I closed the car door, started the engine, and backed out fast. Then in the middle of the parking lot, on a rather steep bit of asphalt, I braked like a freeway lookie loo to watch James escort Yvette back into the restaurant: my life crashing and burning. The rage in my chest rose up and had me pounding my steering wheel and screaming while my inner know-it-all, Rhondina, sang, Get real. The ocean was never your goal. You sold out your parents for a