The Kitchen Shrink (10 page)

“What?” I started coughing, trying to glare at Brett at the same time. What was he talking about? I only ever thought about not thinking about my parents having sex. Now I had to add not thinking about my own kids—gulp—doing it? I clutched at my heart, like Redd Foxx on Sanford and Son.

But of course, like always, my husband had to one up me. He clutched at his chest and emoted. “Elizabeth, Elizabeth,” he looked up as if toward heaven, and then back at me and laughed. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Brett looked over at Elgin to see if he was appreciating his double entendre.

I guess Elgin was, since he gave Brett two thumbs up and practically begged him to continue being such an ass.

“Let’s talk about this later.” I stood up. I was so not prepared for this. I knew the camera was on my face and I tried to play it cool. Damn Brett. What was he thinking? Brett’s sympathetic smile to me looked like one he had rehearsed. Elgin cleared his throat and jammed his finger at me, motioning for me to sit back down. I tried to turn my palms open in a silent plea. He folded his arms and cocked his snippy little head.

“What happened, Brett?” I said, sitting back down, darting my eyes toward Elgin and the camera, hoping Brett would get my message that I was trying to signal him to be gentle.

“It’s OK. I took care of it.” Brett smiled.

“Took care of what?”

“Well,” Brett said, leaning back and crossing his ankle over his leg. “I bought Ryan a box of condoms and told him to wear them at all times, even during oral sex.”

Dear God in heaven, I was going to throw up. But Brett was just getting started.

“I told him that his swimmers were at their peak performance right now and if he even got a drop on her knee, it was strong enough and close enough to get her pregnant.”

Memories of little Ryan swimming at our neighbor’s pool, his slippery body doing a canon ball, splashing me, competed with new details of Ryan’s actually having swimmers. Apparently mobilized swimmers. Swimmers on the loose.

“What?” I said again. “Her knee? How could you tell him that?”

Brett chuckled and nodded. Like I was praising him or something. “Fear is good.”

“But, who is she?”

“Yeah, he’s got a girlfriend now. Some cheerleader. He says they’ve been friends for a while. I think her name is Bambi or something.”

“Bianca,” yelled my daughter from upstairs.

“Oh.” I had no idea what to say. But I had to say something. I rubbed the shirt roughly around my mic. “Listen, Brett, knock it off. This is our son you’re talking about, on camera. You know, the camera that you’ve been posing for ever since you got here?”

“Lisby, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Kids drink, kids have sex, it’s part of life. And any viewer watching will know it’s the truth. Why are you so scared of the truth and trying to hide all the time and pretend you have the perfect family? You have a great family, that should be good enough.”

“How did this become about me?” Damn Brett, he always could talk circles around me. Which made me even angrier. “This is about you, once again, being a jerk.” Great comeback. Oh, the anger was just interfering with my thought processes.

My ex just laughed. “Good one. Our kids are doing what kids are supposed to be doing. We’re lucky, we have a pretty good relationship with them.”

I had to dig myself out of this because I knew, once again, I was going to look like a shrew on camera. I tried to calm down. “Well, at least you were there to reinforce the condom talk,” I finally said.

Brett stood up. “Yeah, it’s time.”

“Time for what? Time for him to get serious about school, not some girl.”

“Lisby, lighten up,” he said. “He’ll be fine. He’s got a heart of gold and he’ll find his way.”

“Why do you seem so happy about him finding his way into some girl’s pants? You’re thinking ‘that’s my boy,’ aren’t you? Men. Geeze. This is a big deal.”

“It is a big deal, but it’s a good big deal. Besides, wake up call. This has absolutely nothing to do with you. Our kids are both teens now, we’ve taught them everything we can. They stopped listening to us by the time they were twelve years old, right? I’d rather be a part of their lives, as much as they’ll let us in, than have them lie and sneak, right? They are going to do what they want, regardless of what we want them to do. Remember? Did you listen to your mom?”

Brett was a good father, usually, but way, way more laid back than I will ever be. Brett had always traveled so much with his job, I always secretly thought of myself as a mom like Caroline Ingalls from Little House on The Prairie. Like Brett, her husband Charles, was always leaving for work and she had to stay back and hold down the homestead. She may have had to churn her own butter but she never had to deal with something like this. If she did, I missed that episode.

“Why do I always have to do all the worrying?”

“It’s your job, your nature and come to think of it,” Brett said laughing, “I think it’s your area of expertise.” He folded his arms. One less charitable might think he had been practicing some lines for this debut.

“Look, Lisby. You have to learn to live a little. I realize a Snickers bar and People magazine in bed is your idea of a good time, but there’s more to life.”

“That’s how I roll,” I said, knowing my face was beet red, and realizing how bad I would look if I exploded. Besides, what could I say? I don’t think my San Diego Zoo membership counted toward any cool points. It’s not like I was part of the theatre-scene, either. The last time I went to a play, with Brett, my bag of Skittles ripped during a lull in the action, sounding like I was pouring a bag of nickels on concrete.

 “I’ve got to get going,” Bret said. “See you next week.” He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, mugging for the camera. “Oh, and one more thing,” he turned in the doorway and stood with both hands held against the door jamb. “I told Nicole she could get her belly button pierced.”

Elgin danced like he was going to pee his pants.

I had to get out of this house. This prying, all-seeing, all-knowing house where everything is being watched and I felt so creepy. I put on my black butt-enhancing yoga pants and my tennis shoes, and gave my microphone pack to Dustin and headed out for a walk. I did that by running past five houses first, before I broke into my walk. I tried to do some meditating while I was at it, multi-tasking, killing two birds with one stone. Out of the 60,000 thoughts we were supposed to grind out every day, I chased the negative ones out of my head and just tried to enjoy the scenery, the breeze, and not tripping over the sidewalk.

So I was walking along, not thinking much of anything when I started to daydream. One of my favorite actors floated into my mind, except I couldn’t remember his last name. I walked faster and faster, as if trying to jog brain molecules into remembering. “Hugh,” I said out loud, waiting for my voice to finish. Nothing. I went through all the Hughs I knew. “Hugh…Jackman. Hugh…Laurie. Huey Lewis.” Nope. Nothing. Oh my gosh. How can I not remember my fantasy boyfriend’s last name? “Elizabeth Hurley and Hugh….” Nope. I was really starting to get worried. What happened to my mind? What if I had a mini stroke? I had images of me not remembering how to tie my shoes or forgetting my own kids’ birthdays. There has been the occasional lapse when I couldn’t remember my phone number, but hey, who calls themselves? I stopped and took a couple of deep yoga breaths which were pretty much ruined when a dog came barking after me.

I ran up to the next stop sign and across the street, leaving the little yapping mutt on the corner. Stupid dog. Where was I? Oh yeah, Hugh… Dang. I still couldn’t remember. I could see his floppy brown hair, quirky smile and teasing blue eyes. I could even remember the name of that prostitute he picked up, Divine Brown. That was surely a good sign, wasn’t it? Oh, crap. What’s happened to my brain? Hugh Who? I even tried on a British accent. “Hello, there, Jones,” as in Bridget Jones, “let’s shag.” Oh, this was just driving me crazy. I cut short my walk, face it, this was important. I had to find out what his last name was. My mental health was more concerning than my cardio output. I could find excuses for just about anything. I turned around and headed back to my house. In case the cameras were on looking for me or if any of the crew were outside, I broke into a smooth, tip-toed sprint as soon as I passed my neighbor’s big ficus tree and pretended I was running the whole time right back up to my front porch.

I went inside, panting and sweating as if I had been running the whole time.

“Have a good run?” Elgin asked.

I put my hand on my chest, trying to catch my breath. I concentrated on trying to slow my breathing to show what good shape I was in so I could answer him.

“Yeah, it was great. I try to get out every day,” even I couldn’t lie that blatantly so I added an “or so” to make it sort of true. “But with you guys filming the show it’s just been too hectic.” I pushed my shoulders back and breathed in, like I wanted to take a cleansing breath, not because I absolutely had to have more oxygen in my lungs. To buy a little more recovery, I bent over and stretched to touch my toes. My hideously tight hamstrings betrayed me once again so I pretended my knees were my target all along. I got my breathing to an acceptable rate that I could be understood if and when I decided to talk. I think my ass pointing in the air directly at the guests coming through my front door must have been a good recovery position for me. I was so intent on getting to my computer to find out my boyfriend Hugh’s last name, I didn’t hear anyone coming in until someone smacked me right across my spandex.

“Ow!” I shot straight up and turned in horror. “Daria!” I said, rubbing my poor hiney. But the horror wasn’t over.

“Look who I found,” she said, stepping aside to allow me to say hi to…

No. Oh, no. No. What would Hugh do? Be nice, be nice, be nice, I internalized.

“Martin-” Oops. Don’t call him the Martinator. “Hi. How are you?” I said, trying to smile and hoped the sweat dribbling down the front of my shirt would be one-sided and stay on the inside. And why on God’s green earth and teal cabineted kitchens is the Martinator here? I wondered.

“Hi, Lisby. I’m good,” said my full-blown one nightmare stand, claim to shame, appearing before me. “How are you?” he asked, smiling gently like we were, I don’t know, dating or something. “I didn’t know you were a runner.”

Daria really didn’t need to snort. Some friend.

“Yeah,” I said. “I like to get out as much as I can, but it’s been really busy around here lately.” I waved my hand toward the kitchen where the crew was invisible, and silent, for once. Why couldn’t they have been running the saw like every other blessed minute of the day? Elgin looked at me, I looked at Daria, Daria looked at Martinator and Martinator looked at Elgin. No one spoke for about ten seconds which may not seem like much unless you’re counting and get to number five and wonder where this is going. I glanced at Elgin who was looking extra smug. And then I got it. He was in on this. How did he find out about the Martinator? I glared over at Daria. The thing with friends who know you so well is that they get your nuances and know what you are thinking without having to say a word. Usually, it’s a nice inclusion clause in this cold, scary world. Now, I wasn’t so sure. Daria shrugged her shoulders to proclaim her innocence.

Finally the Martinator spoke. “I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing and see how the show is coming. Daria told me about it and then Elgin…”

Just then Elgin chopped an imaginary clap board scene slate like they used in the movies in front of the Martinator’s face.

“Hi, I’m Elgin,” he held out his hand and the Martinator shook it.

“Yeah,” the Martinator began, shaking his hand.

“Lisby, why don’t you show him what’s going on in the kitchen?” Elgin talked over him.

Because I don’t want to, I thought.

“Oh, I need to go shower and change,” I tried.

“No, really, you look great,” the Martinator said. “I’d love to see what they’re doing.”

Shoulders slumping, I led the way for a quick tour of how my kitchen was shaping up. Seeing it through his eyes, it really was pretty cool. “I didn’t know how teal cabinets would actually work,” I told him. “Don’t tell Elgin, but I’m becoming quite fond of them. They’re supposed to be installed in the next couple of days.”

“I think they’ll look really good,” the Martinator said, following me into the kitchen and swiping his hand across the new granite countertop. “It’s going to be a really nice kitchen.”

Elgin pulled Daria into the family room. They couldn’t have been more obvious had they screamed at the Martinator to ask me out. I hurried up and pointed out the new stainless steel appliances that couldn’t be installed until the flooring was finished next week. I can’t believe Daria wasn’t helping me out here.

“Are you doing OK, Lisby?” he asked.

I never said he wasn’t kind to me. I nodded.

“I know this must be stressful. All renovations are, let alone having your whole life on TV.”

“Yeah,” I said, not really paying attention but darting ahead to how I was going to tell him I was not going to go out with him.

“So, listen. If you ever want to grab a dinner and escape from this for a while…” He let the sentence hang.

I looked at him. He could have been any dad on a sitcom. Not that there was anything wrong with that. And I hated myself but I just couldn’t do it. I know. I had no problem with Phil-O. And if I had to be honest I would have no problem with Sam. But there you have it. “I’m sorry. I’m just not ready.” I shook my head from side to side, letting him fill in the blank. Not ready to date, screw, or be seen in public with the Martinator. I took his hand and squeezed it to show I was a nice person. “But, thank you so much. Your kindness means a lot.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “OK. Good luck with your kitchen. I’ll see you around. Take care.”

He still had my hand as I gracefully tried to retrieve it. Daria, who must have been watching alongside Elgin, came over just then to escort the Martinator out. Probably so Elgin could yell at me.