Continued from here.
For some reason, I crave Cathy’s approval. The more she doesn’t give it to me, the more she snorts, mocks me, and declares my life pathetic, the more I want her to see that I’m a rational, viable adult. I don’t know why. Sally and Irene both treat me like a regular mom, and I never feel like I’m performing for them. It’s only Cathy. She makes me tear my hair out and scream and yet, she’s the one I call when I need help. Because she’ll be brutally honest with me, which is what I need right now.
So she lounges on my bed, the bed that I shared not that long ago with her father. She types out my online dating profile. She’s making me better, she says. She takes my occasional hikes in the park and turns it into a love of nature, my one remaining loner cat into a caring pet owner. As much as she acts like she pities me, Cathy makes me sound like a kind, warm woman, capable of loving and being loved. Which I suppose I am.
“Come the weekend, you can usually find me relaxing with a cup of green tea at my local coffee shop. I like to support local stores when I can…”
Hearing her read my airbrushed life makes me uncomfortable. I sit at my dressing table and start organizing the atomizers. Not a one has any perfume left in it. They’re relics of my past. I can chart my whole life since marrying Herb by these bottles. The Chanel he bought me for our third anniversary, the Clinique Happy Cathy and Irene wrapped in old comic books for my 43rd birthday. Without these bottles to mark the events in my life, would my life cease to keep going, I wonder. Morbid thought.