Happily Ever After? Read Free Page A

too good. He didn’t want me to look better than him or good enough to attract
     other men. He wanted me fat and sloppy so he’d have another reason to screw around. In the meantime, he was lifting weights
     and running the treadmill and doing his Ab Roller contraption.
    ’Til next time,
    V
May 30
    No one from Child Protective Services called. I guess Roger was bluffing. But just to be sure, I called CPS myself. I told
     the social worker I was calling on behalf of my friend. “There’s probably no cause for concern, unless there’s a history of
     abuse,” she told me. “It sounds like she lost her temper. Lord knows, I’ve lost it with my own kids more than once.” After
     a pause she added, “First Presbyterian runs a really great support group for stressed-out parents, by the way. It’s open to
     everybody, and it’s free. Maybe you—I mean, your friend— should check it out.”
    “I’ll pass along the information,” I said, vainly hoping to preserve the ruse.
    ’Til next time,
    V
May 31
    The phone rang as I was getting out of the shower. “Hello, this is Jeanette and I’m with the Psychic Friends Network.”
    I was poised to activate my anti-phone-solicitor gadget when it occurred to me that this could be a career opportunity. Perhaps
     they’d read about the Zoe Hayes discovery. “Yes, can I help you?”
    “I understand that you have psychic abilities, is this true?”
    My gut told me that this call wasn’t exactly kosher. “Who did you say you were with?”
    I heard suppressed giggles. Then Roger was on the line. “Okay, psycho girl. I mean, psychic girl. Can you predict what I’m
     going to do to my gorgeous young girlfriend as soon as I get off the phone with you?”
    More giggles, then a muffled sound and a playful shriek.
    “Grow up, Roger,” I told him.
    “Oh, I’m growing, believe me. Right before my very eyes.”
    I could hear his girlfriend laughing hysterically, and then heard her say, “Roger, you are awful!”
    “Why are you doing this to me?” I asked him.
    “Hey, you’re the psychic. You tell me.”
    I hung up and called the police. I left a message inthe general voice-mail box. I’m still waiting to hear back from them.
    ’Til next time,
    V
June 1
    It looks like Mom is in the matchmaking business. She called to invite me to Bellamy’s for dinner on Saturday night. She said
     she was bringing a friend, a man.
    “Oh, this is a first. I can’t believe that you’re trying to set me up!”
    “Don’t be silly. Think of it as a little diversion. You need a grown-up night out. Please don’t say no. Please?”
    “What about Dad?” I asked.
    “It’s all taken care of. The nice young woman from hospice will cover for me. Sandy, her name is. I need a break too, you
     know.”
    I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. “In that case,
you
go out to dinner with this guy, your mystery man, whoever he is.”
    “Bellamy’s at seven. Get a sitter. Wear something pretty.” And then she hung up on me.
    I am extremely curious about this guy my mother dug up for me. Now, what the hell am I going to wear???
    ’Til next time,
    V
June 2
    I never registered Pete for camp this summer. God help me. Now I get to put my single mother survival skills to the test.
June 3
    These days, there is nothing quite as exhausting or demoralizing as getting dressed. I’ve got plenty of clothes, but nothing
     fits. So much for those great DKNY pants I bought on sale last year. One glance at the waistband and I knew they would never
     make it up and over my ass. I finally settled on my old standby: black stretch jeans, white scoop-neck top, and black blazer
     for MBC (maximum butt coverage). Putting on makeup was another ordeal. I smeared layer upon layer of concealer to cover the
     dark circles and sun spots and emerging zits, and by the time I was done I looked like a mime. I wiped it all off and settled
     for a more natural, albeit hideously flawed, look. As for the hair, suffice it