Ida told me that she didn't want to be too ambitious on our first weekend together. "I'm hoping we can do this again, maybe often, and so I'd rather take it easy and get to know you a little bit. It's nice to be with you when, uh–"

"I understand," I said, and finished her thought: "– when Maisie's not around."

"I know you want to learn about makeup," Ida said, "but there are other things that will make a lot bigger difference to you."

"Like what?" I asked, frowning. We were just finishing breakfast, and I was nursing my special tea.

"First, we need to get you some bras–"

"I have plenty of bras!" I replied.

"I know you do," she said gently, "and I'm sure they're very nice. But they don't fit right. Most of them don't give the support you need, and you probably don't realize how uncomfortable they are."

I shifted a little in my chair and resisted the urge to adjust myself. "I thought that's just how they are, or how they're supposed to be, or something."

She shook her head. "So, bras. That's the first thing. The second thing is shoes." My eyes lit up. "You need two good pairs of school shoes."

"School shoes!?" I echoed. "I thought we were going to look at cool shoes, like the kind you and Ms. Means wear. Michael Kors and Manolo and stuff."

"Oh, we can look at them too," she said, smiling, "but in case you didn't notice, I don't wear shoes like that all the time. Most of the time I'm wearing something sensible and comfortable that also looks good. Like these." She showed off the shoes she was wearing. The heel wasn't very high, but they still looked like designer shoes.

"Those are sensible shoes?" I asked.

She nodded. "It is possible to look good without suffering," she said. "Most of the time. Your day-to-day look has to be comfortable. You don't want to be one of those women who tear off their shoes every chance they get, and moan and groan about how much their feet hurt. Shoes and bras are not supposed to hurt."

"Okay," I said. I was doubtful, but willing to be guided. "Then what?"

"Oh, after that we'll have dinner," she said. "Do you feel like cooking again?"

"Uh, sure," I replied. "But those two things are going to take all day?"

They didn't take all day, but we took our time going from place to place, and pretty much gave into any whim that took us off track. It was so nice to not be goal-driven, to not have to do something for once!

Ida told me that she didn't want to be too ambitious on our first weekend together. "I'm hoping we can do this again, maybe often, and so I'd rather take it easy and get to know you a little bit. It's nice to be with you when, uh–"

"I understand," I said, and finished her thought: "– when Maisie's not around."

She bit her lip and didn't answer, but later that afternoon, when we were sitting in a pastry shop, the topic came up again.

Ida played with her collar and made a strained face before launching into it.

"I'm not going to ask what Maisie's told you... I shouldn't... and I won't... it's better if I don't hear..."

I looked at her and tried to not tense up. I *so* did not want to get involved in the Maisie-Ida conflict. If I had to take a side, I'd have to side with Maisie, no matter what. She's my friend. Ida, even if she's Maisie's mom, is still just a random adult.

Ida continued, "I'm sure that Maisie's given you her version of my, ah, divorce." She didn't look to me for confirmation. She gazed into her cup as she swirled her coffee around. I noticed she was trembling slightly and looked extremely uncomfortable.

"People who've never had one think that divorce is the easy way out," she said, "but it's not. It's one of the worst things imaginable. It's like dying."

"You don't have to–" I began, but she interrupted.

She locked eyes her eyes on mine and said, "Marcie, whatever Maisie told you — whatever she said — it's probably true."

Ida shocked me to the core by what she said, but she must have shocked herself as well. In a paroxysm of nerves she seized her left hand with her right and her eyes darted one way and the other. She let go of her hand and knocked her coffee to the floor.

The cup didn't shatter: it cracked into pieces. Ida stared at pool of liquid spreading near her feet. She said nothing, but drew a slow shaky breath. I didn't dare move.

The two of us kept silent while the shop owner came over, cleared up the mess, and brought Ida another coffee.

"You don't need to tell me this," I said, as gently as I could. "I don't need to know." And I don't want to know! I shouted silently.

"But I do need to tell you," she said, with some desperation. Then she caught herself and backed off. "No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Marcie. I can't impose... But still..."

In a softer voice she asked, "Can you let me tell you my side of the story? It won't take very long. I would hate for you to think I'm the same monster that Maisie sees."

"Okay," I said, nervously, and made a few jerky movements of my own, one of which nearly sent my hot chocolate to the floor. I had to sit on my hands to keep them steady.

Ida swallowed hard. "My husband, Maisie's father, was a jerk. He was unfaithful, he drank... he cheated on his taxes, he cheated on me... he was arrogant and thoughtless and generally absent. Maisie and I were just ornaments in his life, usually on the shelf, but trotted out when he needed to show us off.

"And me? Well, I can't claim that I was ever the *best* mother in the world, but before I filed for divorce, Maisie and I got along. Not as well as you and your mother, but we had our moments." She looked at her nails. "At least, she didn't hate me. Or call me names." She took a breath.

I recalled that Maisie had told me she'd spent most of her childhood with nannies, but I didn't ask Ida how that fit with her story.

"And now comes the bad part," she said, pulling out a tissue with a shaky hand. "My husband didn't love me, didn't need me, didn't want me. As far as Maisie was concerned, he was barely aware of her. I filed for a divorce. I thought he'd be glad to see us go. But he wasn't.

"His pride was offended, and he wouldn't let me go without a fight." She swallowed.

"So he didn't want you to leave?"

"No, ah," she looked confused by my question. "I mean yes. I mean–" She frowned to get her bearings. "Look: he might have wanted me to go, but *he* wanted to choose the how and the when. In his mind, I was just an add-on to his life... more like a possession than a person. He might have wanted to throw me away, but if *I* walked away, then that was like... stealing to him. He had no problem rejecting me in a thousand ways, but if I told *him* I didn't want him... well, that was wrong in his mind. He wanted to hurt me as much as he could for wanting to leave. He wanted to be the one to end it...

"Anyway... I'm not rich like Aiden — my ex — but I have enough. I didn't really want his money... I just asked for enough to maintain me and Maisie as she grew. Not only did he not want to give me a cent, but he also threatened to take away everything that I had."

"How could he do that?" I asked.

"It's complicated," she replied.

I must have given her a look, because she said, "Okay, it's not complicated. By California law, half of what he owned was mine, and half of what I owned was his. So he was entitled to half my house here in Flickerbridge, and I was entitled to half his house in Llewellyn, just for example."

"Couldn't you each just keep your own house?"

"Well that would make sense, wouldn't it? If everyone was sensible, it would all be easy. Unfortunately, in a divorce everyone is so angry and hurt and crazy that they go for the jugular, and do as much damage as they can. If you can't take someone's money outright, you can at least make them spend it all on lawyers and..."

She stopped and spread her hands as if to steady herself. "The point is, I was afraid. I was afraid to be alone... a little. But mainly I was afraid he'd leave me penniless and homeless. Which is what he threatened to do, in so many words."

She drew a very deep breath and let it go.

"And then, we fought over Maisie's money."

"Maisie has money?" I asked, with some surprise.

She laughed. "Oh, yeah. Didn't you know? Maisie has more money than me and her father put together. It's in a trust fund, though, so she can't touch it, but anyway...

"I was so angry with Aiden! We started fighting over Maisie's money, Maisie's money, Maisie's money, and then over Maisie herself. It was just..."

She passed her hands over her face. "We'd been arguing about all these... things... inanimate objects... houses... money... things... and then we started arguing about Maisie in the same exact way." Beads of sweat broke on her forehead.

"The two of us were screaming and shouting and saying the worst possible things... and not just one time, but for days and days on end. It was awful. Inhuman."

Her lips tightened. "It was never about Maisie. It was all about hurting each other... me and Aiden."

Ida looked at me without seeing me. Her face was pale and her pupils were like pinpoints. She was miles away, and it was frightening. Here I was, in a mall, in the middle of... Someplace, New Jersey, with an adult I barely knew, listening to things I never wanted to hear.

"We said the most horrible things about our little girl... and Maisie heard everything." She went white for a moment. "Everything. Every single nasty hurtful word. Things no one on earth should ever say, but we said them."

She tried, with shaking hands, to take a sip of coffee, then thought better of it.

"I've come up with a thousand excuses for what I did... my mind does it, all by itself... churns out reasons, justifications, for what I said... but..." She shook her head and didn't finish the sentence.

"You know, when you're a kid, you think that adults understand everything, can handle everything, always know the right thing to do... but sometimes you're just in over your head, and you're lost...

"I was overwhelmed by selfish fear, and — honestly, I swear — I didn't realize how horrible we were — *I* was — until the custody hearing." Tears welled in her eyes, but didn't fall. Her voice fell to a whisper. "The judge called us awful parents. He didn't want to give Maisie to either one of us, and he apologized to her — can you believe that? The judge actually apologized to Maisie for having to leave her with her own parents." She gasped for breath, but didn't cry. "I was devastated. In that short space of months, I made Maisie hate me, and now we can never go back."

She dabbed her eyes. "You can't imagine, Marcie, when the two most important relationships in your life go bad at the same time. And not just bad, but irretrievably bad." A small shudder passed through her.

The two of us sat in silence for a while. I didn't know what to do or say, so I put my hand on hers.

She sat there, sniffing, for some time. I wondered whether I could safely take my hand back, but I didn't. I just left it there.

After a minute and a half (I was watching the clock) she finally looked up, smiled, and put her other hand over mine. "You're such a good girl, you know that?"

"I try," I said.

That night, after dinner, I called Maisie.

"Hey, Marce!" she said, "I am having a blast with your mother! She is so cool!"

"Really?" I asked. "What are you guys doing?"

"We put up ALL the curtains in the house. All of them!"

"Wow," I said. "And that was fun?"

"Yeah! It was a lot of work, though. Putting up the curtain rods isn't as easy as you'd think. Your dad helped with that part."

I made a noncommittal grunt.

"Then we had to adjust the lengths..."

"I don't know how you can enjoy doing that stuff, Maisie. Honestly, it makes me feel bad for you, but I'm glad I missed it!"

"Well, what are you guys up to?" she challenged.

"Girl stuff," I replied. "Clothes, shopping, shoes, hanging out, watching movies."

"Oh, I see," she said, in an unenthusiastic tone. "You two are just going hog wild, aren't you?"

"It is fun, Maisie. I wouldn't trade it for hanging curtains any day."

"Maybe we should stay like this," she suggested. "We could swap moms for good!"

"Oh," I began, but she cut me off.

"I know, I know. You'd miss your mommy!"

"Well, yeah," I replied.

"I wouldn't," she retorted.

"I know," I said sadly.

"Oh, well. Hey! Do you mind if I paint your room?"

"Uh, no, I guess not... what color?"

"Do you really care? Can I choose? I mean, me and your Mom?"

"Um, I, ah, no," I said. I honestly had no idea what color I'd like. "Sure. Go ahead. Knock yourself out. Just don't make it pink, okay?"

"Great!" she replied. "Hey, speaking of pink, why don't you girls go do your nails or something?" She laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

I considered for a moment. "That's not a bad idea," I said.

She scoffed, and after a little more talk we both hung up.

© 2007 Kaleigh Way