What’s In A Car?
I sold my CRV soon after Brett moved out. I bought it just before Tillie was born, giving up my beloved Jetta to allow for 2 child safety seats and one small adult in the back. The CRV was practical, but cute in a utilitarian way. I insisted on finding a stick shift, which was hard to do. If it’s hard to find a car with a 5 speed, you know it’s for moms or senior citizens. But, what the heck. It had 4 wheel drive and fold down seats, and the required moon roof. It may have been a mom car, but it was a tough little mom car.
During the days of separation under the same roof, I thought of my car as my only private space. I stashed papers there, played my music there, drove around when I was early getting home on one of Brett’s nights with the kids. Even with gas at $4 a gallon, it was preferable to crying in public. Then once I came back from a business trip and noticed it was out of gas. “Did you drive my car?” I asked Brett.
“Yeah,” he said, “I always drive your car when you’re away.”
“That’s surprising,” I answered, trying to think about why that bothered me so much.
“Why? It’s a nicer car.” Huh, I thought. It’s MY nicer car, and you gave up your right to it by dumping me. But I let it drop, and put all my private papers in my office file drawers.
When I first met Paul volunteering on the Obama campaign, I had no idea how old he was, and he thought I was much younger than I am. Eventually, it was the CRV that ratted me out.
I found out his age when I realized he went to college with my cousin. She was the flower girl at my wedding. I never lied about my age, but I did slip the Obama pledge card Paul asked me to fill out into my purse when I saw it asked for my date of birth.
After working together for a month or so, we went out afterwards for drinks. I had to drive because his ten year old Ford had a window broken out, and although it was repaired with duct tape, the seats were full of broken tempered glass. He climbed into my CRV and made fun of me for having a stick shift in such a car. I made fun of him for having a cardboard window. We parked at a Mexican place and sat outside drinking margaritas. After the first pitcher was gone, he looked at me intensely and said, “you have a baby seat in your car.”
“I have two,” I said, “but one’s a booster.”
This exchange led to full disclosure, aided by the margaritas. I’m 38 (look of shock from Paul, but not horror). I’m a mother of 2 (what is being pregnant like, he asked). I’m a reliable volunteer because there are several nights a week where I am not allowed in my own home (that sounds lonely, he said). My husband is living in my basement and having an affair with my best friend (I am so sorry, he said).
I don’t think I cried. Eventually I got up, said I couldn’t drive anywhere, and we walked to the park. That was the first of our spur-of-the-moment hotel nights, and the first night with anyone in a long, long time. I still have the valet ticket with Paul’s last name on it.
But I don’t have the CRV anymore. I was still making payments on it, and once Brett left, I could barely pay the mortgage. I bought a used 2000 Audi Wagon—something fun to drive, but that I could buy outright and sell the CRV. When Brett saw it he sent me a snarky email about filling the void in my life with a luxury car. Yes, that’s me, filling the void in my life with an 8-year-old station wagon. I wish the void was that small.
Now, cars are a major clue to what my kids and my now-ex-husband are doing, with who, and when. I dropped off my son’s forgotten recorder in Brett’s mailbox, and Tiffani’s Jetta wagon was parked in the driveway. I knew they were all eating dinner together, like the family we used to be. I drove away and felt hollow at being so close to my kids without touching them.
Every Tuesday morning, Brett’s car is parked in Tiffani’s driveway. It’s the car I bought him for his 37th birthday. I really wish now that I hadn’t bought the eye-searingly red one, because you can see it from a mile away. I pass her house on my way from Ben’s school to Tillie’s each day I have the kids. When I emailed Brett about his 3 year old noticing his flaming red car there in the morning, he told me to drive a different route.
Last week, I thought maybe Tiffani and her husband were back together. I saw his beat up Volvo in her driveway A LOT (I’m not a stalker, she lives on a major road I can’t really avoid. And who wouldn’t look when driving by?). Then I noticed her car wasn’t there when his was. What is up with that? Then I saw his car and BRETT’s car there early in the morning. Geez, how much more deviant could this story get??? But alas, it was no bizarre love triangle. Tiffani’s ex took her kids and her car to Florida.
Too bad. It would have made a better blog entry if they were having threesomes. But Brett was never that interesting. The cherry-colored car is a red herring.
