Emily nodded. “Okay, I do recognize those symptoms. Josh is almost as bad, though he does expect me to get breakfast on the table for him and to keep the refrigerator stocked with milk and the cupboard filled with bread and peanut butter. Under duress, he will actually hold a conversation with me that consists of more than monosyllables and grunts.”
Marcie gestured with her fork. “See, I told you. You’re only marginally better off than I am. The big difference is that Dani still needs you and you have your job.”
“Well, I’m sure Caitlyn still needs you. She’s fourteen, even younger than Dani.”
“In Caitlyn’s case, she’s fourteen going on thirty. She’s convinced I know absolutely nothing of value. I suspect she talks to you more than she does to me.”
Emily flushed.
“See, I knew it!” Marcie said.
“Well, Dani probably talks to you more than she does to me,” Emily countered. “That’s typical. It hardly means you’re obsolete.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do with my time? It’s not as if they’re looking for room-mothers for the seniors, or even for the eighth-graders. I offered to chaperon a field trip the other day and Caitlyn pitched a fit. She said she would be totally humiliated if I did that.”
“And you interpreted that to mean what?” Emily asked. “That she was rejecting you? Embarrassed by you?”
“Both of those,” Marcie said.
“She’s just struggling to find her independence,” Emily corrected. “It has nothing to do with you, so don’t take it personally. Trust me, at that age none of the kids want their parents to chaperon anything, which is why teachers end up doing it.”
Marcie knew she was probably right. Emily had a lot more experience dealing with teenage angst than she did. That still didn’t give her a clue about what she was supposed to do with all this time she suddenly had on her hands.
“Okay, I’ll concede that I’m probably overreacting,” she said finally. “But I honestly have no idea what to do to fill my days.”
“Get a job,” Emily suggested.
“Please,” Marcie scoffed. “Doing what?”
“Anything you want to do. Get a real estate license. Take classes and get licensed as an interior designer. You’d be great at that. Open a catering business or a bakery. There are probably a thousand things you could do. You just have to choose something that excites you.”
“Other than a few years working retail when we were first married and the two whole weeks I worked for Ken, I don’t exactly have a stellar résumé.”
“Which is why opening something of your own would be ideal,” Emily said enthusiastically. “Ken’s business is on a solid footing now, isn’t it? You could afford to take a risk.”
“I suppose,” Marcie said, but with little conviction. She’d never been much of a risk taker. She’d liked being a housewife and mom. It had been challenging and rewarding. Any other work sounded like drudgery.
Still, Emily wasn’t letting up. “Talk to Ken,” she prodded. “See what he says.”
“I know what he’ll say. He’ll tell me I already have a job running this house. The possibility that he might have to remember to take out the trash or call the plumber would horrify him.”
“He’d want you to be happy, though, wouldn’t he?”
“Of course,” Marcie said a little too quickly, then added candidly, “as long as it doesn’t inconvenience him.” She met Emily’s gaze. “The thing of it is, I already know what makes me happy. I just don’t see any way to get it back again without getting pregnant and having another child.”
Emily stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown two heads. “You wouldn’t!”
“Believe me, I’ve considered it,” Marcie said. She jabbed her fork into the pie and stuffed another bite in her mouth.
Emily studied her worriedly, then grabbed the remainder of the pie and dumped it in the sink.
“What are you doing?” Marcie cried out, appalled.
“Getting rid of this before you kill yourself with an overdose of sugar,” she said as she turned on the garbage disposal.
Apparently satisfied that she’d rid Marcie of temptation, Emily faced her with a stern expression. “Tomorrow morning I expect you to get out of this house and volunteer for something.”
Marcie stared at her blankly. “What?”
“Doesn’t matter. Anything that will make you feel useful and get you out of this mood. And tell your kids they’re having dinner at home tomorrow night and at least three nights a week from now on.”
“They’ll hate it.”
“They’ll deal. Tell Evan he needs good nutrition at least that often to keep his body in shape for football and tell Caitlyn she’s expected to be here because you say so. Be tough. Tell them neither one of them gets a dime for spending money if they don’t follow house rules. That ought to whip them right into shape.”
Marcie bit back a grin, her mood lifting ever so slightly.
“I can do that.”
“Of course, you can. I’ll be back tomorrow for a full report. The kids might be growing up, but there’s no reason you need to let them go one second sooner than you absolutely have to. They still need to know that their mom and dad are in charge.” She gave Marcie a curious look. “Think Ken will back you up?”
“He will if he expects to have sex anytime in the next twenty years,” Marcie said, then chuckled. “God, I feel better already.”
“Then my work here is done,” Emily said, giving her a hug. “Call if you need backup.”
“Just knowing I have it should do the trick,” Marcie told her.
Maybe she wasn’t quite obsolete, after all.
Dani couldn’t recall a time when she hadn’t been in and out of the Carter house as if it were her own. Caitlyn was her very best friend. They shared all their secrets, excluding the fact that Dani had a crush on Caitlyn’s big brother. It was something she would never in a million years have told her mom or her own brother. And it had seemed totally weird to tell Caitlyn.
She wasn’t entirely sure when she’d first looked at Evan and realized what a hunk he was. For a long time, he’d been like a brother, in other words a nuisance most of the time. Then one day she’d seen him with a bunch of girls at school and taken a good long look at him. He was hot! His body had filled out with muscle. He had the most amazing brown eyes, like chocolate, she thought dreamily. They were such a contrast to his blond hair, that turned really, really pale after he’d been outside in the sun for days on end. She didn’t care that much about football, which was his passion, but she knew enough to know he was good. Really good. She’d clipped half-a-dozen articles from the local paper about what a hot college prospect he was. She kept them in an old jewelry box under her bed, so no one in her family would see them.
After she’d pretty much been hit by some bolt of lightning, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She started getting these fluttery sensations in the pit of her stomach whenever he was around. She started doing dumb stuff, hoping he’d notice her, wearing the skimpiest bikini her mom would let her get away with, doing cannonballs in the pool, hanging out at football practice or at the Carters’ even more than usual.