No Longer Needed

  NO LONGER NEEDED

  by

  Brenda Grate

  Chapter 1

  Emma stared across the conference-room table into the steely eyes of her soon-to-be ex-husband. She had expected to see regret or maybe even sadness as they negotiated over the once so important pieces of their fractured marriage, but all she saw, or all he allowed her to see, was business. It was just another negotiation to be won, something he’d later discuss with his buddies during their next round of golf.

  To Emma, it was the end of her life.

  She patted the tightly wrapped bun at the nape of her neck. No hair stuck out of place. Alan had hated the way she used to tie her long hair up in a messy twist before dashing out the door to her next class at university. They’d been married halfway through her second year of a Culinary Arts Degree. By the time she dropped out, in the second semester of her third year, and just after their son’s birth, she wore her hair perfectly coiffed, slicked back with hair spray.

  She set her hand in her lap, her eyes still on Alan’s. He looked away first, not even trying to conceal the sneer of contempt on his face. She’d seen that look many times before. Alan never had respect for anyone he could best so easily.

  “I’m not willing to leave the house on the table,” Alan stated matter-of-factly, as though he wasn’t shattering every idealistic dream she’d had since girlhood. “It goes on the market and we split it down the middle.”

  Emma didn’t know why Alan even bothered with an attorney. His pasty-faced lawyer sat off to the side with a half-smile on his face, not bothering to look down at the notes he’d probably spent several sleepless nights preparing. He knew his was nothing more than an honorary role. The real power lay with the client. And still he’d prepared for the case as though his life were on the line. He couldn’t risk having that one unanswerable question shot at him while Alan’s piercing eyes looked into the depths of his soul. Emma had seen a dozen namby-pamby lawyers come and go. She wouldn’t give him a second thought.

  “I would like the house,” Emma said, shamed by the quaver in her voice. “What if I want to buy it?”

  Standing up to Alan had never been in the playbook. She wasn't used to the role, but hadn’t been able to find a lawyer willing to go against him. She wouldn’t win this fight, but she had to at least try for the sake of her kids, even though they were grown and no longer living at home. They were already angry that she hadn’t managed to keep the family together. To lose the house they’d grown up in probably meant they wouldn’t speak to her again.

  Later, she reflected while drinking a cup of tea in her dark kitchen, Emma knew she’d been nothing more than a guppy in the fight. Alan didn’t want to seem a complete ass to their few friends, so she got a tidy sum of money with more to come, upon sale of their home. But he wouldn’t concede anything else. She now had no home—he wanted it staged and unlived in so it would sell faster—and no car. He said she had enough money to buy whatever she wanted, but he wouldn’t give up the BMW or his own SAAB.

  For the first time in her life, Emma had no idea what she would do or where she would go. She’d given up her education for her marriage and the children. Now that the children were grown and her husband had also flown the nest, and then sold the bloody thing, she felt lost.

  There was nothing left to do but to go to sleep and think about things tomorrow.

  Chapter 2

  Emma had wallowed in the mud of her broken dreams for three days before Connie came to her rescue, whether she wanted to be rescued or not. Emma answered the door after the twentieth ring. She knew Connie would stand there all day if necessary.

  “So you’re alive, are you?” Connie asked.

  Emma mumbled something incoherent and headed towards the bedroom, leaving the front door wide open. Connie guided her to a chair at the kitchen table. Then she pulled out the coffee supplies.

  “Okay, tell me all about it.” Connie switched the kettle on. “What’s the damage?”

  “Catastrophic.”

  “Not the house?” Connie gasped and whirled around. “He isn’t that cruel?”

  “Apparently so. He demanded we sell it and split the proceeds. It’s like cutting my own child in half and deciding who gets the best piece.”

  Connie snorted. “Just like you, Emma. Always so dramatic. This could be a good thing, you know. A new life. Alan always kept you under his thumb. Now you can live a little. The kids are grown and don’t need you anymore.”

  Emma slumped further in the chair and put her head on the table.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled. “My life is reduced to no one needing me.”

  The tears welled up again, but she summoned all her willpower to keep them at bay. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to cry in front of her friend, but she had gotten sick of tears. They didn’t do any good anyway.

  Connie set a mug of instant cappuccino in front of her.

  “Come on. Drink up. And tell me all about it.”

  Her friend sat opposite with her own mug. She looked serious, as though realizing her normal sarcastic humor wouldn’t help.

  “My own daughter is mad at me.”

  Connie rolled her eyes. “Of course Jen is mad at you. Jen was born mad.”

  “But she’s so mad she won’t talk to me. What am I going to do, Con? She gets mad, but usually she doesn’t stay mad.”

  “That’s true.” Connie sipped her coffee, then stared at the tabletop for a moment. “Well, she’s going through a lot and it’s safer to be angry at you than her father. How’s Brad handling it?”

  Emma wrapped her cold hands around the hot mug. “He’s not handling it well as far as I can see. He’s wrapped up in his job and hasn’t called in three weeks. He’s probably out of the country on assignment. I don’t even know if he knows about the house.”

  “Does Jen?”

  “Yes. I told her yesterday. She slammed the phone down and won’t answer my calls.”

  Connie mumbled something to herself.

  “What?” Emma asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on, you can say it.”

  “Well, if you want to know the truth, I get so angry at the way your family treats you. It’s like you’re their personal punching bag and you just let them take a piece out of you whenever they want. It’s not right, Em.”

  Emma didn’t respond. It was an old argument and she could never convince her friend that her family wasn’t so bad. Connie just couldn’t understand what it meant to be a wife and a mother. She’d chosen a career, one she loved, and was happy with her life. They had met in culinary school, but hadn’t drifted apart despite their vastly different lives. Perhaps that was the reason. Both were happy with their lives, and seeing the issues the other went through just reinforced their happy choices.

  Until now.

  Emma wondered what her life would have been like if she’d stayed in school and gone on to be a master chef like Connie, who now owned her own restaurant and lived a carefree, although busy, life.

  Emma had gone back to school after Jennifer entered grade five, hoping to pick up her education where she’d left off. Alan hadn’t been happy about her decision, but let her make the choice, stipulating that she needed to keep up with everything at home or he’d have to insist she give it up. She’d met Connie at Liaison College in Toronto where they were both enrolled in the Culinary Management course. The students were mostly in their early twenties, so Emma felt like the odd one out at thirty. Connie had been twenty-three, but she and Emma hit it off right away.

  Connie picked up both mugs and carried them to the sink.

  “I haven’t finished yet,” Emma protested.

  “You need to get in the shower while I burn the rags you’re wearing. We’
re going out.”

  Emma clenched her jaw. As much as she loved Connie, she hated being ordered around.

  “I am not going anywhere.”

  “Stop acting like a child. You’ve been moping long enough. We’re going shopping for something new to wear and then we’re going for dinner and dancing. I won’t take no for an answer so don’t even bother.” Connie pulled Emma’s chair back and propelled her to her feet. “I took the day off at the restaurant, so don’t make me waste my time off.”

  Emma did what she was told and headed upstairs, her feet heavy. While she showered, she tried not to think about the empty future that lay before her like the yawning mouth of an unexplored cave. She probably didn’t even have grandchildren to look forward to since Jen had always said she would be a career woman and hated kids. Brad was gay, although he hadn’t come out to his father. Emma shuddered at the thought. At least the divorce meant she wouldn’t have to be there when it happened. If it happened.

  She toweled herself off and rubbed lotion into her dry skin while she thought about her son. He had always been a gentle boy. Not the least like his aggressive father. It had always mystified Alan how he’d produced such a quiet son.

  He’d wanted Brad to go into sports or at least join the debate team. Either form of aggression would have been acceptable. But to have a passion for photography? Alan became inarticulate with rage when he found out. The fact that his daughter was actually the son he’d wanted didn’t soothe his ruffled feathers, so Emma had the job of calming the hurt anger of her daughter and boosting the self-esteem of their son. She had often felt like Alan’s public relations manager with their children, polishing up his image and cleaning up the trail of shit he left behind.

  That was something she would not miss.

  “What are you doing in there?” Connie called through the door.

  “I’m done. Just getting dressed. Where are we going?”

  No answer.

  “Okay, okay, it’s a surprise, right?” Emma asked.

  She heard a snicker and then Connie’s steps receded down the tiled hallway.

  She’d miss the house. They’d built it in the first flush of their marriage, just after she’d given birth to Brad. Alan had taken over his first company, parceled it up and sold it for easily five times what he’d paid. They were self-congratulatory and a little puffed up with their own importance. The house was a perfect monument to those days. Despite its flashiness, it had its charm. It had grown on her like a favorite aunt that acted just a little bit embarrassing. She’d be sad to see it go, but it was far too much house for her. She’d tried to negotiate for it only because of the familiarity. Hanging onto the house would make the free fall into singledom a little less like she’d been shoved off of Mount Everest.

  She snapped out of her woolgathering and rushed to get dressed. Then she went downstairs, first to the kitchen, then to the living room where she found Connie.

  “There you are.”

  Connie turned from the cavernous fireplace, which hadn’t been lit more than twice a season She held a photo of Jen at three-years old. Jen would take a dressing down from her godmother before either of her parents. They’d only enlisted Connie’s help once or twice, but it had been enough to keep Jen on the straight and narrow. She was in her last year of law school, and Emma often thought they had Connie to thank for it.

  Connie placed the photo back on the mantel. “I’m really sorry, Em. It’s a raw deal you’re getting, and I wish I could change things for you.”

  Emma felt the first genuine smile on her face since Alan had informed her they were splitting up. “I know. That’s why you’re my best friend.”

  Connie pulled her into a fierce hug and kissed her cheek. “Now, you and I are going shopping. Alan hasn’t cancelled your cards yet, has he?”

  Emma raised her eyebrows. “He’d kill me if I used them.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t let him get close enough. We’re going to help you forget things for a while with some retail therapy.”

  Chapter 3

  A buzzing sound emanated from Emma’s bag. She motioned at Connie to continue into the store. They’d already been shopping for a few hours and Emma needed a rest. The phone buzzed again while Emma fished around in her bag. It stopped just as she found it.

  “Damn.”

  The caller ID listed her daughter’s name. Relief and dread warred inside Emma. Relief that Jen wanted to speak to her, dread in anticipation of the inevitable conflict. Emma loved her daughter, would die for her, but struggled to understand her.

  Jen, as Connie had often said, had been born with a chip on her shoulder. She seemed to feel that the world had it in for her, and only she could take it on. She wouldn’t accept help from anyone and expected everyone else to be just as tough. She was far too aggressive for a female in Emma’s opinion, and too much like Alan for Emma’s comfort.

  “Mother, you need to grow a backbone,” Jen had said so many times. “You let Daddy walk all over you. It isn’t right.”

  What Jen seemed to miss was that she did it herself as well.

  Before she could work herself up further, Emma touched Jen’s name on her iPhone and waited for her to pick up.

  “Mother. You’re there.”

  “Yes. I’m out with Connie, and couldn’t find my phone in my bag.” Why do I always explain myself with Jen? “I’m happy to hear from you, honey.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the house. Maybe there’s a way we can convince Daddy to let you keep it.”

  As usual, Jen gave no acknowledgement of Emma’s endearment or even an apology for hanging up on her a few days ago. Emma sat on a bench outside the shop and hoped Connie wouldn’t come looking for her. She’d probably end up snatching the phone from her and telling Jen to respect her mother. Then she changed her mind—she hoped Connie would come looking for her.

  “I tried,” Emma said. “You know your father. He won’t change his mind.”

  “I’ll talk to him.” Jen’s words were clipped, professional. She’d make an excellent attorney one day.

  “What if I don’t want to stay in the house?” Emma cringed. She shouldn’t have said it. There’s no way Alan would change his mind about the house. She should have just let the inevitable play out and then she wouldn’t have to make a stand.

  “What?” Jen asked. “You’re not serious, Mother.”

  Emma peered through the shop window. She couldn’t see Connie anywhere. She’d have to deal with Jen on her own. She turned her back to the window and stared across the street at a small liquor store. Maybe she’d go over there after she talked to Jen. A drink would go down really well.

  “Are you there?” Jen asked.

  “Yes.” Emma breathed the word, her stomach churning. “The house is too big for me. There’s no point in keeping it when there isn’t a family living in it. I’ll get something smaller, but with room for you and Brad to stay when you visit. I know you aren’t happy about the divorce. Believe me, I’m not either, but we all have to deal with this.”

  She waited for a response but only heard heavy breathing through the phone. Jen was preparing for an onslaught.

  “I’m not a child, so don’t talk to me like one. I knew a long time ago that Daddy would divorce you. He never said anything, but it was obvious to me.”

  How our children stab us in the heart so easily and don’t even care.

  Emma leaned back against the shop window and tried to catch her breath.

  “Of course I’m not happy about the divorce,” Jen continued. “But it happens. I just don’t think it’s right to take away our entire childhood without even considering our feelings. I think you should at least try and stop it.”

  “Jen,” Emma broke in before she could launch into any more hurtful statements, “I’ve done all I can. I can’t stop your father. If you can’t, how do you think I could?”

  “You’re his wife. You know him better than anyone. You should know how to stop him.” Jen’s voice
was getting dangerously near shouting. It was exactly the same scenario that ended with a click in her ear the day before.

  Before Emma could respond, the phone was lifted from her ear.

  “Jen, what is going on with you?” Connie asked into the phone. “Don’t you know how your mom feels right now?”

  Emma gave Connie a weak smile of relief. Connie scowled into the phone, but grabbed Emma’s hand in a quick squeeze of support.

  “Dammit, girl, you need to think about someone besides yourself right now. You’re a big girl. Act like one.”

  Emma couldn’t believe Connie got away with talking to Jen like that. It was probably the fact that she had the guts to do it that had Jen’s respect. Not even Alan stood up to Jen when she went on a tirade.

  The conversation continued while Emma moved into the store. Her nerves couldn’t handle any more. She found an empty change room and slumped onto a stool, her back to the mirror. She slid the curtain closed and hoped to disappear for a long time, maybe forever.

  She’d been only nineteen when they got married and already pregnant with Brad. She’d spent the next several years raising Brad and then Jen. She loved her children, but had never gotten over the regret of leaving school. She’d tried going to culinary school when the kids got a little older, but hadn’t made it more than halfway through before Alan pressured her to quit.

  Emma leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

  What do I have to show for the years I’ve spent with Alan?

  Most mothers claim their kids as their greatest achievement. Emma didn’t know if she could. Brad had pretty much raised himself and Jen refused to be raised by anyone but Connie.

  So what have I really done with my life?

  The curtain flew back and Connie’s outraged face poked in.

  “There you are.”

  Emma looked up at her, not bothering to hide the tear tracks.

  “Did you calm her down?”

  “Probably, but I’m not calm. That girl needs a lesson in reality. Sorry, Em. I’m just so angry at her right now.”