STEPMOM

by Malcolm Glass

           
My knock rattled the storm door. My ex-husband's new wife Joann appeared instantly, as though she had been at the window watching my son Trey and me coming up the walk. She was wearing my sweater. 
           
I wanted to say, That's my sweater, you know, but, of course, I didn't. I had to be civilized. Besides, it wasn't really my sweater; it was Kevin's, the one I had always worn around the house. I knew why she was wearing it. Kevin keeps the thermostat at sixty-four during the winter.

I said, "Sorry we're late. Rush hour traffic, you know."

"No worry," she said in her nouveau riche lilt. "The lamb roast won't be done 'til six-fifteen." Ah, yes, I thought. You're old school. The way to a man's heart and all that. Kevin will love it. You won’t hear whining about under-cooked baked potatoes or over-cooked salmon.

Joann pushed the door open. Trey, dear, how nice to see you."  

Trey turned and smiled at me, and we exchanged our secret flutter-blinks. Joann put her arm around Trey’s shoulder and pulled him to her.  

"I like your shirt, Trey," she said. 

He looked up and smiled politely. “Thank you, Joey.”

I wanted to tell her, His father won't. You'll see. Trey was wearing the gold-and-red- striped polo shirt I gave him on his birthday. Kevin had told me to take it to Good Will, but I didn’t. Trey wandered into the house in search of his father, who was hiding from me. 

"We'll see you Sunday, then?" She hiked the sweater sleeves up her arms. No need for Kevin to make snide comments about her weight. Or her hair either, thick natural blonde, longer than my mousy mop.

"That's right,” I said. “I'll be here at six."      

"Good," she said, "We'll take good care of Trey, don't worry."

 “I know you will.” I closed the storm door and waved goodbye.

As I got in the car, I took a deep breath, glad to be free of her little-girl whine. The car that reached the four-way right after I did leapt across the intersection, barely missing me. I hit the brakes and the horn, rocked to a stop, and smacked the steering wheel with the palm of my hand.

“Damn idiot!”

I eased on through the intersection as the woman on my right gave me a friendly wave and mouthed sorry. How refreshing. A person with some empathy, a rarity in a world of the self-absorbed and self-satisfied. Like Joann. She seems so happy with herself, secure in her new life, with a sweet boy for a son.

Why was I angry at this woman? What had she ever done to me? She hadn't stolen my husband. He was hers for the taking. And she hadn't broken my home. I had done that myself. I had to get out. I was tired of not being good enough, of failing to be the trophy wife Kevin wanted. After I left, she came along and picked up the pieces. 

 Jo Ann would be good to Trey, I knew. And that was the heart of my anger, my resentment. She would care for my son and help Kevin, with his fat salary, spoil him. I would end up the weekend mom, the here-again-there-again mom, the real step-mom.     


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"Stepmom" will be in Malcolm Glass's next collection, Her Infinite Variety, to be published by Finishing Line Press in 2025.