I forgot how much tequila burns when it hits my stomach...

            Murphy gives me a slightly confused look, tossing in a purr for good measure, and I take another swig.  I am sitting here in my comfort spot, the bathtub, fully clothed with Murph on my lap, slamming down my tummy warming liquor straight from the bottle.  I wonder how long I can stay in here without anyone noticing I am gone, or how much I can drink without passing out or liquefying my liver?

            It has been a little over a week since the insanity that was my apparent attempt at burning down Patrick's apartment.  While all of that has been horrifying in its own right, fate seems to flat out have it in for me, which would explain my reasoning behind sitting in the tub trying to drink myself unconscious.  What evil has the Cosmos sent my way now?  Well, dear friends, she's back.

            My mother in law is here.

            It was a terrible way to start my Saturday, the ascension of Catherine the Not-So-Great upon our humble home....  I would have preferred a four hour gynecological exam by and angry doctor with cold hands and rusty implements.  No.  Seriously.

            When the door bell rang this morning, and I drug my un-coffee ass to answer it, I would have been happier to greet a plague of locusts, and perhaps a lot less scared, than I was when I saw her perfectly manicured face.  My less coifed visage must have spelled out my emotions quite clearly, for her smile was ever growing as I felt my blood pressure rise. 

            "Well that must have been some party last night!"  Her voice was especially piecing with my body lacking java.

            "Hello- I mean, um," I rubbed my eyes, "What party?  What are you talking about?"

            "I just assumed you must have had a big party late last night." 

            "Why would you assume that?  We didn't have a party yesterday."  Shocking how bright the sun was reflecting off of her multi-carat earrings.

            "You just look like had a very late night!"  She smiled and walked past me into the house, "I figured that was the reason why you didn't feel up to making yourself more-" she paused to look me up and down quickly, "Presentable."

            She waltzed through the foyer into the living room just as Derek had finished pouring himself a cup of joe.

            "Darling!  I missed you!"  She squealed and threw her hands into the air.  I am not sure if it was the banshee-like tone, or the sheer sight of her that did it, but my poor husband turned and dropped his freshly filled mug of lava temperature-d goodness, where it proceeded to land on his foot.  A lot of painful noises ensued, that were drowned out by our children as they sprang from the couch where they had been watching their Saturday morning cartoons, and flew to embrace their grandmother that at that point I was still hoping was a hallucination.  No such luck.

            I rushed into the kitchen to help Derek who was stifling both screams and profanity as he tried to mop the coffee off his wounded foot that had become a frightening shade of pink.  As my cursed mother in law oohed and ahh-ed over her grandchildren, I soaked a dishtowel in cold water and rushed to place it on my hobbled husband. 

            "Mom!"  He squeaked, "What are you doing here!?"

            "Honey!"  She trotted to him, completely ignoring his prominent limp, and inexplicably gave him the ridiculous double cheek air kiss thing that unless you were born In France, or live in the balloon of Hollywood, just makes you look pretentious.  "My flight was so delayed this morning, you wouldn't believe!"

            "Mom, it is eight thirty in the morning!"  I must say I was pleased to see how aghast he was at the scenario unfolding in front of him, "What time did you fly out?"

            "Oh don't worry about those things, I just want to see my darling little family!" 

            "Seriously, mother, what are you doing here!"  He insisted.

            "Oh Derek, will you be a doll and get my bags from the car?"  She talked over him like he wasn't asking her a very pertinent question.  He tried to reassert his query, but his words once again fell on deaf ears, "Ooh, and please hurry, I have presents for these cute little babies!"

            The desperate look on his face was no match for the delighted squeals of our children, and with a severely flabbergasted look directed towards no one in particular, he set off, still gimpy, to head outside and retrieve bags.

            It was at that moment I realized that she had said bags, which would imply that she was planning on staying, gulp, here...

            "Um, Catherine-” I croaked, "Where exactly, are you...  I mean, how long are you going to..."  I cleared my throat, "This is quite a surprise!"

            "I can see that dear!"  She turned away from the kids to smile that evil smile at me, "I am sure if you had known I was coming, you would have tidied up a little bit.  Although it is nice to see the conditions under which my grandchildren actually live."

            A biting response formed on my tongue, but I was interrupted by Derek stumbling back into the house with an inhumane amount of luggage weighing down his arms.

            The rest of the morning was a mind numbing blur.  Juan Valdez himself couldn't have provided enough of the bean to keep me coherent.  She flounced about, ignoring all of Derek and my inquisitions as to A. Why was she here? and B. Did she really think she was staying with us?  Eventually, like pulling Excalibur out of that blasted stone, we managed to get the details that yes she was in fact staying with us, and that it would be for somewhere in the vicinity of two weeks as she was wanting to be around to throw Abby a birthday party which was according to my numerous calculations, exactly two weeks.  Little did she know that my body had a physical Mother in Law limit of about nine days before I have to go all Bruce Banner and kill her.

            Things have been crazy enough around here without the invasion of the Wicked Witch of the North East.  After just walking out on Patrick while his kitchen table was ablaze, you can imagine how awkward things were the next day at soccer camp.  I debated very seriously, even to the point of trying to draw out of Abbs that maybe she really secretly hates soccer, that we just quit so that I never had to go back.  The fact that there are only two weeks left of the camp didn't help my case any.  They were coming up on their big end of the year game against a rival schools soccer camp.  I guess the whole summer was in preparation for this one game, like a showcase of the skills that they had learned.  Not that this makes me feel any better whatsoever because when I suggested to my little princess that perhaps I would step aside to let one of the other mother's play assistant coach for the rest of the camp, her little face melted.

            "But mooooooooom!"  She cried, "Everyone thinks it is so cool that you are the coach!  Mom, don't quit, PLEAAAAAAAAASE!!"

            I mean, who can argue with that....

            So with my daughter's beckoning, and the fact that Derek started asking questions as to why I was planning on making an auspicious exit from my position, I felt it best to back down and just suffer through the heinousness that is having to see Patrick four hours a day for the next few weeks.  Not to say that the things haven't been tense to a spectacular degree.  He looks at me, sometimes with sad eyes, at which point I feel my chest tighten and I feel so guilty.  Other times, it is with slightly angry eyes, and those remind me of what a jackass he was being and it makes it a lot easier.  The worst are the lustful looks.  Those instead of inciting guilt or anger, well, they just incite my panties falling to the floor.  I am feeling a lot of rage to him, don't get me wrong, but that does in no way change exactly how hot this man is.  And lord help me, it is rather scorch-y.  I am mentally giving myself a giant gold star for every day that I make it home from the soccer field having not apologized to him, killed him, or mounted him. 

            What has made the withholding considerably easier is the fact that the man I had been living with for the last few months had disappeared entirely, and was replaced by a fellow that looked eerily similar, but who was the picture of husbandly perfection.  He did dishes, he planned activities with the kids, and he let me sleep both days of last weekend.  He has been polite, he has been considerate, he has been thoughtful.  Last night, when we went to bed together, he was making eyes at me, and I thought he was going to try for sex, but, and I am still shaking my head here, but he said he didn't want to "make love" as he put it, no, he wanted to give me a foot massage.  A foot massage!!!!  I can't believe how hard he is working, and how every single nice thing he does sends me further and further into a hideous shame spiral of doom.  Every kind gesture causes all of my own indiscretions to suddenly become giant gleaming neon signs of infidelity, that I swear are swarming around my head like very large, snitching, mosquitoes.

            While all I want to do is kick back and enjoy the brilliance that is this Husband Version 2.0, I can't seem to run fast enough to get away from the horrible things I have done as well.  I want to believe that Derek would forgive me, that maybe we could just call it a draw and start over, but what if he can't?  What if what I have done to him is a far greater crime?  Maybe I am being selfish and am just letting him prance around like a good boy trying to make amends, like he owes it to me for all the trouble he caused.  Wouldn't that make me a dreadful person, indeed? 

            More likely, it is the fact that I am so ashamed of how far I let myself get sucked into all this nonsense with Patrick, and I don't want to have to let him see me for what I have turned out to be.  I am disappointed in myself for how I let myself get swept away, for even thinking of doing what I thought to do, but more than that now, I am disappointed that I haven't fessed up.  How do I think Derek is going to like it when he finds out all the hard work he put in to make things right was being handed to a woman who was being deceitful? 

            Is it possible to just let this all go now, and move on?  Chalk it up to things hitting a rough patch, that we lived, we learned, and we are better for it?  My heart tells me that I would want him to be honest with me about whatever he had done, but my brain, or perhaps it is the little devil type person on my shoulder, seem to think that keeping these nuggets of information to myself would be the wiser choice. 

            I just don't know.  What I do know is that I want to move away from all of this.  The soccer camp is almost over, in a few short weeks I won't ever have to see Patrick again save for the possible horrific bumps into each other at the supermarket, or wherever.  Boy, won't that be the most pleasant of shopping cart collisions?  Like, "Oh hi!  Remember when we almost had wild animal sex while you were coaching my daughter's soccer camp and I was going to cheat on my husband?  No?  Oh, well, then, can you show me how to pick out a ripe avocado?"

            Oh God...  I can hear people coming upstairs.  If that woman had a shred of decency she would pack up and hit a Ramada or something.  Actually if I am making wishes it would be that she catches a plane home while I lay here drunk in the tub.  I am amazed beyond amazement that I made it through the day.  After the first few snipes, she was straight into her hardest slams.  Oh, the kids look like they are starving.  Gee, Ellie, those jeans look uncomfortable, have you put on some weight?  Oh, ordering pizza for dinner, that's, well, charming.  GRR!  You know what I think would be charming?  My foot up her nose.  I would say up her ass, but I am positive that the cheeks would be far too tight for actual contact.  Would be like kicking concrete.

            Sweet hell.  I just had a terrible thought...  What if that heathen of an in law wants to go to the soccer camp with us?  Oh no.  What if she sees him look at me?  Oh my GOD!  What if she sees me look at him?  I can't breathe.  That is exactly the kind of dirt that crazy woman wants to get on me.  Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.  She would be so happy to come trotting home and tell her that she thinks I am having an affair.  Okay, so what if it was almost was true? 

            I am going to burn in hell.  Yep.  Right in hell.

            Well, okay, let's focus here.  It's not like it is still going on.  I stopped it, things are over.  As long as I can control my own lustful stares, then I will have nothing to worry about.  Or perhaps I can just duct tape her door shut in the mornings so that she can't get out and come with us!  Now, see, I am thinking good there.

            AH!  The door knob is turning!

            "Honey, oh Jesus, I am flipping out!"  Derek hisses as he sneaks in the bathroom with me.  I am so happy that it isn't her I almost squeak a little bit.

            "What the hell is she doing here?!"  I snap back, noticing my tongue is feeling a wee bit on the heavy side.

            "She won't say!" he says as he rushes over and puts the toilet seat lid down so that he can sit next to me.  "I can't believe she wants to stay here for two weeks!"

            "Oh honey!"  I sloshily hop up, grabbing his face to plant a well earned kiss.  "So you hate it too!"  Love him an awful lot at the moment.

            "Well, yeah!"  He whispers, "You know, we are going through our own stuff, and she just pushes every button there is!"  I kiss him again for this.  "But sweetie, I promise, I swear to you, that I won't let this be like last time.  I won't let her get away with things the way she did before.  I know how hard that was on us last time, and I don't want to go back to that."

            The look in his eyes is one of a perfect combination of desperation and determination.  His face is so honest. 

            "Look, I know I didn't make it any easier for anyone either." I say, my tongue feeling heavier by the syllable, "I think I could stand to not take things quite as seriously, you know?"

            "You know what, she has been really hard to take, I think you have done pretty good."  He leans in and lowers his voice with a smiling conspiratorial tone, "I say we form a perfectly united front.  We are a team.  Us against, well,” he gestures towards the door, "That."

            I start to giggle and I hear the bedroom door open.  Looks of dread plaster across our faces, and suddenly, Derek is up off the toilet and is climbing into the tub with me.  I am so surprised to see this six foot plus grown man, scrambling to crawl into a garden tub with his tequila soaked wife and increasingly confused cat, that I start to giggle uncontrollably.  Apparently my inebriated state is equally humorous to Derek because he starts giggling too.  We realize this is going to draw attention to our hallowed hiding place, and try to control ourselves, but alas it is too late, and our collective gaze hits upon the turning knob of our only escape, and we kick ourselves for not thinking to turn the damn lock.

            "So this is where everyone ran off to!"  She says in that tone that I liken to nails on a chalkboard.  "And- " She stops as she sees our strange configuration in the tub, married couple and feline.  Her eyes dart around assessing the situation and come to a stop on the half empty bottle of hooch that I have unsuccessfully hidden between my ribs and the tub.  "Well, what is going on in here?"

            "Um, well, we are, um..."  I stammer.

            "We are just having a chat, Mom."  Derek smiles.

            "You don't say." she smirks, "Are you sure you aren't having some sort of issue that you aren't wanting to share?"

            "You know, Catherine," I slur, "Most people would consider knocking before just walking into an occupied bathroom."  I feel as though I am blinking far too much.

            "Dear, most people would never think that they would be walking in on their son having to talk his wife out of the tub, fully clothed."

            "No, Mom, most people would think they would be walking in on someone taking a leak."  Derek says straight-faced.  I am cheering inside.  "Well, I suppose they could be taking a sh- "

            "Derek!"  She shrieks, "Don't be crude!"  She quickly shakes the look of disgust off her face and digs right back in, "I suppose I should let you get back to trying to pry the bottle out of Eleanor's hands."  A nice glare in my direction, thank you.  "I was unaware she had a problem!"

            Oh for fuck's sake. 

            "Actually, Mom," Derek grins and takes the bottle from me, "She was just taking a swig from me."  He drives his point home by taking a long, couple of gulps, enough that I know in a few seconds he is going to be feeling a smidgen loopy.

            She stares, unflinching, and yet visibly unsettled by our unfounded united front.  It is a proud moment for me, it is the first time that he and I have gone toe to toe with that woman.  I can't say I remember where I was when the Berlin Wall fell, but I assure you I will always remember this.

            "Is there something else we can do for you, Mother?"  He inhales sharply from the tequila sting.  "Because otherwise, I think we are going to get back to our little party here." 

            "No, dear,” She has a satisfyingly even tone, "I was just heading off to bed now."

            We all stare at each other, even Murphy pops his head up out of my lap and gives her the eye, but she is no match for our intoxicated grinning.

            As she turns and walks out, Derek calls, "Oh could you shut the door behind you?"

            It was just enough that it knocked her off her pedestal just enough to show her ruffled feathers, and she silently closed the door behind her.  Just before it clicked shut, I couldn't help myself and I cheerily suggest, "Sweet dreams, Catherine!"

            We hold our breath until we hear the bedroom door shut, and we collapse into a fit of raucous laughter, loud enough that it scared Murph who clamored out of the tub.

            And for the next hour, Derek and I sit here, taking sips from the fast draining bottle, and giving each other a taste of how it used to feel.

            Of how it should feel.