Jackie

“Are you making two separate dinners?”

Sharon Zennaro sounded irritated. She was sitting at my kitchen breakfast bar with a half-empty glass of pinot noir in front of her. Sharon was a sturdy, attractive woman whose cropped black hair was streaked with strands of grey. Her grimy t-shirt and brown overalls were jauntily accessorized with a red bandana, and she looked exactly like what she was: a competent woman working in the man’s world of home renovation.

“Nooooo,” I hedged. I was actually making three dinners. Sharon and her daughter coming over for dinner meant a chance to try an intriguing chicken tikka masala recipe. But that might be too spicy for the kids, so I was doing grilled chicken with fruit salsa for the girls, and chicken strips with fries for the fussy Tristan. Of course, Sharon would see this once we all sat down for dinner, but I could escape her lecture about spoiling the kids for another half hour.

Sharon’s scowl showed her opinion of all my hard work in the kitchen. We’d been best friends for years, ever since Brent and I moved into our home in West Van, right next door to Sharon and Peter. Now both our husbands were gone and Sharon had moved to East Van, but we were still best friends. Our daughters stayed best friends too, despite the move. Right now, we could hear hysterical giggling from behind the closed door of Hannah’s room.

“Hannah is like a drug for Kayla,” Sharon declared. “If she’s moody, I get them together and she’s back to her cheerful self. But I foresee that the teen years are going to be challenging as fuck.”

I nodded. “I took Hannah bra shopping yesterday. I have to confess, I was shocked at all the cute bras they have for girls who basically have no breasts. When I was her age, I think I had a choice of two styles—ugly and uglier. Oh my God, do I sound like an old lady?” I raised my voice to a cackle. “Back in my time... kids today are so lucky... we had to dial up the internet.”

Sharon laughed. “Yes, clothes shopping is a pain in the ass now. I’m not allowed in the changing room anymore, and it takes twice as long. I have no clue what Kayla is actually doing in there. Sleeping? Starting a YouTube fashion channel? Plotting world destruction?”

All the food prep was now done, so I put a bowl of my spicy nut mix on the counter and poured my own glass of wine. I leaned across the counter and lowered my voice. “Brent says we have to sell the house.”

“Really? I thought you two had worked something out.” Sharon and Peter had sold their house shortly after he’d left. It was pretty traumatic at the time, but now Sharon compared it to ripping off a bandage. She had moved to a place in East Van, reno’d it, and started a whole new career for herself. Sharon’s dad was a carpenter, so she already had some skills, and she had learned a lot on the job.

“Yes, I reread terms of our divorce. The house will be sold when both parties are in agreement or at the end of five years. Now one of us is in agreement. I think he wants to buy a new place or maybe something’s going on with Margaret.” Fighting Brent for a couple of extra years was pointless.

Sharon reached across the counter and squeezed my hand. I was shocked at the warmth that spread from that touch. Other than Tristan’s sudden hugs, there was so little human affection in my life. I was getting to be a dried-up old lady.

“Oh Jackie, that sucks. I know how much you love this place.”

“Yeah, it does suck. I tried so hard to keep things the same for the kids. But what can I do?” It was funny how quickly I had gone from shock to acceptance. Nothing in my life was permanent anymore.

“Well, if you need a good real estate agent, the one we used was great. She negotiated our battles like a fucking peacekeeper. Where are you going to live?” Sharon wondered.

“I’ve been looking around, and I think with my half of the house money, I could buy one of those new townhouses in Dundarave. Then at least, I’d still be in the neighbourhood and the kids could still go to the same schools.”

“Why don’t you move near us? The school’s pretty good, and Hannah would have a built-in bestie. Besides, a townhouse around here is going to take up all your money. It’s good to have a nest egg for unexpected expenses.”

I nodded. Brent had always taken care of everything financial since it was his area of expertise, but I’d learned a lot in the past couple of years. Unfortunately, even with the child support, I couldn’t manage to save much. “Brent thinks I should get a job—a real job.”

“As much as I hate to agree with that douche-canoe, he’s right.” Sharon’s brown eyes met mine. “Jack, there’s nothing like a real job to make you feel competent as fuck.”

“But I don’t have marketable skills like you. Before I got married, I worked in cosmetics at The Bay. Those skills are worthless now, unless someone needs a punk eye shadow look or dark lip liner.”

“They’ll be flocking to you when Eighties Dance Night rolls around.” Both of us snorted and clinked their our wine glasses together.

Downstairs, there was a knock on the front door. Before I could move, the door opened and a voice called out, “Helloooo, it’s just me.”

Sharon could not help rolling her eyes. I heard a muttered fuck as well, but by the time Wendy Harris walked in the kitchen, Sharon had pulled on a completely neutral face. Probably the same one she wore when homeowners complained about the delays caused by their inability to make decisions or stick to a plan.

The Harrises had moved into Sharon and Peter’s old house and done a complete gut-job. Now it was a lovely traditional home with marble countertops and neutral furnishings, but it looked exactly like every other home from the decor mags.

“No personality,” Sharon had muttered the first and only time she’d seen it. And then she’d gone home and cried. Sharon could not stand Wendy, either because of Wendy’s personality or because she’d destroyed a charming Arts and Crafts interior that had taken Sharon years to perfect. However, Wendy was completely oblivious to this fact, so having the two of them in one room wasn’t too horrible.

Wendy and her husband had always been very nice to me, and even more so since my divorce. On the few occasions it snowed, Wayne had cleared my driveway. I’d protested I could do it myself, but he insisted it gave him a chance to use his snow blower. And Wendy lent a sympathetic shoulder many times while I was going through the divorce. Our two sons were great buddies, so there was steady traffic between our houses. It was funny how your kids inadvertently chose your friends for you—the parents of their friends were the ones you ended up seeing the most.

“Hello, girls,” Wendy said. She cast a long glance over Sharon’s appearance. “Did you come straight from work?”

Wendy herself was perfectly turned-out in a pair of navy designer pants, a wool turtleneck, and a rust-coloured leather blazer. She was always dressed up, even though she was a stay-at-home mom. Wendy’s dark blonde hair was neatly blown-out and her makeup was also perfect, if a little heavy on the contour.

“Actually, I wore a suit to work,” Sharon replied. “This is what I wear for dinner with Jackie.” Perhaps she wasn’t hiding her animosity that well.

Wendy only laughed and sat down at the breakfast bar as well. I held up the bottle of wine and Wendy nodded. I passed her a glass, and she sipped it. “This is a very nice wine,” she commented.

I prickled a little at the surprise in her voice. Wendy’s transparent reactions had advantages and disadvantages. Her implication meant either that I couldn’t be trusted to choose a good wine or I shouldn’t be spending money on expensive wine when I had so little income. But I had enough battles in my life without picking new ones. I forced out a laugh. “Brent has yet to find a new place to store all the wines he collected, so for the time being they’re still here, and I’ll use any occasion to crack one open.”

Both my friends laughed at this. “The best revenge,” Wendy said. “As long as you don’t start drinking alone.”

“I can always invite you over.”

“What are the boys up to?” Wendy wondered.

I realized with a start that I hadn’t seen them for at least an hour. “I think they’re gaming in the family room.”

“It’s time for Wyatt to come home for dinner,” Wendy said, but she sipped her wine and looked in no hurry to go. She pulled a folded paper out of her pocket. “Oh, I put this together for you.”

As I unfolded it, Wendy explained, “I looked for possible jobs on Craigslist and that Monster job site.”

Sharon rolled her eyes. It was a little strange to print out links instead of emailing them, but Wendy was no techie.

“Oh, thanks.” The jobs looked pretty bleak, mostly retail or direct sales. My spirits fell further as I realized how limited my options were. I had no job skills. “Man, none of these look too appealing. To bad nobody needs to hire a wife. That’s one thing I’m good at.”

Luckily, neither of my friends pointed out that I couldn’t have been that good if Brent had left. Everyone around here had gossiped about what happened. It always caused a tremor in the neighbourhood when a couple split—especially a couple that everyone thought of as happy. When Brent left, he told me there was nobody else, but he never gave me any real rationale. At first I hoped it was only a mid-life crisis and he’d come back. But with time, the only explanation I could figure out was that he had always been dissatisfied, wanting more than he had.

“It’s tough to get a job when you’re older,” Wendy said. “I have a friend from university who’s been out of work for two years. Of course, he’s a man, so that makes it worse.”

“Why?” Sharon asked.

“Because men have so much pride. They don’t want to take jobs that are a step down. Women are more practical, they’ll take whatever job comes along.” Which meant me and the crappy job list.

“The best thing is to be an entrepreneur,” Sharon replied. “Then you don’t have to deal with bosses or interviews at all.”

“But you have to start somewhere,” Wendy said.

Sharon pointed to her overalls. “Yeah, like me. I started out doing demos and framing. But when the project managers saw how good I was with homeowners, they kept sending me with the bad news. I finally figured out that if I became the project manager and got things properly organized, I wouldn’t have to give bad news all the time.”

Sharon had her own home reno business now. She hired women whenever possible and paid top rates, so she was able to deliver jobs reliably. She was already booked up for the next year and trying to figure out how she could expand. Too bad I didn’t have any construction skills because Sharon would have hired me in a second.

“Helloooo?” A male voice called from downstairs. “Is my whole family here?”

“Upstairs, darling,” Wendy replied.

“Whoopee, Wayne’s awwived,” Sharon muttered. I shot her a warning look. Sharon secretly mocked the fact that everyone in the Harris family had “W” first names by using an Elmer Fudd accent and as many W words as she could stuff in a sentence.

Wayne bounded up the stairs. He was a cheerful man, heavy-set with a broad smiling face. “I saw that dinner was all ready, so I figured you couldn’t be too far away.” He kissed Wendy on the cheek.

“You should have some of this pinot noir,” his wife advised. “It’s lovely.”

“A wwwunderful wine,” agreed Sharon.

I reached for a new wine glass, but he shook his head. “I’ve got a nice Cab breathing on the counter to go with the roast. I’d like to save my palate for that.”

“Wickedly wise of you,” said my evil best friend.

“Actually, this is perfect timing.” Wayne rubbed his palms together. “Wendy tells me you’re looking for a job, Jackie.”

I nodded, and he continued. “Well, you know that my company does executive relocation. We have a lot of clients, including the Vancouver Millionaires hockey team. Anyway, their farm team, the Vice, have hired a new coach, and we’ve been asked to pull together a furnished two-bedroom suite for him. I was thinking that this would be exactly the kind of job you might be able to do. Wendy’s always admiring your place, and she tells me you’ve got a real nose for bargains.”

Wendy’s own nose wrinkled up. “Wayne! That’s not a good job for Jackie. You told me it was half the budget and a quarter the time of your normal projects. Besides, she has no experience.”

He patted his wife on the shoulder. “I know, dear. Look, Jackie, I’ll be honest with you. Normally, we wouldn’t even touch a job like this. The Vice don’t have the big budget of an NHL operation. However the Millionaires are good clients, so I agreed, but I don’t have anyone available to work on such short notice, and then I thought of you.”

“Jackie’s not going to want to do this,” Wendy protested. But only a few minutes ago, part-time shifts at Michael’s were good enough for me.

“Actually, it does sound interesting. What would I have to do exactly?” I asked.

“It’s pretty simple. We have a leasing agent, he’s already looking for a place, and then we’ll send you in to furnish it. You’ll have a budget, and it won’t be a huge one. But he’ll need everything: pots, pans, sheets, the whole she-bang. First, I’ll set up a meeting with Fiona—she’s one of our most experienced designers. She can give you a rundown on what the basics are.”

My excitement rose. I loved decorating almost as much as I loved bargain shopping. I was famous for my “shopping bible,” which was a list of secret sources for anything home-related. “Who is this coach?”

“Leo something. Goatee or some name like that,” Wayne replied. “I’ve never heard of him, but I don’t know anything about the AHL. They’re pretty hot on him, or they wouldn’t be giving him all these perks. Most guys at that level have to find their own housing.”

“Will he tell me what he likes? I’d hate to paint the place blue and find out he hates it.”

“From what I hear, he doesn’t seem to care too much. It’s going to be him and his daughter. Maybe not too froufrou. But I’ll get you his number, and you can talk to him yourself.”

“When does this have to be done?”

“Yesterday,” Wayne replied with a grin. “The guy’s already here and staying in a hotel.”

I hugged Wayne. “Thank you so much. This job sounds amazing.”

Wendy shook her head. “You don’t even know how much it pays yet. This is going to be a lot of work in a very short time.”

“But it’s something I know I can do,” I replied. I had furnished our house on a budget. We bought before Brent was making good money, and our huge mortgage meant there was nothing left for furniture. I’d managed to transform hand-me-downs and garage sale finds into a lovely home. Even Brent acknowledged that the place looked like a million bucks on a miniscule budget.

The Harrises got ready to leave. Wayne told me to come by after dinner, and he’d print out a contract. “It may not pay a fortune, but it’ll be better than what you’re making at that art store.”

After they’d gathered up Wyatt and left, I had a quick panic attack. “Oh my God, can I even do this job? Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

Sharon nodded. “It’s right up your alley. And if you do a good job, who knows, maybe Wayne will hire you again. Or maybe you can get work staging homes or something.”

“Yes. It’s work experience. Something real I can put on my résumé.”

I felt happier and more optimistic than I had in ages.