The Rival by Selena Thomason
My husband is in the backyard talking to the person I hate most in the world. Of all the people at this company get-together we’re hosting, why does he have to talk to her?
She is wearing a skimpy sundress and her hair is perfect even in the heat. Her name is Melanie and she is a secretary at my husband’s office. Not his secretary, someone else’s. Gary calls her “Mel,” as if she is some balding, middle-aged guy instead of a perky, twenty-something babe.
I always thought she took too much of an interest in my husband. At last year’s office Christmas party, she seemed to always be at Gary’s elbow asking if he wanted another drink, some spring rolls from the buffet—”oh, here, let me take your plate”—as if she was the hostess and he was the only guest, as if it wasn’t just another stupid office party.
When I complained, Gary said, “Oh, Lynn, she’s just some kid from the office.”
“She’s more than a kid, don’t you think?”
“I guess.”
He was too blasé; it was a dead giveaway.
“She’s got the hots for you,” I insisted.
“She’s just friendly.”
“Too friendly. Why didn’t you wave her off?”
“Honey, I have to be polite. I’ve got to work with her every day. It’s office politics, you know. You wouldn’t want me to be rude to the support staff, right?”
“Of course not. You have to be polite; I get that. But there is no reason for you to be so friendly, let her monopolize your time. Shouldn’t you have been mingling or something?”
“She doesn’t have many friends.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s not easy for her to talk to strangers. She hangs out with me because she knows me. She works in my section, just down the hall, for Josh Walker. You remember Josh, don’t you?”
“Sure. So let her talk to Josh.”
“He’s her boss. It’s not the same.”
“You’re my husband. It’s not the same.” I could see that Gary was getting annoyed, but it just stoked my fury.
“What am I supposed to do? Ignore her? Josh would never forgive me if I cost him his secretary. He says she’s the best he’s ever had.”
“I bet she is.”
“Come on, Lynn. It’s not like that. You know what I meant.”
“Yeah, yeah. She’s a shy girl, doesn’t know anyone but you. Can’t talk to anyone else.”
“Exactly.”
“So, do her a favor next time and introduce her to some people, help her make friends. I don’t like you being this girl’s only friend.”
“Why not? I’m not interested in her. You know that, right?”
I nodded, not very convincingly. There was more shrug in my body language than nod.
“Come on, Lynn, she could never compare to you.”
Well, that much was true at least, I thought. She’s twenty-something and gorgeous. I’m forty-something and not so much.
I was getting tried of arguing about it. “Just try not to spend so much time with her, okay?”
“Sure, Lynn, no problem.” His “hand on shoulder, kiss on cheek” moves were moderately convincing.
I let it go.
But now here they are again, all cozy and close, like there is no one else in the world. And this time, it’s in my own backyard, which just makes it worse. Suddenly I realize that I might not be able to stop myself from beating her to a bloody pulp among the rose bushes.
I pick up the potato salad, thinking maybe I will “accidentally” dump the bowl on the front of her sundress. I imagine mayonnaise dripping down her youthful cleavage, and find it strangely satisfying. I move towards her.
As I approach my husband and his girl-toy, she hangs her head and looks away. To my horror, he moves closer to her and actually puts an arm around her shoulder. I pause for a moment. I can’t believe this is happening.
For a split second, I am afraid. I think briefly of going back into the house and forgetting I saw anything. But then my fear is quickly replaced by anger. Oh, hell no! I think as I move closer.
I am just raising the bowl of potato salad over their heads when I hear Melanie say, “I can’t believe June was cheating on me. We’ve been together for years, and now she’s run off with some biker chick.”
Confused, I lower the bowl back into ready mode and hold it to my pounding chest. “Hey, who’s June?”
They turn to me, separating just a bit. I see now that Melanie is crying. Her mascara is running in black rivers down her cheeks. For the first time ever, she looks terrible. “June was my lover, but now she’s gone. She’s just gone.” Melanie dissolves into sobs again and buries her head in my husband’s shoulder.
“Oh,” I reply. It sounds stupid, even to me. I wasn’t prepared for this.
Gary looks at me and scrunches his face as if he has no idea what to do about this bawling girl in his backyard. He pats Melanie’s shoulder awkwardly and mouths, “Help me.”
“Hey, Melanie,” I say to her, “why don’t you come inside? There are fresh brownies, just out of the oven. We could have some, maybe with ice cream.” Now, I’m reaching for her shoulder.
Melanie looks up at me and nods through her tears.
“There, there. Come on, we’ll have some brownies and ice cream. Then we’ll all feel a lot better.”
The words and tone sound so familiar. Suddenly it hits me. I am mothering my rival.
As we head into the house, it occurs to me that I am in serious need of a brownie myself.
Selena Thomason writes mostly science fiction, but sometimes feels called to other forms and genres. Her stories have been published in magazines such as The Literary Bone, Ray Gun Revival, VerbSap, and Alien Skin Magazine. Selena is also Managing Editor of MindFlights magazine. Her published works are available at selenathomason.com.
