Valerie left the office 45 minutes late and, a half hour later, pulled into the driveway of their apartment building. Valerie and Rod shared a third-story, three-bedroom, two-bath unit. The larger of the two spare rooms was for guests but had never been used. The smaller room was an office-slash-workout-slash-growing room for Rod's pot. Valerie held serious doubts about the decision to grow your own but had lost that argument years ago.
They had recently celebrated their thirteenth anniversary. For the last ten years, they had lived in this same apartment. Try as they might, they had never been able to save for a down payment. Just after she started at TDLR, Val opened a secret savings account. Every paycheck, she'd put away a little something. Over the seven years, she had managed to save a significant amount, but it was nowhere near a real down payment in this housing market.
Rod's lack of financial prowess made that goal even more of an impossibility. He spent his money as fast as he made it. He'd work a job, come home with a thousand dollars, and two days later, it was gone. He had to have that boat, which they sold at a loss; then a motorbike, with a trailer, which had been stolen; and the sixty-five-inch TV. Rod was all about instant gratification with no clue how to address the future.
The futility of her life overwhelmed her for a moment.
Remembering the 93, the light of a brighter future brought a smile to her face.
Walking in, she hung her keys on the hook by the door and tossed her backpack onto the kitchen counter. They had thrown the obligatory party for her at work, so she also held a pink bakery box that contained the remnants of a birthday cake. On top of the box was a card that had circulated around the office. Three of her coworkers had misspelled her name.
On the balcony that extended off the kitchen, she saw Rod's size-12 feet sticking out on the railing as a puff of smoke floated past. The pervasive smell told her it was pot.
The sliding door was open, and the air conditioner was running. She wanted to be her mother right then and yell, "Close the damn door. Are you trying to air-condition the whole damn world?"
Instead, she walked over and stuck her head out. "Hey, I'm home."
From his chair on the balcony, Rod turned to her. A smile ran across his face as he jumped up to give her a welcome-home kiss. Being shorter than Valerie, he leaned up to brush his lips against hers. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that highlighted his biceps. He'd had a goatee when they met but shaved it shortly after, at Valerie's request. He'd remained an anomaly in Texas, a clean-shaven man. His closely trimmed hair was always in place.
Rod said, "Hey, honey, happy birthday."
Val accepted the gesture, more out of habit than want. "How'd the job go? You have three more days, right?"
Rod shifted his gaze away from her. "Oh, um, we finished."
Valerie scrunched her eyebrows and offered her sympathies. "Finished? What happened?"
"I'm just too damn efficient for my own good."
"That sucks. I'm sorry. We could have used that money." She smacked her lips with a disappointed tsk. A short stack of mail lay on the countertop, and she started to sort through it.
Rod sauntered over to her and, from behind, slid his arms around her waist. "It occurred to me that you deserve something special today." His hands rode up to cup her breasts. Valerie opened the water bill.
"So... I invited Mark and Tommi and your folks over for dinner. What are we having?" he said with as much charm as he could muster.
She broke free of his grasp and spun at Rod. "You what?"
"Yeah, I thought it would be fun to get together and celebrate. But your mom was all flustered that I waited until today to call her. My bad." He shuffled around Val and into the kitchen.
Her hands came up waving, as though she was warding off an invisible attack. "Hey, hey, hey! It's my birthday." Flustered, her lips pursed tight. "You always do this. And now I'm supposed to figure out dinner? Just like that?"
"Well, I'm not very good at it," he said with a smirk.
Valerie wanted to pop out a stinging retort, but she had nothing. He was right; he'd only screw it up.
Rod's eyes went puppy-dog. "You're not mad, are you?" Valerie saw the contrition on his face, and she softened. "Look, Dog was in a mood today, and things were chaotic all afternoon. We can get Chinese or Mexican. It'll be fine. Mark always brings beer, so I guess that'll work."
With renewed enthusiasm, he countered, "I just thought it would be nice to celebrate your birthday with friends, you know, a birthday dinner."
"A little planning would have been a good thing. Let me see what DoorDash can do." She opened up her phone.
Rod turned away and glared over the parking lot. Valerie followed his gaze and, through the balcony slats, saw a neighbor girl watching her dog do his business. The dog finished, and the woman looked around, didn't see anyone, then started to walk away.
Rod leaned over the railing and snapped, "Hey, you gotta pick that up.
Someone's gonna step in it!"
The woman spun around in a panic and then looked up at Rod. Seeing him three stories up, she shrugged him off. Just loud enough for him to hear, the zoftig woman said, "Fuck off, asshole." She tugged the leash of the golden retriever and walked away, leaving the steaming turd behind.
"Ah, really, lady," Rod yelled over the railing. "You can't just leave that there."
Without turning around, the lady threw her right hand into the air and flipped him off. Val tossed a side-eyed glance at Rod, and sure enough, the switch flipped. He lost control and threw the half-full beer can in her direction. It landed behind her, and she gave no indication that she was aware it had been thrown.
"God damn," Rod said. "I hate that. Dog shit everywhere. What are these people thinking?"
Valerie knew this side of him. He was calm and composed, as usual, and then out of nowhere, the temper flared. He had never directed it at her, but she knew it all too well.
On this topic, however, she always poked him. Tossing her arms dramatically into the air, she said, "Oh my God, you and dog shit. What is it with you? Did your mother wash your filthy mouth out with dog shit instead of soap?" Valerie teased, laughing at the mental image.
Calming almost as fast as he exploded, Rod said, "Why'd you even say that?
I'll be thinking about it for hours." Rod shivered.
The joint reappeared, and he lit it. "That's why I've never wanted a dog. I can't pick up shit, literally. Makes me gag something awful just thinking about it."
Seeing that he was somewhat stoned, it didn't seem like the right moment to break her news to him.
"I'm going to freshen up. Listen for the door. We'll see what everyone's in the mood for."
Walking into the bedroom, she locked the bathroom door. While waiting for the shower to warm, she undressed and grabbed her phone. She'd forwarded the AGU email to her regular account and, sitting on the side of the tub, opened it. Scrolling to the small box at the bottom of the grades, she quadruple-checked the score; it hadn't changed.
Clearly, the university hasn't discovered its blatant mistake.
Accepting that she had aced this course wasn't easy. She'd had no experience with success. Shaking her head, again in disbelief, the tears began to fall. The unburdening of the weight she had carried for so long had brought with it a well of tears: tears of joy, mingled with the relief that it was over. Her body shook as she was overwhelmed by the still-unbelievable sense of accomplishment.
Looking at the email again, like a relentless lover, that 93 refused to leave her side.
After a few minutes, her jubilant sobs, hidden by the running shower, slowed, and an unfamiliar tingle ran up the length of her body. She wiped the tears from both cheeks and stood.
As her heart moved toward acceptance of this achievement, her hips, to her surprise, followed. In a spontaneous outburst, the left hip bumped left. The right hip bounced right, naturally following the laws of physics: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. That movement evolved into an impromptu dance on the bathroom tile to a victory tune that rambled through her brain. Her head spun, her arms extended high above her head, and her hair flashed over her shoulders.
She reveled in the triumphant dance of the underestimated! Death to those who doubted me! Off with the heads of those who thought I
wasn't worthy!
"So, I'm not smart enough, huh? I'm too old? Well, guess what, bucko!" She sneered at Rod through the bathroom door.
Grabbing the olive-green bath towel hanging from the wall rack, she screamed into it, alternating between yelps of joy and sobs of release. As she stepped into the shower, the hot water cascaded over her body, washing away more than the struggles of the past six years; it soothed her anxiety and offered reassurance of her worth.
Drying herself off in full view of the mirror, she realized she had stopped doing this years ago. She looked at her reflection for the first time in forever: naked, pale, and just plain her. The worthless pile of humanity she believed everyone else saw had disappeared. In its place was a smart, accomplished woman with the ability to get things done. She was even...pretty. Checking herself out, she made a list of what she saw: okay, she was tall; that was a given. Six feet of awesome woman, she decided. Spinning to her side, she caught a glimpse of the tattoo over her right shoulder: a bouncing kangaroo wearing red boxing gloves, cute as all get out. Continuing the self-inventory, her gaze landed on her small tits.
Always have had, oh well.
Then, lowering her eyeline, she skipped over her plumpish stomach and admired the shapely hips that rounded off to a near-perfect Y, her coochie at the junction, framed by neatly trimmed pubes.
Damn, Rod, you could certainly do worse.
The doorbell rang. A smile crept across her face as she realized that she would be facing her friends and family for the first time as a college graduate.
You're a flipping genius; that's what you are.
Val put on the jeans that accentuated her butt, then pulled an opaque tank top over her head; because her parents were coming, she had put on a bra.
She tucked the tank into her jeans, looked in the mirror, and thought the tucked shirt accentuated her muffin top. She pulled it out of her jeans and headed into the kitchen for her unplanned birthday party.