How to Look Happy by Stacey Wiedower

Jeremy’s new “roommate.”
    I’ve spent the past fifteen minutes filling Eleanor in on Jeremy’s visit to the house. In a way, I guess I’m using her as a test case for tomorrow’s family gathering. I’ve been dreading Jake’s party for days because it’ll be the first time I’ve seen most of my family since the breakup.
    I can only imagine how it’s going to go. First, everybody will laugh it off, simply because Jeremy and I have broken up about fourteen times previously, and each time I’ve sworn it was really over. So then I’ll have to discuss the reason we broke up, which is sure to spawn a round of sympathy I’m not ready for. And of course, everybody who saw the Facebook post—which, let’s face it, is everybody—will make me rehash the humiliating story of my day and night from hell.
    At least I’ll get to eat cake.
    “You are definitely better off without him,” Eleanor is saying. “I’ve always thought Jeremy was kind of a snob. And selfish. He took advantage of you.”
    I’m starting to realize that pretty much everybody in my life feels this way. Why on earth didn’t anybody clue me in?
    I guess, like my mom, they all thought I was happy. And in a way, clueless does equal happy. There’s a reason the phrase “ignorance is bliss” exists. It’s just not a lovely feeling to realize your ignorance came from within—that you’ve been lying to yourself, playing yourself for a fool.
    Viewing it this way, it’s harder to blame Jeremy for all my misery. And if that’s the case, I pick clueless.
    “Mmm,” I say, feeling fidgety and ready to change the subject. “Well, anyway, so you’re giving Jake clothes? Then I’ll buy the puzzles.” I spied these cute Melissa & Doug puzzles with construction vehicles in the Toys “R” Us sales mailer, which I receive, I’m sure, because of the staggering number of gifts I’ve bought for my siblings’ offspring. Jake loves trucks, so I know the puzzles will be a winner. But since he’s the third kid in the household, I also know Chris and Christine’s playroom is already overflowing with toys.
    Oh, to have their problems.
     
    *  *  *
     
    The next afternoon, I take a deep breath and brace myself as I round the corner and turn onto Chris’s street. Their driveway is already full, so I park in front of the house next door and open the hatch on my Prius to grab Jake’s gift. As I walk around the car, Eleanor and Brian’s massive SUV turns in, and I wave to Eleanor as she drives by, turns around in a neighbor’s driveway, and pulls up to the curb across the street. Distracted, I pull out the package without watching what I’m doing, and a corner of the wrapping paper catches on the edge of the door frame. I hear a loud ripping sound.
    “Aw, crap,” I say, glancing down at the ruined package, the bright-colored puzzles poking out from the balloon-printed wrapping paper.
    “Eh, he’s two,” Eleanor calls out to me. She’s already out of the car, swinging a gift bag with a giraffe on it from her left hand. The kids aren’t with her, so she and Brian must be driving separately. I wonder if she’s been at the spa. Mother’s Day was last weekend, and she told me on the phone last night that Brian had given her a gift card for a massage and a pedicure. As she catches up with me I peek down at her feet, and sure enough her toes are buffed to a high shine and glossed with perfect violet polish. “He won’t know the difference,” she continues. “Besides, it’ll be easier to unwrap if the paper’s ripped a little bit.” She grins at me.
    “Justification for my stellar clumsiness. I’ll take it,” I say, smiling back and feeling guilty for my jealousy over a little purple nail polish. In my single, childless, and miraculously still-employed state, I could go to the spa too, if I felt like it. But that’s not the same as having someone love you enough to pamper you.
    “I’m here for ya, babe,” Eleanor says.
    I smile to