Fold Me Up (Jennifer Semple Siegel)
A divorce is
like an amputation: you survive it, but there’s less of you.
– Margaret
Atwood
_______________________
The story of her life. As a wife, it seemed as though she had constantly
folded and tucked things away, and now as an ex-wife-to-be, she was responsible
for getting his things out of their house, a boring McMansion, soon to be
placed on the real estate market.
Then Lyni would move and unfold her simpler life in a two-bedroom
apartment, taking Quinnie, her baby girl, with her.
Her friend Amelia thought it was funny odd that she was taking such care
with folding the clothes of a man who ran off with the woman who had been her
bridesmaid. “I’d throw ‘em out the window and then burn ‘em. POOF!”
But that wasn’t Lyni. Besides, she still loved him a little, a part of
her heart folded up and stored away, waiting...
Maybe, just maybe...
No.
Reconciliation wasn’t possible; she knew that. Josup had made his
intentions very clear. His new love was pregnant and due to give birth to a
baby boy any day now. In her mind, she could envision a long bluish sausage boy
slipping out of the other woman and unfolding like a flower, blooming into a
fat pink boy with chipmunk cheeks and a deep lusty cry.
Lust. How she hated that word. Lust would be the downfall of the human
race; these days, love had nothing to do with anything. She was fairly certain
that Josup would leave her as well, once the bloom wore off.
Or maybe not. That boy could enfold the lovers in a way that Quinnie
never could.
A boy. Josup’s boy. He had never hidden his disdain for their baby girl,
all pink, chubby, and sweet, never to be a Daddy’s Girl.
Okay, she thought, “Never” is too bitter, too final, and
probably not true.
More like a reluctant participant in their child’s life, limited to
occasional visitations – a tentative caretaker and a guilty spoiler – the girl
folding her small trembling hand into his large tentative palm, his feet all
clumsy during the Father-Daughter dance at the girl’s wedding.
Lyni folded a pair of his thermal underwear pants into a triangle,
like a flag. Patriotic.
She sighed and stacked his folded clothes into a suitcase, one of
those fold ‘em up types that could be stored behind a bed or propped against a
closet wall – out of sight and mind. But now a reminder of how her own life was
unraveling, through no fault of her own.
Josup had promised to take care of her and Quinnie, but, so far, she had
seen little in terms of financial support – just the court mandated child
support and bare subsistence alimony payments – and Lyni, to the horror of her
friends and family, didn’t push it.
She smiled as she zipped up her ex’s suitcase.
In secret, she had designed a line of attractive furniture, designed for
an increasingly mobile population, that could be folded up and transported,
using a minimum of space. Her father, a well-regarded architect and internet
mogul, had lent her seed money for her startup. He developed her designs into
3D representations and helped her to apply for trademarks and patents.
Homes in motion.
As she folded her baby’s clothes, a craftsperson across town was building
the prototypes for a fold-up table, chair, sofa, and bed, following her precise
design plans.
She carefully placed Quinnie’s clothes into a chest of drawers.
Lyni then went deep into her closet and pulled out her wedding dress,
carefully packed in one of those clear garment bags.
She unzipped the bag; as she pulled the dress out, it rustled and
crinkled, the faux pearls yellowed. A ghost of her wedding day perfume tickled
her nose. A cross between Lilies of the Valley and Emeraude.
“Ugh,” she said. “What was I thinking?”
She shook the dress out; a few of the pearls dropped off and clicked on
the floor.
“Cheap.” Clearly a garment not designed to stand the test of marriage.
Although the price itself had been dear, indeed.
Lyni carefully folded the dress, making the folds as tight as possible.
Then she scrunched it into a ball about the size of a basketball; more
pearls fell to the floor. She smooshed it into a black garbage bag, stepped on
it to squeeze out excess air, and tied it off.
“That’s done,” she said, brushing her hands together and looking toward
the future, alone for now with Quinnie...
Perhaps, someday, with her true partner.
(772 words)
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