and had more energy, when she was able to take the time to yell and insist and ignore the rolled eyes and sighs of injustice. Now, most of the time she couldn’t quite face it, and so she ended up picking up after them, throwing armfuls of possessions back into their rooms, rinsing off dishes, wiping crumbs from the table.
After Weezy had stopped working last year, Will had suggested that they get rid of the cleaning lady. “Should we let Sandra go?” he’d asked, like it was the natural thing to do. He had just left his crumby toast plate, an egg pan, and a coffee cup right in the sink.
“Let Sandra go? Why would we do that? So I can fulfill my life goal of cleaning up after you? Believe me, I do enough of that. Who is it that you think is going to come along and clean up from your breakfast? The elves that live under the sink?”
Will had thrown up his arms and sighed like a martyr. “It was just a suggestion,” he said. He went back to the sink and started cleaning up his dishes.
Sandra came in only once every two weeks now anyway. Did he really think that Weezy would be happy to spend her days scrubbing toilets? Sometimes she didn’t know where he got these ideas. She had remained angry for weeks, and whenever she started to get over it, she’d hear Will saying, Should we let Sandra go? and get annoyed all over again.
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little bit?” Maureen had asked her.
“No,” Weezy said. “I don’t think I’m overreacting at all. My husband would like me to spend my days dusting and mopping. Maybe that’s what he always really wanted.”
“I think you’re reading too much into this. Will says stuff all the time that doesn’t mean anything. He just said it without thinking, that’s all.”
Somewhere, deep down, Weezy knew that Maureen was probably right. Will said stupid things all the time. She tried to let it go. But every time Sandra was due to come, and Weezy had to go around the house picking up stuff to make sure that the poor woman could actually get to the vacuum cleaner and dust without tripping over a pair of shoes, Weezy would say out loud, “It’s a good thing Sandra’s coming tomorrow. Look at this place. No one’s picked up a thing in weeks.” She couldn’t help herself. She wanted Will to know that she had better things to do than to be his personal maid.
Once a month, Sandra was allowed to go into Will’s office to clean it. It was disgusting in there. There were Kleenexes on the floor (near the garbage but not in it), dust all around the computer and desk, papers stacked everywhere. And as much as Weezy begged Will to bring dishes down as soon as he was done with them, there was always a glass or two that was left behind. The last time that Sandra was up there, she’d come down holding a coffee mug that had mold growing up the sides.
Weezy was embarrassed and also horrified for Sandra. Even if it was your job to clean someone else’s house, it didn’t mean that you expected to find a cup of mold while doing so. Will hadn’t really understood. “That’s her job,” he’d said. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was up there.” But he wasn’t sorry, and now Weezy was never going to be able to let Sandra back into the office without checking it out herself.
Will was still clunking around the kitchen, and Weezy wanted him to finish up so that she could go back to the blog post she was reading, the one that was all about the personal touches you could add to your wedding—old family wedding pictures, naming the tables after favorite books, designing your own guest book!
“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Will asked. He took out some lunch meat and sniffed it, as if he thought it had been left there to go bad.
“That’s brand-new,” Weezy told him. “I just bought it yesterday.”
Will nodded and grabbed some cheese, bread, lettuce, and mayonnaise and started assembling a giant sandwich.
“Go easy on the mayo,” Weezy said. Will nodded and then moved so that he blocked the sandwich from her view. “I’m going to meet Sharon, from work, in a little bit.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, she said there’s some things she wanted to talk to me about.”
“I hope she’s not