Mrs. Fletcher

by Tom Perrotta

She uploaded the least blurry photo to Facebook, along with a status update that read, Off to college! So happy for my amazing son, Brendan!!! Then she inserted the obligatory emoticon and launched her message into space, so her 221 friends would understand how she was feeling, and could let her know that they liked it.

Can’t wait till the day when this behavior sounds old-fashioned/crazy

The divorce had left her with a permanently guilty conscience that made it almost impossible for her to stay mad at her son or hold him accountable for his actions.

A glimpse into how Eve and Brendan came to be the way they are.

She pressed the bills into Brendan’s hand, then gave him a fierce hug and a quick kiss. “Just call me if you need anything, okay?” “I’ll be fine.” She hugged him again when the elevator arrived. “I love you.” “Yeah,” he muttered. “Me too.” “I’m going to miss you. A lot.” “I know.”

Hope good-byes in my family go a little better than this! :(

“Lucky you.” “Not really. I’m going to a wake. Roy Rafferty.” “Oh.” Amanda grimaced in sympathy. “I heard about that. Poor man.”

Wait, did George off him? <spoiler>No, fortunately.</spoiler>

“I just think Dani was born smart. I could see it in her eyes when she was a little baby. Like she was just taking it all in, you know? Figuring it out.

Sounds about right, eh, @Dani? 😀

“The maple syrup guy can’t do the November lecture, so I’m scrambling to find a replacement.” “Uh-oh.” Eve stretched her mouth into an expression of mock horror. “Sounds like a sticky situation.” Amanda looked puzzled for a moment, and then made a sound that resembled a chuckle. “Sorry.” Eve frowned. “Humor’s not my specialty. At least that’s what my ex-husband used to tell me.” “Nice,” Amanda said. “I’m sure you appreciated his honesty.” “Absolutely. He was full of constructive criticism.”

Witty repartee: check.

Amanda looked wistful. “There’s so much to read, but all I do is watch Netflix and play Candy Crush. I feel like I’m wasting my life.”

Don’t forget WhatsItsFaceSnapTwitter...

We’d play a game or two of Yahtzee and then Bethany would head up to bed, and my dad and I would watch an episode of Scrubs, which we both loved.

Brendan the Bro likes Scrubs? Doesn’t seem to fit. [The mistreatment of women does though]

I could see why they were in such a good mood. Given the way things usually went with Jon-Jon, it was a minor miracle to be outside on a beautiful day, walking around a public place like a relatively normal family. I met Bethany’s eyes a couple of times, and she gave me this shocked, excited look, like, Oh my God, can you believe this? I felt pretty good about it myself. It wasn’t the fun day that I’d planned, but it was still kinda nice in its own way.

Here’s where we’re supposed to feel like Brendan might be redeemable, right before he does something horrible to Amber, right? UPDATE: Y, of course.

Jon-Jon had a hard life, and I would never want to trade places with him. But that whole time, while he was screaming and thrashing around, I kept thinking how unfair it was that my father loved him so much and held him so tight—way tighter than he’d ever held me—and wouldn’t let go no matter what.

another good snippet of insight into how Brendan came to be the way he is.

“That’s right,” she said. “I’m not just a part-time community college student. I’m also a mid-level municipal bureaucrat.”

Like.

She did it because those kids were the future, and even the worst of them could have a change of heart, or at least be shamed into silence.

It was a conveniently small group—maybe a little too small—and they all seemed to be vibrating on the same wavelength, cracking jokes and laughing a little too loudly, toasting Margo for her excellent scarf collection, Dumell for service to his country, Amanda for the alcoholic beverages, and Julian simply for showing up, representing the millennials.

Mr Perrotta, please don’t phone in with this tell-y narrative nonsense. It’s hard to believe this group will suddenly bust into best buds party mode, but don’t shrink away from the challenge: show us how it can happen! It would be a fun read (kind of like the play ball! scene)

It was just like her—just like a girl—to feel sorry for a guy she had every right to despise, and then to turn the blame back on herself.

Too real. ? :(

“Not in a bad way,” he said. “It’s just, the guy has a gay name and a gay job. It would be kind of confusing if he was straight. This way’s better for everyone.”

...

Eve had no intention of sneaking out for a tryst with a nineteen-year-old boy whose parents were away on vacation. Leaving aside the difference in their ages, which was a deal-breaker in and of itself, everything about the scenario felt tawdry and vaguely demeaning—the open garage door, the ticking clock (offer valid for one week only!), the whole booty-call/friends-with-benefits aspect of what he was proposing. It smelled like a surefire recipe for regret, if not disaster.

Because...of course she’s going to and then she and Brendan’s friends will see the video? Please don’t, Mr Perrotta. UPDATE: Thank goodness, no.

It was just hard to switch gears, to make the superhero transition from her responsible, professional self to the beautiful older woman in the foreign movie,

Oh no, foreshadowing that he /is/ going to film it? UPDATE: Thank goodness, no.

Eve got married in early September, around the beginning of what would have been Brendan’s sophomore year of college, if Brendan had still been going to college.

Mr Perrotta won’t give us narrative to show how this happened? He’s just going to fast forward and give us the highlights? Hm.

If I’d known you were coming, he said, I woulda worn my lululemons.

Pretty good line.

Eve was wondering the same thing. It wasn’t the kind of story you expected to hear on a first date. But she was touched by his trust, and relieved to know that their experiences had overlapped in this one peculiar arena, not that she would ever tell him about that.

What? Of course she should. :(

he grunted, in a voice that seemed jarring to her. It was harsher than usual, and maybe even a little angry, as if he were speaking through gritted teeth. You’re my MILF! Eve stopped moving. A chill spread through her body, the memory of something unpleasant.

Do middle aged men think of women their own age as MILFs? :?