Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Charlotte,” my mom hisses.
“What? Are you kidding me? You’re just going to let her speak to us like that?” she asks, pointing at me. “All day at Saks she was a Debbie Downer, pointing out every freaking price tag. God, I can’t listen to it anymore.”
The feeling is mutual. I can’t be in her presence for another second, not even long enough to see them out. I stand, scoot my chair back, and leave them there in the dining room.
My bedroom beckons. The quiet darkness is exactly what I want after a day like today. I close the door behind me, squeeze my eyes closed, and let all the collected tears fall.
In a strange way, crying only makes me feel worse. I can’t even really relish the feeling of letting go because there are so many emotions tangled together. Part of it has to do with what Charlotte said at dinner. She’s not wrong. In some ways, my marriage to Walt hasn’t been a huge sacrifice. Not really. In fact, I’ve enjoyed my life since marrying him, especially here lately. I like being in this apartment with him. I like…him. So much.
But that’s almost beside the point. My feelings for Walt don’t diminish how angry I am at my family for putting me in this position in the first place. My mom hasn’t once asked me how I’ve been since the marriage. She hasn’t thanked me for what I did for her and my dad. God, not to mention—on top of everything else—she hasn’t even changed her ways! It’s like everything I’ve done has been in vain. She doesn’t care. Not so long as she keeps getting those checks every month.
That truth seems to spring up out of nowhere, as if the pressure of it couldn’t be contained for one more moment. My feelings about my family have rattled around inside me for a long time, but I’ve been careful to avoid them.
Even now, I hate to admit the truth.
I push away from the door and crawl up onto my bed. I lie down and face the window with my hands tucked under my pillow. I feel worse instead of better after my behavior at the table. I’m sure they’re all still out there now, talking about me. My mom is probably apologizing on my behalf, embarrassed about my egregious honesty. Or, more likely, she’s apologizing to ensure those checks don’t stop coming.
A few minutes pass, and then a fist knocks gently on my door.
“You can come in,” I say, not bothering to turn back and see who it is.
It’s not necessary; I know it’s Walt.
He walks in quietly and comes to sit behind me on my bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and then he extends his arm over my hip and holds something out for me.
My wedding ring twinkles in the light seeping in through the window.
“I washed it,” he promises.
Why that makes me cry harder is a complete mystery. I roll forward and drop my face into my pillow, trying to conceal my tears.
His hand slides up my spine and comes to cradle my neck so he can brush his thumb back and forth, comforting me. Eventually, he moves his hand to my shoulder, gently rolling me onto my back. I can’t look at him, even as he leans over me. My attention is up on the ceiling.
“Please don’t cry,” he says, sounding as if he’s the one in pain.
“I’m not,” I lie with a poorly concealed sniffle.
“They’re gone now,” he says, taking my left hand so he can slide the ring back on my finger. I feel so much better with it back in place.
I thank him, and then I wait for him to get up and leave. He’s done his duty and checked on me. I don’t expect him to linger long.
Instead, he stays right where he is, waiting for me to work up the courage to meet his gaze. When I do, he smiles sadly, his dimples barely visible.
“If it helps, I don’t like my family either.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “Oh yeah? So then you can tell me what I’m supposed to do now?”
“I’m sure it’ll all blow over in a few days.”
My stomach tightens in fleeting anger. “What if I don’t want it to? What if I’m sick of their bullshit?”
“Then you move on.”
I blink away tears.
“Why does that make you so sad?” he asks with a furrowed brow. “It’s obvious how much they hurt you.”
I tick my jaw, trying to come up with a better explanation than the truth.
Walt cups my cheek and wipes my tears away with the pad of his thumb. After a steadying breath, I stare him straight in the eyes and explain that, without them, I have no one.
He hums in thought. “Well then, we’ll have to get you a friend.”