“Not yet, but it’s on my list. About the gala, I spoke a bit further with my editor, and she wants the donation to be anonymous. If the magazine does this donation for us, there will be so many others asking.”
The idea came to me around three o’clock in the morning, after I got up and smeared a little arnica lotion on my butt for the bruising and took an Advil for the pain.
The magazine rarely checked up on these things, and this was the only solution I could come up with. Sheila still got her donation, and I saved face with work. If I was going to leave Tommy, I’d need my work to provide not only an income, but an outlet for me. I’d also need Sheila as a friend, to help control the rumor mill so it didn’t affect my daughter.
“Money is money,” Sheila said. “I know they hoped to make connections, but it’s not my problem.”
I breathed out a silent sigh of relief. “Great. Let me know when the program is finished if you want some proofreading. Obviously, I would be thrilled to do it.”
“Another great idea,” Sheila said delightedly, and I couldn’t help the sense of satisfaction flooding me.
“Thanks, talk soon.” I decided to end the call before it went south like everything else in my shitty life.
Except for my wonderful Priscilla, who wore a bra and got her period. She was growing and blooming. It was time I woman-ed up.
I stood from my seat, suppressing a squeak from pain.
Last night was the wrong time for me to have told Tommy about my magazine’s donation to the gala. He was already two drinks in and angry over another firm wooing away a client.
I don’t know what had come over me. I was increasingly sassier and more carefree with my words. It was almost like I was egging him on, but I hadn’t meant for Priscilla to hear our arguing. I’d begged Tommy to be quiet, and that only angered him more. He’d shut our door, thrown me on the bed, and began to hurt me.
Good news was he didn’t take my pants off. Bad news was this wasn’t anything like BDSM, where I’d be provided after-care.
After Tommy had left and I made the mistake of calling Mick, I checked on Priscilla and then went to soak in the tub. I made sure to soak extra-long, allowing my mind to go to a blank space.
Now, walking out to my car, my bag loaded with my laptop and my coffee refilled to go, I didn’t know why I trusted Mick or leaned on him. He was just a fling. An indiscretion. A mistake ... or not? I didn’t know, but I also didn’t totally trust my judgment when it came to men.
Tommy wasn’t always like this, was he?
Seated in my Volvo, I thought back to when we were much younger, and I was incredibly naive.
I hadn’t even unpacked or taken my dirty clothes out of my luggage when I got home from the bus station. I’d gone to see my parents and missed Tommy terribly. They kept asking why he didn’t come home to New Jersey with me. I didn’t have an answer. He had studying and was busy, I kept telling them.
Like an eager and desperate woman, I pictured him making special plans for me when I came back. Now, as I lay down on the cool surface of my hardwood floor, I didn’t know what I was thinking. Like an idiot, I’d been dreaming of a romantic bus-station gesture from him—flowers, jewelry, the possibilities were endless—only to be greeted with aWELCOME BACKsign and a limp tulip.
My expectations had been way off base.
Now, as tears dripped down my face, I only had myself to blame. I reminded myself that he’d made a sign and plucked a flower, obviously a thoughtful soul with school on his mind. A good guy.
I wasn’t the stupid girl wanting to get married to the bad boy. Tommy was a decent guy.
Hot and fiery embarrassment, sadness, and a loss of pride washed over me completely. In minutes, I managed to convince myself that I was the one in the wrong.
Taking a look at the clock on the dash brought me out of my walk down memory lane. I shook my head, cursing at myself. Way back then, I’d mistaken Tommy’s manipulation for niceties. He’d played me.
I knew many women didn’t have supportive husbands, but I also knew they weren’t all physically and emotionally abusive to them. As I pulled out of my parking spot, it was hard not to mentally beat myself up.
I should have seen the signs.
I didn’t know better, but now I did. For my daughter’s sake and my own, it was time to do right. Or try to do one right thing—get out—while doing something wrong?
Because I couldn’t get sweet, handsome, emotionally generous Mick out of my mind.
A few days later, Tommy left early for Vermont again.
This time he’d be away for two nights, and I planned to breathe free. Him being the sole counsel for a large granite quarry was like a Christmas present that kept on giving. At the moment, they were being sued for some faulty product, and I hoped the case went on for a long while.
Sitting on the toilet gingerly, I looked down and noticed the tiniest of rolls had formed in my lower abdomen. “Forget it,” I said aloud, and when I forced myself to sit up straight, the roll disappeared.
