“You do, you do.” The words flew from my mouth on repeat and out of habit.
It didn’t take long for me to slip into the headspace where I gave Tommy what he wanted or expected, praying he would let go of my arm before Priscilla came into the kitchen.
“That’s right, and don’t you forget it.”
Tommy glared at me, tightening his grip around my wrist for a beat longer, and I held my breath. If experience held true, I’d bruise and have to wear long-sleeved shirts for a couple of weeks despite the August kind of heat we were having now in September.
Trying to ignore the pain, I glanced at the window. It was barely dawn outside, and I was already having a shitty day.
You made your bed, so lie in it. That was the sentiment my mom had given me with a shrug when I’d gone to her for advice. I hadn’t spoken with her since.
“Get the half-and-half today, you hear me?” Tommy released my wrist with a shove and grabbed his keys from the junk drawer.
“I will,” I barely croaked out in an effort to get rid of him.
Without another word, Tommy stalked toward the garage and was gone.
The air flew from my lungs before I gasped for fresh air. I pulled up the sleeve of my pajamas, wincing at how my arm was already bruising. It needed ice, but I heard Priscilla padding down the hall.
“Hi, Mom.”
She walked into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. When she finally looked at me, I was so grateful her eyes were bright blue like mine. Her hair wasn’t quite as blond as mine, but her headful of curls came from my side.
Priscilla was all mine, and I was trying to do what I had to in order to protect her. If I broke up our home, Tommy would have money and power on his side. A ruthless combination, as my mother said.
“Hey, baby girl,” I said, and got a major side-eye.
“Mom, I’m in seventh grade. Please, I’m twelve.”
“You’ll always be my baby.” I stood and pulled her skinny frame in for a hug.
“Okay, okay,” she said, slipping from my hold before heading to the cabinet.
Opening the fridge, I asked, “Turkey sandwich?”
She nodded, and I gathered the ingredients to make her lunch. Priscilla was perfectly capable of doing it herself at her age, but it was something I enjoyed doing for her.
“Mustard instead of mayo,” she said, pouring granola in a bowl before opening a yogurt to add to it.
As I refreshed my coffee using my nondominant wrist, the one Tommy didn’t hurt, I noticed her watching. She frowned at me, with her phone in one hand and shoveling her breakfast into her mouth with the other.
“For an assignment,” I said lightly. “Using my opposite hand for daily tasks.”
Priscilla shrugged, not interested in reading my work. If it wasn’t on TikTok, it meant nothing to her, so I was safe.
Scrolling through her messages, she said, “Mom!”
I shouldn’t be surprised. Her phone was practically attached to her hand these days.
“Penny asked me to sleep over tomorrow night after soccer practice. Please? We’ll do our homework and go to bed. I promise.”
“Tomorrow is a school night,” I said out of habit, knowing I’d allow it anyway. My baby deserved as much happiness as she could get, and Lord only knew, I tried at home but failed often.
“You wouldn’t even have to pick me up after practice,” she said excitedly. “I’ll pack my stuff in the morning and go home with Penny.”
Faced with her huge smile, I gave in. “Of course you can go. But remember to call me when you get there.”
“I always do,” she said, already responding to the text, her thumbs flying over her phone. “But you’ll tell me again tomorrow.”
