Reaching for my water, I brought it to my lips.
“Later,” Mick said, his voice rich with promise. “And don’t play coy. Sheila told me Priss is spending the night at her house.”
I decided a gulp of water was needed while I enjoyed the beginning of the next phase of my life. The first was a nightmare, but the second promised to be a wonderfully weird fairy tale.
Margaret
Two and a half years later
“Happy birthday, Mar.”
Mick grabbed me in the kitchen and pulled me into his arms, running his lips over my cheek and kissing the small sliver of skin right below my ear.
“I love you,” he murmured, and I felt those three words deep in my belly. He backed me into the counter and continued to kiss my neck.
“Love you too,” I told him, and meant it.
My life had done a one-eighty, and even though he wouldn’t take credit, Mick was the reason. Of course, he’d say it was all me, his momma’s boy instincts not letting him take the credit. Dr. Schroeder agreed with him too, when I told her about all that had happened since our last session, but I knew the truth.
“Do we have to do this whole birthday thing? I like this ... kissing.” Admittedly, I was whining, but I would prefer a quiet night. With Mick. In bed.
“You’re only forty once, babe. We have to do it.”
“I’m not sure I want to be forty, so if we don’t celebrate it, then maybe I won’t be.”
“Nothing you can do about it now,” he said back. He slid his palm around my body, lightly spanking my butt. In a delicious way—to be clear. Then he smirked and did it again.
We didn’t get much further because the doorbell rang and Tito went crazy, barking and dancing in circles. After he learned a lot of bad habits from Priscilla, we sent him to doggie boot camp, but that didn’t help him much either. His biggest trick was he sat for treats now.
“I’ll get it,” Priscilla called, running down the stairs in a miniskirt and a very off-the-shoulder sweatshirt.
“What is she wearing?” I asked Mick, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Underwear disguised as a skirt?”
“Oh my God. Why does she do this to me?”
I wasn’t sure how I’d survive the high school years with her. I mentally reminded myself what Dr. Schroeder had said, that Priscilla was headstrong and firm in her beliefs, but good at heart.
“Let it go. She’s a good kid,” Mick said, reminding me of what I already knew.
She’d been the light for me all those years I suffered, and so letting go of the miniskirt ban was the least I could do. Maybe.
About to start her high school years, Priscilla was still happy at the all-girls school and wanted to stay. She had a great friends group and brought them over to the house often—which we welcomed.
A while back, we’d thought about moving but ended up staying in my house and putting on an addition this winter. We expanded the back of the house to include an office for Mick and a workout room (also mostly for Mick), plus added a pool. I’d painted the whole house a warm shade of almond that soothed my senses every time I walked through the house. What used to be my prison was now my sanctuary.
Well, everywhere but Priscilla’s room, which was painted purple, trimmed in twinkly lights, and covered in clothes.
“Hi,” I heard my daughter call to Penny and Sheila in the foyer.
They were making small talk in the background. It was only when I heard a lot of girly whispers that I told Mick to go light up our new firepit in the back—just like the one that Priss had asked about way back when. As always, he was happy to have something to do. It was early June in Boston, and the evenings were still cool, but we were all eager to enjoy the outside.
“Take Tito,” I told him, and he obliged.
Walking to see what all the excitement was about, I caught Penny shrieking, “You did?”
“What?” I asked.
