“Yeah. Let’s deal with each other plainly, Adrian. What’s three hours of my time worth?”
“You hold the cards, Cora. You set the price.”
“Wrong. You’re the one who made this about money.” I glare at him with all the hate in my heart. “You know what? Never mind. I changed my mind. There isn’t enough cash in the world.”
He clasps his hands behind his head in exasperation and stalks away, but before he gets far, he whirls back around. “Is this really what you want for the kids? You really want them to grow up inthis?” He gestures between us.
It’s unfair. It’sbullshit, but it’s a direct hit. No, this isn’t what I wanted for my kids. As a matter of fact, my entire life, IsworeI’d never have children, even though I loved kids, because I’d never subject any innocent person to the kind of shit this world casually deals out on the daily.
But then I met him, and he was kind and strong and heloved me.I felt it in my bones. And for the first time in my life, I dared to hope that I could have what other people have and don’t even think twice about. He wanted to marry me. He built us a big house in the country with a formal garden and a fountain and a boathouse on the river.
We had a little girl, and then another, and they were never going to know what it felt like to go to bed hungry or clean up their mother’s works from the coffee table or jam the back of a chair under a door handle to slow a drunk man down.
They have their own rooms. Their own beds. Brand new matching outfits and new shoes before their toes even need the room.
They’rehappy. They sleep like fat cats on a sunny window ledge, oblivious to the world. And they’ll always beokay because they have two parents who love them, who love each other, and who will keep them safe no matter what.
Except they don’t.
I sway on my feet. The pressure in my head is swelling, roaring in my ears, pushing at the insides of my eyeballs.
I need a moment, a second to clear my head, but Adrian just keeps going. “Pearl is a smart little girl. She’s going to catch on sooner or later. Don’t you think you owe it to her to at leastattemptto resolve this?”
Resolvethis? When did his tune change? Whatever happened to “I suggest you find it within yourself to move past this?”
My eyes catch on the butter knife lying in the sink. I wish it were a butcher knife.
“I know you want what’s best for the girls, Cora. Please. Let’s talk.”
I wish the water was loud enough to drown him out. I wish he’d shut his lying, asshole mouth.
I reach over to the wall and switch on the garbage disposal. It purrs, and that’s better, but I can still hear him.
“I’m not going to go away,” he says. “You’re going to have to deal with this.”
No, I don’t.
I snatch the butter knife and shove it down the drain. The metal blades rip it from my fingers, grinding and chewing, the mangled silver clattering against the steel, and it’s loud, but not nearly loud enough. I can still hear Adrian’s stupid voice when he shouts. At least, I can’t make out the words now.
Next goes the mixing spoon, then a tablespoon. I cram them down, and the blades squeal. Adrian reaches past me for the switch. I slap his arm away. Maybe I scream. I don’t know. My head is too full. It’s bursting.
I grab the rolling pin. Adrian hooks an arm around my waist and hauls me away from the sink. The rolling pin flies, bouncing off his shoulder. I watch it happen, hovering above the action like a drone.
His backward momentum lands him on his ass on the floor with me sprawled between his legs, trapped by his arm across my chest. My heavy head snaps back and cracks against his chin. He grunts.
A rush of pure adrenaline surges through my veins, and I fight, kicking my legs, the soles of my sneakers squeaking on the hardwood as I wrench my torso back and forth, but he’s stronger and holding on, wrapping himself around me while I flail.
“Stop it, Cora,” he barks, panting.
Why won’t he just let go? He doesn’t care. He can buy another garbage disposal. He can buy a million.
“Fuck you,” I gasp, bucking. “Let go!” I drive my heel into his shin.
He tries to block my foot with his hand, freeing my arms so I can try to shove myself away, peel him off, pry him loose.
“I hate you,” I spit. “You fucking asshole. I hate you.” And I do, with every fiber of my being. He ruined everything, and he’s not sorry, and he’s never going to understand what he’s done, and he’s never gonna pay for it. I drive my elbow back.
“Enough!” he shouts and squeezes me, hard, so hard my lungs can’t inflate. “What the fuck, Cora?” he spits in my ear.
