Sometimes I wondered if women could have jobs of their own, instead of relying on their husbands or family. I wish I had some female friends to ask. But since our entire household was made up of men, I assumed what he told me must be true.
Why would he lie? He loves me.
That thought reminds me of another problem: my dating life, or, more accurately, the complete lack thereof. I’ve brought it up a couple of times to Robert, but he told me that young women like me don’t date. We’re courted. I asked how I was supposed to find someone to court me if I was stuck at home all the time, and he said not to worry, that he would handle it when the time was right.
The last time I asked, he got so furious with me that he left the dining table. I felt terrible, since I knew he wasn’t dating because he needed to take care of me first, at least that was what he told me.
I wasn’t planning to ever bring it up again, but three days later, when I woke up in the middle of the night with a dry throat and headed downstairs for a drink, the opportunity literally sauntered into our kitchen.
“Who are you?” The unfamiliar woman asks, eyeing my silk pajama set up and down with a cocked brow, like I’m the one out of place here.
Did she not realize she’s inmykitchen at two a.m., wearing nothing but a man’s dress shirt? Wait—Wasn’t Robert wearing that shirt earlier today?
“I’m Wren. Who are you?” I ask, quickly looking around to see if there’s anyone else close by. For all I know, she could be robbing us. Strange to do it dressed like that, but I’ve never met a robber before.
“Lily,” she says curtly as she reaches pastme into the fridge I’m currently holding open and grabs a bottle of orange juice.
She uncaps it and starts drinking the entire thing. My eyes travel down her body. She could be a model; she’s tall and gorgeous, and her legs seem to go on for days. I’m not exactly short, at five-foot-five, but she dwarfs me, and she’s not even wearing heels… or pants.
“Are you homeless?” I ask, suddenly realizing she may have broken in here for the food and clothes.
She coughs, practically choking on the juice as she pats at her chest to get her breathing back under control.
“Homeless?” she splutters, looking enraged. “Of course not, I’m?—”
“Leaving,” Robert says, making me jump as he steps into the kitchen, a scowl on his face as he takes us in. I close the fridge door, not wanting to get in trouble for holding it open for too long as he speaks. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I—” I start to respond, but Lily starts talking at the same time, and I realize his attention is on her, not me.
“I needed a drink. What’s the big deal, baby?”
Baby?
She steps forward, biting her lip as she places her hand on his chest.
Oh.Ohhhhh!
He slaps her hand away as if she burned him, his brows pinching in anger. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“What, why?” she asks in confusion, a pout on her lips.
“I told you to stay where you were, and you disobeyed me. Come on, you’re leaving.” He grabs her arm and gently pulls her toward the front door.
“I—I can’t go out dressed like this!” she shrieks, suddenly acting panicked at the idea of leaving. We live inArizona, so it wasn’t like she’d freeze out there or anything. She probably should have worn pants if she’s so worried about it.
“Wren,” Robert says, looking over his shoulder at me. “Go to bed, we’ll talk in the morning.” There’s a tone of warning in his voice that tells me not to question him right now, so I nod and grab myself a glass of water before heading back to bed.
It takes me a while to fall asleep. I keep thinking about Lily, and how easily Robert threw her out for getting a drink. I’m lucky he’s never done that to me. Is that what happens in relationships if the woman disobeys the man she’s with? He’ll throw her out for insubordination? Thoughts of living on the street plague me as I fall into a restless sleep.
The next morning, I eye Robert’s eggs Benedict longingly, hoping he’ll let me have some, today of all days, but he just cuts into it and takes a large bite as I watch the egg yolk ooze over the plate.
I lick my lips and sigh, then look at my oatmeal. It’s not like I’m stuck eating the same thing day in and day out, but Robert wants me to be healthy, and women have different nutritional needs than men. I get it, even if I don’t like it.
I wonder ifLilyeats oatmeal, too. The reminder of her has me looking at my brother as I ask, “Robert?”
“Hmm?” he replies, not lifting his head from his phone.
“Who’s Lily?”
