THE RUMORS
CARTER
Isat here and watched, unnoticed, as Becky and her friends all sat, and drank, and laughed.
It’s been weeks since Ireallylast saw my girl, not from across a room or parking lot. Since I last touched, tasted, or talked to her, and when I’m not sneaking into our house and fixing all the shit she’s asked me to fix over the years, vacuuming after the dogs, or working my ass off trying to bring in more money—I’m here, nursing a beer, pretending to watch sports. Also, praying I luck out and get another glimpse ofmywoman.
I’ve been here so often, I’ve gotten into the preseason Hockey games and find myself rooting for the local team. I also know more about local gossip from the grumpy, intoxicated patrons chatting and complaining around me.
I had hoped she’d be here today, Wasted Women’s Wednesday. I tried asking Paige, but she wasn’t answering any messages after she got off the phone, so I just showed up.
Becky has always just called it Women’s Wednesday whenever we’d gone in the pastbecause not a damn second of our time there is wasted.Seeing her here with an array of women looking so happy does something to me. A mixture of pride and sadness colliding. I love thatshe’s finding people, but I miss being her person. I just—I lost that right—that privilege. So now I’m just trying to find ways to be in her orbit.
I watched her, so beautiful and light and full of joy and softness. This passionate, clever, enticing woman was mine, and I was hers. Well, I’m still hers, but she used towantme to be hers. She used towantto be mine. Now I haven’t heard from her since the day I was caught changing her oil.
I told her everything that matters, but it wasn’t enough. If she knew everything…shame fills me again, so I take another long sip of my warm drink.
I’ve been here twenty minutes since she left, staring at the place Becky had been sitting when a woman from her table wearing all sorts of layers and colors stands up and wanders over. She stands directly next to me, and clears her throat in a clear ‘pay attention to me’way.
“I know you.” She gives me a sharp, feline smile when she lifts herself up to the empty seat beside me. She used to be my teacher. “Ms. Terri, how are you? Can I get you something to drink?” She reaches out and snags a cold fry from my tray and keeps her smile firmly in place. I attempt a smile of my own in return.
“Please, call me Vicky, hun. You’re almost thirty, and that makes me feel old enough already.” My smile turns genuine at her caustic tone. She was the absolutebestteacher. She taught Middle School Science while I was in grades five through eight. I was always excited when it was time to go to her class.
“Alright Vicky. What can I do for you?” Her eyes trail across my face, and she shakes her head. Her disappointment feels heavy.
“You can start by removing your head from your ass.”Well, damn.
I choke and cough up the beer I’m drinking. “Pardon?” I swear I misunderstood her.
“You didn’t misunderstand me.”Voodoo teacher mind-reading shit.“You know I work with Becky Duchamp.” I nod my head. “Were you aware that a certain Ms. Harrison also works with Becky Duchamp?”
I put my beer down to avoid any more problems as the hits keepcoming. “No ma’am. I was not aware.” Then I pause, a few conversations over the last month penetrating my exhausted mind.
Teacher Assistant, Jill’s school, personal life brought to work. She starts Monday.The number of people who’ve asked me if it’s weird for my woman to be in her situation. I really didn’t put it all together, and now I’m wondering which woman they were calling mine.Shit.
“Yup. I see that you were. You see, Mr. Stewart, the lovely Ms. Harrison, who according to her, you know lovingly as Tay?—”
“Lovingly! Ms. Terri, I mean Vicky. There is nothing loving about the way that I know Taylor.”
“Carter. Becky has been inundated with claims from Taylor since the first week of school. Taylor has been receiving chocolates, letters, and flowers fromher loving Carter babymultiple times a week already, but that's not all.” She leans in closer, and all I feel is dread creeping through me. "She's also spreading rumors about Becky around the school. Making her seem unstable, unreliable, and jealous." She leans back and watches me take in her words.
What the fuck?My blood begins to boil. “Becky did nothing to her! She was the one who was wronged, and now Taylor is what, going after her career?” She already sullied me, and I know. I know I used to be Becky's safe place, but I also know that she hasalwaysfelt comfortable in the school and in her classroom. Now Taylor was going after that too? I had to take both away from her with my actions—my choices. Like Becky said, I opened up the door for that viper to walk into our lives.
“Yep.” She steals another cold fry and watches me closely as I try to compute this new information.
“What the f—uh frick! I mean, I’m sorry Ms.—I mean Vicky, but that is an absolute load of garbage. I haven’t sent athingto Taylor. I haven’t even talked to her in weeks! Taylor has showed up to the shop a few times over the weeks, but I’ve always disappeared until she left.” I tried to convince Paul to ban her, but he wasn’t happy with the idea of removing his ‘only eye candy in this Goddamn hellscape.’His quote.
It wasn’t until my hiding really started affecting my work outputthat he finally started tostrongly encourageTaylor toget the fuck out.My words this time, but not directly to her. Just in my brain.
I flashback to the Sunday after our big conversation…or, maybe argument? I’m not sure what to classify it as. Maybe, hopeless-attempt-to-explain-myself-and-my-stupid-ass-choices? Anyway, that Sunday night I finally checked my phone after a weekend of silence.
Every number but one was set on Do Not Disturb, so I was feeling low when my phone didn’t ring the entire weekend.
I unlocked my screen to find at least one person was trying to make contact.
Taylor - 17 missed calls, 15 unread messages
Jesus.My last message to her sat read but ignored.
