“Anna, be reasonable. You can’t leave. You have nowhere to go. Let’s talk about this.” Adam acted like she was the one who was in the wrong.
It was official—this had become her worst day ever. Well, the worst day since her grandmother’s accident. Any success in her life she owed to her grandmother, and now that she had died, Anna’s only support system was gone. Were her failures today a sign of that loss?
Anna stared at him, the jar with her overnight face cream clutched in one hand and her toothbrush in the other. Her fist tightened, clenching the toothbrush like a weapon. “Yes, Adam. Let’s talk. Explain this. Give it a shot.”
She indicated the rumpled bed that reeked of sex, half-dressed Tiffany, and his scattered clothes strewn across the floor. How was he going to explain? “Was this accidental?”
“I’m so sorry. He said he was single.” Tiffany wiped a tear from her cheek.
Anna felt for her but couldn’t spare the energy to address the girl.
“Babe, if you were ever home, you’d know you haven’t satisfied me for some time. You have put on a few pounds since you started your desk job. Besides, I don’t think the male of the species was designed to be monogamous. If you look at this objectively, you’ll see that by having sex with someone else, I’m taking care of myself, so I can be a better partner.” Adam had gone into lecture mode like she was one of his students.
Anna rolled her eyes. How could she argue with someone who believed such ridiculous logic? She let out a long breath before she turned on her heel and collected her favorite pajamas. Her best T-shirts and two unread books from her bedside table. She’d need more, but it was a start.
“Anna, put that shit away. You’re acting like a child.”
Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t look at Adam as she blinked them back. He didn’t get to see her cry. Her hands shook as she shoved her mauve bathroom kit into her suitcase and zipped it closed.
“Anna. Stop.” Adam stomped his foot.
That was a simple emotion to read. Good, let him be annoyed.
She carried the suitcase past him and down the stairs without another word. Reaching ground level, she scanned to see if she wanted anything else. Nothing. There wasn’t one piece of her life in this place she wanted to keep. The things she cared about, her colorful Depression glass from her grandmother, a couple of old family pictures, and the flowers her grandmother had painted had been declared too tacky for their new home. They were in storage with most of her books, and she could get them later.
It was as if she was seeing the living space of the townhouse for the first time. The dull, brick red accent walls and otherwise stark black and white decor. The lack of bookshelves. She cringed as the place assaulted her eyes, and she blocked it out, the way she always did. It contained nothing soft. Nothing feminine or pretty. Nothing soothing. Everything in their house screamed Adam. Why hadn’t she spoken up about how much she hated it?
Her vision blurred as she neared the door, tears almost overwhelming her eyes. Somehow, she held them in. She only had a matter of minutes until she wouldn’t be able to cope. This second confrontation had been too much, leaving her onthe brink of overload. She couldn’t let Adam see this particular meltdown. Clinging to her last shred of dignity, she grabbed her jacket and jammed her feet into her sneakers. She collected her hiking shoes, slung her laptop bag over her shoulder, and yanked the door open.
Without warning, Adam stood in her way, wearing pants at last. Her muscles tightened, and her free hand balled into a fist. She’d love to hit him, though, of course, she wouldn’t.
“Anna, you’re not going anywhere until we’ve talked.” He snatched her keys from her hand and backed into the living room.
How dare he? A fog of anger gave her a few more seconds of strength.
Tiffany sidled past, now fully dressed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I don’t want him. He’s all yours.” Anna meant every word.
Tiffany fled, scuttling to her car down the block, leaving the front door ajar in her haste.
Anna turned. “My keys. Now.” Her voice shook. She needed to get out. Already breathing had become difficult, ragged.
“Fine.” He threw her keys back, which she fumbled and caught before they hit the floor. “When you’re ready to talk like a grown-up, I’ll be here.”
She flung herself out the door, down the stairs, and into her car. Starting it, she swiped at her tears and drove, stopping three blocks from home to sob.
She couldn’t go back, but she had nowhere to go and no one to call. Her grandmother had passed eight years ago, and she had no one else to turn to. Anna had never felt more alone, and she gave into the grief of more of her life wasted, letting it out. Though she lost track of how long she cried, her tears at last subsided into a few hiccups. Wrung out, Anna allowed herself a few moments to breathe, and composed herself. Her face muststill be blotched, red, and puffy, but she regained control. She rolled down the window to get some air and sat for another fifteen minutes, calming herself by concentrating on the rhythm of her regular breathing.
While she tried to figure out her next move, the smell of spicy food caught her attention. Meltdowns took an immense amount of energy. She would feel better if she ate. Her stomach grumbled in response.
Across the street stood a Mexican restaurant, so Anna moved her car into their parking lot and entered the establishment. The background music was subdued, and only two families and three couples occupied well-spaced tables in the front section. She slid into a quiet corner booth.
Ordering chicken tacos, Anna ate mechanically, not tasting her food at first while her thoughts whirled. Her first step would be to figure out where to stay tonight. At first, nothing came to mind. A hotel? That seemed so… temporary. She didn’t want a solution for a night or two, but something with potential to last.
How had she ended up with a life she didn’t want? She hated her job, and Adam treated her like a child. She wasn’t going back to either. Good riddance.
Seeking calm, she closed her eyes. Once upon a time, she’d dreamed of writing a book. Several books, in fact. Writing while sitting at cafes in Europe, seeing fresh places every holiday. It was something she and her grandmother had talked about when she’d started university. Anna had wanted to make a living as a writer. Somehow, she’d been convinced her dreams were too difficult or unattainable. She’d never gotten off the continent or made it past scribbles she’d never had the guts to share with anyone.
