“Me too,” I agreed.
“This distance. I hate feeling like I can’t talk to you.”
“You can talk to me.”
“Can I?” She shook her head. “Because lately it feels like I’ve been talking and you haven’t been listening.”
“I know, but I’m listening now.”
“First. I’m sorry,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek. “For keeping you from the kids. It was wrong. They need you. I just…”
I stayed quiet, letting Michelle say her piece.
“…I needed time to think. Life has been hard lately. I worry all the time—about the bills, about missing money, about getting kicked out of the apartment,” she said. “I lived with that fear, Scott. And then money started disappearing from the emergency fund, and Marty showed up…” She stopped, her voice catching. “When I took the kids and left, I didn’t even know where to go. I just knew I couldn’t stay there and pretend everything was fine.”
Her hands twisted in her lap. “And when we got here, I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, I didn’t have to worry. But it’s a false sense of security. My mother’s watching every move I make. Her voice is in my ear, her money is in my life… it’s comfort with strings attached, and I’m honestly not sure which is more frightening.”
Hearing it laid out like that hurt. If she hadn’t felt safe with me, then I’d failed her. There wasn’t a smart answer or a joke that could fix this. I had to show her… prove to her that things would change. I reached for her hand. She hesitated, then threaded her fingers through mine and squeezed.
“I don’t want to keep living like this, Scott, always wondering what tomorrow will bring or when we’re going to lose everything. My mother… she offered me an out.”
“What kind of an out?” I asked, already not liking the sound of this.
“A rich guy to marry me. Give me an easy life. She set up a meeting—”
I stiffened. “You went on adate?”
“It was a meeting. To get to know each other.”
I dropped her hand. Pissed. “It was a date.”
“Fine. It was a date, if that makes you feel better.”
“Actually, no. That makes me feel worse. So what—he wins because he’s rich?”
“No,” she whispered, taking my hand back in hers. “It doesn’t matter what he can offer me because… he’s not you.”
“Wait, so…”
“I’m not picking the rich dude.”
“Oh, well, fuck.” I grabbed my chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“But…” That one word was loaded, and I knew I wouldn’t like what followed. “I’m not picking you either, Scott. Not unless changes are made. I’m willing to overlook a lot, but not our kids’ safety. I need you to fix this.”
I had to pivot. Shake off the image of her on a date and focus on what I could control. The plan.
“Actually, I’m glad you mentioned that,” I said. “Let me introduce you to my three-step ‘get my family back’ strategy.”
“You have a strategy?”
“Yes. A three-step one. See, Michelle, I’ve also been going to”—I used finger-quotes for effect—“meetings. I had a job interview a few days ago, and you, Mrs. McKallister, are married to the newest mail carrier for the United States Postal Service.”
Michelle blinked, slow-processing.
“You got a—”
“Government job, baby.” I opened my arms triumphantly. “Steady pay. Benefits. Home by five. Let’s see your Wall Street boyfriend top that.”
